Michael Pearson

The Sealed Train
Chapter 2

In 1900, Lenin’s three-year exile in the Siberian village of Shushenskoye came to an end, but Russia was no longer practical as a place for revolutionary work—as he and his friend Julius Martov soon discovered when they paid a visit to St. Petersburg.  For they were still formally banned from the city as troublemakers and the police picked them up very quickly.1

There was too much unrest in Russia at the turn of the century, too much talk of revolution, too many strikes.  So they selected Munich as a base of operation to set up a new project that Lenin had conceived at Shushenskoye—a journal that would form the tactical backbone of a united social democratic party, that would guide and inform members as well as establish a secret underground network of agents.

The agents would distribute it, spread party propaganda through local cells and channel information to the Central Committee.  The journal would help create a cohesive party that until then had consisted of a series of independent groups.

The name they selected for it was Iskra (“The Spark”), chosen from the motto of the Decembrists, the first of the Russian revolutionaries who had staged an abortive attempt to overthrow the Tsar in 1825 :  “Out of the spark shall spring the flame.”  It was printed in close small type on onionskin designed for convenient smuggling.

Lenin was thirty when he crossed the border into Germany.  Nine years before, as an extramural student at Petersburg University, he had gained his law degree and begun practicing.  About the same time he had become an active revolutionary.  At first, he had worked for several small militant groups, but by the time he was arrested he was beginning to realize that no real progress could be made without a formal party organization.

Lenin’s brother Sasha, like most revolutionaries of the nineteenth century, had been a Narodnik—a member of the People’s Will Party, committed to terror as a technique and to the emerging view that socialism could be built on the structure of the peasant communes that already existed throughout Russia.

At first, Lenin too had been a Narodnik until, like many other young radicals, he began to read Karl Marx.  Marx theorized that capitalism—a stage that all industrial nations, including back­ward Russia, must go through—would inevitably disintegrate because it carried within it the forces of its own destruction.  Socialism would then emerge through power being grasped, not by the peasants, but by the proletariat, the workers, the fast­growing numbers of men and women who were exploited by capital.

Social Democracy, based on Marxism, had little use for terror since its whole theory was rooted in social development.  Force in the form of an uprising might have to be employed at a final stage of the revolution—when a lingering power might still be held by the old order—but the conditions, the setting, must already have matured.  Education of the masses, not assassina­tion of the Tsars, was the keynote of its philosophy—as it was, of course, of Iskra.

Lenin had only known Martov a few weeks before his arrest—they had met in Petersburg to discuss a merger of their two very small groups—but he had warmed to him immediately, which was strange, for they were very different types of men.

Martov, with a rather mournful bearded face and glasses that were always clouded and slipping down his nose, was gregarious, fluent, a man for whom all-night cafes were a natural setting.

By contrast, Lenin was far more remote.  Privacy was vital to him.  Even when he was in company including close comrades, he maintained a reserve.  “There was an invisible barrier,” wrote Valentinov, “a line dividing Lenin from other party members and I never saw anyone cross it.”

Lenin and Martov worked well together and shared a deep mutual respect that, for all their bitter conflict later, they were never to lose.  They chose Munich to start Iskra partly because the German Social Democrats formed the most vigorous Marxist party in Europe—and had agreed to help produce and distribute the new journal—but also because it was the home of a young radical journalist, a Social Democrat, named Alexander Helphand who wrote under the pseudonym of Parvus.  Parvus was to be very important in Lenin’s life—so important that in July, 1917, their association would almost destroy him.  But that was a very different Parvus—rich and an agent of the Germans, with millions of marks at his disposal.  In 1900, as a young man of reputation much respected in revolutionary circles, Parvus lived in the Munich suburb of Schwabing.  The first eight issues of Iskra were printed in Parvus’ home on a special illegal press, fitted with a device that could instantly destroy the printing frame in the event of a police raid.

