Krupskaya remembers her and Lenin’s April, 1917 return from exile in Switzerland to revolutionary Petrograd via Germany in a sealed train. Written on the tenth anniversary.

‘From Emigration to Petrograd’ by Nadezhda Krupskaya from International Press Correspondence. Vol. 7 No. 24. April 14, 1927.

The last winter (1916-1917) we spent in Zurich. We did not enjoy life. The connection with Russia was broken off; we got no letters and no one came from there. According to our old-established custom, we had kept somewhat aloof from the emigrant colony which, by the bye, was very small at that time in Zurich, Grisha Usievitch was the only one who ran up to us every day when we came out of the emigrant restaurant; he was a dear young comrade, who later on fell at the front. “Cousin Zemliatchko”, a Bolshevik, whom continued hunger had driven out of his mind, came regularly, almost every morning. He went about in such rags and so dirty that he was no longer admitted to the Swiss library. He was always, trying to get hold of Iljitch, to discuss something with him, some fundamental question or other, and came before 9 o’clock, before Iljitch went to the library.

As these interviews with the lunatic usually caused “everything in the world” to hurt, as a girl of our acquaintance expressed it, we began to go out earlier in the morning and took a walk by the lake until the library opened. We took a room in the Swiss working-class quarter. The room was not exactly what we wanted. It was a gloomy, old house, which was certainly built in the 16th century; we could only open the window at night, for there was a sausage factory in the court and a horrible smell of bad sausage. We could, of course, have got a much better room for the same money, but we had made friends with our landlord’s family They were true workers, they hated capitalism and instinctively condemned the imperialist war. The flat, was truly “international”; the landlord and his family, a carpenter; and a shoemaker lived in two rooms; in another lived some Italian, in a third. Austrian actors with a strange, red cat and in the fourth, we Russians. There was no trace of chauvinism there. One day, when we and our hostess were each cooking our scrap of meat in the kitchen, our hostess called out passionately: “The soldiers must turn their weapons against their own Governments!” From that day onwards, Illjitch would not hear of changing rooms and greeted the landlady with special friendliness.

The Swiss Socialists unfortunately took a less revolutionary attitude than this working woman. For a time, Vladimir Iljitch had tried to guide the work in an international measure. In a small café “Zum Adler”, in a neighbouring street, a few Russian and Polish Bolsheviki, Swiss Socialists and some young Germans and Italians used to meet. About forty persons came to the first meeting. Iljitch expounded his standpoint, with regard to war, the necessity of condemning the leaders who had betrayed the cause of the proletariat, and developed a progranime of work. His foreign audience, although they had come there as Internationalists, were alarmed at Iljitch’s determination. I recall the speech of one of the representatives of the youth of Switzerland who spoke of its being no use running our heads against the wall. It is a fact that our meetings gradually melted away, and at the fourth meeting only the Russians and Poles appeared. They made jokes and went home. This, by the bye, was the time when we got into closer touch with Fritz Platten and Willy Münzenberg.

I recall a scene which occurred shortly afterwards. One day we went for a walk in a superior part of Zurich and unexpectedly met Nobs, the editor of the Zurich Socialist paper, who, at that time, had leanings towards the Left. When Nobs caught sight of Iljitch he pretended to be getting into a tram. Illjitch seized him, button-holed him and began to expound his point of view as to the inevitability of the world revolution. He cut a comic figure, Nobs, the Left opportunist, standing there and not knowing how to get rid of the tempestuous Russian; but the figure of Iljitch, convulsively holding Nobs by the button and trying to convince him, struck me as tragic. No outlet for this enormous energy, it is wasting itself unrecognised, his infinite devotion to the working masses, in vain the clear recognition of historical events. He called to my mind the white Siberian wolf whom I had seen with Iljitch in the London Zoo, where we had stood before his cage for a long time. “All wild animals get accustomed to their cage in time”, said the keeper, “the bear, the tiger, the lion. The white wolf from North Russia is the only one who never gets used to confinement; day and night he rages against the iron bars of his prison.” Was not the attempt to convince Nobs also fighting against the iron bars of a cage?

We were about to enter the library, when Comrade Bronski came and told us of the February revolution. Iljitch was beside himself. When Bronski had left us and we had recovered our composure, we went to the lake where all the Swiss papers are daily posted on a wall. The telegrams did indeed speak of a revolution in Russia.

Iljitch was overjoyed. He begged Bronski to find out whether it was not possible to get across Germany to Russia with the help of a smuggler. It soon transpired that the smuggler could only get him as far as Berlin. Furthermore, this smuggler was somehow or other connected with Parvus, and Vladimir Iljitch would have nothing to do with Parvus who had enriched himself through the war and had become a Social chauvinist. Another way had to be found. How? It might be possible to cross in an aeroplane, but one might be shot down. And where is this fabulous aeroplane which might take us to revolutionary Russia? Iljitch did not sleep for several nights. Once he said during the night: “I tell you what, I could travel on the passport of a dumb Swede.” I laughed. “That is no good. You might betray yourself in a dream. You would dream of the Cadets and call out in your sleep: Villains, rascals! And then they would know that you are no Swede Anyhow, the plan of travelling with a passport of a dumb Swede was more feasible than flying with an aeroplane. Iljitch wrote about his plan to Ganetzky in Sweden, but of course nothing came of it.

