I was made chairman of the Concessions7 Committee in May, 1925, head of the electro-technical board, and chairman of the scientific-technical board of industry. These three posts were in no way connected. Their selection was made behind my back and determined9 by certain specific considerations: to isolate10 me from the party, to submerge me in routine, to put me under special control, and so on. Nevertheless I made an honest attempt to work in harmony with the new arrangements. When I began my work in three institutions utterly12 unfamiliar13 to me, I naturally plunged14 in up to my ears. I was specially15 interested in the institutes of technical science which had developed in Soviet16 Russia on quite a large scale, because of the centralized character of industry. I assiduously visited many laboratories, watched experiments with great interest, listened to explanations given by the foremost scientists, in my spare time studied textbooks on chemistry and hydro-dynamics18, and felt that I was half-administrator and half-student. Not for nothing had I planned in my youth to take university courses in physics and mathematics. I was taking a rest from politics and concentrating on questions of natural science and technology. As head of the electro-technical board, I visited power stations in the process of construction, and made a trip to the Dnieper, where preparatory work on a large scale was under way in the construction of a hydro-electric power station. Two boatmen took me down the rapids in a fishing-boat, along the ancient route of the Zaporozhtzi-Cossacks. This adventure of course had merely a sporting interest. But I became deeply interested in the Dnieper enterprise, both from an economic and a technical point of view. I organized a body of American experts, later augmented20 by German experts, to safeguard the power station from defective21 estimates, and tried to relate my new work not only to current economic requirements but also to the fundamental problems of socialism. In my struggle against the stolid22 national approach to economic questions (“independence” through self-contained isolation) I advanced the project of developing a system of comparative indices of the Soviet and the world economy. This was the result of our need for correct orientation23 in the world market, being intended on its part to serve the needs of the import and export trade and of the policy of concessions. In essence, the project of comparative indices which grew inevitably24 from a recognition of the productive forces of the world as dominating those of a single nation, implied an attack on the reactionary25 theory of “socialism in a single country.”
I made public reports on matters connected with my new activity, and published books and pamphlets. My opponents neither could nor cared to accept battle on this ground. They summed up the situation in the formula: Trotsky has created a new battlefield for himself. The electro-technical board and the scientific institutions began now to worry them almost as much as the war department and the Red Army previously26 had. The Stalin apparatus27 followed on my heels. Every practical step that I took gave rise to a complicated intrigue28 behind the scenes; every theoretical conclusion fed the ignorant myth of “Trotskyism.” My practical work was performed under impossible conditions. It is no exaggeration to say that much of the creative activity of Stalin and of his assistant Molotov was devoted29 to organizing direct sabotage31 around me. It became practically impossible for the institutions under my direction to obtain the necessary wherewithal. People working there began to fear for their futures32, or at least for their careers.
My attempt to win a political holiday for myself was patently a failure. The epigones could not stop half-way. They were too afraid of what they had already done. Yesterday’s slander33 weighed heavily on them, demanding double treachery today. I ended by insisting on being relieved of the electro-technical board and the institutions of technical science. The chief con1 cessions committee did not provide the same scope for intrigue, since the fate of each concession8 was decided34 in the Politbureau.
Meanwhile, party affairs had reached a new crisis. In the first period of the struggle, a trio had been formed to oppose me, but it was far from being a unit. In theoretical and political respects, both Zinoviev and Kamenev were probably superior to Stalin. But they both lacked that little thing called character. Their international outlook, wider than Stalin’s, which they acquired under Lenin in foreign exile, did not make their position any stronger; on the contrary, it weakened it. The political tendency was toward a self-contained national development, and the old formula of Russian patriotism35, “We’ll bury the enemy under a shower of our caps,” was now assiduously being translated into the new socialist36 language. Zinoviev’s and Kamenev’s attempt to uphold the international viewpoint, if only to a limited degree, turned them into “Trotskyists” of the second order in the eyes of the bureaucracy. This led them to wage their campaign against me with even more fury, so that they might win greater confidence from the apparatus. But these efforts were also vain. The apparatus was rapidly discovering that Stalin was flesh of its flesh. Zinoviev and Kamenev soon found themselves in hostile opposition37 to Stalin; when they tried to transfer the dispute from the trio to the Central Committee, they discovered that Stalin had a solid majority there.
Kamenev was considered the official leader of Moscow. But after the routing with Kamenev’s participation38 of the Moscow party organization in 1923, when the party came out in its majority to support the opposition, the rank-and-file of the Moscow communists maintained a grim silence. With the first attempts to resist Stalin, Kamenev found himself suspended in air. The situation in Leningrad 1 was different. The Leningrad communists were protected from the opposition of 1923 by the heavy lid of Zinoviev’s apparatus. But now their turn came. The Leningrad workers were aroused by the political trend in favor of the rich peasants — the so-called kulaks — and a policy aimed at one-country socialism. The class protest of the workers coincided with the high-official opposition of Zinoviev. Thus a new opposition came into existence, and one of its members in the first stages was Nadyezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya. To every one’s utter surprise, their own most of all, Zinoviev and Kamenev found themselves obliged to repeat word for word the criticisms by the opposition, and soon they were listed as being in the camp of the “Trotskyists.” It is little wonder that in our circle, closer relations with Zinoviev and Kamenev seemed, to say the least, paradoxical. There were among the oppositionists many who opposed such a bloc39. There were even some, though only a few, who thought it possible to form a bloc with Stalin against Zinoviev and Kamenev. One of my closest friends, Mrachkovsky, an old revolutionary and one of the finest commanders in the civil war, expressed himself as opposed to a bloc with anyone and gave a classic explanation of his stand: “Stalin will deceive, and Zinoviev will sneak40 away.” But such questions are finally decided not by psychological but by political considerations. Zinoviev and Kamenev openly avowed41 that the “Trotskyists” had been right in the struggle against them ever since 1923. They accepted the basic principles of our platform. In such circumstances, it was impossible not to form a bloc with them, especially since thousands of revolutionary Leningrad workers were behind them.