From the start Lenin knew that if Iskra was to gain the major support of Russian Social Democrats, he needed the backing of the three most famous of the older generation of Marxists :  George Plekhanov, Paul Alexrod and Vera Zasulich.

While Martov toured Russia recruiting agents, Lenin traveled to Geneva to persuade Plekhanov, whose writings he much admired, to join the Iskra board.  The Iskra board consisted of the three older-generation Marxists and three young men—­Lenin, Martov and a comrade who had helped them to conceive the project, Alexander Potresov.  It was an explosive partner­ship, mainly because of the inevitable clashes between Lenin and Plekhanov, the lions of different eras, but it was eased to some extent by the fact that Iskra was edited in Munich, far from Geneva.

Nadya became secretary of Iskra, maintaining contact with the network of agents.  “The odor of burnt paper was almost noticeable in her room,” Trotsky was to write later, though he had not met her at this stage.

Nadya came from a similar kind of social background to Lenin’s, with parents who were minor nobility.  By the time they moved to Schwabing, they had known each other for six years—since they first met in Petersburg at a Pancake Party on Shrove Tuesday.  They had worked for the same Social Democrat group, engaged in promoting strikes and unrest, that led to the arrest at different times of both of them—and of Martov.  Their relationship was strangely passionless.  They shared an obsession for revolution and Lenin’s letters reveal little emotion at a personal level.  Engaged or married couples were permitted to spend their exile together.  Lenin needed a secretary and Nadya could write a beautiful copperplate hand—useful for the final copies of manuscripts that Lenin was writing in exile.  When she told the authorities she was his fiancée and applied to join him, Lenin confirmed this.  She arrived in Shushenskoye, with her mother, who continued to live with them much of the time, even when they had left Siberia.  Shortly afterward they married.  It was primarily a working relation­ship—marriage anyway was deprecated by revolutionaries as bourgeois—but they shared a common sense of humor as well as common ideals, and it was not unhappy.

By the end of 1901 the Russian Social Democratic Party, with its focal center of Iskra, had become an organization—crude and marked by friction, but a political entity nevertheless.  The Okhrana was eyeing it a trifle nervously.  At their request, the local police brought pressure on the German Social Democrats.  They wanted Iskra out of the country.  So the editors moved to London.

Lenin and Nadya rented two unfurnished rooms in Holford Square, Finsbury.  Martov had gone to live with Vera Zasulich and another comrade in what Lenin referred to as a “commune.”  Vera did her best to calm the conflicts between Lenin, often sensitive to criticism, and the older Plekhanov, touchy and often heavy-handed.

Relations became even more soured after Trotsky’s arrival in London, since Plekhanov loathed the young man.  Lenin had been waiting for Trotsky eagerly, for friends in Russia had written that this young revolutionary from the Ukraine, who had escaped from Siberia and joined the Iskra organization in Samara, was a “young eagle.”

He had knocked loudly on their door early one morning when both of them were still asleep—giving the secret triple knock.  Nadya had opened the door in her dressing gown.  “Pero is here,” she had called to Lenin.  “Pero,” meaning “Pen,” was one of Trotsky’s pseudonyms.

He was twenty-three, dark, bespectacled and dramatic.  Over tea in the kitchen, Lenin had grilled him about the party in Russia, and Trotsky had warned him of the poor condition of Iskra’s frontier organization.

Lenin had taken him for a walk through London and showed him Westminster Abbey—“Their famous Westminster.”  Trotsky told him that in prison in Moscow he, like other political prisoners, had studied Lenin’s first book, The Development of Capitalism in Russia, written in Siberia.  “We often spoke with astonishment of this colossal work,” Trotsky told him.

“Indeed,” answered Lenin with a smile, “it was not all done at once.”

