The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order 9783030355296

Table of contents :
Contents
Notes on Contributors
International Order and the Bolshevik: Challenge in the Aftermath of World War I
Diplomacy and Security: The Bolshevik Threat
Italian Reaction to the Bolshevik Revolution (1917–1918)
Liberal Italy and Tsarist Russia: A Weak Relationship?
Russia and Italy: Uneasy Allies in the First World War Until the Outbreak of the October Revolution
Italy’s Early Reactions to the October Revolution
Tomasi della Torretta and the Bolshevik Government Until the Brest-Litovsk Peace
Italy and Russia from Brest-Litovsk to the End of the War
Conclusions
Rome and Moscow Seek a Closer Alliance in the 1920s
Precedents
Italy Seen from Moscow
Can More Be Done?
Bucharest or Moscow
Conclusions
The Other Thermopylae of Europe: Greater Romania and the Red Menace
Hungarian Communists in Italy: Under the Surveillance of Italian and Hungarian Authorities
The Empire Under Attack: Anglo-Soviet Relations and Bolshevik Infiltration in India in the Early 1920s
Britain and the October Revolution
‘The Achilles Heel of British Imperialism’: Comintern, the Colonial Question and India
Economic Rapprochement: The Trade Agreement
Communism in India: The Tashkent Experiment
Violation of the Agreement and the Curzon Ultimatum
Conclusion: The Attack on the Jewel of the Crown
Perceptions of Bolshevism: People, Networks and Ideas
From Mistrust to Hostility: Perceptions of the Russian Revolutions Among French Political Circles (1917–1919)
Introduction
First Hopes Generated by the February Revolution: A Social and Patriotic Revolution?
The October Revolution and Policy Towards Russia
Allied Intervention in the Russian Civil War and “Sanitary Cord”: Bolshevism Through the Prism of Domestic Policy
Conclusion
The Russian Revolution and Polish Communism in the Interwar Era
“A Successful Method”: The Chinese Reception of the Russian Revolutionary Model in the 1920s
The Reasons for Choosing Asia
The First Congress of the Nationalist Party
Strategic Changes of Agenda
The Significance of China in Stalin’s Russia
Conclusions
Index

Citation preview

SECURITY, CONFLICT AND COOPERATION IN THE CONTEMPORARY WORLD

The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order

Edited by

valentine lomellini

Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World Series Editors Effie G. H. Pedaliu LSE Ideas London, UK John W. Young University of Nottingham Nottingham, UK

The Palgrave Macmillan series, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World aims to make a significant contribution to academic and policy debates on cooperation, conflict and security since 1900. It evolved from the series Global Conflict and Security edited by Professor Saki Ruth Dockrill. The current series welcomes proposals that offer innovative historical perspectives, based on archival evidence and promoting an empirical understanding of economic and political cooperation, conflict and security, peace-making, diplomacy, humanitarian intervention, nation-­ building, intelligence, terrorism, the influence of ideology and religion on international relations, as well as the work of international organisations and non-governmental organisations. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14489

Valentine Lomellini Editor

The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order

Editor Valentine Lomellini Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies University of Padua Padua, Italy

Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World ISBN 978-3-030-35528-9    ISBN 978-3-030-35529-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Granger Historical Picture Archive / Alamy Stock Photo This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

International Order and the Bolshevik: Challenge in the Aftermath of World War I  1 Valentine Lomellini

Diplomacy and Security: The Bolshevik Threat  13 Italian Reaction to the Bolshevik Revolution (1917–1918) 15 Antonio Varsori Rome and Moscow Seek a Closer Alliance in the 1920s 39 Elena Dundovich The Other Thermopylae of Europe: Greater Romania and the Red Menace 55 Alberto Basciani Hungarian Communists in Italy: Under the Surveillance of Italian and Hungarian Authorities 75 Balázs Juhász

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The Empire Under Attack: Anglo-Soviet Relations and Bolshevik Infiltration in India in the Early 1920s 93 Giulia Bentivoglio

Perceptions of Bolshevism: People, Networks and Ideas 113 From Mistrust to Hostility: Perceptions of the Russian Revolutions Among French Political Circles (1917–1919)115 Frédéric Dessberg The Russian Revolution and Polish Communism in the Interwar Era131 Eryk Krasucki “A Successful Method”: The Chinese Reception of the Russian Revolutionary Model in the 1920s155 Lorenzo M. Capisani Index179

Notes on Contributors

Alberto Basciani  is Associate Professor of Eastern European History at the Department of Political Sciences of Roma Tre University, Italy. He is a specialist in contemporary South-Eastern European history and academic secretary of the Italian Association of Historical Studies on Central and Eastern Europe (aisseco.org). His main research focuses on ethnic conflict in Romania and Bulgaria, the process of modernization of the Balkans in the interwar years, Romanian communism and Italian cultural policy towards the Balkans during the fascist era. He is currently working on a book about Italian rule over Albania during the Second World War. Giulia  Bentivoglio  is Lecturer at the Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies, University of Padua, Padua, Italy. She is the author of many articles on British and Italian foreign policy. Among her publications are The two sick men of Europe? Britain and Italy between crisis and renaissance, 1976–83 (2018), La relazione necessaria. La Gran Bretagna del Governo Heath e gli Stati Uniti (1970–74) (2011) and, edited with Antonio Varsori, Realtà e immagine della politica estera italiana (2017). Lorenzo M. Capisani  obtained a doctorate in Humanistic Studies at the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, Milan, Italy, focusing on Modern Chinese History. His thesis addressed Chinese political history after the First World War from the perspective of the Nationalist Party, based on documentary evidence from PRC and Taiwanese archives. Capisani has worked at the Historical Archives of the European Union (HAEU) vii

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European University Institute (EUI), ESA History Project and Fondazione Cini, Italy, and has received an award from the Fondazione di Studi Storici Turati. Frédéric  Dessberg  is Assistant Professor in Contemporary History at Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne University, France, and currently teaches the History of International Relations at Saint-Cyr Military Academy, France. He holds a Jean Monnet European Chair and is Director of GIS Europe, which is based in Rennes. He is a member of UMR SIRICE, Labex EHNE and Centre of Research of Saint-Cyr, where he heads the European Defence and Security Department. He is interested in French policy in Central and Eastern Europe between the two world wars. He has recently published and co-edited Militaires et diplomates français face à l’Europe médiane. Entre médiations et constructions des savoirs (2017) and L’Européanité en Europe médiane (2018). Elena  Dundovich  is Professor of History of International Relations at the Department of Political Sciences of the University of Pisa, Italy. She teaches courses in the History of International Relations, the History of Eastern Europe and Geopolitical Dynamics in the Post-Soviet Area. She is Director of the PhD School in Political Science and Director’s Delegate for Teaching Activities. Among her publications are Bandierà Rossa trionferà? (2017) and Cornobyl’. L’assenza (2012). Balázs Juhász  is an assistant professor at the Modern and Contemporary History Department of Eötvös Loránd University Faculty of Humanities and member of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences Momentum Trianon 100 Research Group. His main research area is the history of Italian-­ Hungarian military relations between the two world wars. Eryk  Krasucki is Assistant Professor at the Historical Institute of University of Szczecin, Poland. His research interests lie in the history of the twentieth century, with particular reference to communism’s problems of ideology and practice. He is the author of many works, among others Międzynarodowy komunista. Jerzy Borejsza  – biografia polityczna (2009) and ‘A jednak coraz silniej wierzę’. Życie i los Witolda Kolskiego 1902–1943 (2019). At present, he is preparing a collective portrait of elite Polish communists of the interwar age. Valentine Lomellini  is Associate Professor at the Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies, University of Padua, Italy. Among

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her publications are Les relations dangereuses: The French communists and socialists and the human rights issue in the Eastern countries (2012); La ‘grande paura rossa’. L’Italia delle spie bolsceviche, 1917–1922 (2015); and (ed.) L’Europa della Guerra fredda e l’Italia degli anni di piombo. Una regia internazionale per il terrorismo? (2017). Antonio Varsori  is Professor of History of International Relations at the University of Padua, Italy. He is also a member of the Commission for the Publication of Italian Diplomatic Documents at the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His most recent publications are L’Italia e la fine della guerra fredda. La politica estera dei governi Andreotti (1989–1992) (2013) and Le relazioni internazionali dopo la guerra fredda (2015).

International Order and the Bolshevik: Challenge in the Aftermath of World War I Valentine Lomellini

As recent studies highlight, the DNA of the original revolutionary Bolshevik message was characterized by the dominant gene of international expansion.1 As early as 1917, the Bolsheviks believed in the forthcoming outbreak of revolution in Europe. Then, in the early 1920s, opposition to this revolution led the Bolsheviks to reconsider revolution even in countries outside Europe, where those who were oppressed by colonialism welcomed a new international power that fought against colonial imperialism.2 Recently, Stephen Smith has asserted that, by appealing 1  Silvio Pons, Reinventare la rivoluzione. La trasformazione del progetto europeo dei bolscevichi (1917–1927), in Round Table La rivoluzione sovietica in prospettiva globale, Paolo Capuzzo (ed.), “Contemporanea”, n. 2, April–June 2018, pp. 252–258. See also: October! The Soviet Centenary, Michael Hardt and Sandro Mezzadra (eds.), “The South Atlantic Quarterly”, 116:4, October 2017. 2  John Paul Newman, Revolution and Counterrevolution in Europe 1917–1923, in Silvio Pons and Stephen A. Smith, The Cambridge History of Communism, vol. I, World Revolution

V. Lomellini (*) Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies, University of Padua, Padua, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_1

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to anti-imperial nationalism and anti-colonialism, Bolsheviks managed “to put an empire back together” again, although the wider significance of the revolution was anti-imperialist rather than proletarian.3 The Bolshevik threat was even more credible when international scenarios of the period are taken into account: the fall of great historic empires implied greater flexibility for the redefinition of global and regional equilibrium; the helplessness of the Entente powers, such as France and Britain, meant that revolution could infiltrate and ferment more easily in colonies, which in turn were naturally more receptive to such ideas than European countries.4 Since its very beginning, Bolshevism, and then, from its foundation, the Comintern, saw the whole world as its field of action. In fact, its goal was global, even though activities at first focused exclusively on Europe, the United States (USA) and certain parts of Asia and Latin America.5 In and Socialism in One Country, 1917–1941 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 74–95. 3  Stephen Smith, ‘Round table: Riempire le “pagine bianche”. Nuovi interrogative e nuove risposte sulla rivoluzione russa’, in Aldo Agosti (ed.), Passato e presente, n. 102, 2017: 24. Focusing on the category of “Empire” and dealing with the Russian Revolution: Jeremy Adelman, ‘The Russian Revolution and Global Empires, or Global Revolution and the Russian Empire?’, Ab Imperio, n. 2, 2017: 45–52. Concerning Russia’s ambiguities about anti-colonialism: Aleksandr Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2011). Dealing with the following Soviet Empire: Serii Plokhy, The last Empire. The final days of the Soviet Union (London: Oneworld, 2014). 4  See Datta Gupta, Communism and the crisis of the Colonial system, in the Cambridge History of Communism, 189–211. Concerning the deep Bolshevik incapability to understand and deal with different patterns of colonialism: Marangé, The birth of Vietnamese and Algerian communism, Round Table La rivoluzione sovietica in prospettiva globale, 259; Jeremy Friedman, Peter Rutland, ‘Anti-imperialism: the Leninist Legacy and the Fate of World Revolution’, Slavic Review, n. 3, 2017: 596. Concerning the state-of-the-art: ‘Nuovi interrogative e nuove risposte. La storiografia sulla Prima Guerra Mondiale cent’anni dopo’, Ventunesimo secolo, n. 41, 2017. 5  Brigitte Studer, The Transnational World of the Cominternians (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 6. Concerning the Communist International, see also: Sean McMeekin, The Russian Revolution. A New History (New York: Basic Books, 2017), 301–310; T. Rees, A. Thorpe (eds.), International communism and the Communist International 1919–1943 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998); Serge Wolikow, L’Internazionale comunista. Il sogno infranto del partito mondiale della rivoluzione (1914–1943) (Carocci: Roma, 2016); Tony Michels, ‘The Russian Revolution in New  York, 1917–1919’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 52, issue 4, 2017: 959–979; Irina Filatova, Apollon Davidson, ‘“We, the South African Bolshevik”: the Russian Revolution and South Africa’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 52, issue 4, 2017: 935–958; Ernesto Castro Leal, ‘A revolução

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the summer of 1920, when Lenin moved the Red Army against Poland, the Bolshevik power showed its hegemonic ambition, as it acquired the legacy of challenges that the Tsarist Empire had developed. During the 1920s, Bolshevik attempts to export the revolution were conditioned by their tactics. As Silvio Pons illustrates, at times Russian leaders disagreed on whether to export the revolution or to consolidate the post-Tsarist domestic dominion.6 However, even when the situation may not have been the most conducive to globalizing their scope, their aims were reassessed on a short-term basis, with their original target of global revolution maintained in the background.7 Their intention was to attain unprecedented global expansion of the communist political network, based on a hierarchical system and distinct from the social democratic Eurocentric approach.8 In the early twentieth century and then again last decade, research into the Bolsheviks’ international strategy developed extensively. After 1945, the studies started taking on a more ideological perspective because of the influence of the Cold War. After Khrushchev’s repudiation of Stalin, the first steps were taken in questioning the foundational narrative of the Bolshevik revolution, although the interpretations were still mostly dogmatic. During the Cold War years, some historians in Western countries who were sympathetic to the revolution continued to use the Marxist category, while others considered the “proletariat” to be a kind of ideological fiction.9 In the immediate aftermath of 1989, according to Russa de Outubro de 1917 e os primórdios do regime comunista: aspectos de recepção pública e da dinâmica politica em Portugal (1917–1926)’, Historia critica, issue 64, 2017: 39–60. Concerning the development of such attitude during the Cold War Period: Alexander Dallin (ed.), Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917–1990 (New York & London: Garland Publishing, 1992). 6  Concerning Stalin’s role and reception of the Versailles system: Stephen Kotkin, Stalin. Paradoxes of power, 1878–1928 (New York: Penguin, 2015), 310–317. 7  Silvio Pons, Round-table: ‘Riempire le “pagine bianche”. Nuovi interrogative e nuove risposte sulla rivoluzione russa’, in Aldo Agosti (ed.), Passato e presente, y. XXXV, 2017: 29–30; ‘Russian revolution: global impact’, in M. Neuburger (ed.), Journal of Contemporary History, n. 4, 2017; ‘Round-table La rivoluzione sovietica in prospettiva globale’, in Paolo Capuzzo (ed.), Contemporanea, n. 2, 2018. From another point of view, concerning the impact of the global on the revolution: Matthew Rendle, Making sense of 1917: Toward a Global History of the Russian Revolution, “Slavic Review”, n. 3, 2017: 610–618. 8  Pons, ‘Reiventare la rivoluzione. La trasformazione del progetto europeo dei bolscevichi (1917–1927)’, in ‘Round-table La rivoluzione sovietica in prospettiva globale’, 257. 9  Concerning historians’ attitude toward the Bolshevik revolution: Stephen Smith, ‘Round table: Riempire le “pagine bianche”. Nuovi interrogative e nuove risposte sulla rivoluzione russa’, in Aldo Agosti (ed.), Passato e presente, y. XXXV 2017: 26.

