ANDRL GIDE

BACK FROMTHE U. S.S.R.

THIRD IMPRESSION

LONDONMARTIN SECKERAND WARBURG LTD22 Essex Street Strand

CONTENTSPAGE

FOREWORD I I

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R . 18APPENDIX

I . Speech delivered on the occasionof Maxim Gorki's funeral

89II. Speech to the Students of Moscow 95

III. Speech to the Men-of-Letters ofLeningrad

zooIV. The Anti-religious Struggle 104

V. Ostrovski logVI . A Kolkhose

112

VII. Bolshevo

115VIII. The Besprizornis

118

The Homeric Hymn to Demeter relates howthe great goddess, in the course of her wanderings insearch of her daughter, came to the court of 1Celeos .No one recognized the goddess under the borrowedform of a humble wet-nurse ; and Queen Metaneiraentrusted to her care her latest-born child, the infantDemophoon, afterwards known as Triptolemus, thefounder of agriculture .

Every evening, behind closed doors, while thehousehold was asleep, Demeter took little Demophoonout of his comfortable cradle and with apparentcruelty, though moved in reality by a great love anddesirous of bringing him eventually to the state ofgodhood, laid the naked child on a glowing bed ofembers. I imagine the mighty Demeter bendingmaternally over the radiant nursling as over thefuture race of mankind. He endures the fierycharcoal ; he gathers strength from the ordeal .Something superhuman is fostered in him, somethingrobust, something beyond all hope glorious . Ah !had Demeter only been able to carry through her boldattempt, to bring her daring venture to a successfulissue ! But Metaneira becoming anxious, says thelegend, burst suddenly into the room where theexperiment was being carried on and guided by hermistaken fears, thrust aside the goddess at her workof forging the superman, pushed away the embersand, in order to save the child, lost the god .

FOREWORD

THREE years ago I declared my admiration,my love, for the U.S.S.R . An unprecedentedexperiment was being attempted there, whichfilled our hearts with hope and from which weexpected an immense advance, an impetuscapable of carrying forward in its stride thewhole human race. It is indeed worth whileliving, I thought, in order to be present at thisre-birth, and worth while giving one's life inorder to help it on . In our hearts and in ourminds we resolutely linked the future ofculture itself with the glorious destiny of theU.S.S.R. We have frequently said so. Weshould have liked to be able to repeat it onceagain .

Already, without as yet having seen thingsfor ourselves, we could not but feel disturbedby certain recent decisions which seemed todenote a change of orientation .

At that time (October Iggg) I wrote thefollowing words :-

II

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R." It is largely moreover, the stupidity and

the unfairness of the attacks on the U .S.S.R.which make us defend it with some obstinacy .Those same yelpers will begin to approve theSoviet Union just as we shall cease to do so ;for what they will approve are those verycompromises and concessions which will makesome others say, ` We told you so ! ', but whichwill lead away from the original goal itproposed itself. Let us hope that in order tokeep our eyes fixed on that goal, we shall notbe obliged to avert them from the SovietUnion."

(N.R.F . March 1936 .)

Resolving, however, to maintain at all costsmy confidence until I had more to go upon,and preferring to doubt my own judgment .. Ideclared once more, four days after my arrivalin Moscow, in my speech in the Red Squareon the occasion of Gorki's funeral : " The fateof culture is bound up in our minds with thedestiny of the Soviet Union . We will defendit."I have always maintained that the wish to

remain true to oneself too often carries with ita risk of insincerity ; and I consider that ifever sincerity is important, it is surely when

1 2

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.the beliefs of great masses of people are involvedtogether with one's own .

If I had been mistaken at first, it would bebetter to acknowledge it at once, for in thiscase I am responsible for all those who mightbe led astray by this mistake of mine . Oneshould not allow feelings of personal vanity tointerfere ; and indeed such feelings are on thewhole foreign to me . There are things moreimportant in my eyes than myself, moreimportant than the U .S.S.R. These thingsare humanity, its destiny, and its culture .But was I mistaken at first ? Those who

have followed the evolution of the SovietUnion during a lapse of time no longer thanthe last year or so, can say whether it is I whohave changed or whether it is not rather theSoviet Union. And, by Soviet Union, I meanthe man at its head .

Others, more qualified than I am, will beable to tell us whether possibly this change oforientation is not in reality only apparent, andwhether what appears to us to be a derogation,is not a necessary consequence of certainprevious decisions .

The Soviet Union is " in the making " ; onecannot say it too often. And to that is duethe extraordinary interest of a stay in this

13

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .immense country which is now in labour ; onefeels that one is contemplating the parturitionof the future.

Good and bad alike are to be found there ;I should say rather-the best and the worst .The best was often achieved only by animmense effort . That effort has not alwaysand everywhere achieved what it set out toachieve. Sometimes one is able to think-notyet. Sometimes the worst accompanies andshadows the best ; it almost seems as if it werea consequence of the best . And one passesfrom the brightest light to the darkest shadewith a disconcerting abruptness. It oftenhappens that the traveller, according to hisown preconceived notions, only grasps oneside or the other. It too often happens thatthe friends of the Soviet Union refuse to seethe bad side, or at any rate refuse to admit thebad side ; so that, too often what is true aboutthe U.S.S.R. is said with enmity, and what isfalse with love .Now my mind is so constructed that its

severest criticisms are addressed to those whomI should like always to be able to approve. Toconfine oneself exclusively to praise is a badway of proving one's devotion, and I believe Iam doing the Soviet Union itself, and the cause

I 4

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.that it represents in our eyes, a greater serviceby speaking without dissimulation or indul-gence. It is precisely because of my admirationfor the Soviet Union and for the wonders ithas already performed, that I am going tocriticize-because of what we had expectedfrom it-above all because of what it hadallowed us to hope for.Who shall say what the Soviet Union has

been to us? More than a chosen land-anexample, a guide . What we have dreamt of,what we have hardly dared to hope, buttowards which we were straining all our willand all our strength, was coming into beingover there. A land existed where Utopia wasin process of becoming reality. Tremendousachievements had already made us exacting.The greatest difficulties appeared to have beenovercome, and we entered joyfully and boldlyinto the sort of engagement this land hadcontracted in the name of all suffering peoples .

Up to what point should we likewise feelourselves involved in case of failure ? But thevery idea of failure cannot be entertained .

If certain tacit promises have not been kept,what should be incriminated ? Should wethrow the responsibility on to the first direc-tives, or rather on to subsequent deviations

15

B

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .and compromises, however explicable thesemay be?

I give here my personal reflections on thethings that the Soviet Union takes pleasureand a legitimate pride in showing, and onwhat, side by side with these things, I was ableto observe. The achievements of the U .S.S.R.are usually admirable . Whole regions havealready taken on the smiling aspect of happi-ness. Those who approved me for leavingthe Governor's motor-car in the Congo, inorder to seek contact with all and sundry andthereby to learn something, can they reproachme for having had a similar end in view in theU.S.S.R. and for not letting myself be dazzled ?

I do not hide from myself the apparentadvantage that hostile parties-those whose"love of order is indistinguishable fromtheir partiality to tyrants " *-will try toderive from my book. And this would haveprevented me from publishing it, from writingit even, were not my conviction still firm andunshaken that, on the one hand the SovietUnion will end by triumphing over the seriouserrors that I point out, on the other, and this

* Tocqueville, On Democracy in America (Introduction) .z6

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

is more important, that the particular errorsof one country cannot suffice to compromise acause which is international and universal.Falsehood, even that which consists in silence,may appear opportune, as may perseverancein falsehood, but it leaves far too dangerousweapons in the hands of the enemy, and truth,however painful, only wounds in order to cure.

17

I

ENTERING into direct contact with a people ofworkers in factories, workshops and yards, ingardens, homes of rest and " parks of culture,"I had moments of intense joy . I felt theestablishment of a sudden sympathy betweenthese new comrades and myself ; I felt myheart expand and blossom . This is why I lookmore smiling-more laughing even-in thephotographs that were taken of me out there,than I am often able to be in France . Andhow often too the tears would start to my eyes-tears of overflowing joy, of tenderness andlove ! In that rest-home for the miners of theDon Basin, for instance, in the immediateneighbourhood of Sochi . . . No, no ! Therewas nothing artificial there, nothing that hadbeen prepared beforehand . I arrived oneevening unexpectedly, without having beenannounced, but there and then they won myconfidence .

z 8

BACK FROM THE U.S.S .R .And that impromptu visit I paid to the

children's camp near Borzhom-a modest, analmost humble place, but the children in it,radiant with health and happiness, seemed asthough they wanted to make me an offeringof their joy . What can I say? Words arepowerless to grasp so deep and simple anemotion. But why mention these rather thanso many others? Poets of Georgia, intellec-tuals, students, and above all workmen, howmany inspired me with the liveliest affection !I never ceased to regret my ignorance of theirlanguage. And yet their smiles, their eyesspoke so eloquently of sympathy that I beganto doubt whether much more could have beenadded by words. It must be said too that Iwas introduced everywhere as a friend, andwhat all these looks expressed as well was akind of gratitude. I wish I could deserve itstill better than I do ; and that is anothermotive that urges me to speak .

What they like showing you best are theirgreatest successes . Of course, and quitenaturally . But numberless times we cameunexpectedly upon village schools, children'splaygrounds, clubs, which no one thought of

19

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .showing us and which were no doubt indis-tinguishable from many others. It was thosethat I especially admired, precisely becausenothing had been prepared in them for show .

The children in all the pioneer camps Ivisited are handsome, well-fed (five meals aday), well cared for-made much of even-and merry. Their eyes are frank and trustful ;their laughter has nothing spiteful or maliciousin it ; they might well have thought usforeigners rather ridiculous ; not for a momentdid I catch in any one of them the slightesttrace of mockery.

This same look of open-hearted happiness isoften to be seen too among their elders, whoare as handsome, as vigorous, as the children .The " parks of culture," where they meet inthe evening after the day's work is over, areunquestionable successes ; the finest of themall is the one at Moscow .

I used to go there often. It is a pleasureresort, something like a Luna-Park on animmense scale. Once inside the gates, youfeel yourself in a foreign land . These crowdsof young men and women behave withpropriety, with decency ; not the slightesttrace of stupid or vulgar foolery, of rowdiness,

20

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .of licentiousness, or even of flirtation . Thewhole place is pervaded with a kind of joyousardour. In one spot you find games beingorganized ; in another, dances ; they aregenerally started, led and directed by a manor woman captain, and are carried out inperfect order . Immense chains are formed inwhich anyone may join, but there are alwaysmany more spectators than performers . Inanother place, there are popular dances andsongs, accompanied usually by a simple accor-dion. Elsewhere, in an enclosure to whichaccess is free, the devotees of physical jerksexercise their acrobatic skill in various ways ;a professional trainer superintends the moredangerous movements, advises and guides ;further on are gymnastic apparatus, bars andropes ; everyone awaits his turn patientlywith mutual words of encouragement. A largespace of ground is reserved for volley-ball ; andI never tired of watching the strength, graceand skill of the players . Further on, you comeupon the section of quiet amusements-chess,draughts and quantities of trifling games whichdemand skill or patience ; some of these wereunfamiliar to me and extremely ingenious, aswere many other devices for exercising strength,suppleness or agility, which I had never seem

21

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .and cannot attempt to describe, though cer-tainly some of them would become popularwith us. Enough occupations were here to fillhours of one's time. Some were for adults,some for children . The smallest of these latterhave their own separate domain where theyare supplied with little houses, little boats, littlemotor-cars, and quantities of little tools adaptedto their size. In a broad path, following onfrom the quiet games (there are so manycandidates for these that sometimes you haveto wait a long time before finding a free table),wooden boards are set up on which are postedall sorts of riddles, puzzles and problems . Allthis, I repeat, without the smallest vulgarity ;these immense crowds behave with perfectpropriety and are manifestly inspired withgood feeling, dignity and decorum-and thattoo without any effort and as a matter ofcourse. The public, without counting thechildren, is almost entirely composed of workingpeople who come there for sports-training,amusement or instruction ; for reading-rooms,lecture-rooms, cinemas, libraries, etc ., are alsoprovided, and there are bathing pools on theMoskowa. Here and there too, in the immensepark, you come upon a miniature platformwhere an impromptu professor is haranguing-

22

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.giving object-lessons, or instruction in historyor geography, accompanied by blackboardillustrations -sometimes even in medicineor physiology, with copious reference toanatomical plates . Everybody listens withintense seriousness. I have already said thatI never anywhere caught the smallest attemptat mockery.