Lenin tried to promote Trotsky onto the Iskra editorial board, but predictably, since it would have strengthened the younger element, Plekhanov checked the move.  The friction with Plekhanov, however, was not so important then in 1903 as the conflict that had been growing, at first almost imperceptibly, between Lenin and Martov.  It exploded at the party congress in August—the first major conference that was truly representative of party delegates from Russia and all over Europe.

It was at this congress that deliberately, once he found he could not carry it in the way he thought it ought to go, Lenin split the party.  It was a conflict that continued for fourteen years until the climax was acted out in November, 1917. Lenin was a strategist.  He was concerned with practical power.  As he had detailed in a pamphlet a few months earlier, What Is to Be Done ?, he believed the party should be a tight organization of highly disciplined full-time secret workers, controlled on a semimilitary basis through local cells and area commands, by a small central committee.

Martov was far more of a democrat in the Western sense of the word.  He wanted a broad party open to anyone who gave it “regular personal cooperation.”  To Lenin this was too insipid to achieve successful revolution, too open to compromise, too “soft.”  He demanded “personal participation” as a require­ment for membership, by which he meant full-time dedication.

On the membership question, the voting went with Martov—­despite feverish behind-the-scene activity by Lenin.  The division colored the whole congress and was reflected in other issues.  The delegates split into “hard” and “soft” and eventually into “Bolsheviks” (men of the majority) and “Mensheviks” (men of the minority).

Even the naming was tactical, the “Bolsheviks” being chosen by Lenin on the basis of one issue in which his faction had won a majority vote.  The very fact that Martov accepted the minority labeling was evidence of an attitude that was essentially “soft.”

The split was permanent.  Attempts at sealing the division were made repeatedly over the years, but they never succeeded on any kind of permanent basis.  For the two viewpoints were basically in conflict.  They represented different philosophies.

In fact, they represented different sorts of people, too.  The Mensheviks attracted the Marxist intellectuals and most of the exiles.  The Bolsheviks, too, had their intellectuals but they appealed especially to the committee men, the provincial party workers, the professional revolutionaries—“the bacteria of revolution,” as Lenin called them.  In essence, the “hards” were militants, the “softs” favored debate.

Plekhanov supported Lenin at the congress but later wavered and finally joined Martov.  Trotsky tried to stay in middle ground over the issue that was splitting the party, but later he, too, moved toward Martov—though not completely, for Trotsky was an independent.

It caused a personal split between Lenin and Trotsky that, even by March, 1917, was not healed.  To Lenin, Trotsky, like many of his opponents he wished to abuse, was now “Comrade Voroshilov,” a character in Turgenev’s novel Smoke.  To Trotsky, Lenin became a “despot.”  When he spoke of the “victory of the Proletariat,” his one-time protegé wrote acidly, he meant victory over the proletariat.

For a few months after the congress, Lenin continued to edit Iskra, but Martov refused to participate.  Relations with the others became difficult.  At last, he resigned, leaving virtually all the previous party leaders with Martov.

Lenin and Nadya went walking in the Swiss mountains, his usual therapy when the strain became too great.  Then he returned to Geneva, where they had now gone to live, and with a tiny nucleus of twenty two persons who supported the Bolshevik view and his leadership, he started his own organization.

For more than a year, the conflict between the two groups, fought out in virulent articles, speeches and even personal meetings, was excessively bitter.  Lenin, almost like a wounded animal, stood alone with his nucleus of supporters against virtually all the others.

Then, for a brief period, their feuding was dwarfed by 1905—a crisis year after which nothing was ever quite the same again.

To the exile colony in Geneva, the news in January of “Bloody Sunday”—when troops drawn up before the Tsar’s Winter Palance in Petersburg had opened fire on an unarmed crowd led by a priest named Father Gapon—had been an emotional shock of extraordinary impact.  Lenin and Nadya had gone to the émigré restaurant of Lepeshinsky, where other dazed comrades had assembled.  “The people gathered there hardly spoke a word to one another they were so excited,” wrote Nadya.  “With tense faces they sang the revolutionary Funeral March [for the hundreds of dead in Palace Square].  Everyone was overwhelmed with the thought that the revolution had commenced.”