I had not met Kamenev outside the official meetings for three years, that is, since the night on the eve of his trip to Georgia, when he promised to uphold the stand taken by Lenin and me, but, having learned of Lenin’s grave condition, went over to Stalin. At our very first meeting, Kamenev declared: “It is enough for you and Zinoviev to appear on the same platform, and the party will find its true Central Committee.” I could not help laughing at such bureaucratic optimism. Kamenev obviously underestimated the disintegrating42 effect on the party of the three years’ activity of the trio. I pointed43 it out to him, without the slightest concession to his feelings. The revolutionary ebb-tide that had begun at the end of 1923, that is, after the defeat of the revolutionary movement in Germany, had assumed international proportions. In Russia, the reaction against October was proceeding44 at full speed. The party apparatus more and more was lining45 itself up with the right wing. Under such conditions, it would have been childish to think that all we need do was join hands and victory would drop at our feet like a ripe fruit. “We must aim far ahead,” I repeated dozens of times to Kamenev and Zinoviev. “We must prepare for a long and serious struggle.” On the spur of the moment, my new allies accepted this formula bravely. But they didn’t last long; they were fading daily and hourly. Mrachkovsky proved right in his appraisal46 of their personalities47. Zinoviev did sneak away after all, but he was far from being followed by all of his supporters. At any rate, his double about-face inflicted48 an incurable49 wound on the legend of “Trotskyism.”
In the spring of 1926, my wife and I made a trip to Berlin. The Moscow physicians, at a loss to explain the continuance of my high temperature, and unwilling50 to shoulder the entire responsibility, had been urging me for some time to take a trip abroad. I was equally anxious to find a way out of the impasse51, for my high temperature paralyzed me at the most critical moments, and acted as my opponents’ most steadfast52 ally. The matter of my visit abroad was taken up at the Politbureau, which stated that it regarded my trip as extremely dangerous in view of the information it had and the general political situation, but that it left the final decision to me. The statement was accompanied by a note of reference from the GPU indicating the inadmissibility of my trip. The Politbureau undoubtedly53 feared that in the event of any unpleasant accident to me while abroad, the party would hold it responsible. The idea of my enforced exile abroad, and in Constantinople at that, had not yet dawned with in the policeman’s skull54 of Stalin. It is possible that the Politbureau was also apprehensive55 of my taking action abroad to consolidate56 the foreign opposition. Nevertheless, after consulting my friends, I decided to go.
Arrangements with the German embassy were completed with out difficulty, and about the middle of April my wife and I left with a diplomatic passport in the name of Kuzmyenko, a member of the Ukrainian collegium of the commissariat of education. We were accompanied by my secretary, Syermuks, by the former commander of my train, and by a representative of the GPU. Zinoviev and Kamenev parted from me with a show of real feeling; they did not like the prospect57 of remaining eye-to-eye with Stalin.
In the years before the war, I had known Hohenzollern Berlin very well. It had then its own peculiar58 physiognomy, which no one could call pleasant but which many thought imposing59. Berlin has changed. It has now no physiognomy at all, at least none that I could discover. The city was slowly recovering from a long and serious disease whose course had been accompanied by many surgical60 operations. The inflation was already over, but the stabilized61 mark served only as a means of measuring the general an?mia. In the streets, in the shops, on the faces of the pedestrians62, one sensed the impoverishment63, and also that impatient, often avid64 desire to rise again. The German thoroughness and cleanliness during the hard years of war, of the defeat and the Versailles brigandage65, had been swallowed up by dire30 poverty. The human ant-hill was stubbornly but joylessly restoring the passages, corridors, and storerooms crushed by the boot of war. In the rhythm of the streets, in the movements and gestures of the passers-by, one felt a tragic66 undercurrent of fatalism:
“Can’t be helped; life is an indefinite term at hard-labor17; we must begin again at the beginning.”
For a few weeks I was under medical observation in a private clinic in Berlin. In search of the roots of the mysterious temperature, the doctors shunted me from one to another. Finally, a throat specialist advanced the hypothesis that the source was my tonsils, and advised having them removed in any case. The diagnosticians and therapeutists hesitated, being middle-aged67 medical base men. But the surgeon, with the experience of the war behind him, treated them with a devastating68 contempt. He implied that tonsils were now removed as easily as shaving off a moustache. I was obliged to consent.