But here is something better still-a littleoutdoor theatre, the auditorium of which ispacked with some five hundred spectators,listening in religious silence to an actor who isreciting Pushkin (parts of Eugene Onegin) . Inanother corner of the park, near the entrance,is the parachute ground . This is a sport whichis highly appreciated in the U.S.S.R. Everytwo minutes or so, one of the three parachutesis launched from the top of a tower some130 feet high and lands its occupant somewhatroughly on the ground . On with you ! Who'llventure next ? Volunteers press forward,wait for their turn, line up in queues .And still I haven't mentioned the great open-

* "And you think that a good thing ? " cried myfriend X . , when I told him this. " Mockery,irony, criticism are all of a piece. The child who isincapable of making fun will turn into the credulous andsubmissive youth whom later on you, my dear mocker,will critize for his conformity . Give me French banter-even if I'm the one to suffer from it."

23

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.air theatre, where for certain performancesclose upon twenty thousand spectators as-semble .The Moscow park of culture is the largest

and best, provided with various attractions ;the one in Leningrad is the most beautiful .But every town in the Soviet Union nowpossesses a park of culture, besides children'splaygrounds and gardens .I also visited, of course, a good many

factories. I know and constantly say to myselfthat the prosperity and happiness of thegenerality depend on their good management .But I am not qualified to speak of this . It hasbeen done by others, to whose encomiums Irefer you. My domain is the psychologicalside of things ; it is of this especially-ofthis almost solely-that I mean to treat . IfI glance indirectly at social questions, itwill still be from a psychological point ofview .

With increasing years, I feel less, far less,interested in scenery, however beautiful, andmore and more in men . The peoples of theSoviet Union are admirable-those of Georgia,of Kakhetia, of Abkhasia, of Ukraine (I

24

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

mention only those I saw) and even moreso to my mind, those of Leningrad and theCrimea .

I was present in Moscow at the Festival ofYouth in the Red Square. The ugliness of thebuildings opposite the Kremlin was concealedby a mask of streamers and greenery. Thewhole thing was splendid and-I make hasteto say it here, for I shan't always be able to-in perfect taste. The admirable youth of theSoviet Union, gathered together from theNorth and South, from the East and West, werehere on parade. The march past lasted forhours. I had never imagined so magnificent asight. These perfect forms had evidently beentrained, prepared, selected ; but how can onefail to admire a country and a regime capableof producing them ?I had seen the Red Square a few days

previously on the occasion of Gorki's funeral .I had seen the same people, the same and yethow different!-more like, I imagine, theRussians of the time of the Tzars. They filedpast the catafalque in the great Hall ofColumns, uninterruptedly, interminably. Thistime they did not consist of the handsomest,the strongest, the most joyful representativesof the Soviet peoples, but of an indiscriminate

25

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.concourse of suffering humanity-women, chil-dren, children especially, old people sometimes,nearly all of them badly dressed and somelooking in the depths of poverty . A silent,dreary, respectful and perfectly orderly pro-cession which seemed to have come up out ofthe past-a procession which lasted certainlymuch longer than the other (and glorious) one .I too stayed there a long time watching them .What was Gorki to all these people ? I canhardly imagine . A master? A comrade? Abrother ? At any rate someone who wasdead. And on all these faces-even on thoseof the youngest children-was imprinted a sortof melancholy stupor, but also, and above all,a force, a radiance of sympathy. There wasno question here of physical beauty, buthow many of the poor people I watchedpassing by presented me a vision of some-thing more admirable than beauty-howmany I should have liked to press to myheart !Nowhere, indeed, is contact with any and

everyone so easily established, so immediately,so deeply, so warmly, as in the U .S.S.R.There are woven in a moment-sometimes asingle look suffices-ties of passionate sympathy .Yes, I think that nowhere is the feeling of a

26

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.common humanity so profoundly, so stronglyfelt as in the U .S .S.R. In spite of the differenceof language, I had never anywhere felt myselfso fully a comrade, a brother ; and that isworth more to me than the finest scenery inthe world .

And yet, I will speak of the scenery too, butnot till I have related our first meeting with aparty of Komsomols.*

It was in the train that was taking us fromMoscow to Ordjonikidze (formerly Vladi-kaukas) . It is a long journey . MichaelKoltzov, in the name of the Union of SovietWriters, had put a very comfortable specialcarriage at our disposal . All six of us JefLast, Guilloux, Herbart, Schiffrin, Dabit, andmyself, together with our woman interpreter,faithful comrade Bola, were settled in unlooked-for comfort. Besides our compartments ofsleeping-berths, we had at our disposal acarriage which we could use as a sitting-roomand in which our meals were served . Nothingcould have been better . But what we didn'tlike so much-what we didn't like at all-was.that we were unable to communicate with therest of the train . At the first stopping-place,we had got out on to the platform and assured

•

Communist youth.27

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.ourselves that a particularly delightful companyoccupied the next-door carriage to ours-aholiday party of Komsomols on their way tothe Caucasus, with the intention of scalingMt. Kazbek. We at last managed to get thedividing doors opened, and there and then gotinto touch with our charming neighbours . Ihad brought with me from Paris a number oflittle toys necessitating patience and a steadyhand (variations of the old game of Pigs-in-Clover), and very different from anythingthat is to be found in the U .S.S.R. They helpme on occasion to get into touch with peoplewhose language I don't know. These toys werepassed round. Young men and girls tried theirhands at them and weren't satisfied till they hadvanquished every difficulty . " A Komsomol,"they said laughing, " will never allow himself tobe beaten." Their railway carriage was smalland stuffy, and the day was particularly hot ;we were all stifling, squashed up againsteach other as tight as could be ; it was dejlightful.

I should say that to a good many of them Iwas not altogether a stranger. Some of themhad read one or two of my books (generallyTravels in the Congo) and as, after my speech inthe Red Square, all the papers had published

28

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .my photograph, they at once recognized meand seemed extremely touched by the interestI showed in them, though no more than Imyself was by the expression of their sympathy .An animated argument soon arose. Jef Last,who understands Russian very well and speaksit too, explained that they thought the littletoys I had introduced were charming, but theywondered whether it was quite becoming thata man like Andre Gide should enjoy playingwith them. Jef Last had to pretend that thislittle relaxation served as a rest for my greycells. For a true Komsomol is always bent onservice, and judges everything from the pointof view of its utility. Oh ! without pedantry,and this discussion itself was interlarded withlaughter and carried on in a spirit of fun . Butas there was a considerable lack of fresh air intheir carriage, we invited a dozen or so of themto come through into ours, and the eveningwas spent in singing, and even dancing, theircountry songs and dances ; there was enoughroom in our carriage to allow of this . Thisevening remains one of the most delight-ful memories of our journey both for mycompanions and myself. And we doubtwhether in any other country such suddenand natural cordiality could be met with,

29

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.whether the youth of any other country is socharming.

I have said that I was less interested in thescenery. And yet I should like to say some-thing of the wonderful Caucasian forests-theone that lies on the outskirts of Kakhetia, theone in the neighbourhood of Batum, andespecially the one above Borzhom in Bakuriani ;it seems impossible to conceive-certainly I hadnever seen any more beautiful . No under-woods hide the great columns of the timber ;forests, interspersed with mysterious glades,where evening falls before the day's end andwhere one can imagine Hop o' my Thumblosing himself ! We passed through this mar-vellous forest on our way to a mountain lakewhich, we were told as an honour, no foreignershad ever visited before us . There was no needof that to make me admire it. On its treelessshores is a strange little village (Tabatzkuri)which lies buried under snow for nine months

* Another thing I especially liked in the U .S .S.R. isthe extraordinary rolongation of youth which, parti-cularly in France (but I think in all Latin countries),we are very little accustomed to. Youth is rich inpromise. A boy among us soon ceases to promise inorder to perform . Already, at fourteen years old, every-thing in him becomes stereotyped . Wonder at lifeis no longer to be seen on his face, nor the slightestingenuousness. The child becomes a young man withouttransition. Playtime is over. Les jeux sont fails .

3o

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

of the year, and which I should have liked todescribe. . . . Oh ! to have been there as asimple tourist ! Or as a naturalist, overjoyedat recognizing on those high plateaux theCaucasian scabious of his garden ! . . . Butit is not for this that I travelled to the U.S.S.R.The important thing for me here is man-men-what can be done with them, and what hasbeen done. The forest that attracts me, thefrightful tangle in which I am lost, is the forestof social questions . In the U.S.S.R. theysolicit you, press on you, oppress you on everyside .

II

I sAw very little of the new quarters ofLeningrad. In Leningrad it is St Petersburgthat I admire. I know no more beautiful city ;no more harmonious blending of stone, metal,*and water. It might be a dream of Pushkin'sor of Baudelaire's. Sometimes too it remindsone of Chirico's pictures . The buildings are per-fectly proportioned like the themes of a Mozartsymphony. " La tout n'est qu'ordre et beaute ."The mind moves in it easily and happily .I have no inclination for the moment to

speak of that prodigious picture-gallery, theHermitage ; nothing I could say about itwould satisfy me. And yet I should like inpassing to give a word of praise to the activityand intelligence which, whenever possible, havegrouped round each picture everything by thesame master that may help us to understandit-sketches, drawings, and studies whichexplain the work's slow formation .

* Copper domes and golden spires .32

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.On returning to it from Leningrad, Moscow

strikes one as being all the more ill-favoured .It actually has an oppressive and depressingeffect on one's spirits . The buildings, with afew rare exceptions, are ugly (not only the verymodern ones) and take no account the one ofthe other. I quite realise that Moscow ischanging from month to month and is a townin process of formation ; everything goes toprove it and everywhere one is conscious of thisstate of transition. But I am afraid it hasstarted badly . On all sides buildings are beingcut through, pulled down, undermined, sup-pressed, rebuilt, and all apparently athaphazard. But Moscow, in spite of itsugliness, remains an eminently engaging city ;it is supremely alive. Let us stop looking atthe houses. What interests me here is thecrowd .

During the summer months almost everyoneis dressed in white. Everyone is like everyoneelse. In no other place is the result of sociallevelling so obvious as in the streets of Moscow-a classless society of which every memberseems to have the same needs as every other .I exaggerate a little, but not much . There isan extraordinary uniformity in people's dress ;no doubt it would be equally apparent in their

33

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.minds, if one could see them. This too iswhat enables everyone to be and to lookcheerful . (People have for so long beenwithout almost everything that very littlecontents them . When one's neighbour is nobetter off than oneself, one puts up with whatone has got .) It is only after a searching studythat differences become visible . At first sightthe individual is sunk in the mass and so littleparticularised that one feels as though inspeaking of people here one ought to use acollective singular and say not, " here are men "but " here is some man." (As one says," here is some fruit," and not "here arefruits.")

Into this crowd I plunge. I take a bath ofhumanity.

What are those people doing in front of thatshop ? They are lined up in a queue-aqueue that stretches as far as the next street .There are two to three hundred of themwaiting very calmly and patiently. It is stillvery early. The shop has not yet opened .Three-quarters of an hour later I pass . byagain ; the same crowd is still there . I en-quire with astonishment what is the use of

34

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.their coming so long beforehand ? What dothey gain by it?

" What do they gain by it? Why, only thefirst-comers are served ."Then I learn that the newspapers have

announced a large arrival of-I forget what .(I think that day it was pillows .) There areperhaps four or five hundred articles for whichthere will be eight or ten or fifteen hundredwould-be buyers. Long before evening notone of the articles will be left over. The needsare so great and the public so numerous thatthe demand for a long time to come will begreater than the supply-much greater . Im-possible to satisfy it .

A few hours later I went into this shop . Itis enormous. Inside the crush is unbelievable .The servers, however, do not lose their heads,for no one about them shows the least sign ofimpatience ; everybody awaits his or her turn,seated or standing, sometimes carrying a child .There is no device for taking them in orderand yet there is no confusion . The wholemorning and, if necessary, the whole day willbe spent there, in an atmosphere which to aperson coming in from the outside seemsasphyxiating ; then one gets accustomed to it,as one gets accustomed to everything . I was

35

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

going to say, one becomes resigned . But theRussians are much more than resigned ; theyseem to enjoy waiting-and keep you waitingwith enjoyment. Making my way throughthe crowd or carried along with it, I visited theshop from top to bottom and from end to end .The goods are really repulsive. You mightalmost think that the stuffs, objects, etc., weredeliberately made as unattractive as possiblein order to put people off, so that they shallonly buy out of extreme necessity and neverbecause they are tempted. I should haveliked to bring back a few souvenirs for some ofmy friends ; everything is frightful. And yetfor some months past great efforts have beenmade-efforts directed towards an improve-ment of quality ; and, by looking carefullyand devoting the necessary time to it, onecan manage to discover here and there somerecent articles which are quite pleasing and ofsome promise for the future . But beforeconsidering the quality, the quantity must firstof all be sufficient, and for a long time it wasnot sufficient ; it now just manages to be so,but only just. For that matter, the peoples ofthe U.S.S.R. seem to be delighted with anynovelties that are offered them, even thosewhich to our Western eyes are frightful.