In fact, the revolution had not commenced, though the public outrage that followed the “massacre” had led to strikes, peasant insurrections, even a naval mutiny.

Lenin had flung himself into a study of military tactics for the armed revolt he knew was imminent, pouring through such works as General Cluseret’s On Street Fighting and Von Clausewitz’s celebrated On War.

Not that he thought that the revolution would be successful.  When a young Bolshevik from Kazan came to see him in Geneva and asked what the Russian Bolsheviks should do, Lenin snapped, “One thing, an armed uprising—an immediate armed uprising.”

The Kazan comrade replied that the Bolsheviks within Russia did not think that an uprising at this time could end in victory.  “Victory?” echoed Lenin.  “What do we care about victory? . . . We want the uprising to shake the foundations of the autocracy and set the broad masses in motion.  Our task will then be to attract those masses to our cause. . . . The uprising is what matters.”

In the autumn, as the situation in Russia grew tenser with the humiliation of the nation in the war with Japan, Lenin lashed the comrades in Petersburg for their failure to stimulate action.  “I’m appalled . . .” he wrote, “to see that more than half a year has been spent in talk about bombs—and not a single bomb has yet been made.  Go to the youth.  Or else, by God, you will be too late.”

There was talk of a “Soviet” in Russia—a council of delegates from workers’ strike committees who could coordi­nate action—conceived initially on the lines of the Committees of Correspondence and the Continental Congresses of the American Revolution.  Trotsky, Parvus and Axelrod all wrote of the need for such a body as a base for joint action by the workers.

In October, in the tense political climate, a small printers’ strike flared into a complete nationwide stoppage.  By the end of the month a Soviet was being formed in Petersburg to take over the leadership of the strike—with twenty-three-year-old Trotsky playing the dominant role—and other cities were following this lead.

Anxiously, the Tsar bowed to the pressure—and issued a manifesto granting a parliament, elections and freedom of speech.  But the militant revolutionaries did not believe it.  The jails, as Trotsky declared, were still full of political prisoners.  Dramatically, before a crowd of thousands, he tore the manifesto into pieces and began to exploit further the power of the strike weapon.  For one thing had become wonderfully clear :  The people were willing to obey the Soviet.

Others, too, read the message.  Reaction swept the country in a form that was to be a constant danger to the forces of revolution—and to reach a climax in 1917.  Extralegal bands of right-wing extremists, often armed and encouraged by the police, began to stomp the country under the banner of Holy Russia, singing the national anthem, “God Save the Tsar.”  Their organizations bore such titles as The Black Hundreds.  They were to be Lenin’s bitterest enemies—especially in 1917.

To combat the violence of these bands, workers in the factories formed fighting companies of armed men.  That, also, was to be a pattern repeated in 1917.

In December the Tsar struck.  The Izmailovsky Regiment arrested the whole Executive Committee of the Petersburg Soviet.  In response, the Moscow Soviet declared a strike.  The workers took to the Moscow streets, and the troops sympa­thized with them.  Twice Cossack units refused to charge.  And up went the barricades.

The government sent in the crack Semenovsky Guards.  They cornered the armed militants in the Presnya workers’ district of Moscow—and then shelled the area for three days.  Hundreds were killed, including eighty-six children.  It was an appropriate end to a year that had started with the massacre in the snow of Palace Square on “Bloody Sunday.”

For Lenin, the important aspect was that revolutionaries had been fighting in the streets.  It could happen—and it could happen again on a much bigger scale.  The few hundred dead in Moscow that December were the price of militant experience.  “The one who has been whipped is worth two who have not,” he commented.

Lenin and Nadya arrived in Petersburg in November, 1905, and typically he insisted that they should live separately under false identities.  He was taking no chances.  Nineteen hundred and six was a year of repression, of rigorous police activity, of brutal raids, officially approved, by Black Hundreds gangs.