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Fitzpatrick, Cold War narratives even reinforced the idea that the Bolshevik revolution was a coup born out of terror.10 In recent times, the so-called spatial turn has emphasized the connection between the European dimension of the revolution and its impact in Asia, Africa and the Middle East.11 On this point, Stephen Smith has challenged traditional interpretation, arguing that the Russian Revolution was the outcome of a long history, which began in the Tsarist period and Stalin’s revolution from above.12 Moreover, Silvio Pons’ analysis helps us to understand the global significance of 1917: the Bolshevik revolution could be viewed as an emerging alternative to liberal capitalism, its aim being the politicization of globalization in terms of anti-imperialist and anti-colonial struggles.13 Moreover, in recent decades, communist attempts to export revolution, infiltrate Western societies and condition domestic political situations have been analysed in depth. Examples include Stephen White and Kevin Morgan’s work on the impact of Bolshevism in Great Britain, Bernardini’s contribution on the Bolshevik threat to France and the present author’s recent research into the “Red Scare” in Italy (1917–1922), all of which deal with these (successful or unsuccessful) challenges.14 However, they all 10   Sheila Fitzpatrick, ‘Russia’s Twentieth Century in History and Historiography’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, n. 3, 2000: 378–387. 11  Dealing with provincial studies of the Russian Revolutions, see the monograph number of Historical Research, vol. 90, n. 247, 2017. 12  Stephen Smith, Russia in revolution. An Empire in crisis, 1890–1928 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 13  Silvio Pons, La rivoluzione globale. Storia del comunismo internazionale (Torino: Einaudi, 2012); see also: Joachim Häberlen, ‘Between global aspirations and local realities: the global dimension of interwar communism’, Journal of Global History, n. 3, 2012: 415–437. Wilsonian universalism challenged the international order as well. See, for example: Lawrence E.  Gelfand, The American Mission to Negotiate Peace: a Historian Looks Back, in Manfred F.  Boemeke, Gerald D.  Feldman, Elisabeth Glaser (eds.), The Treaty of Versailles. A Reassessment After 75 Years (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 201–203. 14  Volumes on the Bolshevik threat: Stephen White, Britain & the Bolshevik Revolution: A Study in the Politics of Diplomacy, 1920–1924 (London: Edward Arnold, 1994); Giovanni Bernardini, “Pour la cause du désordre…”. La politica estera francese e il problema bolscevico nel primo dopoguerra, 1917–1920, Final Dissertation, under the supervision of Prof. A. Varsori, A.Y. 1999/2000, Florence; Morton H. Cowden, Russian Bolshevism and British Labour: 1917–1921 (New York: Boulder, 1984); Barry McLoughlin, Hanne Leidinger, Verena Moritz (eds.), Kommunismus in Österreich, 1918–1938 (Innsbruck-Wien-Bozen: StudienVerlag, 2009); Chris Wrigley, ‘The red menace? Russian revolution and Europe’, Modern History Review, Vol. 5, n. 4, April 1994; Valentine Lomellini, La grande paura rossa.

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have limitations. First, they simply consider the Western dimension, neglecting the importance of the Bolshevik threat to European colonies, both as autonomous challenge and in connection with the European final goal of the revolution. Secondly, they focus on national case studies: this does not allow the comparison of Bolshevik strategies in different domestic contexts or an understanding of how and why non-Communist political authorities tackled the Bolshevik threat in different ways. Lastly, the impact of Bolshevism should be reassessed in the light of recent historiographical debates concerning international world order after World War I. In her latest book, Brigitte Studer analyses the life of Comintern, which was established in spring 1919.15 This was a “world party of the proletariat”, or in other words an international organization that aimed to exploit the globalization of class struggle. International ideology was not an exclusive trait of Bolshevism. Both the League of Nations and the International Labour Organization, led by capitalist states, developed a similar, yet distinct, approach.16 Studer argues that the Bolsheviks established a presence at every political level: the international, with a programme of universal proletarian revolution and a global network of activity; the transnational, with dense exchange of persons and information; and lastly the national, where the struggle was played out—that is to say the site of concrete political action.17 The Bolshevik presence therefore appeared to be extremely significant and pervasive at all political levels. The international level was particularly affected, but has not been significantly considered in depth. As Leonard Smith asserts, any international system would by definition overthrow the existing order of how states relate to one another. In this L’Italia delle spie bolsceviche (Milano: FrancoAngeli, 2015). Concerning the role of communist comrades abroad: Mary Neuburger, ‘The 100th Anniversary of the Russian Revolution: Introduction’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 52/4, 2017: 812–813. 15  On rethinking periodization of the post-World War I aftermath: Adam Tooze, The deluge. The Great War and the Remaking of Global Order (London: Penguin, 2015). Brigitte Studer, The Transnational World of the Cominternians (Basingstoke: Palgrave-Macmillan, 2015). 16  Concerning the League of Nations, particularly on the role of Italy: Italo Garzia, L’Italia e le origini della Società delle Nazioni (Roma: Bonacci, 1995); Luca Micheletta, Luca Riccardi (eds.), La politica della pace: la Società delle nazioni tra multilateralismo e balance power (Padua: CEDAM, 2016); focusing on the American contribution: Warren F.  Kuehl and Lynne K. Dunn, Keeping the covenant: American internationalists and the League of Nations, 1920–1939 (London: Kent State University Press, 1997). 17  Brigitte Studer, The Transnational World of the Cominternians (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 4–5.

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regard, Bolshevism was no different, as far as it “constituted a discursive and in certain places material challenge to the Paris peace conference”.18 The conference that established a new international order was inevitably conditioned by the existence of the Bolshevik republic. This was initially because the Bolsheviks decided to pull out of World War I.  As Robert Gerwarth points out in The Vanquished, a complete withdrawal from the conflict was the only “viable option” to save the Bolshevik revolution. Furthermore, Lenin expected that war-weariness and material deprivation in Central and Western Europe would soon lead to revolution in other combatant nations, paving the way for “the pan-European, if not global, triumph of Bolshevism”.19 Moreover, beyond European countries the legacy of World War I and its immediate aftermath would be felt for decades: violent competition for power and reference to Lenin’s and Wilson’s talk on self-determination inspired enemies of the empire everywhere, from the Far East to northern Africa.20 The second effect of the Bolshevik challenge concerned the national threat it posed. In the 1920s, the threat of a revolution was significant, but (considered 100  years later) it was less serious in the major victorious European states—Britain and France—than elsewhere. However, even though Britain and France did not experience a serious communist bid for power, the Entente leaders remained obsessed by a perceived threat of Bolshevik contagion. This was particularly so in France during the spring of 1920, when the country was beset by a series of strikes that were supported by the General Confederation of Labour. Bolshevik fear spread quickly within the country’s political establishment and amid the middle classes. Even Britain suffered labour unrest during the 1920s, although the main event took place in 1926, during the General Strike. This generated fear about the spread of Bolshevism, although the causes were mainly economic and not motivated by a revolutionary wish to overthrow the existing system.21 The Communist Party of Great Britain never received 18  Leonard V.  Smith, Sovereignty at the Paris Peace Conference of 1919 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 265. 19  Robert Gerwarth, The Vanquished. Why the First World War failed to end, 1917–1923 (London: Penguin, 2016), 36. 20  Gerwarth, The Vanquished, 253; 266–267. 21  The relationship between the British Left and Soviet communist is rather complicated and went far beyond the simple question of Bolshevik funds devoted to the British Left. See: Kevin Morgan, Bolshevism and the British Left (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 2006).

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significant public support, at least between the autumn of 1918 and the early 1920s. Despite this, many people in Britain believed that events in Russia and central Europe might be replicated at home.22 A similar sense was shared by Italian authorities, who believed that the revolution would overthrow the existing system: the Carabinieri—part of the Italian Army— were particularly concerned by such a possibility, although Italian leaders soon took on a more realistic attitude towards the issue.23 Even the USA experienced this fear, especially after the series of bomb attacks that were carried out by Italian-American anarchists in 1919–1920.24 However, surprisingly enough, Margaret MacMillan—who has analysed the diplomatic debate during the Paris conference—asserts that the winning peacemakers did not devote great attention to Russian issues or to the revolution. According to her, negotiators were more worried about domestic uprisings and internal revolutionary attempts: on one hand, not all social unrest was led by the Bolsheviks; on the other, destroying the communists would not solve the Entente countries’ internal disputes.25 On this point, Richard Debo adds that these disagreements favoured the consolidation of Bolshevik power, which could rely on realistic priorities, flexible policies and political sacrifices that were unimaginable for the Entente ruling class.26 Are historical reconstructions such as these incoherent or do they depict the same scenario from two different perspectives? Did the Bolshevik revolution influence international order in Europe and beyond? Was fear of it instrumental in the birth of totalitarian fascist regimes? Or did it lead to the consolidation of the Versailles system, criticized in several regions of Europe and beyond? 22  Gerwarth, The Vanquished, 155–156. Concerning the Anglo-Russian relationship: T.G. Otte, ‘“A Very Intercine Policy”: Anglo-Russian Cold Wars before the Cold War’, in Christopher Baxter, Michael L. Dockrill, Keith Hamilton (eds.), Britain in Global Politics. From Gladstone to Churchill, vol. I (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 17–49. 23  Lomellini, La grande paura rossa. 24  Richard Jensen, The Battle Against Anarchist Terrorism: An International History, 1878–1934 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 25  Margaret MacMillan, Paris 1919. Sei mesi che cambiarono il mondo (Milano: Mondadori, 2006), 90–91. 26  Richard K. Debo, Survival and consolidation. The Foreign Policy of Soviet Russia, 1918– 1921 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992). Debo’s analysis partially differs from that of MacMillan on the Entente countries’ attention toward the Bolshevik threat during the Versailles negotiations: in particular, see Debo, Survival and consolidation, 71–83.

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Until now, the number of studies that have been devoted to Bolshevik ideology or Bolshevik threats in single European countries contrast with the almost total lack of historical analysis of the international menace of Bolshevism, or of its perception. This book strives to show that the international system was conditioned by the Bolshevik threat and, even more so, by fear of it. First, both European and non-European countries had to cope with a security issue: the Bolshevik threat was central in destabilizing the post-World War I Versailles system. In fact, this work demonstrates that Bolshevism was able to infiltrate any society, albeit being incapable of overthrowing national systems. In addition, Bolshevism was a mirror through which European leaders and people observed their amplified fears. Bolshevism proved to be somewhat useful. As MacMillan argues, the territorial changes that Romania and Poland requested in their favour were justified before the international community by the threat that Bolshevik posed.27 Entente leaders used the Bolshevik threat in several ways. From a domestic perspective, it proved to be convenient in supporting their political choices, thus encouraging the spread of fascist and nationalist trends. Taking an international perspective, the Bolshevik threat served to give credibility to the world order that emerged from the Versailles Conference. The rise (and fear) of Bolshevism contributed to a crystallization of the international political situation, giving strength and perceived trustworthiness to the Versailles system. In this light, the historiographical ideas that on the one hand Bolshevism served to shake Entente countries and their colonies, and on the other that the winners of World War I were not particularly concerned by the Bolshevik threat in their talks were both right. Furthermore, all the different actors had their own interpretation of the threat. Bolshevism was thus perceived on the basis of the traditional revolutionary distinction between classical diplomacy and the rise of transnational movements. Political leaders were scared of possible Bolshevik uprisings. At the same time, though, they were also aware of the political use of Bolshevism, both in domestic and in international politics. By integrating the growing historiographical attention on the outcomes of the Bolshevik revolution and by analysing the World War I aftermath, this volume deals with the impact of Bolshevism on the international stage in the interwar period. It follows two directions. On the one hand, it  MacMillan, Paris 1919, 92.

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c­ onsiders the impact of the Bolshevik threat both in European countries and in their colonies. The final goal is to highlight the impact of Bolshevism outside Russia, dealing with the interplay between international relations and domestic politics and the new international order. On the other hand, the book considers the impact of the rise and establishment of Bolshevism through the perceptions and circulation of ideas and people. This element is relevant in understanding, first, the consolidation of the Versailles system, and secondly, the spread of authoritarian regimes in the 1920s and 1930s in “old Europe”. Additionally, it can provide a better understanding of the development of relations within the international communist movement. This detailed account of the Bolshevik threat at an international level and the response of nation states to it is based on multi-national and multi-­ archival research. Research uses a wide range of primary sources from Russian, Romanian, Polish, Hungarian, French, British, Italian and Chinese archives, as well as several collections of personal papers and diplomatic documents stored in public and private institutions. It is worth noting that this collection in no way aspires to provide comprehensive coverage of the main events or players in what is clearly an international (global) history, but rather aims to bring forward fresh historical evidence to explore the complex question that still surrounds 1917 in terms of the impact of Bolshevism on several countries and on the international order. The volume is divided into two sections, which correspond to Bolshevism’s two different natures: diplomatic and transnational. In the first section, in Chap. 2 and Chap. 3 respectively, Antonio Varsori and Elena Dundovich analyse the reactions of Italian diplomacy to the rise of Bolshevism and the development of Italian and Russian relations from the Italian Liberal era to the Fascist period. Varsori’s chapter contextualizes the origins of Russian/Italian relations within the early twentieth-century scenario. The weakness of these relations seems to explain why Italian authorities failed to detect the main characteristics of the Bolshevik revolution. The chapter then focuses on the Italian reactions to the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. It covers a period that stretches to the end of World War I and explains the Italian attitude towards Bolshevik Russia in the Versailles system. Dundovich’s contribution, based on unpublished Russian documents, analyses how relations between Rome and Moscow developed after the signature of the Treaty of Commerce and Navigation on 7 February

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1924, which restored diplomatic and consular relations between the two countries. The issue of domestic security is developed in Chap. 5, in which Balazs Juhász explains the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian regime and the birth of Hungary. The chapter focuses on the challenges to the Károlyi system, which stemmed primarily from communism. Juhász casts new light on Italian-Hungarian cooperation concerning security against the Bolshevik threat, a significant case of common defence policies ante litteram. Quite similar Bolshevik attempts at revolutionary infiltration were developed in Great Britain and India in the early 1920s. In Chap. 6, Giulia Bentivoglio refers to Britain’s reluctant pragmatism in dealing with an awkward and unreliable partner such as Russia. The chapter demonstrates that India became an ideological battleground not only for the confrontation between London and Moscow, but also for the internal conflict that spread through British public opinion. All contributions highlight that ideology was not crucial in the development of diplomatic relations.28 This is also true with regard to Alberto Basciani’s analysis concerning the Romanian case, in Chap. 4. This begins by focusing on Romania’s late participation in World War I, alongside Entente countries, and its international situation. By examining significant and unpublished diplomatic correspondence, held at the Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Rome, it concentrates on the consequences of the overthrowing of the Romanovs in Russia, the birth of Romanian communism and the attempted Bolshevik infiltration. The second section of the book deals with perceptions of Bolshevism through a number of case studies that focus on relevant countries in the Entente Alliance (Great Britain), in the Eastern area (Poland) and in countries outside Europe (China). In Chap. 7, Frédéric Dessberg centres on the French political circles’ perception of the Bolshevik revolution. When Tsar Nicholas II abdicated in March 1917, France had many interests to defend in Russia, because of its prominent economic and commercial position that had been untouched by war. Dessberg analyses the changes in the French establishment’s opinions following the Bolshevik revolution. The “intermestic” approach taken here is central in understanding the French internal scenario as well as the Bolshevik menace to France. The last two chapters focus on the 28  Concerning the development of international relations after the 1917 revolution, with European countries and Germany in particular: McMeekin, The Russian revolution, 335–342.

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relationship between Bolsheviks and national communists. In Chap. 8, based on Polish archives, Eryk Krasucki argues that the history of Polish communism began before 1917, in the late nineteenth century. It analyses the relationship between Polish communism and the Comintern, highlighting the particular nature of Polish communism and the residual influence of Russian communism. Dealing with the Chinese case and focusing on the Bolshevik attempt to “inoculate” colonized countries with socialist ideas, in Chap. 9 Lorenzo M.  Capisani stresses the existence of a twofold strategy of Bolshevism towards China, through the foundation of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) in 1921 and the development of a special relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (Guomindang, GMD). In both cases, the influence of the Bolshevik revolution and of the Comintern is undeniable.29 It argues that a two-way process affected both the GMD-CCP unified party and the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). As the endorsement of Chinese revolution was linked to an internationalist approach, China was part of a broader phenomenon of international reassessment that helped to create a new national identity and a national path to developed socialism. The history of the Bolshevik impact in Europe and beyond needs to be further analysed and developed. This calls for a double approach (diplomatic and transnational) and for deeper understanding of the political, social and economic issues. The academic project behind this book— funded by the Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies of the University of Padua—involved twenty scholars from five different nationalities.30 Thorough coverage of the whole issue is clearly impossible. However, the hope is that this book may serve as food for thought and pave the way for further research. 29  Samarani, La rivoluzione sovietica e il Partito comunista cinese, Round Table La rivoluzione sovietica in prospettiva globale, 278. 30  The book originated in a University of Padua research project (2015–2017), financed by the Department of Political Science, Law and International Relations. The research project was entitled “A cent’anni dal pericolo rosso. L’impatto della rivoluzione bolscevica sulle potenze coloniali europee: un approccio globale”. The group, coordinated by Valentine Lomellini, was composed of Antonio Varsori (University of Padua); Vladislav Zubok (London School of Economics); Silvio Pons (Scuola Normale superiore); Olivier Forcade (Université Paris I, Panthéon-Sorbonne); Frédéric Dessberg (Université Paris I, PanthéonSorbonne); Eryk Krasucki (University of Szcecin); Balasz Juhasz (University of Budapest); Michele Marchi (University of Bologna); Giovanni Bernardini (Bruno Kessler Foundation); Alba Lazzaretto (University of Padua); Giulia Bentivoglio (University of Padua).