36

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .Intensified production will soon, I hope, permitof selection and choice ; articles of betterquality will continue to increase in number,and those that are inferior be progressivelyeliminated.The effort towards an improvement of

quality is particularly directed to food . Muchstill remains to be done in this field. Butwhen we deplored the bad quality of some ofthe provisions, Jef Last, who was on hisfourth visit to the U.S.S.R., and whose laststay there took place two years ago, marvelled,on the contrary, at the immense progress thathad recently been made. The vegetables andfruit in particular are, with a few rare excep-tions, if not actually bad, at any rate mediocre .Here, as everywhere else, what is delicious isswamped by what is common, that is, by whatis most abundant. A prodigious quantity ofmelons-but they are tasteless. The imperti-nent Persian proverb, which I am obliged toquote in English, for I have never heard it inany other tongue-" Women for duty, boys forpleasure, melons for delight "-would be mis-applied here. The wine is often good (Iremember in particular some delicious vintagesof Tzinandali, in Kakhetia) ; the beer is (inLeningrad) passable. Some of the smoked

37

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .fish is excellent, but will not bear travelling .

As long as necessities were lacking, it wouldhave been unreasonable to take thought forsuperfluities . That more has not been done,nor done sooner, in the U .S.S.R. to minister tothe pleasures of appetite, is because so manyappetites were still starving .

Taste, moreover, can only become refined ifcomparisons are possible ; and no choice waspossible. No " X's beer is best." Here youare obliged to choose what is offered you .Take it or leave it . From the moment thatthe State is at once the maker, buyer, andseller of everything, improvement of qualitycan only come with improvement of culture .

Then, in spite of my anti-capitalism, I thinkof all those in our own country, from the greatmanufacturer to the small trader, who arecontinually racking their brains to invent someway of flattering the public taste . With whatastuteness, with what subtlety, each of themapplies himself to discovering some refinementthat will supplant a rival . The State heedsnone of this, for the State has no rival . Quality ?Why trouble about it, we were asked, sincethere is no competition ? In this way, the badquality of everything in the U.S.S.R., together

38

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

with the want of public taste, are given a toofacile explanation . Even if the public hadgood taste, they could not satisfy it . No ;progress in this respect depends not so muchon competition as on a more exacting demand,which culture will increasingly develop in thefuture. In France it would all go quicker, forin France the exacting demand already exists .

But there is another thing. Each of theSoviet states had once its popular art . Whathas become of them ? For a long time apowerful equalitarian tendency deliberatelyignored them. But these regional arts arecoming back again- into favour, and at thepresent moment they are being protected andrevived, and their unique value is beginning tobe understood. Should it not be the work ofan intelligent directing body to bring back intouse once more the old patterns of-printedstuffs, for instance, and impose them, offerthem at any rate, to the public? Nothingcould be more stupidly bourgeois, more lower-middle-class than the present-day productions .The displays in the shop windows of Moscoware horrifying . Whereas in old times theprinted cloths, stencilled for the most part,were often very beautiful. And such popularart was the work of craftsmen .

39

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .To return to the people of Moscow. What

strikes one first is their extraordinary indolence .Laziness is, I suppose, too strong a word . . . .But Stakhanovism is a marvellous invention forbrisking up idleness (in old days there was theknout) . Stakhanovism would be useless in acountry where the workers all work . But outthere, as soon as they are left alone, theybecome slack . And it's a marvel how, in spiteof this, everything somehow gets done . At theexpense of what efforts from above, it would beimpossible to say. In order to realise theimmensity of these efforts, one would first ofall have to estimate the natural unproductivityof the Russian people. In one of the factorieswe visited, which was in marvellous workingorder (not that I know anything about it ; Iadmired the machines in blind confidence ;but I went into whole-hearted ecstasies overthe dining-hall, the workmen's club, theirlodgings, and all the things that have beendone for their comfort, their instruction andtheir pleasure), I was introduced to a Stak-hanovite whose huge portrait I had seenposted on a wall . He had succeeded, I wastold, in doing the work of eight days in fivehours (or else the work of five days in eighthours ; I forget which) . I ventured to ask

40

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

whether this didn't mean that to begin withhe had spent eight days in doing the work offive hours? But my question was not verywell received and they thought best to leave itunanswered.

I have heard tell that a party of Frenchminers who were travelling in the U.S .S.R .went to see over one of the mines. In a spiritof good fellowship they asked to relieve a shiftof Soviet miners, and then and there, withoutputting themselves out in the least, and withouteven being aware of it, turned out to beStakhanovites .One wonders what a Soviet regime might

not succeed in doing if it had workmen likeours, with their French temperament, theirzeal, their conscientiousness, and their educa-tion.

It is only fair to add to this drab backgroundthat, in addition to the Stakhanovites, there isa whole generation of keen and ardent youth-a joyous ferment-a yeast well able to raiseand lighten the dough .

This inertia of the masses seems to me tohave been, and still to be, one of the mostimportant, one of the gravest elements ofthe problem Stalin had to solve. This ac-

4I

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .counts for the shock workers (Udarniks) ;this accounts for Stakhanovism. And thereturn to unequal salaries is explained bythis .

We visited a model kolkhose in the neigh-bourhood of Sukhum. It dates from six yearsback. After having struggled obscurely forsome time, it is now one of the most prosperousin the country. It is known as " the . mil-lionaire," and is bursting with life andhappiness. This kolkhose stretches over a verylarge tract of country . The climate ensures aluxuriant vegetation. The dwelling houses,built of wood and standing on stilts to keepthem off the ground, are picturesque andcharming ; each one is surrounded by a fairlylarge garden full of fruit-trees, vegetables andflowers. This kolkhose succeeded last year inrealising extraordinarily big profits which madeit possible to set aside a considerable reservefund and enabled the rate of the daily wageto be raised to 16l roubles. How is this sumfixed ? By exactly the same calculations thatwould settle the amount of the dividends to bedistributed among the shareholders, if thekolkhose were a capitalist agricultural concern .So much has been definitely gained ; the

42

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .exploitation of the greater number for thebenefit of the few no longer exists in theSoviet Union . This is an immense advance .There are no shareholders ; the workmenthemselves share the profits without anycontribution to the State.* This would beperfect, if there were no other kolkhoses whichwere poor and unable to make both ends meet .For if I understood rightly, each kolkhose isautonomous and there is no question of mutualassistance . I am mistaken perhaps . I hopeI am mistaken . t

I visited several dwellings in this highlyprosperous kolkhose . $ I wish I could conveythe queer and depressing impression produced

* This at least is what I was repeatedly told . But Iconsider all " information " that has not been verified assubject to suspicion, like that given to enquirers in thecolonies. I find it difficult to believe that this kolkhosewas so privileged as to escape the 7 per cent . tax on grossproduction that is borne by the other kolkhoses ; not tomention the 35 to 39 roubles capitation fee .

t I have relegated to the appendix a few rather moredetailed items of information . I collected a great manyothers. But figures are not my strong point, and speci-fically economic questions escape my competence . More-over, though these items are put down precisely as theywere given me, I cannot guarantee their accuracy.Familiarity with the colonies has taught me to distrust all" information ." In the next place, these questions havealready been sufficiently dealt with by specialists ; thereis no need for me to hark back to them.

t In many others there are no such things as individualdwellings ; people sleep in dormitories-" barrack-rooms ."

43

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .by each one of these " homes "-the impressionof complete depersonalisation . In each, thesame ugly furniture, the same portrait ofStalin, and absolutely nothing else, not thesmallest object, not the smallest personalsouvenir. Every dwelling is interchangeablewith every other ; so much so that thekolkhosians (who seem to be as interchangeablethemselves) might all take up their abode ineach other's houses without even noticing it .In this way, no doubt, happiness is more easilyachieved . And then it must be added that thekolkhosian takes all his pleasures in common .His room is merely a place to sleep in ; thewhole interest of his life has passed into hisclub, his park of culture, his various meeting-places . What more can be desired ? Thehappiness of all can only be obtained bydisindividualising each . The happiness of allcan only be obtained at the expense of each.In order to be happy, conform .

* This impersonality of each and all makes me thinkthat the people who sleep in dormitories suffer less fromthe promiscuity and the absence of privacy than if theywere capable of individuality. But can this deper-sonalisation, towards which everything in the U .S .S .R .seems to tend, be considered as progress ? For my part,I cannot believe it.

44

III

IN the U.S.S.R. everybody knows beforehand,once and for all, that on any and every subjectthere can be only one opinion . And in facteverybody's mind has been so moulded andthis conformity become to such a degree easy,natural and imperceptible, that I do notthink any hypocrisy enters into it . Are thesereally the people who made the revolution ?No ; they are the people who profit by it .Every morning Pravda teaches them just whatthey should know and think and believe. Andhe who strays from the path had better beware !So that every time you talk to one Russianyou feel as if you were talking to them all .Not exactly that everyone obeys a wordof command ; but everything is so arrangedthat nobody can differ from anybody else .Remember that this moulding of the spiritbegins in earliest infancy. . . . This explainstheir extraordinary attitude of acceptance

45

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .which sometimes amazes you if you are aforeigner, and a certain capacity for happinesswhich amazes you even more .

You are sorry for those people who stand ina queue for hours ; but they think waitingperfectly natural . Their bread and vegetablesand fruit seem to you bad ; but there isnothing else. You find the stuffs and thearticles which you are shown frightful ; butthere is no choice . If every point of com-parison is removed, save with a past that noone regrets, you are delighted with what isoffered you . What is important here is topersuade people that they are as well off asthey can be until a better time comes ; topersuade them that elsewhere people areworse off. The only way of achieving thisis carefully to prevent any communicationwith the outside world (the world beyondthe frontier, I mean) . Thanks to this, theRussian workman, who has a standard ofliving equal or even noticeably inferior tothat of a French workman, thinks himselfwell off, is better off, much better off,than a workman in France . Their happinessis made up of hope, confidence andignorance .

It is extremely difficult for me to introduce46

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.any order into these reflections owing to theinterweaving and overlapping of the problems .I am not a technician and what interests mein economic questions is their psychologicalrepercussion . I perfectly understand thepsychological reasons which render it neces-sary to operate in close isolation, toprevent any leakage at the frontiers ; inpresent-day conditions, and so long asthings have not improved, it is essential tothe inhabitants of the U .S.S.R. that thishappiness should be protected from outsideinfluences .

We admire in the U .S.S.R. the extraordinaryIlan towards education and towards culture ;but the only objects of this education are thosewhich induce the mind to find satisfaction inits present circumstances and exclaim : Oh !U.S.S.R . . . . Ave ! Spes unica ! And cultureis entirely directed along a single track . Thereis nothing disinterested in it ; it is merelycumulative, and (in spite of Marxism) almostentirely lacks the critical faculty . Of courseI know that what is called " self-criticism " ishighly thought of. When at a distance, Iadmired this, and I still think it might haveproduced the most wonderful results, if only ithad been seriously and sincerely applied . But

47

D

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .I was soon obliged to realise that, apart fromdenunciations and complaints-(" The canteensoup is badly cooked " or " the club reading-room badly swept ")-criticism merely consistsin asking oneself if this, that or the other is " inthe right line ." The line itself is neverdiscussed. What is discussed is whethersuch-and-such a work, or gesture, or theoryconforms to this sacrosanct line . And woeto him who seeks to cross it ! As muchcriticism as you like-up to a point . Beyondthat point criticism is not allowed . There areexamples of this kind of thing in history .And nothing is a greater danger to culture

than such a frame of mind . I will go morefully into this later on .

The Soviet citizen is in an extraordinary stateof ignorance concerning foreign countries.*More than this-he has been persuaded thateverything abroad and in every department isfar less prosperous than in the U.S.S.R. Thisillusion is cleverly fostered ; for it is importantthat everyone, even those who are ill-satisfied,should be thankful for the regime whichpreserves them from worse ills . Hence a kindof superiority complex, of which I will give a fewexamples .

* Or at least, he is only informed as to things whichwill encourage him in his own frame of mind .

48

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .Every student is obliged to learn a foreign

language. French has been completely aban-doned. It is English, and especially German,that they are supposed to know. I expressedmy surprise that they should speak them sobadly ; in our countries a fifth-form schoolboyknows more .One of the students we questioned gave us

the following explanation (in Russian andJef Last translated it for us) :-" A few years ago Germany and the United

States still had something to teach us on a fewpoints. But now we have nothing more tolearn from foreigners . So why should wespeak their language?"