Lenin moved with Nadya to Finland, which, though part of the Russian Empire, had a degree of autonomy and was safer than Petersburg.  The Moscow rising in December and the conflicts between the workers and the Black Hundreds had left Lenin with a taste for militancy—and a zest for robbing banks as a way of raising party funds.  He urged his followers to give top priority to military training.  By the end of 1905 an organization of fighting squads had been set up.

By then, faced as they all were with an immediate common aim, even Lenin had urged a move to unity of Bolsheviks and Mensheviks.  In 1906 Lenin was once more on the Central Committee of the combined Russian Social Democratic Party, and by careful and characteristic tactics, he won control of its military bureau.

The Mensheviks, who dominated the Central Committee, were strongly opposed to violent tactics, but they did approve Lenin’s proposal that defensive actions could be conducted against the Black Hundreds, who were a severe harassment in certain areas.

Exploiting this vote, Lenin set up a secret center and treasury within the party—secret, he insisted, because of the danger of Okhrana infiltration.

His squads mounted a series of bank raids, most of the proceeds of which went into his secret treasury, which he used to finance Bolshevik interests.  Several of these were handled by an incredible cross-eyed Caucasian bandit codenamed Kamo, who had been a friend since boyhood of Joseph Stalin,2 from whom he now took orders.

Kamo’s most dramatic raid was the seizure from a carriage on its way to the State Bank at Tiflis of 341,000 rubles that he then smuggled across the Russian border in a hat box.  But the notes were all of high denomination—500 rubles—and the changing of them for other currencies without attracting attention in Western Europe would clearly be difficult.

Lenin planned that the notes should be split up and, at the same time of the same December day, should be presented at a range of banks in different cities.

As was to happen so often, one of Lenin’s key men was an Okhrana spy.  On the day of the operation, local police were waiting.

The bank raid—which was hardly the kind of defensive operation the party had approved—promoted a violent reaction against Lenin from the Mensheviks.  Paul Axelrod wrote to Martov :  “How can one remain in the same party as the Bolsheviks ?”  Plekhanov insisted :  “The whole affair is so outrageous that it is really high time for us to break off relations with the Bolsheviks.”  To which Lenin merely commented coolly :  “When I see Social Democrats announcing . . . `We are no anarchists, no thieves . . . we are above that . . . then I ask myself :  Do these people understand what they are saying ?”

In 1911, Martov published a long document indicting him.  It marked the now irreversible split between the two men—and the two factions.

By then, Lenin and Nadya had been back in Europe for three years and he was heading the new team that would still be with him in November, 1917.  In 1908, Gregory Zinoviev had been released from jail in Petersburg and had arrived in Geneva with his wife, Zina.  They had been followed a few weeks later by the Kamenevs—Leo and Olga, who was Trotsky’s sister.

Gregory Zinoviev and Leo Kamenev helped Lenin edit Proletarii, the party journal, and formed with him the operational core of the new Bolshevik organization.  Both of them were twenty-five, as compared with Lenin, who was then thirty-eight.  Kamenev was the stronger personality.  With a beard, a quiet voice and wise-looking eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles, he gave an impression of authority that was beyond his years.  Although Zinoviev had been a revolutionary just as long as Kamenev, he seemed younger and slighter.  He had a strangely high-pitched voice, was stocky, a bit plump, with thick curly black hair and a pallid skin that suggested he did not spend enough time out of doors.

The three Bolsheviks—Lenin, Kamenev and Zinoviev—­became known as the Troika.  From Geneva, they all moved to Paris.  With their wives, they formed the nucleus of the Bolshevik community that would often meet in the cafes of the Avenue d’Orleans, near the Lenin’s home.  Money was always short.  Nadya was highly amused when a newcomer to the city asked Lenin the price of veal and goose.  “I could have told him the price of horsemeat and lettuce,” she remarked.