The assistants were getting ready to tie my hands, but the surgeon decided to accept moral guarantees. Behind his encouraging jocosity69, I could feel the tension and controlled excitement. It was a most unpleasant sensation to lie on the table and choke in one’s own blood. The proceeding lasted from forty to fifty minutes. Everything went off well — if one overlooks the fact that the operation was apparently70 useless, as the temperature set in again some time later.
But my time in Berlin, at least that spent in the clinic, was not wasted. I immersed myself in the German press, from which I had been almost completely cut off ever since August, 1914. Every day I was provided with a score of German and a few foreign publications, and after reading them I would throw them on the floor. The specialists who visited me had to walk on a carpet of newspapers of all shades of political opinion. It was really my first opportunity to listen to the entire range of German republican politics. I must confess that I did not find any thing unexpected there. The republic as the foundling of the military debacle, the republicans as creatures of the Versailles compulsion, the Social Democrats72 as the executors of the November revolution which they themselves had smothered73, Hindenburg as a democratic president — in general, it was just as I had imagined it. And yet it was very instructive to be able to view it at close range.
On May 1, my wife and I went out for a drive around the city in an automobile74. We visited the principal districts, watched processions, read placards, listened to speeches, drove to the Alexanderplatz, and mingled75 with the crowd. I had seen many Mayday processions that were more imposing and more decorative76, but it was long since I had been able to move about in a crowd without attracting anyone’s attention, feeling myself a part of the nameless whole, listening and observing. Only once did our companion say to me cautiously: “There they are selling your photographs.” But from those photographs no one would have recognized the member of the collegium of the commissariat of education, Kuzmyenko. In case these lines should meet the eyes of Count Westarp, of Hermann Müller, Stresemann 2, Count Reventlow, Hilferding, or of any others who opposed my admission into Germany, I think it necessary to inform them that I did not proclaim any reprehensible77 slogans, stick up any outrageous78 posters, that in general I was merely an observer waiting to undergo an operation a few days later.
We also attended the “wine festival” outside the city. Here were hordes80 of people, but in spite of the spring mood, enhanced by sun and wine, the gray shadow of past years lay over the merry-making, as well as over those who were trying to make merry. You had only to look closer and they all seemed like slowly recovering convalescents; their gaiety still cost them a great effort. We spent a few hours in the thick of the crowd, observed, talked, ate frankfurters from paper plates, and even drank beer, the very taste of which we had forgotten since 1917. I was recovering from the operation quickly, and was considering the date of our departure. At this point, an unexpected thing happened, which even today is still something of a puzzle to me. About a week before my intended departure, there appeared in the corridor of the clinic two gentlemen of that indefinite appearance which so definitely proclaims the police profession. Looking into the courtyard from the window, I discovered below me about half a dozen men like them, who, though differing somewhat among themselves, still resembled each other remarkably81. I drew Krestinsky’s attention to it. A few minutes later, one of the assistant-doctors knocked on the door and excitedly announced — at the request of his chief — that I was in danger of an attempt on my life. “Not by the police, I hope?” I asked, pointing to the many agents. The doctor hazarded a suggestion that the police were there to prevent the attempt. Two or three minutes later a police-inspector (polizeirat) arrived and told Krestinsky that the police had actually received information about an attempt on my life, and had taken extraordinary protective measures. The entire clinic was agog82. The nurses told each other and the patients that the clinic was harboring Trotsky, and because of that several bombs were going to be thrown at the building. The atmosphere created was little suited to a curative institution. I arranged with Krestinsky to go at once to the Soviet embassy. The street in front of the clinic was barricaded83 by the police. I was escorted by police motor-cars.
The official version of the episode was something like this: One of the German monarchists arrested in connection with a newly discovered conspiracy85 made a statement to the court examiner — or so it was alleged86 — that the Russian White Guards were arranging for an early attempt on the life of Trotsky, who was stated to be in Berlin. The German diplomacy87, through which my trip had been arranged, had deliberately88 refrained from informing its police because of the considerable number of monarchists among the ranks. The police did not give much credence89 to the report of the arrested monarchist, but nevertheless checked up on his statement about my staying at the clinic. To their great amazement90, the information proved correct. As inquiries91 had been made of the physicians as well, I received two simultaneous warnings — one from the assistant-doctor, the other from the police-inspector. Whether an attempt had really been planned, and whether the police really learned of my arrival through the arrested monarchist, are questions that even today I cannot answer.
But I suspect that the case was much simpler. One may assume that the diplomatic circles failed to keep the “secret,” and the police, hurt by the lack of confidence in them, decided to demonstrate, either to Stresemann or to me, that tonsils could not be removed without their aid. Whatever the explanation, the clinic was turned upside down, while under this mighty92 protection against my hypothetical enemies, I moved over to the embassy. Vague and feeble echoes of this story later found their way into the German press, but it seems that no one was inclined to believe them.
The days of my stay in Berlin coincided with certain important events in Europe: the general strike in England, and Pilsudski’s coup93 d’état in Poland. Both these occurrences greatly accentuated94 my disagreements with the epigones, and determined in advance the stormier development of our later struggle. A few words on that subject should be included here.