As a matter of fact, though they do takesome interest in what is happening in foreignparts, they are far more concerned about whatthe foreigner thinks of them . What really in-terests them is to know whether we admire themenough. What they are afraid of is that we shouldbe ill-informed as to their merits . What theywant from us is not information but praise .

* Confronted by our undisguised amazement, thestudent, it is true, added : " I understand-we all under-stand to-day-that such an argument is absurd . Aforeign language, when it no longer serves for learning,may still serve for teaching ."

49

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.Some charming little girls who gathered

round me in a children's playground (which Imust say was entirely praiseworthy, like every-thing else that is done here for the young)harried me with questions . What they wantedto know was not whether we have children'splaygrounds in France, but whether we knowin France that they have such fine children'splaygrounds in the U .S.S.R .The questions one is asked are often so

staggering that I hesitate to report them . Itwill be thought that I have invented them .They smile sceptically when I say that Paristoo has got a tube. Have we even got tramsBuses ? . . . One of them asks (and thesewere not children but educated workmen)whether we had got schools too in France .Another, slightly better informed, shruggedhis shoulders, " Oh yes, the French have gotschools ; but the children are beaten inthem." He has this information on the bestauthority. Of course all workers in ourcountry are wretched ; that goes withoutsaying, for we have not yet " made the revolu-tion." For them, outside the U .S.S.R. the reignof night begins . Apart from a few shamelesscapitalists, everybody else is groping in thedark.

50

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

Some educated and most " refined " younggirls (in the Artek camp where only excep-tional characters are admitted) were highlysurprised when I mentioned Russian films andtold them that Chapaiev and Wefrom Kronstadt,had had a great success in Paris . Had theynot been assured that all Russian films werebanned in France? And, as those who toldthem so are their masters, I could see perfectlywell that it was my word they doubted . TheFrench are such leg-pullers !

In a circle of naval officers on board a battle-ship which had just been presented to ouradmiration (" This one is entirely made inthe U.S.S.R."), when I went so far as to saythat I was afraid that people in the SovietUnion were less well informed about what isbeing done in France, than the people inFrance about what is being done in theSoviet Union, a distinctly disapproving murmurarose : " Pravda gives us sufficient informationabout everything ." And suddenly somebodyin a lyrical outburst, stepping out from thegroup, exclaimed : " In order to describe allthe new and splendid and great things thatare being done in the Soviet Union, therewould not be paper enough in the wholeworld."

5z

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .In that same model camp of Artek-a

Paradise for model children and infant pro-digies, who are all hung round with medalsand diplomas, which is what makes me prefersome other more modest and less aristocraticpioneer camps-a child of thirteen, who, Iunderstood, came from Germany, but whohad already been moulded by the Union,guided me through the park, showing off itsbeauties. He began to recite :-

"Just look ! There was nothing here tillquite recently . . . and then suddenly-thisstaircase appeared . And it's like that every-where in the Soviet Union. Yesterday nothingto-morrow everything. Look at those workmenover there . How hard they're working ! Andeverywhere in the Soviet Union there areschools and camps like these . Of coursethey're not quite so wonderful as this one,because this camp of Artek has not got itsequal in the world . Stalin takes a specialinterest in it. All the children who come hereare remarkable .

" Later on you'll hear a child of thirteen whois going to be the best violinist in the world .His talent has already been so highly thoughtof that they have made him a present of ahistoric violin, a violin that was made by a very

52

BACK FROM THE U.S .S.R .

famous violin-maker who lived a long whileago .

" And here-look at this wall ! Could youpossibly tell that it had been built in tendays? "The child's enthusiasm seemed so sincere

that I took good care not to point out thatthis retaining wall which had been too hastilyconstructed was already fissured. He onlyconsented to see, was only able to see, whatsatisfied his pride, and he added in a transport

" Even the children are astonished ! "t

* Shortly afterwards I heard this little prodigy playsome Paganini and then a pot-pourri of Gounod on hisStradivarius, and I must admit that he was amazing .

t Eugene Dabit, when in the course of conversation Imentioned this superiority complex, to which his ownextreme modesty made him particularly sensitive, handedme the second volume of Dead Souls which he wasre-reading . At the beginning there is a letter from Gogolin which Dabit pointed out the following passage : " Thereare many among us, and particularly among our youngpeople, who exalt the Russian virtues far too highly ;instead of developing these virtues in themselves, all theythink of is showing them off and saying to Europe" Look, foreigners, how much better we are than you ! "This swaggering is terribly pernicious . While it irritatesother people, it also damages the person who indulgesin it. Boasting degrades the finest action in the world.As for me, I prefer a momentary dejection to self-complacency."

This Russian " swaggering," that Gogol deplores, isfostered and encouraged by the present system ofeducation .

53

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.These children's sayings (sayings which had

been prompted, and perhaps taught) appearedto me so revealing that I wrote them down thatvery evening and relate them here verbatim .

And yet I do not want it to be thought thatI have no other memories of Artek. It is quitetrue that this children's camp is wonderful .It is built on overhanging terraces that go rightdown to the sea, and this splendid site is usedto the best advantage with great ingenuity .Everything that one can imagine for thewell-being of children, for their hygiene, fortheir physical training, for their amusement,for their pleasure has been assembled andarranged along the terraces and slopes . Allthe children were glowing with health andhappiness. They seemed very much disap-pointed when we told them that we couldn'tstay till the evening ; they had prepared thetraditional camp-fire, and decorated the treesin the lower garden with streamers in ourhonour. I asked that all the rejoicings, thesongs and dances which were to have takenplace in the evening, should be held insteadbefore five o'clock. We had a long way to goand I insisted on getting back to Sebastopolbefore night . It was just as well that I did so,for it was that very evening that Eugene Dabit,

54

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

who had accompanied me on my visit, fell ill .Nothing, however, as yet foreshadowed this andhe was able to enjoy to the full the performancethat the children gave us, and particularly adance by the exquisite little Tajikstan girl,called, I think, Tamar-the very same littlegirl that is portrayed being embraced byStalin in enormous posters that cover the wallsof Moscow. Nothing can express the charmof the dance or the grace of the child . Oneof the most exquisite memories of the SovietUnion," as Dabit said to me ; and I thoughtso too . It was his last day of happiness .

The hotel at Sochi is very pleasant ; itsgardens are extremely fine and its beachhighly agreeable ; but the bathers there atonce want to make us admit that we havenothing comparable to it in France . A sense ofdecency restrains us from saying that there arebetter places in France-much better places .

No, what we admire at Sochi is the fact thatthis semi-luxury, this comfort, should be placedat the disposal of the people-if, that is, thosewho come to stay here are not once more aprivileged set. In general, the favoured onesare the most deserving, but they are favouredon condition they conform-" keep to the

55

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.line" ; and these are the only people whoenjoy advantages .What we admire at Sochi is the great

quantity of sanatoriums and rest-houses-allwonderfully well equipped-that surround thetown. And how excellent that they should allbe built for the workers ! But it is painfulto see next door to all this, that the workmenwho are employed in the construction of thenew theatre, should be so badly paid andherded in such sordid barracks .What we admire at Sochi is Ostrovski .

(See Appendix.)

If I speak in praise of the hotel at Sochi,what words shall I find for the one at Sinop,near Sukhum, which was vastly superior andcould bear comparison with the best, thefinest, the most comfortable hotels in foreignsea-side resorts. Its magnificent garden datesfrom the ancien regime, but the hotel buildingitself is of recent construction, and has beenvery ingeniously fitted up . Both the outsideand the inside are delightful to look at andevery room has a private bathroom and privateterrace. The furnishing is in perfect taste, thecooking excellent, among the best we tastedin the U.S.S.R. The Sinop hotel seems to be

56

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .one of the places in the world, where man isnearest to being happy .

A sovkhose* has been set up in the neighbour-hood in order to cater for the hotel . There Iadmired the model stables, the model cattle-sheds, the model pig-styes, and especially agigantic henhouse-the last word in hen-houses .Every hen has a numbered ring on its leg, thenumber of eggs it lays is carefully noted, eachone has its own little box where it is shut upin order to lay its eggs, and only let out whenit has laid them. (What I can't understand iswhy, with all this care, the eggs we get at thehotel are no better.) I may add that you areonly allowed to enter the premises after you havedisinfected your shoes by stepping on a carpetimpregnated with a sterilizing substance . Thecattle, of course, walk round it-Never mind !If you cross the stream which bounds the

sovkhose, you come upon a row of hovels .There, four people share a room measuringeight feet by six, which they rent for tworoubles per head and per month . The luxuryof a meal at the sovkhose restaurant, whichcosts two roubles, is beyond the means ofthose whose monthly salary is only seventy-five roubles. They have to content them-

* State farm .

57

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.selves with bread supplemented by dried fish .

I do not protest against the inequality ofsalaries ; I grant that it was necessary . Butthere are means of remedying differences ofcondition ; now I fear that these differences,instead of getting less, are actually on theincrease . I fear that a new and satisfiedworkers' bourgeoisie may soon arise (satisfiedand therefore of course conservative) whichwill come to resemble all too closely ourown petty bourgeoisie. I see everywherethe preliminary symptoms of this .* And

* The recent law against abortion has horrified allwhose salaries are insufficient to enable them to found afamily and to bring up children . It has also horrifiedothers, but for different reasons. Had it not beenpromised that a sort of referendum, a popular consultation,should be held on the subject of this law, to decidewhether or not it should be enacted and applied ? Ahuge majority declared itself (more or less openly, it istrue) against this law. But public opinion was not takeninto consideration, and to the almost general stupefactionthe law was passed in spite of all. The newspapers, ofcourse, had chiefly published letters of approval . In theprivate conversations I was able to have with a goodmany workmen on this subject, I heard nothing buttimid recriminations and resigned complaints.

Can this law be to a certain degree justified ? At anyrate, it was occasioned by some deplorable abuses . But,from a Marxist point of view, what can one think of thatother, older law against homosexuals ? This law whichassimilates them to counter-revolutionaries (for non-conformity is hunted down even in sexual matters)condemns them to a sentence of five years' deportationwhich can be renewed if they are not reformed by exile.

58

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .as we cannot doubt, alas, that bourgeoisinstincts, degraded, greedy, self-centred,slumber in many people's hearts, notwith-standing any revolution (for man can hardlybe reformed entirely from the outside), itdisquiets me very much to observe, in theU.S.S.R. to-day, that these bourgeois instinctsare indirectly flattered and encouraged byrecent decisions that have been alarminglyapproved of over here . With the restorationof the family (in its function of " social cell "),of inheritance and of legacies, the love oflucre and of private ownership, are beginningto dominate the need for comradeship, for freesharing, and for life in common. Not foreverybody, of course ; but for many. And wesee the re-appearance, not of classes no doubt,but of social strata, of a kind of aristocracy ;I am not referring here to the aristocracy ofmerit and of personal worth, but only to thearistocracy of respectability, of conformity,which in the next generation will become thatof money .Are my fears exaggerated ? I hope so. As

far as that goes the Soviet Union has alreadyshown us that it was capable of abrupt reversals .But I do fear that, in order to cut short thesebourgeois tendencies that are now being

59

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .approved and fostered by the rulers, a revulsionwill soon appear necessary, which will run therisk of becoming as brutal as that which putan end to the N .E.P .

How can one not be shocked by the contempt,or at any rate the indifference, which thosewho are and feel themselves "on the rightside " show to " inferiors," to servants,* tounskilled workmen, to " dailies," male andfemale, and I was about to say to " the poor ."There are no more classes in the U.S.S.R.-granted. But there are poor. There are toomany of them far too many . I had hopednot to see any-or, to speak more accurately,it was in order not to see any that I had cometo the U .S.S.R.Add to this that philanthropy, or even plain

charity, is no longer the correct thing .f The* As a counterpart to this, how servile, how obsequious

the servants are I Not the hotel servants, who areusually full of self-respect, although extremely cordial,but those who come into contact with the leaders andthe " responsible administrators ."

t But I hasten to add the following : In the publicgardens of Sebastopol I saw a crippled child, who couldonly walk with crutches, pass in front of the bencheswhere people were taking the air. I observed him for along time while he went round with a hat . Out of twentypeople to whom he applied, eighteen gave him something,but they would no doubt not have allowed themselves tobe touched had he not been a cripple.