It was in Paris in 1910 that the Troika was joined by a new comrade—Inessa Armand—whose impact on Lenin was trau­matic.  She was thirty-one, a striking woman with untidy chestnut hair, dark gray eyes and an electric personality.  Like most of the revolutionary women, she wore severe unfeminine clothes.  Completely fluent in five languages, she played the piano brilliantly and possessed an intellect that led to a rapport with Lenin he had known with no other woman in his life.

By birth she was French, being the daughter of a Parisian vaudeville comic, but she was married to a Russian industrialist whom she had met as a teen-ager through her grandmother, who had the post of tutor in his family home near Moscow.  She had left her husband, together with her five children, to devote herself to revolutionary politics.

Inessa had modeled herself on Vera Pavlovna, the free-living liberated heroine of Nicholas Chernyshevsky’s novel What Is to Be Done ? that had grasped Lenin’s imagination when he was still a teen-ager—and, for that matter, that of most of the other revolutionaries of his generation.  Deliberately, he had used the same title for his important pamphlet before the split in 1903.

Chernyshevsky’s Vera Pavlovna rejected the traditional concept of wife and mother.  In their home she had her own room, and her husband had his, so that unquestioned they could entertain their own friends.  She took lovers, was gripped by a great need to correct social injustice, and when eventually she deserted her husband and children, she did so without quarrels or agonized hesitation.

By the time she met Lenin, Inessa had done much the same.  Finally, she had gone to live with her husband’s younger brother, Vladimir—and had been shattered by his death from tuberculosis the year before she met Lenin.  By that time she was a veteran revolutionary.  She had been arrested three times, jailed, and had even escaped from exile in Archangel in Russia’s Arctic north.  She was an ardent Bolshevik, having been as struck by Lenin’s pamphlet What Is to Be Done ?, which she had read six years before, as she had been by Chernyshevsky’s novel.

To the Troika and the comrades of the Bolshevik community, Lenin’s reaction to Inessa was astonishing.  He had displayed little interest in women before—except purely as comrades.  Yet with Inessa he would go alone to the cafes in the Avenue d’Orleans and behave with her in a way that moved the socialist Charles Rappaport to comment how “Lenin with his little mongol eyes gazes all the time at this little ‘Française.’ . . .”

She was the only person, outside his family and Martov, whom he ever addressed in letters by the intimate pronoun ty instead of the usual polite second-person vy.  Even Zinoviev and Kamenev, his two closest comrades were vy, as indeed were their wives, whom he saw several times a week.

At a party level, he relied on her at times even more than on his comrades in the Troika.  When in the summer of 1911, he started a school for revolutionaries in the village of Long­jumeau, near Paris, Inessa was the only woman lecturer, alternating with Lenin himself in the course on political economy.

She handled his translations and traveled on his instructions, often carrying out complex and delicate tasks, for which her languages were an important asset.  She attended conferences for him, acting under highly strategical briefings.  Sometimes she would resist, and he would beg her—“Consent, do!”—for if he saw a task as necessary, he would employ any method to achieve this end.

When she was not with him, he wrote to her frequently—­mostly about politics, for politics were his life—but often anxiously and sometimes with deep personal concern.  Repeat­edly, he would complain of her silences, when she would leave letter after letter unanswered.  Sometimes, this was due to postal delays—especially in the war—but there were clearly times when she was punishing him or possibly just trying to reduce his importance in her life.

He would share with her his triumphs.  “Victory !  Hurrah !  The majority are for us,” he wrote from a congress in Brussels.

Her music had an enormous effect on him—especially Beethoven’s Pathétique and Appassionata sonatas.  Years later, after Inessa had died of typhus, when he was listening to a recording of the Appassionata with Maxim Gorky, Lenin confided that “it is amazing more-than-human music.  I want to utter gentle stupidities and stroke the heads of people. . . . who can create such beauty.”