Stalin, Bukharin, and — in the first period — Zinoviev as well, saw the crowning achievement of their policy in the diplomatic bloc between the higher groups of the Soviet trades-unions and the General Council of the British trades-unions. In his provincial95 narrowness, Stalin imagined that Purcell and other trades-union leaders were ready or able, in a difficult moment, to lend support to the Soviet republic against the British bourgeoisie. As for the British union leaders, they believed, with some justification97, that in view of the crisis in British capitalism98 and the increasing discontent of the masses, it would be politic19 for them to be covered on their left by means of an official but actually non-committal friendship with the leaders of the Soviet trades-unions. Both sides did a great deal of beating about the bush, for the most part avoiding calling things by their real names. A rotten policy has more than once been wrecked99 on great events. The general strike in England in May, 1926, proved to be a great event not only in English life, but also in the inner life of our party.
England’s fate after the war was a subject of absorbing interest. The radical100 change in her world position could not fail to bring about changes just as radical in the inner correlation101 of her forces. It was clear that even if Europe, including England, were to restore a certain social equilibrium102 for a more or less ex tended period, England herself could reach such an equilibrium only by means of a series of serious conflicts and shake-ups. I thought it probable that in England, of all places, the fight in the coal industry would lead to a general strike. From this I assumed that the essential contradiction between the old organizations of the working class and its new historical tasks would of course be revealed in the near future. During the winter and spring of 1925, while I was in the Caucasus, I wrote a book on this — Whither England? The book was aimed essentially103 at the official conception of the Politbureau, with its hope of an evolution to the left by the British General Council, and of a gradual and painless penetration104 of communism into the ranks of the British Labor Party and trades-unions. In part to avoid unnecessary complications, in part to check up on my opponents, I submitted the manuscript of the book to the Politbureau. Since it was a question of forecast, rather than of criticism after the fact, none of the members of the Politbureau ventured to express himself. The book passed safely by the censors105 and was published exactly as it had been written. A little later, it also appeared in English. The official leaders of British Socialism treated it as the fantasy of a foreigner who did not know British conditions, who could dream of transferring the “Russian” general strike to the soil of the British Isles106. Such estimates could have been counted by the dozens, even by the hundreds, beginning with MacDonald himself, who in the political-banalities contest indisputably carried off first prize. But within a few months the strike of the coal miners became a general strike. I had not expected such an early confirmation107 of my forecast. If the general strike proved the rightness of the Marxist forecast against the home-made estimates of the British reformists, the behavior of the General Council during the general strike signified the collapse108 of Stalin’s hopes of Purcell. I eagerly gathered and collated109 in the clinic all the information about the course of the general strike and especially about the relations between the masses and their leaders. The thing that made my gorge110 rise was the nature of the articles in the Moscow Pravda. Its chief concern was to screen bankruptcy111 and save its face. This could be achieved only by a cynical112 distortion of the facts. There can be no greater proof of the intellectual downfall of a revolutionary politician than deception113 of the masses.
Upon my return to Moscow, I demanded an immediate114 breaking up of the bloc with the British General Council. Zinoviev, after the inevitable115 vacillation116, sided with me. Radek was opposed. Stalin clung to the bloc, even to the semblance117 of one, for all he was worth. The British trades-unionists waited until their acute inner crisis was at an end, and then uncivilly kicked their generous but muddle-headed ally away.
Events just as significant were taking place in Poland at the same time. In frantic118 search for a way out, the petty bourgeoisie entered on a rebellion and raised Pilsudski on its shield. The leader of the communist party, Varski, decided that “a democratic dictatorship of the pr?letariat and peasantry” was developing there before his very eyes, and called on the Communist party to support Pilsudski. I had known Varski for a long time. When Rosa Luxemburg was still alive, he was perhaps able to hold his place in the revolutionary ranks. Left alone, he was always a vacancy119. In 1924, after great hesitation120, he announced that at last he realized the evil of “Trotskyism,” that is, of the under-appreciation of the peasantry for the success of the democratic dictatorship. As a reward for his obedience121, he was given the post of leader, and watched impatiently for an occasion for using the spurs that it had taken him so long to win. In May, 1926, he seized his opportunity, only to disgrace himself and spatter the flag of the party. He went unpunished, of course; the Stalin apparatus shielded him from the wrath122 of the Polish workers.
During 1926, the party struggle developed with increasing intensity123. In the autumn, the opposition even made an open sortie at the meetings of the party locals. The apparatus counter attacked with fury. The struggle of ideas gave place to administrative124 mechanics: telephone summons of the party bureaucrats125 to attend the meetings of the workers’ locals, an accumulation of automobiles126 with hooting127 sirens in front of all the meetings, and a well-organized whistling and booing at the appearance of the oppositionists on the platform. The ruling faction128 exerted its pressure by a mechanical concentration of its forces, by threats and reprisals129. Before the mass of the party had time to hear, grasp or say anything, they were afraid of the possibility of a split and a catastrophe130. The opposition was obliged to beat a retreat. On October i6, we made a declaration announcing that although we considered our views just and reserved the right of fighting for them within the framework of the party, we renounced131 the use of activities that might engender132 the danger of a split. The declaration of October 16 was intended not for the apparatus but for the mass of the party. It was an expression of our desire to remain in the party and serve it further. Although the Stalinites began to break the truce133 the day after it was concluded, still we gained time. The winter of 1926-7 gave us a certain breathing-spell which allowed us to carry out a more thorough theoretical examination of many questions.