6o

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .State takes charge of all that. It takes chargeof everything and there is no longer any need-granted-for private help . This leads to akind of harshness in mutual relations, in spiteof all comradeship. Of course I am notreferring to relations between equals ; but asregards those "inferiors" to whom I havealluded, the " superiority complex " is allowedfull play .This petty bourgeois spirit, which I greatly

fear is in process of developing, is in my eyesprofoundly and fundamentally counter-revolu-tionary.But what is known as " counterrevolu-

tionary " in the U.S.S.R. of to-day is notthat at all. In fact, it is practically theopposite .The spirit which is to-day held to be

counter-revolutionary, is that same revolu-tionary spirit, that ferment which first brokethrough the half-rotten dam of the old Tsaristworld. One would like to be able to thinkthat an overflowing love of mankind, or atleast an imperious need for justice, filled everyheart. But when the revolution was onceaccomplished, triumphant, stabilized, therewas no more question of such things, and thefeelings which had animated the first revolu-

6z

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .tionaries began to get in the way, like cumber-some objects that have become useless . Icompare these feelings to the props whichhelp to build an arch, but which are removedwhen the keystone is in place . Now thatthe revolution has triumphed, now that itis stabilized and moderated, now that it isbeginning to come to terms, and, some willsay, to grow prudent, those that the revolu-tionary ferment still animates and who considerall these successive concessions to be com-promises, become troublesome, are reprobatedand suppressed . Then would it not be better,instead of playing on words, simply toacknowledge that the revolutionary spirit (oreven merely the critical spirit) is no longer thecorrect thing, that it is not wanted any more ?What is wanted now is compliance, conformity.What is desired and demanded is approval ofall that is done in the U .S.S.R ., and anattempt is being made to obtain an ap-proval that is not mere resignation, but asincere, an enthusiastic approval . Whatis most astounding is that this attempt is suc-cessful . On the other hand the smallestprotest, the least criticism, is liable to theseverest penalties, and in fact is immedi-ately stifled. And I doubt whether in any

62

BACK FROM THE U .S.S.R.other country in the world, even Hitler'sGermany, thought be less free, more boweddown, more fearful (terrorized), morevassalized .

IV

IN a certain oil-refining factory in the neigh-bourhood of Sukhum, where everything seemedquite admirable-the canteen, the workers'dwellings, their club (as for the factory itself,I know nothing about such things, and admireon trust) we went up to the " Wall Newspaper "which according to custom was posted up inone of the club-rooms . We did not have timeto read all the articles, but under the heading" Red Help," where as a rule foreign news isto be found, we were surprised not to see anyallusion to Spain, news from which had beengiving us cause for anxiety for some dayspast. We did not hide our surprise or ourdisappointment . Slight embarrassment ensued .We were thanked for our remarks ; theywould, we were told, most certainly be takeninto consideration.The same evening there was a banquet .

According to custom the toasts were numerous .And when we had drunk the healths of the

64

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

guests and then of each one in particular, JefLast rose and, in Russian, proposed to emptya glass to the triumph of the Spanish redfront. This was warmly applauded, althoughwith a certain amount of embarrassment, itseemed to us ; and at once, as though inanswer-a toast to Stalin . In my turn I liftedmy glass to the political prisoners of Germany,of Yugo-Slavia, of Hungary . . . . This timethe applause was whole-hearted ; we clinkedour glasses, we drank . Then again, imme-diately afterwards-a toast to Stalin. Butthen, on the subject of the victims of fascism,in Germany and elsewhere, everybody knewwhat attitude to take up . With regard to thedisturbances and the struggle in Spain, opinion,public and private, was awaiting the leadershipof Pravda, which had not yet declared itself.Nobody dared risk himself, before knowingwhat to think. It was only a few days later,when we had just arrived in Sebastopol, that agreat wave of sympathy, starting from the RedSquare, broke over all the newspapers, andthat everywhere voluntary subscriptions to helpthe Government side began to be organized .

In the office of this factory a large symbolicpicture had struck us ; it depicted, in the

65

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

middle, Stalin speaking ; and carefullyarranged, on his right and on his left, themembers of the Government applauding .

Stalin's effigy is met with everywhere ; hisname is on every tongue ; his praises areinvariably sung in every speech . In Georgiaparticularly, I did not enter a single inhabitedroom, even the humblest and the most sordid,without remarking a portrait of Stalin hangingon the wall, in the same place no doubt wherethe ikon used to be . Is it adoration, love, orfear ? I do not know ; always and everywherehe is present.

On the road from Tiflis to Batum, we passedthrough Gori, the small town where Stalin wasborn. I thought that it would no doubt becourteous to send him a message, in responseto the welcome given us by the Soviet Union,where we had everywhere been acclaimed,feasted, and made much of. I should never,I thought, find a better opportunity . I stoppedthe car in front of the post-office and handedin the text of the telegram . This is almostexactly what I had written : " Passing through

66

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

Gori, in the course of our wonderful journey, Ifeel the need to send you my most cordial . . ."But here the translator paused : " I cannotlet you speak like this . 'You' is not enoughwhen that `you' is Stalin. It would bepositively shocking ; something must beadded." And, as I displayed some amazement,they began to consult among themselves. Theyproposed, " You, leader of the workers " or" You, master of the peoples " or . . . I can'tremember what.* I said that it was absurd,protested that Stalin was above such baseflattery. I struggled in vain . There wasnothing to be done. My telegram would onlybe accepted if I consented to the addition .And as it concerned a translation that I couldnot control, I gave up the struggle andsubmitted, but declined all responsibility,reflecting with sadness that all this sort ofthing helps to widen between Stalin and thepeople an appalling, an unbridgeable gulf .And as I had already noticed that other

* It sounds as though I was making it up, doesn'tit? Alas, I am not! And people had better not tryand say that we had to do with stupid and clumsilyzealous subordinates . No, we had with us, takingpart in the discussion, several personages who werequite highly placed and quite familiar with " what isdone ."

67

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.translations of various speeches* that I hadhad occasion to make in the U .S.S.R., hadbeen similarly touched up and " improved," Iat once declared that I would not recognize asmine any text by me that might be publishedin Russian during my stay, and that I shouldsay so . I have now said it .Oh ! to be sure, I refuse to see in these

small distortions which are usually unconscious,any bad intentions-rather the wish to helpsomebody who is ill-informed as to the customsof the country, and who cannot desire anythingbetter than to submit and to conform to themin his expressions and his thoughts .

Stalin, in the establishment of the first andsecond five-year plans, has shown such wisdom,such an intelligent flexibility in the successivemodifications that he has seen fit to bring tothem, that one begins to wonder whether itwas possible to be more consistent ; whether thisprogressive divergence from the first lines, this

* X explained to me that, according to correct usage,the word " destiny " should be followed by a laudatoryepithet when it is the destiny of the U .S .S.R. that is beingreferred to. I finally proposed " glorious " which X toldme would satisfy everybody. On the other hand he askedme to be good enough to suppress the word " great "that I had put in front of "monarch." A monarchcannot be great. (See Appendix III .)

68

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.departure from Leninism, was not necessary ;whether more obstinacy would not havedemanded from the people a truly superhumaneffort ? But in either case, the pill is bitter.If not Stalin, then it is man, humanity itself,that has disappointed us . What had beenattempted, what had been desired, what wasthought to be on the point of achievement,after so many struggles, so much blood spilt,so many tears, was that then " above humanstrength " ? Must one wait still longer, relin-quish one's hopes or project them into thefuture ? That is what one asks oneself in theSoviet Union with agonizing anxiety. Andeven the suggestion of such a question is toomuch. After so many months, so many yearsof effort, one had the right to ask oneself-willthey now at last be able to lift up their heads ?They are more than ever bowed down .

It is undeniable that there has been adivergence from the first ideal . But must wethen suspect that what we first wished for wasnot immediately attainable ? Has there beena fiasco ? Or an opportune and legitimateadaptation to unforseen difficulties ?Does this passage from " mysticism " to

69

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R ."politics" necessarily involve a degradation?For we are no longer on the theoretical plane ;we are in the domain of practical politics ;the menschliches, allzumenschliches must bereckoned with-and so must the enemy .

Many of Stalin's decisions-in recent times,almost all of them-have been taken entirelywith a view to Germany and are inspired byfear of her. The progressive restoration ofthe family, of private property, of inheritance,can thus be reasonably explained ; the citizenof the Soviet Union must be encouraged tofeel that he has some personal possessions todefend. But it is in this way that, progressively,the first impulse is deadened, is lost, and itbecomes impossible to keep the eyes fixed onthe path that leads forward. And I shall betold that all this is necessary, urgent, for aflank attack might ruin the whole enterprise .But the enterprise itself is in the end com-promised by these successive concessions .

There is another fear-that of" Trotzkyism "and of what is now called over there thecounter-revolutionary spirit. For there are somepeople who refuse to believe that this com-pounding was necessary ; all these con-cessions appear to them as so many defeats .Explanations, excuses, can perhaps be found

70

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.for the deviation from those first directives ;the deviation alone is the important thing intheir eyes . But what is demanded to-day is aspirit of submission, is conformity . All thosewho do not declare themselves to be satisfied,are to be considered " Trotzkyists." So thatone begins to wonder, if Lenin himself were toreturn to earth to-day . . . ?

To say that Stalin is always in the right istantamount to saying that Stalin always getsthe best of it.

We were promised a proletarian dictatorship .We are far from the mark. A dictatorship,yes, obviously ; but the dictatorship of a man,not of the united workers, not of the Soviets .It is important not to deceive oneself, and itmust be frankly acknowledged-this is notwhat was desired . _ One step more, and weshould even say-this is exactly what was notdesired.

To suppress the opposition in a State, oreven merely to prevent it from declaring itself,

7x

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

from showing itself in the light of day, is a veryserious thing ; an invitation to terrorism . Ifall the citizens of a State had the same views,it would without any doubt be more convenientfor the rulers. But in the presence of such animpoverishment, who could still dare speak of" culture " ? Without a counterpoise, howcan thought not incline all to one side ? It isa proof of great wisdom, I think, to listen toone's opponents, even to cherish them if needbe, while preventing them from doing harm ;to combat, but not suppress them . To suppressthe opposition . . . ? It is fortunate, no doubt,that Stalin succeeds so ill in doing so .

" Humanity is not uniform, we must makeup our minds to that ; and any attempt tosimplify, to unify, to reduce it from the outsidewill always be odious, ruinous, and disastrouslygrotesque. For, what is so annoying forAthalie is that it is always Eliacin, what is soannoying for Herod is that it is always theHoly Family that escapes." So I wrote in1910* .

* Nouveaux Prdtextes, p . 189 .72

V

BEFORE going to the Soviet Union, I wrote thefollowing passage :-

" I believe that a writer's value is intimatelylinked to the force of the revolutionary spiritthat animates him-or to be more exact (forI am not so mad as to believe that only left-wing writers have artistic value), to the forceof his spirit of opposition. This spirit exists asmuch in Bossuet and Chateaubriand, or at thepresent time in Claudel, as in Moliere, Voltaire,Victor Hugo and so many others. In our formof society, a great writer, a great artist, isessentially non-conformist. He makes headagainst the current . This was true of Dante,of Cervantes, of Ibsen, of Gogol. It is nottrue apparently of Shakespeare and his con-temporaries, of whom John AddingtonSymonds says so well : " What made the play-wrights of that epoch so great . . . was that they(the authors) lived and wrote in fullest sympathywith the whole people." * It was no doubt nottrue of Sophocles and certainly not of Homer,

* General Introduction to the Mermaid Series .

73

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.who was the voice, we feel, of Greece itself.It would perhaps cease to be true the daythat . . . But this is the very reason that weturn our eyes with such anxious interrogationto the Soviet Union. Will the triumph of therevolution allow its artists to be borne by thecurrent ? For the question arises-what willhappen if the transformation of the socialState deprives the artist of all motive foropposition ? What will the artist do if thereis no reason for him to go against the current,if all he need do is to let himself be carried byit ? No doubt as long as the struggle lastsand victory is not perfectly assured, he candepict the struggle, and, by himself fight-ing, contribute to the triumph. But after-wards . . . ? "

This is what I asked myself before visitingthe U.S.S.R.

" You see," explained X, " it wasn't at allwhat the public asked for ; not at all the kindof thing we want nowadays . Before this hehad written a very remarkable ballet whichhad been greatly admired." (He was Shos-takovich, whom I had heard praised in termsusually reserved for geniuses .) " But what isthe public to do with an opera that leavesthem with no tunes to hum when they come

74

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

out ? (Heavens ! Is this the stage they're at ?I thought to myself. And yet X is himself anartist and highly cultivated, and I had neverbefore heard him say anything that was notintelligent .) " What we want nowadays areworks everyone can understand, and under-stand immediately. If Shostakovich doesn'tfeel that himself, he will soon be made to, bylosing all his listeners ."

I protested that often the finest works,and even those that eventually become themost popular, were at first appreciated byonly a very small number of people . " Why,Beethoven himself," I said, and handed him avolume I happened to have on me at that verymoment. " Here ! read what he says ."