Nadya expected him to leave her for Inessa.  For this would have conformed with the mores of the revolutionaries, with the philosophy of individual freedom and honesty expounded by Chernyshevsky and also by Turgenev, whom Lenin greatly admired.

Several times, according to Alexandra Kollontai,3 Nadya told him she was leaving, but on each occasion he asked her to stay—possibly because of a lingering bourgeois past or of a sense that a broken marriage was undesirable in a future statesman, even a revolutionary, or maybe because she provided a stability that at times he lacked.

Nadya agreed to stay with him, but, so Lydia Fotieva, another comrade, reported, she gave up sharing his room and moved in with her mother—at any rate for a while.

For a time, as they moved from city to city, Inessa lived with them both so intimately that the relationship was almost a menage-d-trois—not usually in the same house but always close, either next door or just across the road.  In her writings, Nadya refers to her warmly and occasionally in idyllic terms.  “We would wander for hours along the forest roads covered with fallen yellow leaves . . .” she wrote about a fine autumn in Berne.  “Sometimes we would sit for hours on the sunlit, wooded mountainside, while Ilyich [Lenin] jotted down outlines of his speeches and articles. . . . I would study Italian. . . . Inessa would sew a skirt....”

In 1911 the Tsar changed his policy again and once more permitted the election of a Duma and even a degree of free speech.  For a short time, Pravda could be published openly, and the Ulyanovs and the Zinovievs moved to Cracow, in Austrian Poland, close to the Russian border, so that they could write articles, help direct the paper and maintain a close contact with the party network.  Inessa joined them for periods.

Zina Zinovieva, operating under her maiden name Lilina, helped Nadya with the secret correspondence that, to avoid the censors, was often mailed within Russia by peasant women who came across the border to shop in Cracow markets.

Articles were sent to Petersburg daily by train, being written after a morning editorial conference in the kitchen of the house they shared.

For a time, the exiles could even be optimistic once more.  There were Bolshevik delegates in the Duma, but then repression followed on the previous pattern, and there was news of arrests—of Stalin, of Inessa, who had crossed the border on a special mission with another comrade, of George Safarov and eventually of Kamenev, who had returned to Petersburg with his family to take control of Pravda.

When war broke out in 1914, they moved back to Switzerland, first to Berne, where they were joined by a returned Inessa, who rented a house across the road, and then to Zurich.

Switzerland became an island of neutrality to which, by choice or necessity, many Russian revolutionaries hurried from the belligerent countries.  It was a traditional refuge for Russian political exiles.  There was even a Russian library in Geneva.  But with Europe gripped in war, and the barriers that this created against the movement both of people and mail, the climate became stifling.  Grimly, Lenin worked in this cultural vacuum to prepare for the world that he was sure would emerge from the carnage of the trenches.

1 Main sources :  N.K. Krupskaya, Memories of Lenin ;  Richard Pipes, Social Democracy and the St. Petersburg Labor Movement ;  J. Freville, Inessa Armand—a Great Character of the Russian Revolution (F) ;  Bertram Wolfe, Three Who Made a Revolution and “Lenin and Inessa Armand,” in Slavic Review, 1963 ;  R.H. McNeal, Bride of the Revolution ;  Leon Trotsky, Lenin and My Life ;  Valentinov, Encounters with Lenin ;  Lilina (Zina Zinovieva), Leningradskaya Pravda, 1924, No. 22 (R) ;  Z.A.B. Zeman and W.B. Scharlau, Merchant of Revolution ;  D.W. Treadgold, Lenin and His Rivals.

2 I refer to Joseph Djugashvili as “Stalin” to avoid confusion, though, in fact, he did not assume this cover name until 1912, some five years later.

3 According to Marcel Body, an aide in Alexandra Kollontai’s embassy when she was a Soviet ambassador, in “Alexandra Kollontai,” Preuves (April, 1952).