As early as the beginning of 1927, Zinoviev was ready to capitulate, if not all at once, at least gradually. But then came the staggering events in China. The criminal character of Stalin’s policy hit one in the eye. It postponed134 for a time the capitulation of Zinoviev and of all who followed him later.
The epigones’ leadership in China trampled135 on all the traditions of Bolshevism. The Chinese Communist party was forced against its will to join the bourgeois96 Kuomintang party and submit to its military discipline. The creating of Soviets136 was forbidden. The Communists were advised to hold the agrarian137 revolution in check, and to abstain138 from arming the workers without the permission of the bourgeoisie. Long before Chiang Kal-shek crushed the Shanghai workers and concentrated the power in the hands of a military clique139, we issued warnings that such a consequence was inevitable. Since 1925, I had demanded the withdrawal140 of the communists from the Kuomintang. The policy of Stalin and Bukharin not only prepared for and facilitated the crushing of the revolution but, with the help of reprisals by the state apparatus, shielded the counter-revolutionary work of Chiang Kai-shek from our criticism. In April, 1927, at the party meeting in the Hall of Columns, Stalin still defended the policy of coalition141 with Chiang Kai-shek and called for confidence in him. Five or six days later, Chiang Kai-shek drowned the Shanghai workers and the Communist party in blood.
A wave of excitement swept over the party. The opposition raised its head. And disregarding all rules of “conspiratzia” — and at that time, in Moscow, we were already obliged to defend the Chinese workers against Chiang Kal-shek by using the methods of “conspiratzia” — the opposionists came to me by scores in the offices of the Chief Concessions Committee. Many younger comrades thought the patent bankruptcy of Stalin’s policy was bound to bring the triumph of the opposition nearer. During the first days after the coup d’état by Chiang Kai-shek, I was obliged to pour many a bucket of cold water over the hot heads of my young friends — and over some not so young. I tried to show them that the opposition could not rise on the defeat of the Chinese Revolution. The fact that our forecast had proved correct might attract one thousand, five thousand, or even ten thousand new supporters to us. But for the millions, the significant thing was not our forecast, but the fact of the crushing of the Chinese pr?letariat. After the defeat of the German Revolution in 1923, after the breakdown142 of the English general strike in 1925, the new disaster in China would only intensify143 the disappointment of the masses in the international revolution. And it was this same disappointment that served as the chief psychologic source for Stalin’s policy of national-reformism.
In a very short time, it was apparent that as a faction we had undoubtedly gained in strength — that is to say, we had grown more united intellectually, and stronger in numbers. But the umbilical cord that connected us with power was cut by the sword of Chiang Kai-shek. His finally discredited144 Russian ally, Stalin, now had only to complete the crushing of the Shanghai workers by routing the opposition within the party. The backbone145 of the opposition was a group of old revolutionaries. But we were no longer alone. Hundreds and thousands of revolutionaries of the new generation were grouped about us. This new generation had been awakened146 by the October Revolution; it had taken part in the civil war; it stood at attention before the great authority of Lenin’s Central Committee. Only since 1923 had it begun to think independently, to criticise147, to apply Marxist methods to new turns in the development, and, what is still more difficult, to learn to shoulder the responsibility of revolutionary initiative. At present there are thousands of such young revolutionaries who are augmenting148 their political experience by studying theory in the prisons and the exile of the Stalin régime.
The leading group of the opposition faced this finale with its eyes wide open. We realized only too clearly that we could make our ideas the common property of the new generation not by diplomacy and evasions149 but only by an open struggle which shirked none of the practical consequences. We went to meet the inevitable debacle, confident, however, that we were paving the way for the triumph of our ideas in a more distant future.
The pressure of material force has always played, and still plays, a great r?le in humanity’s history; sometimes it is a progressive r?le, more often a reactionary one; its character depends on what class applies the force, and to what end. But it is a far cry from this to the belief that force can solve all problems and overcome all obstacles. It is possible by force of arms to check the development of progressive historical tendencies; it is not possible to block the road of the advance of progressive ideas for ever. That is why, when the struggle is one for great principles, the revolutionary can only follow one rule: Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra.
The nearer drew the time for the fifteenth congress, set for the end of 1927, the more the party felt that it had reached a crossroads in history. Alarm was rife150 in the ranks. In spite of a monstrous151 terror, the desire to hear the opposition awoke in the party. This could be achieved only by illegal means. Secret meetings were held in various parts of Moscow and Leningrad, attended by workers and students of both sexes, who gathered in groups of from twenty to one hundred and two hundred to hear some representative of the opposition. In one day I would visit two, three, and sometimes four of such meetings. They were usually held in some worker’s apartment. Two small rooms would be packed with people, and the speaker would stand at the door between the two rooms. Sometimes every one would sit on the floor; more often the discussion had to be carried on stand big, for lack of space. Occasionally representatives of the Control Commission would appear at such meetings and demand that everyone leave. They were invited to take part in the discussion. If they caused any disturbance152 they were put out. In all, about 20,000 people attended such meetings in Moscow and Leningrad. The number was growing. The opposition cleverly prepared a huge meeting in the hall of the High Technical School, which had been occupied from within. The hall was crammed153 with two thousand people, while a huge crowd remained outside in the street. The attempts of the administration to stop the meeting proved ineffectual. Kamenev and I spoke154 for about two hours. Finally the Central Committee issued an appeal to the workers to break up the meetings of the opposition by force. This appeal was merely a screen for carefully prepared attacks on the opposition by military units under the guidance of the GPU. Stalin wanted a bloody155 settlement of the conflict. We gave the signal for a temporary discontinuance of the large meetings. But this was not until after the demonstration156 of November 7.