Diplomacy and Security: The Bolshevik Threat

Italian Reaction to the Bolshevik Revolution (1917–1918) Antonio Varsori

Liberal Italy and Tsarist Russia: A Weak Relationship? After Unification, the ruling Italian liberal class pursued an ambitious policy to transform Italy into one of the great powers in Europe. Such a goal, however, was in sharp contrast to the weak position of the new state: Italy was a poor and backward country. Its unification, in contrast with the almost contemporary creation of the German Empire, had been the outcome of favourable international conditions and cunning diplomatic moves rather than glorious military achievements. On the contrary, Italian armed forces had suffered humiliating defeats, especially during the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 at Custoza and Lissa. Last but not least, in the early days of the new Italian state its leaders had to face serious economic problems, difficulties in creating a central administrative structure and the threat of widespread banditry in the south, similar to guerrilla

A. Varsori (*) Department of Political Science, Law and International Studies, University of Padua, Padua, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_2

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warfare, which was supported by the former Bourbon regime and the Holy See.1 In spite of these difficulties the Italian unified state survived, and even launched some initiatives to exert its influence in the Mediterranean Sea and in the African continent. By 1881, the Italian authorities realized that the state’s already difficult position was being made even weaker owing to its isolation in the context of Bismarck’s “European balance”. In 1882, Italy joined the Triple Alliance with Germany and Austria-Hungary, although it was obvious that Italy was the junior partner and that its involvement in the international system created by Bismarck was mainly an outcome of the German Chancellor’s plans. Moreover, during the 1880s and 1890s, Italy’s attempt to take part in Europe’s “scramble for Africa” was frustrated by military defeats at Dogali and Adwa.2 Things began to change in the new century as a consequence of Giolitti’s reform policy and his effective leadership. Italy experienced its first industrial expansion, Italian state structures were strengthened and its political system became closer to those of the French and British liberal democracies rather than the traditional authoritarian systems of the three conservative European Empires.3 Although Italy was still a full member of the Triple Alliance, the relationship between Rome and the future members of the Triple Entente greatly improved, and secret agreements on colonial issues were signed with Britain and France. The relationship between Italy and Imperial Russia was perhaps the least relevant for Rome’s foreign policy, and in St Petersburg Italy was still regarded as a minor international actor. It was not only an obvious question of geographical distance, but Russian culture, society and history were definitely less known and considered as less interesting and even backward by Italian intellectual and political elites in comparison with these aspects of Britain, France and Germany. From an economic viewpoint, the German Empire, France and Britain played a leading role. Moreover, there were no definite reasons for a conflict or for international agreement. At least until 1905, Imperial Russia was more interested in expanding its influence in Asia, 1  On Italy after the Unification see for example Giovanni Sabbatucci and Vittorio Vidotto (eds), Storia d’Italia, vol. II, Il nuovo Stato e la società civile 1861–1887 (Rome-Bari: Laterza, 1995). 2  On Italy’s colonial policy see Nicola Labanca, Oltremare. Storia dell’espansione coloniale italiana (Bologna: il Mulino, 2002), 57–128. 3  On Giolitti and his policies see for example Giampiero Carocci, Giolitti e l’età giolittiana (Turin: Einaudi, 1971); Aldo A. Mola, Giovanni Giolitti: fare gli italiani (Turin: edizioni del Capricorno, 2005).

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while Rome focused its attention on northern and eastern Africa. In only a few years, however, there were some significant changes. In 1909, Italy and Russia signed a secret agreement, the so-called Racconigi Treaty, which demonstrated that, in spite of being members of two opposing alliances, Rome and St Petersburg now shared some common aims as far as the future of the Ottoman Empire was concerned, especially in terms of safeguarding the status quo in the Balkans. The treaty had an obvious anti-­ Austrian character, which was mainly the consequence of the Austrian annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1908. The act was regarded as negative and frustrating, both by Rome and St Petersburg.4 It is worth noting, however, that the Racconigi agreement, signed during the Russian Emperor’s visit to Italy, had been underwritten in a Piedmontese country mansion belonging to the King of Italy, since the Tsar had to avoid major Italian cities for fear of mass demonstrations by parties on the Italian left. The Socialists, the Republicans and the anarchists lined up against the representative of what much of Italy perceived as the most reactionary and backward European political regime. In fact, during the past decades the Italian peninsula had become a safe refuge for some Russian opponents to the Tsarist regime. In 1915, in spite of its previous commitment to the Triple Alliance, Italy joined the Triple Entente in the war against the Central Empires. Rome’s involvement in the conflict would lead to a different relationship between Italy and Imperial Russia, and Italian authorities paid increasing attention to the Russian situation. As a member of the Entente, Italy could not ignore the Russian domestic events that would lead to the October revolution and its immediate aftermath. This chapter, mainly based on Italian diplomatic documents, aims to examine the way in which the Italian authorities reacted to the Bolshevik rise to power, as well as Rome’s policy towards the new Communist regime until the end of the war.

4  On the relations between Italy and Russia see the still fundamental contribution by Giorgio Petracchi, Da San Pietroburgo a Mosca. La diplomazia italiana in Russia 1861/1914 (Rome: Bonacci, 1993). See also Giorgio Petracchi, L’impatto della rivoluzione russa e bolscevica in Italia tra guerra e primo dopoguerra, Annali della Fondazione Ugo La Malfa, XXXI (2016) 51–84.

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Russia and Italy: Uneasy Allies in the First World War Until the Outbreak of the October Revolution At the outbreak of the First World War in August 1914, the Italian authorities chose neutrality, although Prime Minister Antonio Salandra and Foreign Minister Sidney Sonnino started secret negotiations with the Central Empires and the Entente at a very early stage, to verify which nations offered more concessions in return for Italy’s entry into the war.5 As is generally known, the talks with the Entente, which had started in February 1915, ended positively with the signature of a secret London treaty on 26 April the same year. It is significant that the negotiations were held in London, between the Italian Ambassador to the Court of St James, Marquis Guglielmo Imperiali di Francavilla, and the British Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey. The Italian Government regarded Britain as the most powerful member of the Entente, a nation with which Italy had always maintained friendly relations, while France, although known as the “Latin Sister”, was not perceived to be so important. Russia was too far away, and the Russian government had been the most difficult partner in the Entente. During the negotiations, St Petersburg opposed, sometimes successfully, Italy’s ambitions to expand its influence in the Balkans to the detriment of Serbia, which Russian authorities regarded as its main ally in the area.6 During the early years of the conflict, Italy appeared to be interested in a limited war against Austria-Hungary; only in 1916 did Rome declare war against Germany. Russia, contrary to Britain and France, was directly involved in military operations against the Habsburg Empire, while Italy was interested in Russia’s military contribution to the war, which would influence the fortunes of the Italian army. Contacts were thus established to coordinate Italian and Russian military offensives, although such

5  On Italy’s entry into the First World War see Antonio Varsori, Radioso maggio. Come l’Italia entrò in guerra (Bologna: il Mulino, 2015). On Sonnino’s personality and his foreign policy see Pier Luigi Ballini (ed.), Sonnino e il suo tempo (1914–1922) (Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 2011). 6  On Italy’s policy towards the Entente powers between 1914 and 1915 see Varsori, Radioso Maggio. We must not forget how Russia’s support of Serbia’s expansionist goals had been one of the main causes of the Sarajevo episode; see Sean McMeekin, The Russian Origins of the First World War (Cambridge (Mass.)/London: the Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013).

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attempts seldom led to positive results.7 Italy’s knowledge about the Russian domestic situation, as well as its foreign policy, was mainly the outcome of dispatches and reports from the Italian Ambassador in St Petersburg (Petrograd from 1914). He was the marquis Andrea Carlotti di Riparbella, a diplomat of the old school, who had been posted to St Petersburg in 1913. Carlotti was a Russophile, and between 1914 and 1916 he showed great confidence in the Russian Army, the well-known, but actually fairly ineffective “Russian steam-roller”. In 1917, his attitude towards the February/March revolution was positive, and he seemed convinced that the situation would lead to the creation of a liberal regime, which would ease the relations between the Western allies and Russia. Although Carlotti was aware of the difficulties that the Kerensky government had to face, he sent reasonably optimistic reports to Rome. He appeared to be mainly interested in the ongoing Russian military contribution to the Allied efforts.8 Other information sources were the consuls assigned to some Russian towns and members of the Italian military and economic missions that operated on Russian soil after 1915, who usually held less optimistic opinions.

Italy’s Early Reactions to the October Revolution In a telegram sent on 27 October 1917 to Foreign Minister Sonnino, two weeks before the outbreak of the Bolshevik revolution, Carlotti expressed a positive evaluation of the internal situation, especially on the relationship between the Petrograd Soviet, where the Bolshevik influence was fairly strong, and the Kerensky government. He concluded that “it is premature to draw definite conclusions but those events appear to me some evidence of the progress of the Russian democratic system”.9 In another telegram, he informed Rome that there would be the risk of strong initiatives against the government by the Bolshevik faction, which he labelled “maximalists”. They were powerful in Petrograd, but Carlotti seemed confident in Kerensky’s ability to contain their protest.10 Furthermore, Carlotti continued to send Sonnino reassuring messages about Russia’s faithfulness to the 7  On Russia’s role during the First World War see Alexandre Sumpf, La Grande Guerre oubliée, Russie 1914–1918 (Paris: Perrin, 2017). 8  On Carlotti’s position see Petracchi, Da San Pietroburgo a Mosca 103–164. 9  I Documenti Diplomatici Italiani (hereafter DDI), Series V, vol. IX (Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, 1983) Doc. No. 288, Carlotti to Sonnino, 28.10.1917. 10  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 296, Carlotti to Sonnino, 27.10.1917.

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Entente. The Italian Government’s reaction to changes in the Russian domestic situation in early autumn was negatively influenced by military events along the Italian front: the Italian Army suffered a dramatic defeat at Caporetto and was forced to retreat. For this reason, there were rumours that Italy would sue for a separate peace. A new cabinet led by Vittorio Emanuele Orlando was formed, and Chief of General Staff Cadorna was sacked after pressure was applied by the Franco-British allies, who sent divisions to Italy to boost the country’s morale. Sonnino, however, maintained his role as Foreign Minister. The front stabilized only in late November, along the river Piave, but for weeks the Italian Foreign Ministry’s attention was obviously focused on the political consequences of the Caporetto defeat.11 As for the Russian situation in the first half of 1917, Sonnino had doubts about Carlotti’s optimistic views. Moreover, differences arose between the Ambassador and the head of the Italian military delegation to Russia, General Romei Longhena, who expressed serious concerns about the Russian situation.12 The Foreign Minister therefore relieved Carlotti of his post, which was taken by the marquis Pietro Tomasi della Torretta, head of the Italian economic mission to Russia. The Italian Foreign Ministry decision became effective on 7 November, the day that also marked the beginning of the Bolshevik revolution. In a telegram sent by Carlotti to the Italian Foreign Ministry on the day he left, he stated that Petrograd was under the control of “maximalists”, who relied solely on “unruly and leaderless mobs”. He seemed worried by the weak reaction of the Kerensky government.13 On that same day, at a meeting in Peschiera, Italy, Orlando, Sonnino, Lloyd George, Painlevé and Victor Emmanuel 11  On Italy’s international position as a consequence of Caporetto see for example Antonio Varsori, Da Caporetto al Piave (1917–1918). L’evoluzione della posizione internazionale dell’Italia attraverso I rapporti tra Roma e Londra, Annali della Fondazione Ugo La Malfa. Storia e politica, XXXII (2017) 176–195. 12  Giorgio Petracchi, Da San Pietroburgo a Mosca 174–175. On General Romei’s position see Antonello Biagini, In Russia tra guerra e rivoluzione. La missione militare italiana 1915–1918 (Rome: Ufficio Storico SME, 1983). 13  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc No. 382, Carlotti a Sonnino, 7.11.1917. Actually Carlotti’s last telegram was sent on 10 November. In his message Carlotti reported a conversation with the Mayor of St Petersburg about the welfare of the Italian colony in the Russian capital, Doc. No. 402. The bibliography on the Russian Revolution is immense; in this context it will suffice to quote some traditional studies such as: Edward H. Carr, A History of Soviet Russia. The Bolshevik Revolution 1917–1923 (London: Macmillan, 1950); Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy. The Russian Revolution 1891–1924 (London: Pimlico, 1997); as well as the most recent contributions by Sean McMeekin, The Russian Revolution. A New History (New York:

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III sealed important decisions made the day before on the Allied strategy towards Italy, as a consequence of Caporetto. Rome, therefore, had little time to deal with the Russian situation promptly. Moreover, for weeks before the arrival of the new Ambassador, the Italian Embassy in Petrograd was headed by the new chargé d’affaires, Giuseppe Catalani. In his first reports, the Italian diplomat appeared confident that the maximalist movement was doomed to fail. He recorded the passive resistance by most state employees and the likely reaction of troops who were loyal to Kerensky’s government, and stated that both Lenin and Trotsky had already fled.14 In the following days, however, Catalani was forced to admit that the maximalists had taken control of the Russian capital and expressed concern about Trotsky’s statement that revolutionary leaders would publish texts concerning all the secret treaties signed by the Tsarist government. The Italian diplomat feared that the Treaty of London, which had signalled Italy’s entry into the war, contained clauses that would reveal Italy’s territorial ambitions in the Adriatic and the Balkans.15 These were not the only problems that Catalani foresaw. He also had to deal with the security of Italian citizens living in Petrograd, who, he wrote in his reports, were at the mercy of the “Red guards”, who were formed by (criminal elements).16 On 16 November, the Italian chargé d’affaires took part in the first of a series of meetings with the Allied diplomatic representatives in Petrograd, organized by the British Ambassador George Buchanan. The Ambassador began by elaborating the Allied strategy towards the new Bolshevik government, since Allied diplomats were greatly concerned about the fact that revolutionary leaders could reach a separate peace with the central Empires. Actually, immediate peace had been singled out by both Lenin and Trotsky as the new government’s first goal.17 Despite the dramatic reports coming from Petrograd, Sonnino neglected Russian events and focused on the political consequences of Caporetto and the difficult Italian position vis-à-vis the British and the French. He was worried about a possible move for a separate peace by the Austro-Hungarian

Basic Books, 2017) and Alexandre Sumpf, 1917: La Russie et les russes en revolutions (Paris: Perrin, 2017). 14  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 400, Catalani to Sonnino, 10.11.1917. 15  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 422 and Doc. 423, Catalani to Sonnino, 12.11.1917. 16  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 458, Catalani to Sonnino, 17.11.1917. 17  DDI Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 464, Catalani to Sonnino, 17.11.1917.