When it became evident that it was possible to get a permit to pass through Germany with the help of the Swiss comrades, Iljitch immediately set about organising things in such a way that it did not in the least partake of the character of an agreement with the German Government or with the German Social chauvinists, and tried to formulate the matter juridically. It was a bold step, not only because it was risking calumny being accused of treachery to the country, but also because there was no guarantee they would let us through and would not intern the Bolsheviki. After the Bolsheviki, the Mensheviki followed the same route and other groups of emigrants, but no one dared to take the first step. When news came from Berne that it was all fixed up and that we could enter Germany from there, Iljitch said: “We will go by the next train.” I hesitated. We had to dissolve our whole “household”, to return the books to the library, to pay our landlord etc. “Go alone. I will follow to-morrow.” “No, we will both go.” The “household” was dissolved, the books packed, letters destroyed, we took a few clothes and the most necessary things and we went by the next train. We could not get on so quickly, for it was just Easter, and this caused various delays.

The travellers collected at the Town Hall in Berne; besides us, the group included Zinoviev, Usievitch, Inessa Armand, Charitonov, Sokolnikov, Mechi Zchakaja and others. There was one woman, a member of the “League” with a curly-headed boy, called Robert, who understood no Russian but only French. Radek travelled with us as a Russian. Platten accompanied us.

During the whole journey we did not speak to a single German; near Berlin, some German Social Democrats sat in a special compartment, but not one of us began a conversation with them, only Robert peeped into their compartment and asked: “Le conducteur, qu’est ce qu’il fait?” I do not know whether the Germans told Robert what the conductor was doing, but at any rate they had no opportunity of putting questions to the Bolsheviki. We looked out of the windows and were surprised to see almost no men; only women, young people and children were to be seen both in town and country. Food was brought to us in the train, cutlets with peas. They evidently wanted to show us that everyone in Germany was still living in luxury. We got through successfully.

In Stockholm, we were received with speeches; in the waiting room a red flag was hanging and a meeting was organised. I do not remember much of Stockholm, my thoughts were already in Russia. Finnish drivers took us over the frontier. There everything was dear to our hearts, familiar and homely; the bad third-class railway carriages, the Russian soldiers. It was terribly fine. Robert was soon in the arms of an old soldier, clinging round his neck, whispering to him in French and eating the Easter bread with which the soldier fed him. We all thronged to the windows. On the platforms of the stations through which we passed, stood groups of soldiers. Usievitch leant out of the window and called out: “Long live the world revolution!” The soldiers looked at us without comprehension. A pale lieutenant walked past our compartment a few times and when, with Iljitch, we moved into the empty coach next to ours, he came and sat with us and entered into conversation. The lieutenant was a defender of the fatherland. Iljitch supported his point of view and was also very pale. Gradually however, soldiers collected in our coach, and very soon it was full. The soldiers crowded round so as to be better able to hear and see the man who spoke so sensibly against the predatory war. Their interest grew from minute to minute and the expression on their faces became more tense.

In Bieloostov we met Maria Iljitchna, Shliapnikov, Stalij and others. There were some women workers. Stalij tried all the time to persuade me to address the women, but no words came into my mind and I could not say anything. The comrades sat with us and began to tell us what was happening. We were soon in Petrograd.

The masses of workers, soldiers and sailors in Petrograd welcomed their leader. How did they know he was coming? I have no idea. We were surrounded by a sea of people.

Those who did not experience the revolution, cannot imagine its solemn, magnificent beauty.

Red flags, a guard of honour of the Kronstadt sailors, the reflectors of the fortress of Peter and Paul illuminating the way from the Finland station to Kshesinski’s house, a chain of workers of both sexes guarding Iljitch’s route. He was then lifted on to an armoured car. He said a few words. And round him, what he valued more than all the world, the masses of the people.

The revolutionary people welcomed their leader with as much ceremony as they bore him to the grave.

International Press Correspondence, widely known as”Inprecorr” was published by the Executive Committee of the Communist International (ECCI) regularly in German and English, occasionally in many other languages, beginning in 1921 and lasting in English until 1938. Inprecorr’s role was to supply translated articles to the English-speaking press of the International from the Comintern’s different sections, as well as news and statements from the ECCI. Many ‘Daily Worker’ and ‘Communist’ articles originated in Inprecorr, and it also published articles by American comrades for use in other countries. It was published at least weekly, and often thrice weekly.

PDF of full issue: https://www.marxists.org/history/international/comintern/inprecor/1927/v07n24-apr-14-1927-inprecor-op.pdf