In October of 1927, the Central Executive Committee held its session in Leningrad. In honor of the occasion, the authorities staged a mass demonstration. But through an unforeseen circumstance, the demonstration took an entirely157 unexpected turn. Zinoviev and I and a few others of the opposition were making the rounds of the city by automobile, to see the size and temper of the demonstration. Toward the end of our drive, we approached the Taurid Palace where motor-trucks were drawn158 up as platforms for the members of the Central Executive Committee. Our automobile stopped short before a line of police; there was no farther passage. Before we could make up our minds how to get out of the impasse, the commander hurried to our car and quite guilelessly offered to escort us to the platform. Before we could overcome our hesitation, two lines of police opened a way for us to the last motor-truck, which was still unoccupied. When the masses learned that we were on the last platform, the character of the demonstration changed instantly. The people began to pass by the first trucks indifferently, with out even answering the greetings from them, and hurried on to our platform. Soon a bank of thousands of people had been formed around our truck. Workers and soldiers halted, looked up, shouted their greetings, and then were obliged to move on because of the impatient pressure of those behind them. A platoon of police which was sent to our truck to restore order was itself caught up by the general mood, and took no action. Hundreds of trusted agents of the apparatus were despatched into the thick of the crowd. They tried to whistle us down, but their isolated159 whistles were quite drowned by the shouts of sympathy. The longer this continued, the more intolerable the situation became for the official leaders of the demonstration. In the end, the chairman of the Central Executive Committee and a few of its most prominent members came down from the first platform, around which there was nothing but a vast gulf160 of emptiness, and climbed onto ours, which stood at the very end and was in tended for the least important guests. But even this bold step failed to save the situation, for the people kept shouting names — and the names were not those of the official masters of the situation.
Zinoviev was instantly optimistic, and expected momentous161 consequences from this manifestation162 of sentiment. I did not share his impulsive163 estimate. The working masses of Leningrad demonstrated their dissatisfaction in the form of platonic164 sympathy for the leaders of the opposition, but they were still unable to prevent the apparatus from making short work of us. On this score I had no illusions. On the other hand, the demonstration was bound to suggest to the ruling faction the necessity of speeding up the destruction of the opposition, so that the masses might be confronted with an accomplished165 fact.
The next landmark166 was the Moscow demonstration in honor of the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. The organizers of the demonstration, the authors of the jubilee167 articles, and the speakers were, in most cases, people who either had been on the other side of the barricade84 during the events of October, or had simply sought shelter under the family roof until they could see what had happened, and had joined the revolution only after it had won a secure victory. It was with amusement rather than bitterness that I read articles and listened to radio speeches in which these hangers-on accused me of treason to the October Revolution. When you understand the dynamics of the historical process and see how your opponent is being pulled by strings168 controlled by a hand unknown to him, then the most disgusting acts of turpitude169 and perfidy170 lose their power over you.
The oppositionists decided to take part in the general procession, carrying their own placards, with their slogans. These were in no sense directed against the party; they read, for example:
“Let us turn our fire to the right — against the kulak, the nepman and the bureaucrat5.” . . .
“Let us carry out Lenin’s will.” . . .
“Against opportunism, against a split, and for the unity71 of Lenin’s party.”
Today, these slogans form the official credo of the Stalin faction in its fight against the right wing. On November 7, the placards of the opposition were snatched from their hands and torn to pieces, while their bearers were mauled by specially organized units. The official leaders had learned their lesson in the Leningrad demonstration, and this time their preparations were much more efficient. The masses were showing signs of uneasiness. They joined in the demonstration with minds that were profoundly disquieted171. And above the alarmed and bewildered people, two active groups were rising — the opposition and the apparatus. As volunteers in the fight against the “Trotskyists,” notoriously non-revolutionary and sometimes sheer Fascist172 elements in the streets of Moscow were now coming to the aid of the apparatus. A policeman, pretending to be giving a warning, shot openly at my automobile. Someone was guiding his hand. A drunken official of the fire-brigade, shouting imprecations, jumped on the running-board of my automobile and smashed the glass. To one who could see, the incidents in the Moscow streets on November 7, 1927, were obviously a rehearsal173 of the Thermidor.
A similar demonstration took place in Leningrad. Zinoviev and Radek, who had gone there, were laid hold of by a special detachment, and under the pretense174 of protection from the crowd, were shut up in one of the buildings for the duration of the demonstration. On the same day, Zinoviev wrote us in Moscow: “All the information at hand indicates that this outrage79 will greatly benefit our cause. We are worried to know what happened with you. Contacts [that is, secret discussions with the workers] are proceeding very well here. The change in our favor is great. For the time being we do not propose to leave.” This was the last flash of energy from the opposition of Zinoviev. A day later he was in Moscow, insisting on the necessity of surrender.