" In Berlin gab ich auch " (Beethoven isspeaking), " vor mehreren Jahren ein Konzert,ich griff mich an and glaubte, was Recht's zuleisten and hoffte auf tdchtigen Beifall ; abersiehe da, als ich meine hochste Begeisterungausgesprochen hatte, kein geringstes Zeichendes Beifalls ertonte."

* " Several years ago I, too, gave a concert in Berlin .I exerted myself to the utmost and thought I had reallyaccomplished something excellent ; I hoped therefore forvigorous applause ; but just imagine, after I had givenutterance to my highest inspiration, not the smallest signof approbation was heard."-Goethe's Briefe mit lebens-geschichtlichen Verbindungen, Vol . II, p. 287.

75

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

X granted that in the U .S.S .R. a Beethovenwould have found it very difficult to recoverfrom such a failure . " You see," he went on," an artist in our country must first of all keepin line . Otherwise, even the finest gifts willbe considered formalism . Yes, that's our wordfor designating whatever we don't wish to seeor hear. We want to create a new art, worthyof the great people we are . Art to-day shouldbe popular or nothing ."

"You will drive all your artists to con-formism," I answered . " And the best, thosewho refuse to degrade their art, or will notallow it to be subservient, will be reduced tosilence. The culture you claim to serve, toillustrate, to defend, will put you to shame."Then he declared I was arguing like a

bourgeois . That for his part he was convincedthat Marxism, which had already producedsuch great things in other domains, would alsoproduce works of art. He added that whatprevented such works from arising was the im-portance that was still attached to a bygone past .

His voice became louder and louder, and heseemed to be giving a lecture or reciting alesson. This conversation took place in thehall of the hotel at Sochi . I left him withoutsaying anything more. But a few moments

76

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.later he came to my room and, in a low voicethis time, "Of course," he said, "you areperfectly right . . . but there were peoplelistening to us just now . . . and I have anexhibition opening very soon ."

X is a painter.

When we first arrived in the U .S.S.R. publicopinion had barely recovered from the greatquarrel of Formalism. I tried to understand whatthis word meant and this is what I made out :-

The accusation of formalism is levelled atany artist who is capable of attaching lessimportance to content than to form . Let meadd at once that no content is consideredworthy of interest (or, to be more accurate, istolerated) unless it is inclined in a certaindirection. The work of art is consideredformalist, if it is not inclined at all and there-fore has no direction (I use the word in bothmeanings) . I confess I cannot write thesewords ofform and content without a smile. Butit would be more proper to weep that thisabsurd distinction should be a determiningconsideration in criticism . That it may havebeen useful politically is possible ; but thenstop talking of culture. Culture is in dangerwhen criticism is not free.

7 7

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .In the U.S.S.R., however fine a work may

be, if it is not in line, it scandalizes . Beautyis considered a bourgeois value. Howevergreat a genius an artist may be, if he does notwork in line, attention will turn away-willbe turned away-from him . What is demandedof the artist, of the writer, is that he shallconform ; and all the rest will be added tohim .

At Tiflis I saw an exhibition of modern artof which it would perhaps be charitable notto speak. But, after all, these artists hadattained their object, which is to edify, toconvince, to convert (episodes of Stalin's lifebeing used as the themes of these illustrations .)Oh ! it's very certain that none of these peoplewere "formalists ." Unfortunately they werenot painters either. They made me think ofApollo who, when he was set to serve Admetus,had to extinguish all his rays, and from thatmoment did nothing of any value, or at anyrate nothing of any good to us. But as theU.S.S.R. was no better at the plastic artsbefore the revolution than after it, let us keepto literature ." In the days of my youth," said X, " we

78

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

were recommended certain books and advisedagainst others ; and naturally it was to thelatter that we were drawn . The great dif-ference to-day is that the young peopleread only what they are recommended toread and have no desire to read anythingelse ."Thus Dostoievski, for instance, finds to-

day very few readers, without our beingable to say exactly whether young peopleare turning away (or being turned away)from him-to such an extent are their mindsmoulded .

If the mind is obliged to obey a word ofcommand, it can at any rate feel that it is notfree. But if it has been so manipulatedbeforehand that it obeys without even waitingfor the word of command, it loses even theconsciousness of its enslavement. I believemany young Soviet citizens would be greatlyastonished if they were told that they had noliberty of thought and would vehementlydeny it.

And as it always happens that we recognizethe value of certain advantages only after wehave lost them, there is nothing like a stay inthe U.S.S.R. (or of course in Germany) to helpus appreciate the inappreciable liberty of

79

F

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

thought we still enjoy in France-and some-times abuse.

At Leningrad I was asked to prepare a littlespeech to be addressed to a meeting of writersand students. I had only been a week in thecountry and was trying to tune-in to thecorrect key. I therefore submitted my text toX and Y. I was at once given to understandthat my text was far from being in the rightkey or the right tone, and that what I wasintending to say would be most unsuitable .Oh ! it didn't take me long to realize this bymyself. As for the speech, it was neverdelivered . Here it is :-

" I have often been asked my opinion ofpresent-day Soviet literature . I should like toexplain why I have always refused to give it.I shall be able at the same time to repeat withgreater precision one of the passages of thespeech I made in the Red Square on thesolemn occasion of Gorki's funeral. I wasspeaking of the new 'problems' which hadbeen raised by the very triumph of the SovietRepublics, problems, I said, which it wouldnot be the least of the U.S.S.R.'s glories to haveintroduced into history and to have presentedto our meditations. As the future of cultureseems to me to be closely bound up with their

8o

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .solution, it will perhaps not be amiss if I returnto the subject with greater particularity . . .

" The great majority, even when composedof the best individuals, never bestows itsapprobation on what is new, potential, uncon-certed and disconcerting in a work ; but onlyon what it can recognize, that is to say, thecommonplace. Just as once there were bour-geois commonplaces, so now there arerevolutionary commonplaces ; it is importantto know it. It is important to realize that theessential value of a work of art, the qualitythat will ensure its survival, never lies in aconformist adherence to a doctrine, be thatdoctrine the soundest and the surest possible ;but rather in formulating questions that fore-stall the future's, and answers to questions thathave not yet been formulated. I am verymuch afraid that many works, imbued withthe purest spirit of Marxism, and on thataccount so successful to-day, will soon emit tothe noses of to-morrow the insufferable odourof the clinic ; and I believe that the worksthat will live most victoriously will be thosethat have freed themselves successfully fromsuch preoccupations as these .

" When the revolution is triumphant, in-stalled and established, art runs a terrible

8i

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.danger, a danger almost as great as under theworst fascist oppression-the danger of ortho-doxy. Art that submits to orthodoxy, toeven the soundest doctrines, is lost-wreckedupon the shoals of conformism. What thetriumphant revolution can and should offerthe artist is, above all else, liberty . With-out liberty, art loses its meaning and itsvalue .

" Walt Whitman, on the death of PresidentLincoln, wrote one of his most beautiful poems .But if this poem had been imposed, if Whitmanhad been forced to write it by order and inconformity with an accepted canon, histhrenody would have lost all its virtue and itsbeauty ; or rather, Whitman could not havewritten it .

" And as, quite naturally, the assent of thegreatest number, with its accompanyingapplause, success and favours, goes to thequalities the public is best able to recognize,that is to say to conformity, I wonder withsome anxiety whether perhaps in this greatSoviet Union there may not be vegetatingobscurely, unknown to the crowd, someBaudelaire, some Keats, or some Rimbaud,who by very reason of his worth cannot makehimself heard. And yet he, of all others, is

82

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.the one who is of importance, for those whoare at first disdained, like Rimbaud, Keats,Baudelaire and even Stendhal, are those whoto-morrow will be the greatest ."

* But, they will say, what concern have we to-day witha possible Keats, Baudelaire, Rimbaud and even Stendhal ?The only value they have in our eyes now is the degreein which they reflect the moribund and corrupt society ofwhich they were the melancholy products . If the newsociety of to-day is unable to produce them, so much theworse for them, but so much the better for us, who havenothing more to learn from them or their like. Thewriter who can be of service to us to-day is the man whois perfectly at his ease in this new form of society andwhose spirit is intensified by what would have hamperedthe others . In other words, the man who approves,enjoys and applauds.Exactly. And I think that the writings of those

applauders are of very slight value or service, and that ifthe people wish to develop their culture, they had farbetter not listen to them . Nothing is so useful fordeveloping culture as to be forced to think .

As for what might be called " minor " literature, thatis to say books that confine themselves to being a merereflection (of a society, event or period), I have alreadysaid what I think of them . Self-contemplation (andadmiration) may be the first interest of a society that isstill very young ; but it would be extremely regrettableif this first interest were also the sole and the last .

83

VI

SEBASTOPOL, last stage of our journey. Nodoubt there are more interesting and morebeautiful towns in the U .S.S.R ., but nowhereelse had I felt how deeply I was captivated,how lasting would be my affection . AtSebastopol, as at Sukhum or Sochi, thoughhere it is less hedged round, less select, I cameacross Russian life and society in its entirety,with its lacks, its defects, its sufferings, alas !side by side with those triumphs, those achieve-ments that give mankind the possibility or thepromise of greater happiness . And as fromday to day the light varied, so sometimes itsoftened the shades, or sometimes, on thecontrary, deepened them . But all the darkestas well as the brightest of what I saw heredrew me, attached me-sometimes sorrowfully-to this land, to these united peoples, to thisunfamiliar climate which bestowed its blessingson the future and in which who knows what

84

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

unhoped-for flowers may blossom . . . . Allthis I had to leave .And already my heart began to ache with

another, a fresh anguish. When I got back toParis, what should I say ? How should Ianswer the questions I foresaw ? Wholesalejudgments would certainly be expected of me .How explain that turn by turn in the U .S.S.R.I had felt so hot and so cold ? In declaringmy love afresh, must I hide my reserves andgive a lying approval to everything? No . Ifeel too deeply that in acting so I should bothinjure the U.S.S.R. itself and the cause itstands for. But the gravest error would be tolink too closely the one to the other and makethe cause responsible for what we deplore inthe U.S.S.R .

The help that the Soviet Union is giving toSpain shows us what fine capabilities ofrecovery it still possesses .The Soviet Union has not yet finished

instructing and astonishing us .

85

APPENDIX

I

SPEECH

Delivered in the Red Square in Moscow, on the occa-sion of Maxim Gorki's Funeral (loth June, 1936)

MAXIM Goxxl's death darkens not only theSoviet State but the whole world . That greatvoice of the Russian people, that spoke throughGorki, has found an echo in the most distantlands. So that I am not here to express amerely personal grief, but that of Frenchletters, of European culture, of the culture ofthe whole world .

Culture has long remained the apanage of aprivileged class. To be cultivated one had tohave leisure ; a whole class of people toiled inorder to enable a very few to enjoy life andto get educated ; and the garden of culture,of belles-lettres, and of arts was a privatedomain, where the only people to be admittedwere not the most intelligent or the most apt,

89

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.but those who since their childhood had beensheltered from want . No doubt it was clearthat intelligence did not necessarily accompanywealth : in French literature Moliere, Diderot,Rousseau, for instance, came from the people ;but their readers were still the leisured classes .

When, in the great October Revolution, thedeep masses of the Russian peoples rose up, itwas said in the West, it was repeated, and itwas even believed, that this great tidal wavewas going to submerge culture. For, as soonas it ceased to be a privilege, was not culturein danger ?It was in reply to this query that some

writers of all countries have come togetherwith the clear feeling of an urgent duty toperform : yes, there is a menace to culture .But the danger does not come from the revolu-tionary and liberating forces ; on the contrary,it comes from the parties who try to subjugatethese forces, to break them, to hide thoughtitself under a bushel . The menace to culturecomes from fascism, from narrow and artificialnationalisms which have nothing in commonwith true patriotism, with the deep love of one'scountry. The menace to culture comes fromwar, to which all these nationalisms and theirhatreds fatally and necessarily lead.

9o

BACK FROM THE U.S .S.R .I was to have presided over the international

conference for the defence of culture which isbeing held at this moment in London. Badnews about Maxim Gorki's health made meleave suddenly for Moscow . In this RedSquare, which has already seen so manytragic and glorious events, in front of Lenin'smausoleum on which so many eyes are fastened,I wish to declare before all, in the name of thewriters assembled in London, and in my own,that it is to the great international revolutionaryforces that must fall the task, the duty, ofdefending, of protecting, and of illustratingculture afresh. The fate of culture is boundup in our minds with the destiny of the SovietUnion. We will defend it .Just as over and above the particular interests

of each people, a great common need bindstogether the proletarian classes of all lands, so,over and above each national literature, thereflourishes a culture composed of all that isreally vital and human in each particularliterature-" national in form, socialist incontent," as Stalin has said .

