Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Between Jules and Nicolai, Trotsky sensed there lay another, more significant chasm. In hindsight he realised that this was the difference that would later come to tear the Party asunder but at this point, as a new spectator witnessing the evolving conflict of personality traits and policy differences between the two men, he could not yet define its nature. The one thing he knew instinctively was that Jules Martov was invariably kind to people, and Nicolai Lenin was only kind when he felt it would benefit his position. As Trotsky was later to admit to himself, lying in the hospital bed in Berezovo, it was possible to like Jules but not to admire him, and to admire Nicolai but not to like him.

Of the two, Trotsky recognised, Nicolai had proved the more influential; especially on his own writing style. Under Nicolai’s mentorship he had turned out article after article for Iskra without rejection. This was not to say his first drafts were accepted uncritically. Nicolai did not hesitate to point out those passages where his analysis was woolly or his style too florid, and to let him know that Georgi Plekhanov, the editor in chief, shared his opinion. By adopting a more disciplined prose style (although still too flamboyant for Nicolai’s taste), he had become a better writer and had seen his contributions gradually gain a prominence on Iskra’s pages second only to Nicolai’s dry theoretical expositions and Martov’s biting political commentaries.

Yet, despite the help that Nicolai had generously provided, the charge of unkindness stuck. Trotsky had witnessed Nicolai’s caustic wit on more than one occasion, and knew well he used rudeness and sarcasm to demean those comrades who disagreed with him. In the same situation Jules would smile and shake his head, acknowledging that it was inevitable in a democratic party that friends would hold different opinions. But not Nicolai Lenin.

Nicolai had a personal compulsion not just to be right but to be recognised as being right, and to stand in judgement on those who disagreed with him. His London alias – Dr. Richter – revealed more than it hid. Nicolai also believed that personal relationships of any sort were of secondary importance to the work of the Revolution. Long standing friendships were of no account. As for romantic love – pah! At best, such liaisons were a distraction; more often, an impediment to effective revolutionary action.

And there was the other thing. Nicolai and Nadezhda not only worked more hours than Jules and Vera in the service of the revolution, they were more cunning. Through self-discipline, self-sacrifice and unremitting hard work the couple had not only conquered the shiftless patterns of émigré life, they had also established control of the Party’s intelligence network at Holford Square. It was not to be wondered that Nicolai so often carried the initiative at the Iskra editorial meetings, as he always possessed advance news of developments in Russia and elsewhere from the messages that Nadezhda had decoded the night before. Once or twice Trotsky even suspected the older man of holding back intelligence from Party activists so that he could make a prediction that would be borne out a few days later by the outcome of events, but he could never prove this. Yet perversely it was Nicolai whom he strove to impress and in whose high opinion he sought to be held, knowing all the while how tenuous that position would prove.

If Vera had sensed that her ‘Young Eagle’ was gently pulling away from her and tactfully distancing himself from her orbit, she had not appeared to mind. Her heart was large; too large, Nicolai had hinted more than once, for the work that lay before them. She and Trotsky had remained friends and it was to her that Trotsky had turned when he had, inevitably, over-reached himself.

It had been his own fault; nobody else could be blamed. Subject to Nicolai’s persistent flow of critical praise and not wishing to appear inadequate to his mentor, he had foolishly agreed to give a public lecture in Whitechapel and had compounded his error by exaggerating his experience in public speaking. He now confessed to Vera that he had never spoken in public before. Once years ago, she learned, he had tried to impress Alexandra by haranguing his group of friends in Shivorgsky’s market garden but it had been a wretched performance; a complete fiasco. He had crept away and wept and had sworn never to attempt such a thing again. And now this engagement in Whitechapel! A public lecture in front of comrades outlining the current situation in Russia and arguing Iskra’s position that the struggle called for the creation of a new type of Party, radically different from anything that had gone before. He was dreading it, but what could he do? Patting his arm, she had told him not to worry. She would find a way to help him get over his nerves.