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government at the expense of Italy’s interests.18 At the same time, Catalani confirmed Trotsky’s intention to obtain the texts of secret treaties from Russian Foreign Ministry officials in order to publish them.19 In his messages to Rome, Catalani even referred to the Bolsheviks’ intention to sign a general peace quickly. Such a perspective would obviously strengthen the position of the Central Empires.20 In spite of all the warnings, though, there was no reaction from Sonnino. In addition, the leaders of other Entente Allied capitals appeared unable to fully understand the peculiarities of Bolshevik power. For example, the Italian Ambassador in London, Guglielmo Imperiali, based his considerations on a positive evaluation that appeared in The Times, which stated that the Allied powers had to stop any form of aid to Russia as a consequence of Lenin’s appeal for an armistice between Russia and the Central Empires.21 At last, for the first time, Sonnino reacted to the Russian events on 24 November. In a telegram to Italian diplomatic representatives in London, Paris and Petrograd, he expressed his negative feelings towards peace talks between Russia and the Central Empires, which the British Ambassador in Petrograd had put forward as a means to gain time.22 The Italian Foreign Minister, focusing his attention on minor aspects, confirmed his inability to understand the Russian situation and its fast evolution. In fact, Catalani was trying to monitor the situation almost daily, following the political debates that were in progress in Petrograd on a possible armistice or a general peace. On 25 November, the Italian government clarified its position to Bolshevik authorities: in a conversation with the French Ambassador in Rome, Camille Barrère, Sonnino argued that Allied powers would avoid any contact—both official and unofficial—with the new revolutionary government.23 While the Allies still nurtured a hope that Russia would remain committed to the war effort on the Entente side, the Italian chargé d’affaires realized the seriousness of the Russian situation. In a long 18  Sonnino’s attitude is confirmed by the documents published in Sidney Sonnino, Carteggio 1916/1922, ed. By P. Pastorelli (Rome-Bari: Laterza, 1975). 19  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 478, Catalani to Sonnino, 18.11.1917. 20  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 502 and Doc. No. 503, Catalani to Sonnino, 21.11.1917. 21  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 527, Imperiali to Sonnino, 23.11.1917. 22  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 533, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin and Catalani. 23  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 548, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin and Catalani, 25.11.1917. See also Sidney Sonnino, Diario 1916/1922, volume III, ed. by P.  Pastorelli (Bari: Laterza, 1972) 215–217.

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t­elegram to the Foreign Ministry dated 28 November, he depicted the chaos and anarchy that pervaded the whole Russian territory: in Petrograd, “all the employees are on strike, food and coal are lacking […], Moscow is under the control of the maximalists, in Odessa and in Kiev autonomous authorities have been created, independent governments have been set up in Ukraine and the Caucasus. All the consuls report acts of violence, thefts and murders….” He concluded: “Any government which will prevail will sue for a peace as the army without food is dissolving and the people, tired of the war, ready to accept any concession and any form of treason. We must have no illusion in any active Russian participation to the Allied war effort.”24 On the same day, Catalani informed Sonnino that the Bolsheviks had made the text of the Treaty of London public.25 On 30 November in Versailles, during the second Inter-Allied Supreme War Council—a body, created a few weeks earlier to coordinate the Allied strategy—the major Allied leaders had the opportunity to deal with the Russian situation. Lloyd George put on the table Ambassador Buchanan’s proposal concerning an Allied declaration that would allow Russians to make their final decision about the war. Taking this line, in Buchanan’s opinion, would avoid a strong German influence on Russia in the future.26 Moreover, it would be useless to remind the Russians of their past commitments to the Allies. Sonnino appeared to disagree with this, and argued that a non-committal attitude would be a dangerous mistake. Instead, he advocated a tough policy towards the Bolsheviks to strengthen the position of their internal opponents, who, in his opinion, were still determined to be loyal towards the Allied cause. For the time being, the Italian Foreign Minister thought, a better solution was for the Allies to “wait and see”.27 Sonnino’s statement, based on a policy of non-recognition of the Bolshevik government, would become Italy’s official position towards Russian events. The final Allied decision appeared to be a compromise between the mild attitude suggested by Buchanan, apparently supported by Lloyd George, and the tough position advocated by Sonnino. The latter stated 24  DDI, Series V vol. IX, Doc. No. 574, Catalani to Sonnino, 28.11.1917. Catalani’s evaluation of the Russian army’s situation was confirmed by the head of the Italian military mission, General Romei; see Biagini, in Russia 163. 25  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 576, Catalani to Sonnino, 28.11.1917. 26  On Buchanan see his memoirs George Buchanan, Mèmoires 1910–1917 (Paris: Payot, 1925). 27  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 598, verbatim report of the Inter-Allied conference, Paris, 30.11.1917.

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that the Allies were ready to consider the possibility that Russia would come out of the war, but only if the government managed to fully represent the Russian nation. In the meantime, no communication was addressed to the Bolshevik government, as it was not officially recognized.28 Over the following weeks, Catalani continued to focus his attention on rumours of a potential separate peace, while in Rome the Italian Foreign Ministry received news about the quick disintegration of the Russian empire and the initiatives leading to the creation of separatist governments in Finland and in the Caucasus.29

Tomasi della Torretta and the Bolshevik Government Until the Brest-Litovsk Peace In mid-December, Tomasi della Torretta reached Petrograd as head of the Italian diplomatic representation, although, not recognized by the government, he did not have the full status of Ambassador. In his first dispatches to Rome della Torretta referred mainly to emergent new local authorities in numerous parts of Russia and the talks that had started at Brest-Litovsk between the revolutionary government and the representatives of the Central Empires.30 On 28 December, della Torretta sent his first long analysis of the events that had led to the outbreak of the revolution and of the current situation. In the diplomat’s opinion, Lenin and the Bolsheviks had achieved their goal and risen to power by exploiting three main factors: the troops’ aspiration to peace, the promise of land to the peasants and the weakness of the Kerensky government. He highlighted the chaotic situation in Petrograd and the separatist tendencies in numerous areas of the former Empire. Nevertheless, through their terror tactics, the Bolsheviks were able to maintain firm control of both Petrograd and Moscow. But della Torretta was convinced that the Bolshevik government, in spite of its control of the urban masses, was weak owing to the growing opposition of all the political parties and of some relevant unions, such as the one for railway workers. Even most factory workers, according to della Torretta, were losing confidence in the revolutionary leaders and  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 608, Sonnino to Imperiali and Catalani, 2.12.1917.  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 667, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin and Catalani, 10.12.1917. 30  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 756 and Doc. No. 758, Tomasi della Torretta to Sonnino, 19.12.1917. 28 29

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in their promises. As far as the international context was concerned, the Italian diplomat thought that the lack of recognition by the Allies would weaken the Bolshevik government. Trotsky, instead, who was emerging as one of the leading revolutionary figures, was putting pressure on the Allied diplomatic representatives, especially the British and the Americans, accusing them of counter-revolutionary activities and threats, in order to gain recognition by the Bolshevik authorities. In spite of this, della Torretta was convinced that the Allied diplomats had to stay in Petrograd to avoid giving the Germans a completely free hand and to exert their influence on the Bolshevik government.31 Other Italian diplomats, following Sonnino’s approach, appeared to be even more intransigent. In early January 1918, the Italian Ambassador in London, Imperiali, reported that a Russian Embassy employee had informed him that the Bolshevik government had appointed “a Mr Litivinov” as new Ambassador: an exiled member of the “more extreme faction of the maximalists”, and under close scrutiny by the British police, he was almost expelled from the United Kingdom. Imperiali had immediately contacted Lord Hardinge, permanent under-­ secretary to the Foreign Office, to whom he had expressed his concerns about security if London were to leave a free hand to Litvinov. But the British politician, although he pointed out the unilateral character of the appointment, had a less negative attitude. He replied to the Italian Ambassador that it was in Britain’s interest to maintain contacts with Petrograd in order to gain information about the Russian situation.32 The following day, in a telegram to Italian diplomatic representatives, Sonnino confirmed his “wait and see” policy towards the Bolshevik government, to avoid creating problems with the counter-revolutionary authorities established in the Caucasus.33 Italian authorities, however, were hesitant to recognize the separatist initiatives that were emerging in the various parts of the former Tsarist Empire. Sonnino, for example, disagreed with the French decision to recognize Finland’s independence. In his opinion, such

31  DDI, Series V, vol. IX, Doc. No. 823, della Torretta to Sonnino, 28.12.1917. On Trotsky’s role in this period see Robert Service, Trotsky A Biography (London: Pan Books, 2010) 180–216. 32  DDI, Series V, Vol. X (Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, 1985), Doc. No. 6, Imperiali to Sonnino, 2.1.1918. 33  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 13, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi di Cellere, Tomasi della Torretta, Fasciotti, 3.1.1918.

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a move would weaken the Russian moderate forces that would be able to oppose the Bolsheviks.34 During the early months of 1918, della Torretta centred his attention on the peace negotiations that were taking place at Brest-Litovsk. All the Entente decision-makers had similar views to him, fearing that an agreement between the Bolshevik Government and the Central powers would strengthen Germany’s war effort and lead to stronger German influence in Russian affairs. Tomasi della Torretta was unable to forecast the final outcome of the peace talks, mainly because of the arrogant and contradictory statements of Bolshevik government representatives, especially Trotsky. However, he did not exclude a possible situation of neither war nor peace, which he felt would perhaps be the best option in the interest of the Entente powers.35 In the meantime, the British Cabinet confirmed its view that maintaining contacts even with the revolutionary authorities in Petrograd was of paramount importance. To this end, Bruce Lockhart, a member of the Moscow Consulate, was appointed as a sort of unofficial representative to the Bolshevik government, underscoring London’s pragmatic attitude.36 Such a decision was openly condemned by Sonnino, who remained faithful to his policy of complete non-recognition of the Communist regime.37 On his part, della Torretta could not ignore the internal developments and the apparent rise of Bolshevik power: on 18 January, the Italian diplomat reported the outbreak of a violent clash between the Bolsheviks and the Constituent Assembly, where the opposition was the majority. He referred to the immediate reaction of the Bolsheviks, who arrested several members of the opposition parties, repressing all protests in favour of the Constituent Assembly.38 In spite of the Bolsheviks’ violent reaction the Assembly tried to assert its role, but the Government decided to dissolve the Assembly, and the building that 34  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 35, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi di Cellere, Tomasi della Torretta, Tommasini, 6.1.1918. See also a previous telegram by Sonnino to Bonin and Imperiali in Sonnino, Carteggio Doc. No. 246, Sonnino to Bonin and Imperiali, 25.12.1917. In this document Sonnino appeared worried about the impact of the Russian Revolution on the domestic Italian situation. 35  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 67, della Torretta to Sonnino, 10.1.1918. 36  On Lockhart and his activities see Robert Service, Spies and Commissars. Bolshevik Russia and the West (London: Pan Books, 2012), passim. See also Gordon Brook-Sheperd, Iron Maze. The Western Secret Services and the Bolsheviks (London: Pan Books, 1998). 37  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 81, Sonnino to Imperiali and Bonin, 13.1.1918. On Sonnino’s attitude see also Sonnino, Diario 1916/1922 247–249. 38  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 103, della Torretta to Sonnino, 18.1.1918.

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hosted it, the Tauride Palace, was occupied by Red Guard units. In reporting the dramatic events to Sonnino, della Torretta revealed that some opponents had been murdered, in particular two former ministers of the Constitutional Democrat Party, while the population was scared and unable to react in any organized way. He concluded that the situation was entering a phase of “red terror”.39 In the long telegram that followed, della Torretta argued that the Bolsheviks, through violence and following the maximalist programme, had strengthened their position and could rely on the strong support of factory workers and the masses. “Very often”, the Italian diplomat wrote, “both by day and night bands of anarchists and thugs plunder both private houses and public stores” with the consent of the new government. Additionally, the revolution was spreading its influence towards other regions of the former Empire, especially Finland and the Ukraine. Taking a long-term perspective, however, della Torretta was convinced that Bolshevik decisions, which would lead to a complete dislocation of the Russian economy and to the breakdown of an orderly society, would sow the seeds of new regime’s failure.40 Though the situation had definitely worsened, della Torretta agreed with the majority of his colleagues to stay in Petrograd at a meeting of the Entente Ambassadors held on 22 January.41 On the other hand, it was evident from his report that the Bolsheviks had taken control of the Russian capital through violence, as confirmed by the opening of the Congress of the Soviets, which had replaced the Constituent Assembly and obviously supported the Bolsheviks.42 Following those tragic events, della Torretta’s attention was devoted to the peace talks between the Bolsheviks and the Central powers. He still seemed to nurture some hope that the negotiations would fail. These ongoing talks were the main reason why della Torretta argued that the diplomatic representatives of the Entente had to stay in Petrograd. The question was examined once again by Western diplomats in a meeting held in early February. On this occasion, the Italian representative raised the issue of the diplomats’ position in case peace was agreed between the 39  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 111, della Torretta to Sonnino, 19.1.1918 and Doc. No. 114, della Torretta to Sonnino, 20.1.1918. 40  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 210, della Torretta to Sonnino, 10.2.1918. On the situation in Petrograd see Helen Rappaport, Caught in the Revolution. Petrograd 1917 (London: Windmills Books, 2017). 41  DDI, Series V, Vol. X. Doc. No. 125, della Torretta to Sonnino, 22.1.1918. 42  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 144, della Torretta to Sonnino, 25.1.1918.

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Bolsheviks and the Central Empires. The French Ambassador Joseph Noulens argued that it would be better not to risk the Russian capital being able to contrast their position with any future activity by the Central powers. Della Torretta appeared to agree, but wondered whether in such a case the Entente powers would have to give some sort of indirect recognition to the Bolshevik government.43 However, it was doubtful that Sonnino would approve such a hypothesis. A few days later, in a telegram to the Italian Ambassador in Paris, Bonin Longare, Sonnino appeared to dispel the possibility of a quick agreement between Petrograd and the Central Empires, but confirmed the validity of his “wait and see” and non-­ recognition policy.44 On the contrary, della Torretta no longer nurtured hopes that the negotiations between the Bolshevik government and the Central Empires would fail. In February, the Germans and the Austrians denounced the armistice that had been concluded, and resumed their military operations against the Russians. Trotsky’s statement about Russian resistance was recorded by the Italian diplomat, but he was also convinced that Communist authorities would do everything in their power to renew the peace talks. Such a view was confirmed a few days later, and Western embassies made ready to leave Petrograd, as imminent occupation by German troops was very likely to take place.45 Through the recent German movement of troops along the Eastern Front, the Central Empires had publicly expressed their harsh conditions of peace. It became generally known that the German attitude provoked a heated debate among the Bolshevik leaders, especially, as reported by della Torretta, between Lenin, who was ready to accept the German conditions, and Trotsky, who opposed what he labelled as a capitulation. In the end, however, Lenin’s position had the upper hand and the Italian diplomat reported a further increase in the “red terror”, with new arrests and murders of political opponents, especially members of the Socialist Revolutionary party.46 At last, on 2 March, peace between representatives of the Bolshevik government and of the Central powers was signed at Brest-Litovsk. This convinced the diplomatic representatives in Petrograd to leave the Russian  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 180, della Torretta to Sonnino, 3.2.1918.  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 190, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi di Cellere, della Torretta, 6.2.1918. 45  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 262, della Torretta to Sonnino, 19.2.1918 and Doc. No. 278, della Torretta a Sonnino, 22.2.1918. 46  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 290 and Doc. No. 291, della Torretta to Sonnino, 24.2.1918, as well as Doc. No. 296, della Torretta to Sonnino, 26.2.1918. 43 44

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capital for Helsingfors.47 The development of the military situation brought about Allied initiatives, and in February/March, plans of a Japanese armed intervention in Siberia emerged. Sonnino’s reaction was cautious; he disliked the idea of a unilateral move by Tokyo, and he also confirmed the need for Italy to be involved in such an initiative, although its commitment would be limited.48

Italy and Russia from Brest-Litovsk to the End of the War On 11 March, della Torretta sent his first telegram from Helsingfors, providing information about the various Allied military missions.49 A few days later, the Italian diplomat sent an early evaluation of the Russian situation given their signature of the Brest-Litovsk agreement. He argued that peace was proof of the Bolshevik government’s complete failure, a “demagogic dictatorship which respects nothing, destroys everything and creates nothing”. He was hoping for some sort of reaction from the Russian people and the rise of an anti-Bolshevik government, which could be supported by the Entente. In this context, he suggested that the diplomatic representatives and the military missions should be located on Russian territory, so they could monitor the development of the domestic situation and perhaps influence it.50 Moreover, della Torretta rejected the idea of sending an Italian diplomat to Petrograd in order to maintain informal links with Bolshevik authorities.51 The Ambassador’s views, which were congruent with Sonnino’s non-recognition policy, diverged from Britain’s and France’s intent to send informal representatives to Moscow, the new Bolshevik Russian capital. Sonnino relied for his opinions on the members of military missions in particular, but also, in the British case, on “agents” such as Lockhart. On the other hand, Sonnino agreed with della Torretta that the Entente diplomats should be transferred from Helsingfors to a town on Russian territory that was not under the control of the Bolsheviks.52 47  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 331 and Doc. No. 332, della Torretta to Sonnino, 3.3.1918. 48  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 341, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Cusani Confalonieri and Macchi di Cellere, 5.3.1918.; Doc. No. 410, Sonnino to Fasciotti, 15.3.1918. 49  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 376, della Torretta to Sonnino, 11.3.1918. 50  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 413, della Torretta to Sonnino, 16.3.1918. 51  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 417, della Torretta to Sonnino, 17.3.1918. 52  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 450, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Tommasini, 23.3.1918.