On November 16, Joffe committed suicide; his death was a wedge in the growing struggle.
Joffe was a very sick man. He had been brought back from Japan, where he was Soviet ambassador, in a serious condition. Many obstacles were placed in the way of his being sent abroad, but his stay there was too brief, and although it had its beneficial results, they were not sufficient compensation. Joffe became my deputy in the Chief Concessions Committee, and all the heavy routine fell on him. The crisis in the party disturbed him greatly. The thing that worried him most was the treachery. Several times he was ready to throw himself into the thick of the struggle. Concerned for his health, I tried to hold him back. Joffe was especially furious at the campaign in connection with the theory of permanent revolution. He couldn’t stomach the vile175 baiting of those who had foreseen, long in advance of the rest, the course and character of the revolution, by those who were merely enjoying its fruits. Joffe told me of his conversation with Lenin — it took place in 1919, if I am not mistaken — on the subject of permanent revolution. Lenin said to him: “Yes, Trotsky proved to be right.” Joffe wanted to publish that conversation, but I tried my best to dissuade176 him. I could visualize177 the avalanche178 of baiting that would crash down upon him. Joffe was peculiarly persistent179, and under a soft exterior180 he concealed181 an inalterable will. At each new outburst of aggressive ignorance and political treachery, he would come to me again, with a drawn and indignant face, and repeat: “I must make it public.” I would argue with him again that such “evidence of a witness” could change nothing; that it was necessary to re-educate the new generation of the party, and to aim far ahead.
Joffe had been unable to complete his cure abroad, and his physical condition was growing worse every day. Toward autumn, he was compelled to stop work, and then he was laid low altogether. His friends again raised the question of sending him abroad, but this time the Central Committee refused point-blank. The Stalinites were now preparing to send the oppositionists in quite a different direction. My expulsion from the Central Committee and then from the party startled Joffe more than any one else. To his personal and political wrath was added the bitter realization183 of his own physical helplessness. Joffe felt unerringly that the future of the revolution was at stake. It was no longer in his power to fight, and life apart from struggle meant nothing for him. So he drew his final conclusion.
At that time I had already moved from the Kremlin to the home of my friend Byeloborodov, who formally was still people’s commissary of the interior, although the agents of the GPU were on his heels wherever he went. Byeloborodov was then away in his native Urals, where he was trying to reach the workers in the struggle against the apparatus. I telephoned Joffe’s apartment to ask the state of his health. He himself answered; the telephone was beside his bed. In the tone of his voice — but I realized this only later — there was something strange and alarming. He asked me to come to him. Some chance prevented me from doing so immediately. In those stormy days, comrades called continuously at Byeloborodov’s house to confer with me on important matters. An hour or two later an unfamiliar voice in formed me over the telephone: “Adolph Abramovich has shot himself. There is a packet for you on his bed-side table.” In Byeloborodov’s house, there were always a few military oppositionists on duty to accompany me in my movements about town. We set off in haste for Joffe’s. In answer to our ringing and knocking, some one demanded our names from behind the door and then opened it after some delay; something mysterious was going on inside. As we entered, I saw the calm and infinitely184 tender face of Adolph Abramovich against a blood-stained pillow. B., a member of the board of the GPU, was at Joffe’s desk. The packet was gone from the bedside table. I demanded its return at once. B. muttered that there was no letter at all. His manner and voice left me in no doubt that he was lying. A few minutes later, friends from all parts of the city began to pour into the apartment. The official representatives of the commissariat of foreign affairs and of the party institutions felt lost in the midst of the crowd of oppositionists. During the night, several thousand people visited the house. The news of the theft of the letter spread through the city. Foreign journalists were sending dispatches, and it became quite impossible to conceal182 the letter any longer. In the end, a photostatic copy of it was handed to Rakovsky. Why a letter written by Joffe to me and sealed in an envelope that bore my name should have been given to Rakovsky, and at that in a photostatic copy instead of the original, is something that I cannot even attempt to explain. Joffe’s letter reflects him to the end, but as he was half an hour before his death. Joffe knew my attitude toward him; he was bound to me by a deep moral confidence, and gave me the right to delete anything I thought superfluous185 or unsuitable for publication. Failing to conceal the letter from the whole world, the cynical enemy tried to exploit for its own purposes those very lines not written for the public eye.