I have often written that it is by the exerciseof his most distinctive gifts that a writer bestattains universal significance, because it isthrough being most individual that he shows

9 1

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

himself by that very means the most human .No Russian writer has been more Russian thanMaxim Gorki. No Russian writer has beenlistened to with more universal attention .

I was present yesterday at the march pastof the people before Gorki's catafalque . Icould not weary of contemplating the numbersof women, of children, of workers of all kindsfor whom Maxim Gorki had been a spokesmanand a friend. I reflected with sorrow thatthese people, in any other country than theU.S.S.R ., were among those to whom the entryof the hall would have been forbidden ; thosewho, precisely, when they come to the gardensof culture, are confronted with a terrible" No Admittance.-Private property." Andtears came to my eyes at the thought thatwhat seemed to them already so natural,seemed to me, the Westerner, still so extra-ordinary.

And it seemed to me that there existed here,in the Soviet Union, a most surprising novelty-up till now, in all the countries of the world,a great writer has always been more or less arevolutionary, a fighter . In a way that wasmore or less conscious and more or less veiled,he thought, he wrote, in opposition to some-thing. He refused to approve. He brought

92

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

into the minds and into the hearts of peoplethe germs of insubordination, of revolt . Respect-able people, public powers, the authorities,tradition, had they been far-seeing enough,would not have hesitated to recognize in himthe enemy.

To-day, in the U.S.S.R., for the first time,the question is put in a very different manner ;while remaining a revolutionary, the writer isno longer a rebel. * On the contrary, heresponds to the wishes of the greatest numberof the whole people, and, what is most remark-able, to those of the rulers. So that thereappears to be a sort of fading away of theproblem, or rather a transposition so new thatat first it disconcerts thought. And it will notbe one of the least glories of the U.S.S.R ., andof those prodigious days which still continue toshake our old world, to have called up intofresh heavens new stars and unimaginedproblems.

Maxim Gorki will have had the singular andglorious destiny of attaching this new world tothe past and of binding it to the future . Heexperienced the oppression of old times, thetragic struggle of yesterday ; he powerfully

* This was where I fooled myself ; I was obliged, alas,soon to admit it .

93

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

helped on the calm and radiant triumph ofto-day. He lent his voice to those who hadnot yet been able to make themselves heard ;to those who will in future, thanks to him, belistened to. From now on, Maxim Gorkibelongs to history. He takes his place amongthe greatest .

94

II

SPEECH

To the Students of Moscow

(June 27th, r936)

COMRADES, representatives of Soviet youth,I want you to understand why I feel so movedat finding myself to-day among you . In orderto do that, I shall have to talk to you a littleabout myself. The sympathy you have shownme encourages me to do so. I feel I deservethis sympathy a little ; I believe I am notbeing too presumptuous in thinking and sayingso. My merit is that I have been able to waitfor you. I waited a long time, but I was fullof confidence ; I knew that some day youwould come. And now you are there, andyour welcome fully makes up for the longsilence, the solitude, the lack of comprehensionin which I lived at first. Yes, indeed, I consideryour sympathy to be the true recompense .

95

0

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.When in Paris the review Commune was

founded under the direction and thanks tothe bold initiative of Comrade Louis Aragon,it occurred to him to ask each of the writersof France : Whom do you write for? I didnot answer this enquiry, and I told Aragonwhy I did not answer it . It was because I couldnot say, without some appearance of vanity,what was nevertheless the truth-I havealways written for those who will come after me .

I cared very little about applause ; I couldonly have got it from that bourgeois class fromwhich I myself came, and to which, it is true,I still belonged, but which I heartily despised,precisely because I knew it so well, andagainst which all that was best in me rebelled .As my health was bad and I could hardly hopeto live long, I accepted having to quit thisearth without having known success. I agreedto consider myself as a posthumous author, likeone of those whose pure fame I envied, thosewho died practically unknown, who only wrotefor posterity, like Stendhal, Baudelaire, Keats,or Rimbaud. I kept saying to myself, " Thoseto whom my books are addressed are not yetborn." And I had the painful but exhilaratingimpression of speaking in the desert. Speakingin the desert is very satisfactory ; there is no

g6

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .risk of an echo distorting the sound of yourvoice ; there is no need to be concerned aboutthe impression your words may make ; andthere is nothing to influence them but a needfor sincerity. And it is to be observed thatwhen the public taste is warped, when con-vention has overcome truth, that very sincerityis styled affectation . Yes, I was supposed tobe an affected author. I was made aware ofit by not being read .

The example of the great writers that I havejust mentioned, and whom I especially admired,reassured me. I consented to have no successduring my lifetime, being fully convinced thatthe future would bring me my revenge . Ihave kept, as others might keep a prize-list,the sales-list of my Nourritures Terrestres. Inthe course of twenty years (1897-1917) therewere exactly five hundred purchasers . Thebook had passed unnoticed by the public andthe critics. No article had been written aboutit, or to be more accurate, there had beennothing but two articles by friends . What Ihave just said about the Nourritures Terrestres isonly interesting in view of the extraordinarysuccess that the book had later on, and of theinfluence it exercises on the young generationof to-day.

97

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.And this story does not only apply to my

Nourritures Terrestres . In general, the originallack of success of each of my books was indirect ratio to its value and its novelty . I donot want to draw from this a conclusion whichmight seem paradoxical-that only mediocrebooks can hope for an immediate triumph .No ; that is certainly not my view. I simplywant to say that the deep significance of abook, of a work of art, is not always recognizedat once. And therefore, a work of art is notmerely addressed to the present. The onlyreally valuable works are those messages whichare often not understood till later, and a workwhich exclusively and too perfectly respondsto an immediate need runs the risk of soonappearing totally insignificant.

Young people of new Russia, you understandnow why I sent you my Nouvelles Nourritureswith such cheerful confidence ; it was becauseyou carry within you the future . The futurewill not come from the outside ; the future iswithin you. And not only the future of theU.S.S.R ., for on the future of the U.S.S.R .depend the destinies of the rest of the world .It is you who will make the future .Take good care. Be vigilant. On you are

weighing tremendous responsibilities. Do not98

BACK FROM THE U.S.S .R .rest on the triumph that your elder comradeshave generously paid for with their endeavoursand their blood . They have cleared awayfrom the sky an accumulation of clouds thatstill darken many countries in this world . Donot remain inactive . Do not forget that, fromthe depths of the West, our eyes are fixed onyou with love, with expectation, and with animmense hope.

99

III

SPEECH

To the Men-of-Letters of Leningrad

(July 2nd, 1936)

I WAS immediately fascinated by the charm,the beauty, the historic eloquence of Leningrad .Moscow indeed touched my mind and myheart by its extreme interest . There the(glorious) * destiny of the Soviet Union isbeing framed with mighty touches . But,whereas at Moscow no memories could arisebut those of the Napoleonic conquest, that vaineffort that was instantly followed by disaster,in Leningrad many buildings recalled to meall that was most fruitful and most cordial inthe intellectual relations between Russia andFrance. In those bygone relations, in that

* I was given to understand that it would be suitableto add here " glorious."

I00

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.spiritual emulation that animated all that wasmost generous, most universal, newest andboldest in the culture of the time, I like to seea kind of foreshadowing, a preparation, and anunconscious promise ; yes, a promise of whatrevolutionary internationalism is about torealize to-day .

We should not fail to notice, however, thatin the past, these relations were always per-sonal ; they took place between a great manand a (great) * monarch, or between greatmen among themselves. To-day the relationswhich are being established and for which weare working go far deeper ; they imply theconsent of the peoples themselves, and theyembrace and merge together without distinc-tion the intellectuals and workers of all kinds,a thing that had never been seen till now . Sothat it is not only in my own name that I amspeaking, but when I reiterate my love for theU.S.S.R., I am also expressing the feelings ofvast toiling masses in France .If my presence among you, and that of my

companions, can open fresh possibilities ofintellectual traffic, I shall rejoice with all myheart. I have always protested against the

•

I was asked to suppress " great " as being unsuitablefor . ' monarch ."

1 01

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .racial barrier which, according to somenationalists, is unsurmountable, and which, ifwe are to believe them, would be an eternalobstacle to the mutual understanding ofdifferent peoples, and would render theirspirit incommunicable and at the same timeimpenetrable to the spirit of others. I am gladto be able to say here that, from the days ofmy youth, I have always experienced a par-ticularly fraternal feeling towards what werethen supposed to be the incomprehensiblemysteries of the Slav soul . So much so that Iwas able to feel myself in close communionwith your great authors, whom I learnt toknow and to love from the moment I leftschool . Gogol, Turgueniev, Dostoievski,Pushkin, Tolstoi, and later, Sologub, Shedrin,Chekhov, Gorki, to name only the dead-with what excitement I read them, andindeed, with what gratitude ! I found inthem, together with a highly individual art,the most surprising revelations on man ingeneral, and on myself in particular. Thesegreat writers prospect regions of the soul thatother literatures, it seems to me, have leftunexplored ; they instantly grasp, with deli-cacy, with strength, and with that kind ofindiscretion that love permits, what lies deepest

102

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .in man, what is at the same time the mostindividual and the most genuinely human . Ihave persistently done my best to spread theknowledge and the love of Russian literaturein France-both of the literature of the pastand that of the Soviet Union of to-day . Weare often ill-informed, and between two peoples,grave errors and most regrettable omissionsmay arise ; but our curiosity is ardent, as isthat of the comrades who came to join PierreHerbart and myselfJef Last, Schiffrin, Dabitand Guilloux, two of whom belong to theparty. These, no less than myself, hope thatour journey in the Soviet Union may enlightenus and enable us to enlighten on our returnthe French public, which is extraordinarilyeager as to everything the Soviet Union iscontributing in the way of novelties to our oldworld. The sympathy which you have beenkind enough to show me encourages me, andI take pleasure in expressing, in the name ofmany of those who have remained in France,our cordial thanks.

103

IV

THE STRUGGLE AGAINST RELIGION

I DID not visit the anti-religious museums atMoscow ; but I saw the one in the Leningradcathedral of St Isaac's, whose golden domeshines so exquisitely over the city . From theoutside the cathedral is very beautiful, but theinside is frightful. The big religious paintingswhich have been preserved there might verywell launch blasphemy on a successful career,they are so truly hideous . The museum itselfis much less impertinent than I had feared . Itwas designed with the idea of confronting thereligious myth with science . Obliging ciceronescome to the rescue of lazy visitors who are notlikely to be sufficiently convinced by opticalinstruments and astronomical, biological, ana-tomical, and statistical tables . Decencies arepreserved, and there is nothing very out-rageous. It savours of Reclus and Flammarionrather than of Leo Taxil. The popes, it is

1 04

BACK FROM THE U .S.S.R.true, are pretty roughly handled . But a fewdays before, I had happened to meet a pope-a real one. It was in the outskirts of Leningrad,on the road that leads to Peterhof. The meresight of him was more eloquent than all theanti-religious museums in the U.S.S.R. I willnot attempt to describe him. Monstrous,abject and ridiculous, he seemed to have beeninvented by Bolshevism to serve as a scarecrow,for the express purpose of putting to flightfor ever and ever the country's pious inclina-tions .On the other hand, I cannot forget the

beautiful figure of the monk in charge of thefine church we visited shortly before arrivingat X . . . . How dignified his manners ! Hownoble his features ! Not a word, not a signpassed from him to us ; not a glance wasexchanged. As I gazed at him without hisbeing aware of it, there came into my mindthe " tradebat autem " of the Gospels, inwhich Bossuet found the inspiration for one ofhis finest flights of oratory .The archaeological museum of Chersonese,

in' the suburbs of Sebastopol, is also housed ina church.* The mural paintings here have

* In another church near Sochi we were present at adancing-class . In the place of the high altar there werecouples revolving to the sound of a fox-trot or a tango .

105

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.been respected, no doubt on account of theirprovocative ugliness. Explanatory labels areaffixed to them . Under a picture of Christ,are the words, "Legendary character whonever existed ."