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In late March, della Torretta, following the example of the French Ambassador and other Western diplomats as well, was able to reach Vologda,53 a small provincial town north of Moscow, and an important railway junction that linked Archangelsk to the Russian capital. In early April, della Torretta sent a long and important telegram to Sonnino. The Italian diplomat reported that the heads of the military missions, including the Italian one, had maintained contact with Trotsky, who had stated that the Bolsheviks regarded the peace of Brest-Litovsk as a mere truce destined to last just a few months; in fact, the Bolsheviks intended to resume hostilities against the Central Empires. Trotsky had appealed to the heads of the Allied military missions to help the Bolshevik government with the task of re-organizing a Russian Army. Worried about the strategic consequences of Brest-Litovsk, the reaction of military representatives had been positive, stating that Trotsky would perhaps be willing to accept Japanese intervention if this served to contrast with the Germans’ actions.54 Last but not least, Trotsky had been said to oppose Lenin’s decision to reach an agreement with the Central Empires. Such a view appeared to be shared by the American and British diplomatic representatives, while della Torretta and Noulens opposed the idea of cooperation with the Communist regime. The Italian Ambassador argued that, according to the Bolsheviks, there was no difference between the Entente powers and the Central Empires, and their main goal was to spread a revolutionary movement all over Europe.55 In spite of this opinion, the heads of military missions put further pressure on reaching an agreement between the revolutionary government and the Entente powers in the field of military cooperation. However, the Italian diplomat was perplexed by such an approach,56 and, with the support of his French colleague Noulens, he became much more in favour of the Japanese intervention in Siberia.57 On the basis of information from General Romei, della Torretta reported on 18 April that Lockhart had received instructions from London to conclude an agreement with Trotsky and develop some form of military cooperation with the Bolshevik authorities, which included the Russians’ acceptance of Allied intervention in Siberia, Murmansk and Archangelsk. Della Torretta  DDI, Series V, Vol. X. Doc. No. 477, della Torretta to Sonnino, 29.3.1918.  Biagini, In Russia p. 177. 55  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 504 and Doc. No. 505, della Torretta to Sonnino, 4.4.1918. 56  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 530, della Torretta to Sonnino, 9.4.1918. 57  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 555, della Torretta to Sonnino, 17.4.1918. 53 54

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appeared to be critical of Lockhart’s initiatives, which were shaping the attitude of the British Cabinet.58 London’s hopes that the Bolsheviks would adopt an anti-German stance were confirmed by a conversation between Imperiali and Lord Hardinge.59 On his part, and disagreeing with General Romei, della Torretta opposed the British position and argued that it was illusory to rely on the Bolshevik government, as it regarded all capitalist powers as enemies. The following day, he confirmed his views and advocated Italian involvement in the Allied expedition to Archangelsk.60 Contrary to the Ambassador’s analysis, General Romei wrote a long telegram to the Commander in Chief of the Italian Army, General Diaz, in which he pointed out the importance of a military agreement with the “maximalist” authorities and the need to have a “political” representative in Moscow, like the other Allied powers.61 But in an instruction telegram, sent early in May to Imperiali in London, Bonin in Paris, Macchi di Cellere in Washington and della Torretta, Sonnino confirmed his unwillingness to commit to the Bolshevik government and to his non-recognition policy.62 For his part, della Torretta reported that the Bolshevik government was becoming increasingly weaker, implying that there was no need for an agreement with Communist leaders.63 Moreover, in another message, the Italian diplomat was very critical of the Allied military and political representatives in Moscow. He stated that both the American Raymond Robins and the Frenchman Jacques Sadoul were Socialists, and the latter in particular was a long-time friend of both Lenin and Trotsky. Lockhart’s position in his opinion was weak and ambiguous and, in spite of his efforts, the Bolsheviks were suspicious of his attitude.64 58  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 563, della Torretta to Sonnino, 18.4.1918. On Lockhart’s ambiguous role see Service, Spies and Commissars, passim. 59  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 564, Imperiali to Sonnino, 18.4.1918. For the British pressures see also Sonnino, Diario 1916/1922, 272–273. 60  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 579, della Torretta to Sonnino, 23.4.1918 and Doc. No. 591, della Torretta to Sonnino, 24.4.1918. 61  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 610, Orlando to Sonnino, 28.4.1918, with enclosed letter Romei to Diaz, 15.4.1918. See also Biagini, In Russia, 179–181. Also the Italian High Command was sceptical about Romei’s suggestions, see ivi, pp. 182–183. 62  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 641, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi di Cellere and della Torretta, 5.5.1918. 63  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 675, della Torretta to Sonnino, 12.5.1918. 64  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 751, Sonnino to Orlando 25.5.1918 with enclosed della Torretta to Sonnino, 12.5.1918. On the attitude of the Allied representatives in Moscow see Service, Spies and Commissars, passim. It seems, however that della Torretta’s

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It is difficult to understand whether della Torretta’s pressure had much influence on the Italian Foreign Minister. Actually, Italy’s position was made clear by Sonnino in a short message to the Ambassadors in London, Paris and Washington: that there was no longer a need to worry about the Bolshevik government, and that the Entente powers and the United States had to focus their attention on the expeditions to Siberia and Murmansk, with the main goal of opposing the Germans rather than helping the Bolsheviks’ opponents.65 Starting in June, the Italian Government decided to support the Allied intervention in Russia and the activities of the Czech Legion, formed by former Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war, which was trying to reach Vladivostok via the Trans-Siberian Railway.66 In della Torretta’s opinion, the Czech Legion’s military success against Bolshevik forces revealed the weakness of the Bolshevik regime.67 He also pointed out that, where the Czechs had defeated the “red” forces, Russian anti-­ Communist elements were able to set up local authorities.68 On 21 June, della Torretta reported that British and French troops had landed at Archangelsk, and he advocated Italian military participation in the Allied initiative, which in his opinion would have important consequences for the conflict against the Germans and on the Russian domestic situation.69 In another message, he stated that the position espoused by Lenin and Trotsky was also losing ground among factory workers.70 It was evident that della Torretta hoped the intervention by Allied troops could strengthen the position of the anti-Bolshevik forces, which were trying to organize themselves. In spite of della Torretta’s pressures, Sonnino’s attitude towards the Russian situation was much more prudent. First of all, opinions of Robins and Sadoul were largely justified. As far as Lockhart’s position, he started anti-Bolshevik activity and on 31 August he was arrested, although he was later released and was able to return to Britain. On the activities by British agents see also Giles Milton, Russian Roulette. How British Spies Defeated Lenin (London: Sceptre, 2014). 65  DDI, Series V, Vol. X, Doc. No. 703, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, and Macchi di Cellere, 16.5.1918. On the Allied intervention see for example Ian C. D. Moffat, The Allied Intervention in Russia, 1918–1920 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). 66  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI (Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, 1986), Doc. No. 26, della Torretta to Sonnino, 7.6.1918. 67  The Czech Legion was formed by former prisoners of war from the Habsburg army, who had been freed and had formed an autonomous military unit, which supported the Entente; on its journey to Vladivostok the Legion clashed with local Bolshevik forces. 68  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 88, della Torretta to Sonnino, 20.6.1918. 69  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 94, della Torretta to Sonnino, 21.6.1918. 70  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 109, della Torretta to Sonnino, 23.6.1918.

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the Italian Foreign Minister’s attention was focused on other more urgent issues, most of them related to the future of the Mediterranean, Middle East and Balkan areas, where Italy had greater interests and ambitions.71 Moreover, Sonnino was aware of the different opinions and goals that shaped the Allied intervention in Russia, especially the strong suspicions nurtured by the American administration towards the real goals of Japanese intervention in the Russian Far East.72 Nevertheless, the Italian Foreign Minister approved della Torretta’s suggestion for Italian military involvement, although to limited degree, as proof of Italy’s interest in any Allied decision about Russia’s future.73 Sonnino’s cautious attitude was confirmed when a Supreme War Council was held in Versailles in early July, where his interventions were aimed at maintaining a non-committal policy towards the anti-Bolshevik forces. At the same time, he noticed that his non-recognition of the revolutionary government was now shared by the French and the British.74 By summer 1918, reliable news about the areas under the control of the Bolshevik regime became more rare and sketchy. In late July, the Italian Consul in Moscow, Giovanni Cesare Majoni, reported that the Allied military missions were leaving the new Russian capital, with the exception of General Romei, but Majoni was unable to communicate with della Torretta and he did not say where the Ambassador had moved to.75 Under the pressure of Bolshevik authorities, della Torretta, and all the other Western diplomats, were forced to leave Vologda and go to Kandalaksa. From there, they later moved to Murmansk, which was safer because of the presence of Allied

71  See for example Sonnino, Carteggio 1916/1922, Doc. No. 301, Sonnino to Macchi di Cellere, 27.6.1918. 72  See the documents in DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, which also shed light on the contrasts between Paris and London in attitudes towards the role of the Czech Legion. 73  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 116, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi di Cellere, Zupelli and Diaz, 24.6.1918. See also Doc. No. 209, Sonnino to Macchi di Cellere, Imperiali and Bonin, 12.7.1918. The Italian Foreign Minister wrote that the expedition to Vladivistok comprised a token force of 2000 men, mainly composed of former Austro-Hungarian War prisoners of Italian origin. On this episode see Andrea Di Michele, Tra due divise. La grande Guerra degli italiani d’Austria (Rome-Bari: Laterza, 2018). 74  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 167, Verbatim Report of the Supreme Allied War Council, Versailles, 2.7.1918 and Doc. No. 175, verbatim report of the Supreme Allied War Council, Versailles, 3.7.1918. 75  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 281, Majoni to Sonnino, 27.7.1918. It is of some significance that this message reached Rome only ten days later, on 6 August.

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units.76 On 1 August, della Torretta sent a message to Sonnino saying that further Allied troops, mainly British units led by General Poole, were going to land at Archangelsk. The Italian diplomat noted that in the opinion of the local population the “Allies” meant the British, while the French and the Americans were almost unknown, implying that the Italian position was even weaker. Della Torretta argued that the Russian situation was similar to the Turkish one, and that the great powers were beginning to compete for future influence and for the exploitation of Russia’s enormous resources. He concluded by stressing the need for strong Italian participation in the Allied military intervention as a strategy to defend Italy’s great power role and its political and economic interests. In a following telegram, della Torretta sketched a negative picture of the Russian internal situation. In it, he confirmed his evaluation of a weakening Bolshevik regime, which in his opinion could control only Petrograd and Moscow and could rely only on a few armed units composed of Latvians and former maximalist war prisoners, mainly Hungarians. He was also convinced that Allied intervention could become a catalyst for all anti-­Bolshevik forces, which until then had been dispersed and unable to work out a concerted approach.77 A few days later, della Torretta tried to convince Sonnino that the Italian battalion, about to reach Russia, would play a strategic role and not be confined to the scarcely populated Murmansk area.78 For his part, Sonnino limited himself to informing della Torretta of the impending arrival of an Italian battalion.79 Della Torretta, however, appeared more and more convinced that the Russian balance was rapidly changing in favour of the anti-Bolshevik forces, and in his reports he underscored the enthusiastic reaction of the local population at seeing the arrival of the Allied troops and their easy occupation of Archangelsk. He added that it would be useful to set up contact with the new local government, and in the following days he met its representative. He also provided positive news about the advance of Allied troops towards the town of Vologda. Moreover, he suggested that there was an opportunity to financially support the new Russian authority.80 Once again, Sonnino’s

 DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 291, della Torretta to Sonnino, 30.7.1918.  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 303 and Doc. No. 304, della Torretta to Sonnino, 1.8.1918. 78  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 317, della Torretta to Sonnino, 3.8.1918. 79  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 327, Sonnino to della Torretta, 5.8.1918. 80  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 337, 6.8.1918 and Doc. No. 378, della Torretta to Sonnino, 11.8.1918 and Doc. No. 389, della Torretta to Sonnino, 14.8.1918. 76 77

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attitude was cautious,81 and he limited his decision to the appointment of della Torretta as “Italian Commissioner” in Russia, a title that the Ambassador regarded as useless, at least for the time being.82 On the other hand, it was only in late August that the Italian Foreign Minister could inform della Torretta that the Italian contingent had left Britain to reach Archangelsk83; the Italian troops landed on 2 September. In mid-­September however, della Torretta was compelled to report some early difficulties in the relationship between the Allied representatives and the Murmansk “government”.84 Another anti-Bolshevik authority had been set up at Ufa and Sonnino thought that the Allies had to support it, because, in his opinion, it could be the first wider evidence of more opponents to the Bolshevik government.85 Such an opinion was not shared by the French Government, which informed Sonnino of Paris’ intention not to recognize any Russian provisional government.86 Between late September and early October, Bulgaria and Turkey collapsed and sued for an armistice. The fall of these countries entailed the quick collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Italian government therefore had to focus on the need to set up, within a few days, a military offensive along the Piave. A victory would mark Italy’s role in the final Allied offensive against the Central powers. Sonnino had little time to devote to the Russian situation, which was considered of minor importance. The Italian strategy privileged the Adriatic, Balkans and Anatolian peninsula, where Rome had definite interests linked to the London Treaty. Such an attitude was shared by the Allied leaders who, on the occasion of a meeting of the Supreme War Council, obviously focused on the military and political dynamics that would lead to the conclusion of the conflict.87 For his part, on 3 October, della Torretta sent Sonnino a long report in which he was very critical of the Allied military initiatives both in the 81  Sonnino’s cautious policy towards Russia was also confirmed by his non-committal attitude to an initiative by the Spanish King to save the wife of the Russian Emperor. See Sonnino, Diario 1916/1922 285–286. When Sonnino wrote, all members of the Imperial family had already been murdered by the Bolsheviks at Ekaterinburg. 82  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 440, della Torretta to Sonnino, 25.8.1918. 83  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 458, Sonnino to della Torretta, 29.8.1918. 84  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No, 537, della Torretta to Sonnino, 19.9.1918. 85  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 566, Sonnino to various diplomatic representatives, 26.9.1918. 86  DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 587, Bonin to Sonnino, 29.9.1918. 87  DDI, Series VI, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 625 and No. 626, Verbatim Report Supreme War Council, 3.10.1918.

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North and in Siberia, especially the role played by General Poole, who was in charge of the operations in the Murmansk and Archangelsk areas. In his evaluation, he noted that military operations had been conducted in an overly cautious way, leaving the Bolshevik forces the opportunity to react efficiently. Such a development raised doubts about the Entente’s determination to counter the Bolsheviks.88 Two weeks later, with the approaching end of the hostilities, della Torretta once again raised the issue of Russia’s future. The diplomat feared that a peace would impede any further action by the Allies. He therefore advocated a joint and immediate effort by the Allied powers in order to restore a pro-Allied Russia and to help the Russian people. In his opinion, peace would lead to a complete defeat of Bolshevism and give Russians the chance to choose their future political regime.89 In spite of della Torretta’s warnings, Sonnino confirmed his prudent policy: Italy would support the continuation of an Allied presence in Russia, but only if all the members of the coalition, especially the United States, agreed on the same policy.90 Mid-October marked a turning point in the war: the German government had sued for an armistice, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was disintegrating and the Allies were beginning to discuss the terms of armistice with the Central powers and their allies. As far as Italy was concerned, beyond the political questions related to the Balkan area and the Anatolian peninsula, the Italian authorities were more interested in the military offensive that would demonstrate Italy’s role in defeating the Austro-Hungarian army. For some time, Russia’s future played a minor role in Italian foreign policy. But, in just one year, the Bolshevik revolution became a burning matter of domestic policy for the Italian liberal ruling elite, which feared the Italian working classes would take up Russia as a model for social upheaval against their own “bourgeois” government.91

88  DDI, Series VI, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 615, della Torretta to Sonnino, 3.10.1918 and Doc. No. 636, della Torretta to Sonnino, 8.10.1918. 89  DDI, Series VI, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 669, della Torretta to Sonnino, 14.10.1918. 90  See for example DDI, Series V, Vol. XI, Doc. No. 717, Sonnino to Imperiali, Bonin, Macchi dio Cellere, Cusani Confalonieri, Tomasi della Torretta and Diaz, 21.10.1918. On Sonnino’s position see also Sonnino, Diario 1916/1922, 306–307. 91  See for example Valentine Lomellini, La “grande paura” rossa. L’Italia delle spie bolsceviche (1917–1922) (Milan: Franco Angeli, 2015).