Joffe tried to make his death a service to the same cause to which he had dedicated186 his life. With the same hand that was to pull the trigger against his own temple half an hour later, he wrote the last evidence of a witness and the last counsel of a friend. This is what he addressed directly to me in his last letter:
“You and I, dear Lev Davydovich, are bound to each other by decades of joint187 work, and, I make bold to hope, of personal friendship. This gives me the right to tell you in parting what I think you are mistaken in. I have never doubted the rightness of the road you pointed out, and as you know I have gone with you for more than twenty years, since the days of ‘permanent revolution.’ But I have always believed that you lacked Lenin’s unbending will, his unwillingness188 to yield, his readiness even to remain alone on the path that he thought right in the anticipation189 of a future majority, of a future recognition by every one of the rightness of his path. Politically, you were always right, beginning with, and I told you repeatedly that with my own ears I had heard Lenin admit that even in 1905, you, and not he, were right. One does not lie before his death, and now I repeat this again to you . . . But you have often abandoned your rightness for the sake of an overvalued agreement, or compromise. This is a mistake. I repeat: politically you have always been right, and now more right than ever. Some day the party will realize it, and history will not fail to accord recognition. Then don’t lose your courage if some one leaves you now, or if not as many come to you, and not as soon, as we all would like. You are right, but the guarantee of the victory of your rightness lies in nothing but the extreme unwillingness to yield, the strictest straightforwardness190, the absolute rejection191 of all compromise; in this very thing lay the secret of Lenin’s victories. Many a time I have wanted to tell you this, but only now have I brought myself to do so, as a last farewell.”
Joffe’s funeral was set for a working-day, at an hour that would prevent the Moscow workers from taking part in it. But in spite of this, it attracted no less than ten thousand people and turned into an imposing oppositionist demonstration. Meanwhile, Stalin’s faction was preparing for the congress, hastening to place a split before it as an accomplished fact. The so-called elections to local conferences which sent delegates to the congress were carried out before the official opening of the sham192 “discussion,” during which groups of whistlers, organized in military fashion, broke up meetings in the regular Fascist way. It is difficult even to imagine anything more disgraceful than the preparations for the fifteenth congress. Zinoviev and his group had no difficulty in perceiving that the congress would put the political capsheaf on the physical rout11 that had begun in the streets of Moscow and Leningrad on the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. The only concern of Zinoviev and his friends was to capitulate while there was yet time. They could not fail to understand that the Stalin bureaucrats saw their real enemy not in them, the oppositionists of the second draft, but in the main group of the opposition, linked to me. They hoped to buy forgiveness, if not to win favor, by a demonstrative break with me at the time of the fifteenth congress. They did not foresee that by a double betrayal they would achieve their own political elimination193. Although they weakened our group temporarily by stabbing it in the back, they condemned194 themselves to political death.
The fifteenth congress resolved to expel the opposition en bloc. The expelled were placed at the disposal of the GPU.
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1
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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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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bureaucrat
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| n. 官僚作风的人，官僚，官僚政治论者 | |
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bureaucratic
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| adj.官僚的，繁文缛节的 | |
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concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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14
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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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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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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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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dynamics
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| n.力学，动力学，动力，原动力；动态 | |
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politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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23
orientation
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| n.方向，目标；熟悉，适应，情况介绍 | |
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24
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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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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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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29
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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31
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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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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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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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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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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bloc
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| n.集团；联盟 | |
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40
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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41
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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42
disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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43
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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45
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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46
appraisal
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| n.对…作出的评价；评价，鉴定，评估 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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48
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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50
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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51
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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52
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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53
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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54
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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56
consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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57
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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58
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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59
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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61
stabilized
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| v.（使）稳定， （使）稳固( stabilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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63
impoverishment
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| n.贫穷，穷困；贫化 | |
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64
avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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65
brigandage
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| n.抢劫；盗窃；土匪；强盗 | |
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66
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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67
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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68
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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69
jocosity
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| n.诙谐 | |
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70
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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71
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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72
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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73
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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75
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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77
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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80
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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81
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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83
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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84
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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85
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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86
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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87
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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88
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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89
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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90
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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91
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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92
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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93
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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94
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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95
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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96
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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97
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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98
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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99
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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100
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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101
correlation
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| n.相互关系，相关，关连 | |
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102
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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103
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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104
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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105
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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106
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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107
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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108
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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109
collated
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| v.校对( collate的过去式和过去分词 )；整理；核对；整理（文件或书等） | |
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110
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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111
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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112
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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113
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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114
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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115
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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116
vacillation
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| n.动摇；忧柔寡断 | |
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117
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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118
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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119
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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120
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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121
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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122
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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123
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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124
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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125
bureaucrats
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| n.官僚( bureaucrat的名词复数 )；官僚主义；官僚主义者；官僚语言 | |
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126
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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127
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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128
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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129
reprisals
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| n.报复（行为）( reprisal的名词复数 ) | |
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130
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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131
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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132
engender
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| v.产生，引起 | |
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133
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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134
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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135
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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136
soviets
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| 苏维埃（Soviet的复数形式） | |
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137
agrarian
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| adj.土地的，农村的，农业的 | |
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138
abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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139
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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140
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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141
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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142
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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143
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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144
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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145
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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146
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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147
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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148
augmenting
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| 使扩张 | |
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149
evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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150
rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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151
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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152
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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153
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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154
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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155
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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156
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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157
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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158
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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159
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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160
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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161
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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162
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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163
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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164
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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165
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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166
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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167
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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168
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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169
turpitude
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| n.可耻；邪恶 | |
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170
perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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171
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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173
rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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174
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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175
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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176
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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177
visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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178
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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179
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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180
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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181
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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182
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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183
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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184
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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185
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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186
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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187
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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188
unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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189
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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190
straightforwardness
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| n.坦白，率直 | |
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191
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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192
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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193
elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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194
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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