I doubt whether the U .S.S.R has conductedthis anti-religious war very skilfully . It wouldhave been allowable for the Marxists to haveconfined themselves to history, denied Christ'sdivinity and, if they pleased, his existence ; tohave rejected the Church's dogmas, discreditedthe Revelation, and considered from a purelyhuman and critical point of view a teachingwhich, after all, brought new hope to theworld and the most marvellous revolutionaryferment possible at the time. It would havebeen allowable for them to show the mannerin which the Church itself turned traitor, andhow the Gospels' doctrine of emancipationgave countenance (with the Church's con-nivance, alas) to the worst abuses of power .All this would have been better than theconspiracy of silence and negation. Nothingcan prevent this thing from having been, andthe ignorance in which the peoples of theU.S.S.R. are kept in regard to it, leaves themwithout the defence of critical judgment andunvaccinated against the constant menace of

io6

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .an epidemic of mysticism . There is more, andso far I have only presented my objections intheir narrowest form and from a practicalpoint of view. The ignoring, the repudiationof the Gospels and all they have given rise to,cannot fail to impoverish humanity and culturein the most lamentable way. I should besorry for people to be suspicious of me in thisrespect . and to scent here some whiff of myearly education and convictions. I shouldspeak in the same way about the Greek mythswhich have also, I think, a profound andpermanent teaching value . It seems to meabsurd to believe them, but equally absurd torefuse to recognize the element of truth thatinforms them, and to think they can be treatedwith sufficient respect by a smile and a shrugof the shoulders. As for the arrest of develop-ment that religion may inflict upon the mind,as for the stamp that may be set upon it byfaith, I know them well enough and think itright to free the new man from all such things .I agree too that superstition kept alive (withthe pope's help) an abominable state of moralfilth in the country districts-and in otherplaces too (I have seen the Tsarina's apart-ments)-and I understand that there wasurgent need for clearing the whole thing up

107

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .once and for all, but . . . The Germans havean excellent image for which I have tried invain to discover an equivalent, and whichexpresses what I find it difficult to say other-wise : The baby has been emptied away with thebath-water. The result, no doubt, of a want ofdiscrimination as well as of too great hastiness .That the water was dirty and smelly is verylikely ; I have no difficulty in believing it-sodirty, in fact, that without paying any attentionto the child, the whole lot was thrown awayregardless .

And now, if I am told that the church-bellsare being re-cast out of a spirit of conciliationand tolerance, I greatly fear that it may bemerely a beginning, that the bath will soon befilled again with dirty water-while the babywill be missing .

io8

V

OSTROVSKI

I CANNOT speak of Ostrovski without profoundrespect. If we were not in the U.S.S.R., Ishould say he was a saint. Religion neverfashioned a more beautiful figure. That it isnot only religion that can fashion such figures,he is the proof. An ardent conviction isall-sufficing, without any hope of future recom-pense, without any recompense but the satis-faction of an austere duty duly performed .

Ostrovski, as the result of an accident, losthis sight and was left completely paralysed . . . .It seems as though, deprived of almost everycontact with the outside world, and with nosoil in which to spread its roots, Ostrovski'ssoul has only been able to grow upwards .

We gathered together near his bed, to whichhe has been long confined . I sat at its headand put out my hand which he grasped, or, Ishould say rather, clutched, as if it were a

log

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.means of clinging to life, and during the wholehour our visit lasted, his thin fingers neverceased caressing mine, entwining them andtransmitting me the effluvia of his quiveringsensibility .

Ostrovski cannot see, but he speaks, hehears. His mind is all the more active andtense that nothing comes to distract it, saveperhaps physical pain. But he makes nocomplaint, and his fine emaciated face stillmanages to smile in spite of his long-drawnagony .The room he was lying in is bright. The

song of birds, the scent of flowers in thegarden outside, came in through the openwindows. How calm it all was ! His motherand sister, his friends and visitors, were seateddiscreetly not far from the bed ; some tooknotes of our conversation . I told Ostrovskithat the spectacle of his steadfastness hadbrought me a reserve of extraordinaryencouragement to draw upon ; but praiseseemed to embarrass him ; what we mustadmire is the U.S.S.R., is the accomplishmentof a stupendous task. He is interested only inthat, not in himself. Three times over, afraidof tiring him, I bade him good-bye, for suchunrelaxing ardour, I imagined, must be

1 10

BACK FROM THE U .S.S.R.exhausting ; but he begged me to stay ; heneeded, one felt, to speak . He would go onspeaking after we had left ; and speaking forhim is dictating. It is thus that he has writtento dictation the book in which he relates thestory of his life. * He was now, I was told,dictating another. From morning to evening,and late on into the night, he works, ceaselesslydictating.

At last I rose to go . He asked me to kisshim. As I put my lips to his brow, I couldhardly restrain my tears ; I felt too that it washe who was leaving us and that I was sayinggood-bye to a dying man . . . . But for monthsand months, I was told, he has seemed on thebrink of death and his fervour alone keeps thesinking flame alive in that frail body.

* This book is now available in an English translationThe Making of a Hero, Secker and Warburg . Ostrovskidied within a few days of the English publication, inJanuary, 5937. (Translator's Note .)

VI

A KOLKHOSE

So then the daily wage is 16.5o roubles . Nota very large sum . But the brigade foremanof the kolkhose, with whom I conversed atlength while my companions were bathing(for this kolkhose is by the sea-side), explainedto me that what is called " a day's work " is aconventional measure, and that good workmencan do a double and sometimes even a triple"day's work" in one day.* He showed methe individual pay-books and the account-sheets which all pass through his hands. Notonly the quantity of work done was taken intoconsideration, but the quality as well . Thegang foremen supply him with information onthe matter, and it is according to this informa-tion that he makes out the pay-sheets . Thisrequires a pretty complicated system ofaccounts, and he did not conceal the fact that

* The reckoning allows for a division of the "day'swork " into decimal fractions .

1 12

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

he was rather overworked, but very satisfiednevertheless, for he was already able to credithimself personally with the equivalent of 300days' work since the beginning of the year (itbeing then August 3rd) . This brigade foremanhad charge of 56 men ; between them andhim are the gang-foremen. A hierarchy, infact ; but the basic salary for the "day'swork " is the same for all. Moreover, eachman enjoys the personal use of the produce ofhis garden, which he cultivates after havingfinished his work at the kolkhose . For suchwork there are no regulation hours ; whenthere is no particular hurry, each man workswhen he feels like it.

This led me to ask him whether some peopledo not contribute less than the standard" day's work ." He replied that this does nothappen. Evidently the " day's work " is notan average one, but is a minimum easilyenough obtained . Moreover, the incorrigibleslackers would rapidly be eliminated fromthis kolkhose, the advantages of which are sogreat that people are always trying to enter itbut without success ; the number of itsmembers is limited.The members of this privileged kolkhose

then earn about 6oo roubles a month .. SkilledI 13

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .workers sometimes receive much more . Forthe unskilled, who form the great majority,the daily wage is from five to six roubles. * Theordinary labourer earns even less .They might, it would seem, be -paid a

higher wage. But as long as there is noincrease in the number of goods in circulation,a rise in wages would only result in a rise inprices. This, at any rate, is the objectionthat is made .

As it stands, the differences in wages are aninducement to skilled labour . Labourers areonly too plentiful ; what are lacking arespecialists, technicians . No effort is spared toget hold of them ; and perhaps there isnothing in the U .S.S.R. that I admire morethan that the means of instruction shouldalready almost everywhere be placed withinthe reach of the humblest workers, thusenabling them (it only depends on them) torise above their precarious condition .

* Perhaps I had better remark that, theoretically, therouble is worth three French francs, that is to say, thatthe foreigner arriving in the U .S .S .R. pays three francsfor each rouble note. But the purchasing power of therouble is hardly greater than that of the franc ; moreovermany of the most essential commodities are still at a veryhigh price (eggs, milk, meat, and especially butter,, etc.) .As for clothes . . . I

II 4

VII

BOLSHEVO

I VISITED Bolshevo . It was at first a merevillage which suddenly sprang into being byorder, about six years ago, I think, atGorki's initiative . To-day it is a fairly largetown.

It has this peculiarity. All its inhabitantsare former criminals-thieves and even mur-derers. The master idea that presided at theformation and constitution of the town wasthis-that criminals are victims who have beenled astray, and that a rational re-educationmay turn them into excellent Soviet subjects .Bolshevo has proved this . The town is pros-perous. Factories were started in it whichsoon became model factories .

All the inhabitants of Bolshevo are reformedcharacters and have now become, under noleadership but their own, zealous, orderly,peaceful workers, particularly strict as to their

II5

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.

morals and anxious to improve their minds,for which purpose all possible means are putat their disposal . And it was not only theirfactories they invited me to admire, but theirmeeting-places, their club, their library, alltheir arrangements which leave, indeed, no-thing to be desired . No trace can be seen onthe faces of these ex-criminals, in their appear-ance or their language, of their past life .Nothing could be more edifying, more reassur-ing and encouraging than this visit . It leadsone to think that all crimes are imputable notto the man himself who commits them, but tothe society which drives him to commit them .One of these men, then another, was invitedto speak, to confess his former crimes, torelate how he had been converted, how hehad come to recognize the excellence of thenew regime and the personal satisfaction heexperienced in submitting to it . It all remindedme oddly of the series of edifying confessionsthat I had heard at Thun two years agoduring a great meeting of adepts of the OxfordGroup . " I was a sinner . ; I was unhappy ;I did evil ; but now I understand ; I amsaved ; I am happy." The whole thing israther in the rough, rather naive, and onlywhets the psychologist's appetite without satis-

ii6

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .

fying it. Bolshevo, none the less, is one of themost remarkable successes on which the newSoviet State can plume itself. I am not surewhether, in other countries, man would proveso malleable.

" 7

VIII

THE BESPRIZORNIS

I HAD hoped there would be no more bespri-zornis * for me to see . But there are plenty ofthem at Sebastopol, and I was told that thereare even more at Odessa. They are not quitethe same type of child as in earlier times .Nowadays these children may have parentsstill living ; they have left their native village,sometimes through love of adventure, morefrequently because they could not conceivethat anywhere else it was possible to be aswretched and as starved as they were at home .Some of them are under ten . They are easilyrecognizable because they wear a great manymore clothes (I do not say better clothes) thanthe other children . This is explained by thefact that they carry all their belongings aboutwith them. The other children very oftenwear nothing but bathing-drawers . (This was

•

Abandoned children .II8

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R .in summer and the heat was tropical.) Theyrun about the streets naked down to the waistand with bare feet . And this should notalways be taken as a sign of poverty . Theyhave just bathed or are going to bathe . Theyhave a home where they can leave their otherclothes, that they may need for rainy days orfor the winter. As for the besprizornis, theyhave no domicile. They usually wear a raggedsweater as well as bathing-drawers . Whatthe besprizornis live on I do not know. Butwhat I do know is that if they have enoughmoney to buy a piece of bread, they devour itravenously. Most of them are cheerful inspite of all ; but some of them seem on thepoint of fainting. We talked to several ofthem and won their confidence . They finallytold us the place where they often sleep whenthe weather is not fine enough to spend thenight out of doors ; it is near a public squarewhere a statue of Lenin stands, under the fineportico which overlooks the embarcation quay .On the left when you go down to the sea,there is a sort of recess in the portico, shut offby a little wooden door that you do not pushopen but pull towards you . I did so onemorning, when there were not too manypeople aboutfor I was afraid of giving away

II 9

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.their hiding-place and getting them turned outof it-and found myself facing a small spaceabout the size of an alcove, with no otheropening, where, curled up like a kitten on asack, a wretched little starveling was sleeping .I closed the door on his slumbers .One morning the besprizornis had disap-

peared (as a rule, they used to prowl about thelarge public gardens) then one of them, whomwe finally discovered, told me that there hadbeen a police raid and that all the others wereunder lock and key. Two of my companionshad in fact been present at the police raid . Apoliceman whom they questioned told themthat the children would be placed in a stateinstitution . The next day they had allreappeared. What had happened ? "Theywouldn't have us," said the children . But itseems more likely that it was they themselveswho refused to submit to what little disciplinewas demanded of them . Had they run awayagain ?It would have been easy for the policeto recapture them . One would have thoughtthat they would have been glad to be rescuedfrom such depths of poverty. Or did theyprefer to what was offered them, their povertytogether with their freedom ?I saw a very small one-certainly not more

120

BACK FROM THE U.S.S.R.than eight-being carried off by two plain-clothes policemen. Two were needed, for thechild was struggling like a wild cat ; sobbing,howling, stamping, trying to bite . . . . Nearlyan hour later, happening to pass near the sameplace, I saw the same child again. He hadnow calmed down and was sitting on thepavement. There was only one of the twopolicemen standing beside him. The childwas no longer trying to run away. He wassmiling at the policeman. A large lorry drewup, and the policeman helped the child to getin. Where was he taking him ? I do notknow. And I only relate this little incidentbecause few things in the Soviet Union movedme as much as the attitude of this man towardsthe child ; the persuasive gentleness of hisvoice (ah ! if I could only have understoodwhat he was saying) the kindness of his smile,and his caressing tenderness as he lifted himin his arms . . . I thought of Dostoievski'sMoujik Mardi *-and that it was worth whilecoming to the U .S.S.R. in order to see such athing .

* A Writer's Notebook .