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Conclusions Analysing the reactions of Italian political and diplomatic decision-makers to the Bolshevik revolution and its immediate aftermath confirms the difficulties that Western authorities had in trying to assess the characters and consequences of the events that shaped Russia between October 1917 and the end of the First World War. Although Sonnino did not seem to share Carlotti’s optimist evaluations about the fate of the Kerensky government and of the February liberal revolution, his decision to dismiss him from his post took place in the same days that the Bolsheviks came to power. On his part, the Italian chargé d’affaires Catalani appeared to focus his attention on the immediate consequences of the revolution, especially after the disclosure of secret treaties among the Entente powers. Tomasi della Torretta had more time at his disposal to attempt a more thorough analysis of the Russian situation although, after the signature of the Brest-­ Litovsk treaty, he was forced to leave Petrograd. His opinions, however, changed often, and his obvious dislike of the Bolshevik revolution and all its aspects appeared to lead him to underestimate the Bolshevik leaders’ determination and capacity to maintain power. In the summer of 1918, after the conclusion of the peace treaty between the Central powers and the Communist government, della Torretta became a staunch advocate of Allied military intervention, which in his opinion had a twofold goal: to face Germany’s influence and to support the anti-Bolshevik forces. In this context, he was also convinced that Italian involvement could enhance Italy’s great power role, as well as safeguard the nation’s future interests. Actually, his reports demonstrate the difference of opinion and aims that shaped the policies pursued by the Entente powers, the United States and Japan towards Russia, their strategies swinging from the hope of maintaining contacts with the new revolutionary regime to open hostility. The Allied positions were moreover often influenced by contrasting and sometimes misleading opinions of various local representatives in Petrograd and in Moscow. Last but not least, the initiatives and positions held by Italian decision-makers appear to confirm that the Allied military intervention, at least until the end of the war, was mainly the outcome of military strategy and the Central powers’ fear, rather than having the aim of curbing the Bolshevik revolution. If della Torretta’s opinions were subject to frequent and sudden changes, Sonnino’s policy was adamantly firm from the immediate aftermath of the Revolution. From the start, he supported a non-recognition

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policy and never wavered, despite the pressures and different opinions advocated, for example by the British authorities, at least until the spring of 1918. As far as Italian interests were concerned, although he thought that Italy had to be involved in every Allied decision and initiative about Russia, Sonnino demonstrated a pragmatic and realistic approach, which seemed to involve keeping a low profile. Actually, he was more interested in areas of traditional Italian influence. This policy would not change even after the end of the war, although the Russian revolution, or better the “Russian example”, soon became a burning domestic concern for the liberal ruling elite, as well as being one of the factors that encouraged Mussolini’s rise to power with his fascist movement.

Rome and Moscow Seek a Closer Alliance in the 1920s Elena Dundovich

Precedents When the Treaty of Commerce and Navigation was signed on 7 February 1924, only a few years had elapsed since the powers of the Entente, Italy included, had wanted to defeat the Bolsheviks. Many things had changed in the meantime, both in Italy and in Russia. The revolutionary Bolshevik government had survived a long civil war, and emerged victorious. Conducted with violence and terror, the war had not only been fought against the White Armies, but also against whole nationalities and peasant communities that had rebelled against Lenin’s failed promises and his decrees.1 Russia had once again risen up, a state among states, mutilated by the pan-European civil war, envisaged as

1  Andrea Graziosi, L’Urss di Lenin e Stalin. Storia dell’Unione Sovietica, 1914–1945 (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2007), 42–55.

E. Dundovich (*) Department of Political Sciences, University of Pisa, Pisa, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_3

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­ uaranteeing its own survival, that had never actually broken out.2 The g need to reconstruct drove the Bolsheviks to look at the world from a different perspective, and to resume economic relations with countries with which it had become necessary to coexist in order to attract foreign capital and technicians—even though they might have been deadly enemies until the day before.3 Therefore, it was Soviet Russia that began exploring economic and diplomatic relations with Mussolini, giving his new Italy strategic significance. This fact has been disclosed by the largely unpublished papers in the Č ičerin records, made by the Commissioner for Foreign Affairs between 1918 and 1930, and kept in Moscow at the Archiv Vnešnej Politiki Rossijskoj Federacii (the Russian Foreign Policy Archive). As a consequence of the First World War and because of the influence of the October Revolution on the poorest social classes, Italy had fallen into political and social chaos by the early 1920s. A sequence of unstable and incapable liberal governments had been unable to properly manage the situation. To break the inextricable knot between the “emulation syndrome” of the masses and the spread of the authorities’ “psychosis”, they relied on a strong leader, and on the illusion that once the dust had settled the leader would willingly surrender his power.4 This leader, Mussolini, officially recognised the new Soviet country diplomatically, underlining, from the time he came to power, the need to address relations with Moscow without any ideological and political prejudice. He was mostly driven in this by economic interests, but was also convinced that he would increase his prestige if he was the first leader to recognise the new Soviet government. From a geopolitical perspective, he hoped to play a 2  Silvio Pons, La rivoluzione globale. Storia del comunismo internazionale, 1917–1991 (Torino: Einaudi, 2012), 5–57. On this matter, see also Kevin McDermott, Jeremy Agnew (eds.), The Comintern: a History of International Communism from Lenin to Stalin (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996); and Wladisław Hedeler, Aleksandr Vatlin, Die Weltpartei aus Moskau. Der Grundungskongress der Kommunistischen Internationale 1919. Protokoll und neue Dokumente (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2008). 3  On Soviet foreign policy, see Alastair Kocho-Williams, Russia’s International Relations in the Twentieth Century (London: Routledge, 2012); Gabriel Gorodetsky, Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917–1991: a Retrospective (London: Routledge, 2013). As concerns the Twenties in particular, consider especially Mikhail Narinskij, Sous la direction de L’Urss et l’Europe dans les années 20, Actes du colloque organisé à Moscou les 2 et 3 octobre 1997 par l’Institut d’Histoire Universelle de l’Academie des Sciences de Russie (Paris: Presses de l’Université de ParisSorbonne, 2000). 4  Valentine Lomellini, La “grande paura rossa”. L’Italia delle spie bolsceviche (1917–1922), (Milano: FrancoAngeli, 2015), 273.

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c­ ollaboration card with Russia to strengthen Italy’s position, counteracting French influence in the Balkans and Eastern Europe, and containing the British influence in the Mediterranean whenever possible.5 At the same time, he hoped to loosen the relationship between Russia and Turkey,6 so that he could expand Italy’s influence on the latter. The ambiguity of this diplomatic position swiftly came to light, and Mussolini’s hopes to greatly expand Italian trade in Russia were disappointed owing to Russia’s enormous need for credit, and the inability of the Italian financial market to cope with this. Moscow was also moved not only by economic motivation, but also by geopolitical assessments. Cunningly and with absolute disregard for any ideological considerations, the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs (the Narkomindel) hoped that Mussolini’s Italy could become an important part of the game to obtain strong international legitimacy.7 After 1924, the Soviets hypothesised that they could build a common position with Italy in the Far East, China, Afghanistan and Persia. They presumed that Italy’s recognition could help, far more than Britain’s, to encourage other countries in the same direction, not only other European powers, but also “peripheral” countries such as Albania and Ethiopia. In line with a broad and global vision, which to some extent was utopian, the Soviets planned to reach this position through diplomacy. The position of Mussolini’s Italy remained solid in their eyes even when they realised the illusory nature of this project. In fact, the Narkomindel continued to consider Italy to be a valuable strategic partner that would have an indirect influence on the Danubian-Balkan and East Mediterranean chessboards. Letters, telegrams and reports sent to Rome by the Commissioner for Foreign Affairs, Georgij Č ičerin, and by his deputy, Maksim Litvinov, and by the Soviet ambassadors to the Narkomindel, in 1924–1927, testify that at that stage Moscow was looking at Italy not as a simple economic partner, whose limits they were soon aware of, but as an actual strategic “bishop”: not a pawn, therefore, but an important part of the game that was being played to obtain the much sought-after international legitimacy.

5  As concerns these years, see Matteo Pizzigallo, Mediterraneo e Russia nella politica italiana (1922–1924) (Milano: Giuffré, 1983). 6  Relations between Turkey and Soviet Russia had stabilised with the signing of the Treaty of Kars on 16 March 1921. 7  Narodnyj Kommissariat Inostrannych Del.

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From a strictly economic point of view, the Treaty did not provide the expected results.8 This was not merely because of the very strong English and German competition, but also—as previously mentioned—because Italy, very much afraid of Turkish competition,9 could not provide Moscow with the necessary credit to pay for Italian products. Italy’s entrepreneurs knew very little about Russia’s economic circumstances, so they ended up interfering with each other.10 The Soviets also soon became aware of the objective limits of the Treaty from an economic point of view. However, from a diplomatic perspective, they considered it to be extremely important and were grateful to Mussolini for it. Č ičerin and Litvinov did not hide their strong appreciation of the Italian head of government. In November 1924, Č ičerin reminded the Ambassador to Italy, Konstantin Jurenev, that “Mussolini did far more for us than the opposition did when it held power”, greatly criticising the previous liberal governments of Orlando, of “radical Nitti” and of Facta.11 Why should we be scandalised by these statements? Although he was head of an extremely conservative party, in 1924 Mussolini’s government still operated within constitutional limits. Looking more closely, its leader was much more magnanimous towards the new Soviet state than his predecessors has been in the years 1917–1920, when Italy was openly against the Bolsheviks, at first when it intervened in the civil war and then when it supported the economic embargo. Italy’s recognition, together with British recognition, which would once again be called into question, facilitated recognition by countries such as Norway, Austria, Greece, Sweden, Denmark, Mexico, Hungary, France and Japan.

8  The text of the Treaty is in Dokumenty Vnešnej Politiki SSSR (hereafter DVP), Tom (from now T.) 7, Dokument (hereafter Dok.) 39, Dogovor o torgovle i moreplavanii meždu Sojuzom Sovetskich Socialističeskich Respublik i Italiej, 7 fevralja 1924, 68–88. 9  Archiv Vnešnej Politiki Rossijskoj Federacii, Istoriko-Dokumental’nyj Departament, Moskva (hereafter AVPRF), Fond 4—Č ičerina (hereafter F 4), opis’ 20 (hereafter op.), papka 155 (hereafter pap.), delo 49 (hereafter d.), Beseda c Ital’janskim Poslom Manzoni, Moskva, 26 fevralja 1924, 9. 10  On the Italian–Soviet economic relations after the signing of the Treaty, see Pizzigallo, Mediterraneo e Russia, 193, Giorgio Petracchi, La Russia rivoluzionaria nella politica italiana: le relazioni italo-sovietiche 1917–25 (Roma-Bari: Laterza, 1982), 248; Rosaria Quartararo, Italia-Urss 1917–1941. I rapporti politici (Napoli: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2012), 51–60. 11  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Pervyj Zamnarkom Litvinov Jurenevu, Moskva, 5 nojabrja 1924, 126–129.

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Italy Seen from Moscow A rich series of reports, letters and telegrams sent by Č ičerin and Litvinov to Rome in the weeks that followed the Treaty proves the importance that the Soviets ascribed to Italy. For a short time, the Narkomindel even assumed that this new Italian partner could become a trusted companion on the international chessboards. After Brest-Litovsk, which, however, was inspired purely by strategic survival, the Genoa Conference and the resulting Rapallo Treaty with Germany marked the birth of post-revolutionary Russia’s new foreign policy. The Soviets showed great determination in asserting their economic and political interests, searching for an axis that could oppose the Versailles system.12 It is no wonder that “revisionist” Italy, or at least the perception that Moscow had of it, was seen to be potentially at the centre of this framework. In 1924 and 1925, this became a key issue for the new post-revolutionary government. The joint action with Italy in areas to the east was expected to lead to great benefits. This expansion area included the Middle East, Persia, Afghanistan and the Far East in general, with special emphasis on China. In March 1924, Č ičerin advised Jurenev to take advantage of Italian policies, even though it acted as an imperialist power (something its adventures in Africa demonstrated). Italy could, for example, launch a more veiled policy in Asia than other European powers, sometimes even supporting the freedom of other nationalities. This enabled greater cooperation with Mussolini’s government, for example in Afghanistan,13 where Russia and Italy could develop a common policy.14 The line taken had to be similar to the one followed in the Persian Gulf: clearly, the Soviets negatively perceived the infiltration of foreign capital through traditional colonial methods; but “we support the small Italian capital against the

 Pons, La rivoluzione globale, 44.   On the Italian–Afghan relations, see Luciano Monzali, Un re afghano a Roma, Amanullah e l’Afghanistan nella politica estera italiana (1919–1943) (Firenze: Le Lettere, 2012). 14  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 13 marta 1924, 13–14. 12 13

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English and French ones near the Persian Gulf,15 and in Asia Minor”.16 Finally, as concerns China, Č ičerin again emphasised that Italians were not part of the consortium of British, French, American and Japanese banks that exploited the country.17 Moreover, this has persuaded us to stand next to Italy in this area. What can we give to the Italians?—the Commissioner for Foreign Affairs asked himself. Our fleet has agents in the ports of the Black Sea, where Lloyd Triestino operates. We also have agents in Irkutsk, Vladivostok, Charbin and Shanghai,18 and we can therefore influence and help develop Italian trade practices in the Far East. We could exchange information with any Italian organisation. In short, in this manner, we can give the Italians something real.19

Finally, there was also great attention paid to Persia, along with fear of English and French penetration into the Caspian Sea area via the construction of a new railway.20 The Soviets were excluded from this project, and

15  As concerns in particular the relationship between Italy and Saudi Arabia, refer to Matteo Pizzigallo, La diplomazia dell’amicizia. Italia e Arabia Saudita (1932–1942) (ESI: Napoli, 2000). Although it does not overlook the Persian Gulf, in order to contextualise Italy’s foreign policy in the area refer to the book by Enrico De Leone, Le relazioni italo-yemenite negli ultimi ottant’anni (Padova: CEDAM, 1956). 16  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 27 marzo 1924, 22–23. 17  The Italian presence in China was limited to the territorial concession of Tientsin, an important area south of Beijing, giving on to the sea and not too far from the Russian city of Vladivostok. The Italians had acquired it in recognition for the help offered to China during the repression of the Boxer uprising in the early 1900s. See on this issue Daniele Comberiati, ‘La colonia cinese: le rappresentazioni culturali e letterarie della concessione italiana di Tientsin nella letteratura e nella cultura italiana del Novecento’, Forum Italicum: a Journal of Italian Studies, vol. 48, n. 3, 2014, in www.journals.sagepub.com; Roberto Festorazzi, ‘Tianjin. Glorie militari italiane nell’Estremo Oriente’, Limes, n. 8, 2014. In general, as concerns Italy’s foreign policy in China, refer to Giorgio Borsa, Tentativi di penetrazione dell’Italia fascista in Cina (1932–1937), in Giorgio Borsa (ed.), Europa e Asia tra modernità e tradizione (Milano: Franco Angeli, 1994), 239–290: Guido Samarani, Laura De Giorgi, Lontane, Vicine. Le relazioni fra Cina e Italia nel Novecento (Roma: Carocci, 2011). 18  Charbin is the Russian name of the Chinese city of Harbin, capital of Manchuria. 19  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 5 aprelja 1924, 37. 20  As concerns Persia’s position hemmed in between the games of major powers, see A.  Banani, The modernization of Iran (1921–1941) (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1961); and Stephanie Cronin, The Army and the creation of the Palhavi state 1921–1926 (London: Tauris, 1997).

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they hoped that through the participation of Italian companies in the operation they would be able to exercise some control.21 Jurenev’s response a few days later was not encouraging, however: on the issue of investments, particularly in the Far East, he felt that Italian capital was too weak for such an enterprise. Persia was another matter, and he felt that Italy could develop greater interests in that area.22 The question of potential collaboration in Asia, which the Roman government did not find unwelcome, remained on the table.23 Both Č ičerin and Litvinov were questioned almost daily about the various fronts on which Mussolini was engaged: the fate of the Aegean islands; which parts of Libya had to remain under Italy together with the Trans-­ Juba24; and the country’s position on Tangier. The news that reached Moscow about Italian policy in the Balkans and Central and Eastern Europe was followed with particular interest and a varying degree of apprehension according to the countries involved. Rumours of closer contacts between Italy and Poland were received with concern.25 There were also frequent requests made to divine the relations and tensions with Yugoslavia,26 and the rapprochement with Czechoslovakia was closely followed. In May, Mussolini enthusiastically announced to Jurenev that he would shortly sign a pact with the Prague government, pointing out that he had managed to liquidate the Little Entente to allow Italy to pursue its own interests in Central Europe. A move in this direction would trigger France’s anger, but he did not care because—as Mussolini said during the meeting—“we know that in case of war with France our colonies in northern Africa would be isolated from their homeland. But we are not afraid of this. Our fleet is smaller than the French one, but we have excellent bases.”27 21  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 11 aprelja 1924, p. 40. 22  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 43, Jurenev Pervomu Zamnarkomu tov. M.M. Litvinovu, Rim, 17 Maja 1924, 111–118. 23  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 49, Č ičerin, Sidanie c Ital’janskim Poslom, 4 dekabrja 1924, 39. 24  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. Jurenev Pervomu Zamnarkomu tov. M.M. Litvinovu, Rim, 17 Maja 1924, pp. 108–110. 25  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Litvinov tovarišu K.K Jurenevu, 1 marta 1924, pp. 18–19. 26  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K.  Jurenevu, 1 maja 1924, pp. 59–60, Litvinov tovarišu K.K Jurenevu, 5 nojabrja 1924, pp. 126–129. 27  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 43, Jurenev Pervomu Zamnarkomu tov. M.M. Litvinovu, Rim, 27e Maja 1924, pp. 134–141.

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In the end, hope rested in obtaining recognition from Albania and Ethiopia. The Soviets openly asked for Italy’s diplomatic support to obtain Ethiopia’s recognition on the occasion of Ras Tafarì’s visit to Italy,28 with the objective of acquiring a first territorial base,29 as well as Tirana, because the Soviets intended to be present in Albania.30

Can More Be Done? In this context, Moscow accepted with great interest the political agreement that was suggested by Mussolini through Jurenev on 7 November 1924. This was not the first occasion on which the head of the Italian government had hinted at potentially closer relations. He had even referred to a wide-ranging treaty that included the issues of the League of Nations, Turkey, the Balkans and Bessarabia.31 Mussolini’s timing seemed favourable, as in London the Conservatives, who had returned to power under the leadership of Stanley Baldwin, announced on 30 November that they were not willing to ratify the Anglo-Soviet agreement. At this time, it was not trivial for the Soviet Union to reach a political understanding with a country with which some strategic goals could be shared. In December, Litvinov wrote to Jurenev that the Soviet Union was ready to sign a non-aggression pact with Italy.32 Fear of Italian rapprochement with Romania weighed heavily on this decision, a matter that had cropped up in Italian–Soviet relations for some months and could have led to the definitive loss of the once Russian Bessarabia. In fact, as compensation for the war victory alongside the Entente, Great Britain, Italy, France and Japan had acknowledged this region as part of Romania, de facto annexed in 1918, with the 1920 Treaty of Paris. It was necessary 28  DVP SSSR, T.7, Dok. 177, Telegramma Narodnogo Kommissara Inostrannych Del SSSR Polnomočnomu Predstavitelju SSSR v Italii K-K. Jurenevu, 21 Junija 1924, p. 390 e n.193, Telegramma Narodnogo Kommissara Inostrannych Del SSSR Polnomočnomu Predstavitelju SSSR v Italii K-K. Jurenevu, 25 Julija 1924, p. 407. 29  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 23 julija 1924, p. 75. 30  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Č ičerin tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, 3 sentjabrja 1924, p. 90. 31  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, delo 44, Jurenev Pervomu Zamnarkomu tov. M.M Litvinovu, Rim, 20 sentjabrja 1924, 11–15. 32  DVP SSSR, T. 7, Dok. 295, Pis’mo Zamestitelja Narodnogo Kommissara Inostrannych Del SSSR Polnomočnomu Predstavitelju SSSR v Italii K-K.  Jurenevu, 24 dekabrja 1924, 589.

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to proceed to ratification, but Mussolini played for time to avoid taking a definite position in a fight that irreconcilably divided two countries with which he intended to maintain good relations for different reasons. As the issue dragged on for many more months, Litvinov complained on several occasions. He pointed out that “Italy’s attitude towards us over the Balkan question has changed recently as they have realised that we too want to have a grip on that region. […] But if Italy thinks it can improve its position in the Balkans by joining Romania and rejecting us, it is wrong. Also because we have no hegemony, neither economic nor political, on the Balkans, which could replace Italy’s influence.”33 As is generally known, Italy achieved ratification in 1927, but for two and a half years it continued to play an ambiguous game. By the beginning of 1925, Italian and Soviet interests seemed to be more and more reconcilable. In Turkey and in the Mediterranean in general, as in the Balkans, Mussolini intended to balance the Soviets on one side with the English and French on the other, waiting for the best bidder should the opportunity arise. For Moscow, the Italian trump card was all the more useful after Lenin’s death in January 1924, when the tormented issue of his succession opened up and nobody wanted the creation of an external anti-Soviet front. On 8 February 1925, the Soviet ambassador was received by Mussolini, and gave him the draft based on previous talks that had been prepared in Moscow. The document included Italy’s commitment to avoid initiatives by the League of Nations against the Soviet Union and to review the Lausanne Convention on the Regime of the Straits.34 A concerned Mussolini responded by asking for more time. He had to evaluate whether a structured pact such as this would require Italy to exit from the League of Nations or whether the Soviet Union should enter it. Italy raised doubts specifically on the clause that envisaged a mutual commitment not to take part in war initiatives at the expense of one of the contractors.35 The document clearly highlighted Soviet interests. First, to prevent the capitalist powers, through the League of Nations, from joining forces against the Soviet Union on an economic and political level, they asked 33  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 155, d. 46, Litvinov tovarišu K.K. Jurenevu, Moskva, 1 oktobrja 1924, 95–100. 34  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 158, d. 85, Litvinov Polnomočnomu Predstavitelju CCCR v Italii, tov. K.K. Jurenevu, 28 fevralja 1925, 52–57. 35  DVP SSSR Tom 8, Dok. 57, Soobšenjie Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR v Italii o besede s Predsedatelem Soveta Ministrov i Ministrom Inostrannych Del Italii Mussolini, 9 fevralja 1925, 121–123.

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Italy to engage itself in Geneva against any anti-Soviet initiative. Secondly, worried about maintaining their relations with Turkey, the Soviets were unwilling to go beyond a pure and simple, and certainly not benevolent, neutrality in the case of conflict between the two. Moreover, they insisted on the commitment not to ratify agreements against the interests of one of the parties, making a clear reference to Bessarabia. They also asked for a promise of mutual support during the revision of the Treaty of Lausanne on the Straits.36 Finally, when Mussolini asked to keep the agreement secret, Litvinov categorically refused, stating that the secret could only be kept during negotiations, or six months at most.37 In fact, Moscow had no interest in entering into a secret pact since its purpose was precisely the opposite: that is, to assert the presence of a strong ally at its side, or at least one that the Soviets perceived as such, hoping this would allow it to have a say on major European issues. To his great surprise, however, Jurenev was not summoned. The underlying problem was that there were common interests, but they were not perfectly aligned. The Soviet Union would not benefit by favouring Italy, not even benevolently, in the event of a war between Italy and Turkey, given the good Turkish–Soviet relations. At the same time, until the summer of 1926, Mussolini pursued his dream of managing the Balkans through a Danubian entente, excluding the Soviets. Once he realised that this was not possible, he opted to isolate Yugoslavia and give France a slap in the face, choosing the path of bilateral agreements with Albania,38 Hungary and Romania. But where Romania became the key to destroying the “Little Entente”, Italy’s ambiguity on the question of Bessarabia had to be resolved once and for all. The silence from the Italian government was deafening, even more so during the meetings that led Italy to endorse the Locarno Treaties, from

36  On this point, see AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 157, d. 84, “Pis’ma Polpredstva po Dogovoru, 2.1.1925–23.11.1925”, d. 85, “Perepiska NKID Torgovou Dogovorum 2.1.1925–25.11.1925”, d. 86 “Šifrovki po Torgovou Dogovoru, 25.9.1923–29.12.1923”, d. 87, “Raznaja Perepiska po Dogovoru, 13.1.1925–20.2.1925”. 37  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 157, d. 87, Litvinov v Politbjuro ZK RKP, Ob Italii, 13 janvarja 1925. 38  Pietro Pastorelli, Italia e Albania, 1924–1927: origini diplomatiche del Trattato di Tirana del 22 novembre 1927 (Firenze: Biblioteca della Rivista di Studi Politici Internazionali, 1967), 278.

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which the Soviet Union was carefully excluded.39 It is now known that Č ičerin, despite his annoyance at being excluded,40 did not consider the Treaty decisive. He considered it a sign that the European situation was stabilising, rejecting the concern, widespread among all Bolshevik leaders, that Berlin was positioning itself outside the Rapallo agreement with Moscow and creating the conditions in which the anti-Soviet coalition could be extended to include Germany.41 Essentially, his benevolent attitude towards Italy did not change.

Bucharest or Moscow Two very different events took place in Italy in 1926. Their consequences were significant in the context of an analysis of Soviet policy towards Italy. First, on 6 April 1926, Dino Grandi, Undersecretary since 14 May 1925, was appointed Head of the General Secretariat. This led to a more enterprising political phase that was marked by greater hostility towards Yugoslavia, and therefore more favourable to a rapprochement with Romania.42 Secondly, on 6 November 1926, the Royal Decree 1848 was issued, with which the Public Security Consolidated Text was enforced. This gave Prefects the power to dissolve associations, institutions, bodies, parties, groups and political organisations, and to establish confinement as the main sanction against any opponents of the regime. The headquarters of the opposition parties were occupied and closed. Arrests began, these hitting the Italian Communist Party in particular. On the evening of 8 November, its leader Antonio Gramsci was arrested together with other deputies. At the end of that year, a third of the Party’s officers were in prison. The rest took refuge in Paris, where the Party’s Foreign Centre remained until the outbreak of the Second World War, and never returned 39  On the Locarno conference, see Matteo L.  Napolitano, Mussolini e la Conferenza di Locarno (1925). Il problema della sicurezza nella politica estera italiana (Urbino: Montefeltro, 1996). 40  Documenti Diplomatici Italiani (hereafter DDI), Serie VII, volume (hereafter vol.) 4, Documento (hereafter Doc.) 175, L’ambasciatore a Mosca, Manzoni, al Presidente del Consiglio e Ministro degli Esteri, Mussolini, Mosca, 13 November 1925, 128–129. 41  Anna Di Biagio, Coesistenza e isolazionismo. Mosca, il Komintern e l’Europa di Versailles (1918–1928) (Roma: Carocci, 2004), 174–176; Pons, La rivoluzione globale, 65. 42  On the figure of Dino Grandi, see the works of Paolo Nello, Dino Grandi. La formazione di un leader fascista (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1987); Paolo Nello, Un fedele disubbidiente. Dino Grandi da Palazzo Chigi al 25 luglio (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1993).

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to Italy.43 This series of events, contrary to expectations, left the Narkomindel completely indifferent and its attitude towards Italy unchanged. The arrival of Grandi meant that the agreement with Romania, Moscow’s enemy because of the Bessarabia question, began to speed up, postponing a political understanding between the Soviet Union and Italy.44 During the spring and summer of 1926, negotiations between Rome and Moscow stalled and the meetings between the new ambassador, Platon Kerženzev,45 and the representatives of the Italian government were repeated, more or less, according to a scheme that seemed prearranged: the Soviets tried to understand the reasons for Mussolini’s hesitation, while he tried to duck out of his commitments. The Soviets continued to reassure Italy about the non-hostile character of relations between Ankara and Moscow. Italy did the same concerning the relations between Italy and Britain, a crucial point of reference for Rome.46 To deepen the distrust, a few days later, on 26 April, Moscow and Berlin announced a friendship treaty. This move greatly alarmed Italy. Litvinov had to work hard to reassure the Italian ambassador, Gaetano Manzoni, that the Soviet Union was now in favour of the friendship treaty with Berlin only because it felt more confident that the other European countries would not attack it.47 Rome was very much afraid that the Treaty, the detail of which it obviously did not know, could actually hurt its strategy in the Danubian area.48 In the months that followed the political agreement, there was less and less talk, but Italian negotiations continued in order to reach an economic deal with Romania. News of these quickly reached Moscow, which asked for immediate explanations. To overcome the Soviets’ dissatisfaction, 43  Paolo Spriano, Storia del Partito Comunista Italiano. Gli anni della clandestinità (Torino: Einaudi, 1969), 61–72. 44  AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 158, d. 99, Polpred SSSR v Italii, Keržencev tov. Litvinovu, Rim, 7 aprelja 1926. 45  Pseudonym of Platon Michailovič Lebedev. 46  DVP SSSR, T. 9, Doc. 10, Soobšenjie Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR v Italii o besede s Predsedatelem Soveta ministrov i Ministrom Inostrannych Del Italii Mussolini i General’nym Sekretarem Ministerstva Inostrannych Del Italii Kontarini, Rim, 8 janvarja 1926, 15–18. 47   DVP SSSR, T. 9, Dok. 136, Zapis’ besedy Zamestitelja Narodnogo Komissara Inostrannych Del SSSR s Poslom Italii v SSSR Manzoni, Moskva, 21 aprelja 1926, 245–247. 48  DDI, Serie VII, Vol. 4, Doc. 366, Manzoni, Ambassador to Moscow, to the Head of Government and Foreign Minister, Mussolini, Moscow, 14 June 1926.

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Mussolini suggested to Č ičerin an arbitration and neutrality treaty as an alternative to the political agreement.49 This was a clear attempt to obtain something from Moscow in exchange for Italy’s commitment not to acknowledge Bucharest’s annexation of Bessarabia. But the trap did not work: the Narkomindel gave no sign of acceptance, and on 16 September 1926, Italy signed its first friendship treaty with the “great” Romania. Although in the following days Mussolini continued to affirm that the ratification of the Bessarabia Treaty would only take place if it did not affect Italy’s general interests, that is Italian–Soviet relations,50 the Soviet Union at first reacted very badly, sending a strong note of protest to the Italian government.51 Mussolini replied equally harshly, threatening to speed up the ratification of the Treaty of Paris, which in theory he could have postponed sine die, since the newly signed agreement was not binding in this regard.52 In October, Kerženzev sent a long report concerning Italian foreign policy to Moscow, in which he pointed out that this was not the best time to think about a political agreement: the contrasts between Italy and France were very strong, and Italy was undergoing a severe economic crisis. In addition, the Franco-German rapprochement, following Locarno, had pushed Italy excessively into the arms of Great Britain. The prospect of a pact with the Soviet Union was instrumental in that it would allow Rome to negotiate with London from a stronger position.53 On 27 November, the signing of the pact between Italy and Albania added an additional element of destabilisation. Thereafter, Mussolini began to fear

49  DDI, Serie VII, Vol. 4, Doc. 417, The Head of Government and Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mussolini to the Ambassador to Moscow, Manzoni, Rome, 12 September 1926, 321–322. 50  Petracchi, La Russia rivoluzionaria, 256–257. 51  The negative and worried reaction of the Soviet ambassador to the news of the signing of the agreement between Italy and Romania is in AVPRF, F 4, op. 20, pap. 158, d. 99, Polpred SSSR v Italii Keržencev Tov. Litvinovu, Rim, 16 sentiabrja 1926, 87–91. The official note of protest may be found in DVP SSSR, T. 9, Dok. 285, Note of Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR Italii Predsedatelju Soveta ministrov i Ministru Inostrannych Del Italii Mussolini, Moskva, 6 oktjabrja 1926, 480–481. 52  DDI, Serie VII, Vol. 4, Doc. 452, The Head of Government and Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mussolini to the Ambassador to Moscow, Manzoni, Rome, 7 October 1926, 351. 53   DVP SSSR, Tom 9, Dok. 285, Nota Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR Italii Predsedatelju Soveta ministrov i Ministru Inostrannych Del Italii Mussolini, 6 oktjabrja 1926, pp. 480–481.

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that Yugoslavia could seek Moscow’s support on an anti-Italian basis,54 although Litvinov had repeatedly denied this hypothesis to Manzoni.55 However, these were not the only reasons why attempts to establish a true Italian–Soviet friendship failed. What worried the Foreign Affairs Commissariat the most was the deterioration of relations with Britain, as the miners’ strike highlighted in May, when London accused the Soviet Union of funding protests that had shaken the country. Italy’s position, should the dispute worsen, was unknown.56 Indeed, in the months to come, with relations between the Soviet Union and Britain at their lowest point, dialogue between Rome and Moscow became increasingly difficult. The chance to play the Soviet card based on an anti-British or anti-French stance was becoming more difficult for Mussolini. Strongly concerned about a rapprochement between the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, which would highlight all the limitations of his policy in Danubian/Balkan Europe, indirectly reinforcing France’s position, the Duce suggested an agreement to Romania in which Hungary and Bulgaria were also included.57 This was an extremely contradictory proposal that was the result of the ambiguous nonchalance with which Mussolini had played the revisionist or anti-revisionist card since 1922, according to Italy’s interests. However, a quadruple alliance could never have been born; not only because Romania had no intention of questioning its alliance with France, with which it had signed a new commercial treaty in January 1927, but also because it was very difficult to think that Hungary, resentful towards Romania because of the Transylvania issue, and Bulgaria, in conflict with Bucharest over Dobruja, would ever have agreed to join. Therefore, it was evident that the Romanians, through the Italian ratification of the Treaty of Paris, had hoped to strengthen the Little Entente, while Rome wanted the exact opposite. Finally, on 7 March 1927, Mussolini decided to notify the League of Nations concerning his will to ratify the Treaty of Paris. He expressed his 54  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 4, Doc. 540, Il Capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri Mussolini all’Ambasciatore a Mosca, Manzoni, Roma, 13 December 1926, 419. 55  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 4, Doc. 542, L’Ambasciatore a Mosca, Manzoni, al capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri, Mussolini, Mosca, 14 December 1926, 419–420. 56  Tensions were so high that the English Cabinet evaluated the possibility of breaking off diplomatic relations, Stephanie Salzmann, Great Britain, Germany and the Soviet Union: Rapallo and After, 1922–1934 (Suffolk and Rochester: The Boydell Press, 2003), 80–87. 57  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 4, Doc. 580, Il Capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri Mussolini al Ministro a Bucarest Durazzo, Roma, 16 January 1927, 452–453.

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approval of Britain’s resolute manner in dealing with the Soviet Union, responsible for the general strike of 1926.58 This was his way of remaining on the safe side should there be a stiff Soviet reaction, which, however, never came. As Japan’s ratification was still missing, Italian ratification was not ultimately decisive, and Moscow had no intention of worsening its relations with Italy at a time when those with the United Kingdom were becoming very complicated. So the Narkomindel sent a simple protest note, with no further dramatic retaliation.59 And after a first cold phase, relations became more relaxed—on the Soviet side because Moscow feared the isolation aggravated by the worsening of its relationship with Britain; on Italy’s side because Rome had discovered that the Soviet Union and France were negotiating a non-aggression pact. The prospect of a political agreement, however, failed on both sides. In June, Vittorio Cerruti, the new Italian ambassador to Moscow, told Mussolini that the Soviets were worried about a stalemate of relations between the two countries.60 The Duce told him to respond by remarking on Italy’s fairness throughout the entire period of tension with Great Britain, thereby avoiding the main question.61 Italy had in fact carefully avoided taking a clear position when relations between Britain and the Soviet Union had collapsed in 1926 over the issue of the miners’ strike. It behaved similarly after March 1927, where a violent repression of Chinese Communists was carried out by the nationalists of Chiang Kai-shek, until breaking off all diplomatic relations in May of the following year.62 58  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 5, Doc. 54, Il Capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri Mussolini al Delegato alla Società delle Nazioni Scaloja, e all’Ambasciatore a Londra Della Torretta, Roma, 7 March 1927. 59  DVP SSSR, T. 10, Dok. 43, Telegramma Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR v Narodnyj Kommissariat Inostrannych Del SSSR, Moskva, 7 marta 1927, 75–76 e DVP SSSR, T. 10, Dok. 58, Nota Polnomočnogo Predstavitelja SSSR v Italii Predsedatelju Soveta ministrov i Ministru Inostrannych Del Italii Mussolini, Moskva, 17 marta 1927, 220. 60  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 5, Doc. 281, L’Ambasciatore a Mosca, Cerruti, al capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri, Mussolini, Mosca, 19 June 1927, 276. 61  DDI, Serie VII, vol. 5, Doc. 288, Il Capo del Governo e Ministro degli Esteri, Mussolini, all’ambasciatore a Mosca, Cerruti, Roma, 23 June 1927. 62  The Soviet Union had been accused of financing the strikes that had spread in Great Britain during 1926. On this matter, see Kocho-Williams Alastair, Russia’s International Relations in the Twentieth Century (New York: Routledge, 2013), 49–50; Gabriel Gorodetsky, The Precarious Truce: Anglo-Soviet Relations, 1924–1927 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). But see also Anthony Best, ‘We are virtually at War with Russia: Britain and the Cold War in East Asia, 1923–1940’, Cold War History, Vol. 12, n. 2, 2012, 205–225, which draws attention to the theme of Soviet–British rivalry in the Asian theatre.

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Even the Soviets were reluctant to stretch their relations with Italy too much, and they remained low key until 1928. Relations later became smoother on the basis of mutual commercial interests, postponing indefinitely the chance of a true and proper political pact.

Conclusions It was, therefore, precisely the growing tension between London and Moscow that threw Mussolini’s wink and nudge policy with the Soviet Union into a crisis. This showed how differently the two governments weighed their relationship with Britain. In 1924, Italy had opted for a normalisation of its relations with Moscow, hoping to reach an actual alliance in order to play the Moscow card to mitigate its political and economic dependence on the Anglo-French entente. The initiative was supported by the Soviets, who were ready to take advantage of any manoeuvring space in order to affirm their international legitimacy. Up until 1927, it seemed almost possible that, on the basis of the common interests in the Balkans and in the eastern Mediterranean, Italy and the Soviet Union could sign a friendship and non-aggression pact. But Mussolini’s adhesion to the Locarno Treaties, the issue of the Italian ratification of the 1920 Treaty that recognised Bessarabia to Romania and, most of all, the tension between London and Moscow made this impossible. From then until 1936 the two countries maintained overall good relations, mainly based on mutual economic interests and on polemical virulence, albeit always kept very much under control by both parties. Being both “extra-ordinary”, the two regimes had to maintain a certain degree of stability in their mutual relations and, as Giorgio Petracchi wrote, this is why Italy and the Soviet Union found the basis for a solid and friendly relationship in their state policies and economic interests. For this reason, a modus vivendi came into being between Fascism and Bolshevism, suspended between beneficial economic exchanges and diplomatic favours, and a subtle, but controlled, ideological controversy, which never slipped—by agreement of both governments—into an open and violent hostility until after the Spanish War.

The Other Thermopylae of Europe: Greater Romania and the Red Menace Alberto Basciani

At the end of a long and tormented political and diplomatic phase, Romania joined World War I along with the Entente Powers in August 1916, in spite of the fact that, at least formally, the Danubian country was linked, by means of a secret alliance, with the Governments of Berlin and Vienna.1 The Romanian forces were unprepared, and after they fought badly the war soon took a serious turn for the worse for them. Initial ephemeral successes (fast advanced in Transylvania with the occupation of the important city of Braşov/Kronstadt) were just as rapidly followed by a series of tough losses in the west and in the south against the Central Powers and their allies, the Bulgarians and Turks. In early December 1916, Bucharest and Wallachia, with their rich mineral and agricultural resources, fell into the hands of the enemy forces. To avert capitulation 1  On the evolution of the Romanian foreign policy, see Rudolf Dinu, ‘The Reluctant Ally. Romania’s Relations with the Central Empires and Italy at the beginning of the Great War (1914–1915)’, Revista Istorică, Vol. XXVII (1–2) (2016): 5–28.

A. Basciani (*) Department of Political Sciences, Roma Tre University, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_4

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and to continue the fight, the Royal Family, the Government, Parliament and thousands of other people, including officials, bureaucrats and journalists with their families, left the capital to take refuge in Iaşi, the capital of Moldavia, in the north-east of the country. In short, the region was transformed into a sort of huge military fort where the Romanian army was reorganized with the help of French officers and reinforced by closer cooperation with the Russian Imperial Army.2 After this had taken place, it was surprisingly able to cope with the enemy offensive that followed. During the summer of 1917, success in three bloody defensive battles (Mărăsț i, 11–19 July; Mărăşeşti, 6–16 August; and Oituz, 8–20 August) halted the advance of the Central Powers, avoiding (only temporarily) the capitulation of Romania. Nonetheless, victory in these three battles did not seem to bring a real chance for improving the precarious political and military situation of Romania. In fact, after examining the substantial and largely unpublished diplomatic correspondence from the Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Rome, it is clear that Western diplomats working at the provisional capital of the Romanian kingdom regarded the Romanian situation as extremely precarious after the fall of Tsar Nicholas II and the end of the Tsarist regime. Such grave concern was provoked by the attitude of the majority of Russian troops on the Moldovan front after the events of March 1917. It was clear that a revolution of a bourgeois/democratic nature had definitely changed the course of Russian politics, and with it the new Petrograd leaders’ perspective on the war effort, whatever this was at that particular moment. As Norman Stone writes, it is impossible to blame only Bolshevik strategy (and particularly Lenin’s) for the progressive collapse of the Russian army. This collapse was caused not only by military defeats, but also by the mistakes of the Stavka (the Russian General Staff) and the unpreparedness of the Tsar, his ministers and collaborators in coping with progressive and ever more ungovernable economic chaos,

2  The Russian forces, approximately 1 million men, were organized into three armies: the IV, VI and IX placed under the command of General Vladimir Sakharov. According to Glenn Torrey, the Romanian front was the only one of the fronts where large-scale effective cooperation between Russia and its allies was realized. Cf. Glenn E. Torrey, The Revolutionary Russian Army and Romania – 1917 (Pittsburgh: The Carl Beck Papers in Russian and East European Studies, nr. 1003, 1995), II.

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generated by messy and controversial developments in the previous years, which enveloped Russia and depleted its war energies and resources.3 To most Russian soldiers, the fall of the Romanovs was only the first step towards a quick conclusion of the war, at which point they would be able to return home and take part in the redistribution of land. Although High Command and high-grade officers tried to keep important internal events hidden from the troops, censorship soon proved totally ineffective and news spread very rapidly. Many of the officers of the now former Imperial Army were totally unprepared to face the collapse of internal events, and some wanted to show their solidarity with the troops. Many years later in his memoirs, the head of the provisional government, the Socialist Alexander Kerensky, wrote that officers had been caught completely unprepared. Some of them desperately tried to maintain order and discipline: “it seemed that the whole army had forgotten the existence of the enemy and was only concerned with the internal situation of the Country, focusing attention on what was going on there […]”.4 In many regiments, soldier soviets gradually became dominated by maximalist elements. A revolutionary drive agitated Russian troops, and increasingly popular anti-war and egalitarian sentiment as well as impatience towards the command impacted the already weak structure of the Romanian state and its army, which, with difficulty, was undergoing a complex strengthening process.5 Towards the end of April 1917, Romanian authorities, pressed by the most politicized Russian soldiers, released from prison one of the best-­ known leaders of the Romanian socialist movement. Christian Rakovski, born in Dobrogea to a Bulgarian ethnic family but with Romanian citizenship, had been Having been in contact with Lev Trockij, he had been in jail since 1916 on charges of treason in favour of the Germans.6 On 1 May, 3  See Norman Stone, The Eastern Front. 1914–1917 (London–New York: Penguin Books, 1998), 282–284. See also Pritt Buttar, The Splintered Empires: The Eastern Front 1917–21 (Oxford: Osprey Publishing, 2017), 41–102. 4  See Alexander Kerensky, La Rivoluzione russa (Milano: Edizioni Sunland, 1931), 223. 5  For the progressive process of disintegration of the Russian army in the spring of 1917, see: Allan K. Wildman, The End of Russian Imperial Army: the Old Army and the Soldiers (March–April 1917) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), passim. 6  The issue also shocked the main biographers of the future Bolshevik leader. See Pierre Broue, Rakovsky, ou la revolution dans tous les pays (Paris: Fayard, 1996), 113–117 and Francis Conte, Un revolutionnaire-diplomate: Christian Rakovsky. L’Union sovietique et l’Europe (1922–1941) (Paris: Éditions Lille, 1975), 129–137.

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a telegram from the Italian Legation in Iaşi informed the Government in Rome of the first repercussions caused by Russian events in Romania: Romanian government has ended up letting Rakoski [sic] free especially in view of today’s Socialist party on May 1. This was solemnized by Russian soldiers accompanied by some officers with a rally followed by a demonstration through the streets of the city […] Rakoski [sic] participated in the demonstration and addressed the crowd […].7

A few days later Rakovski, who always had the support of the most politicized Russian troops, left Romanian territory to arrive in Odessa. There, once reconciled with Lenin (thanks to the good influence of Trockij), with whom he had previously diverged politically, he emerged as one of the most determined and combative Bolshevik leaders. In the following months, his role would prove decisive in establishing and then consolidating Bolshevik power in Ukraine. However, while in Odessa, Rakovski could not forget the Romanian kingdom. His arrival in the city contributed to taking the revolution even to Romania.8 The situation became more difficult to handle in the following days. Russian soldiers, with their revolutionary spirit (or simply rebellious and intolerant of the authorities) seemed to pass on these sentiments to fellow Romanian soldiers. A few days after Rakovski’s move onto Russian territory, Fasciotti reported that “speeches calling for revolution were held in Romania as well as for the extension of agitation in this Country, the one and the other equally applauded […]”.9 From Odessa, Rakovski made Romania one of his major objectives. He sought to recruit numerous Romanians (military and civilian) in the port city to join the revolutionary cause. He also established local soviets, the so-called RUMCERODs (Executive Committees of the Soviet of Soldiers, Sailors, Workers and Farmers of the Romanian front and of the Black Sea fleet), as the lever of his political action. His activism became of major concern to the police authorities of Iaşi, who warned the government that the Romanian Royal Family could be at risk. On 5 May, the Romanian Government informed the representatives of the Entente about their plans to keep King Ferdinand I and his relatives safe, 7  Diplomatic Historical Archives Ministry of Foreign Affairs-Rome (hereinafter ASDMAE), Affari Politici (hereinafter AP)-Russia 1914–1917, Busta 168. Telegram sent by Fasciotti to Rome on 1 May 1918. 8  See Stelian Tanase (ed.), Rakovski. Dosar secret (Bucureşti–Iaşi: Polirom, 2008), 14–16. 9  ASDMAE, AP-Russia 1914–1917, Busta 168, Telegram to Rome, 4 May 1917.

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and to strengthen security in the city and at strategic points along the front. In turn, the diplomats of the Entente sought to convince senior Russian officers operating on the Moldovan front of the need to try to re-­ establish full command authority over all troops still stationed on the Romanian front, gaining assurance—perhaps not that convincing—of the will to restore order and discipline among all military units.10 Despite these good intentions, order and rigour tended instead to progressively slacken and turn into acts of insubordination. On 21 June 1917, the Minister of Italy in Iaşi, Baron Fasciotti, informed his Government by telegram about a series of executions ordered by the Romanian military authorities of Russian soldiers who had been found guilty of serious acts of insubordination and indiscipline: “Russian troops have made public demonstrations with flags and speeches […] the chief of the Soviets is the spokesman of those claims that are backed by the threat to arrest the Prefect and the local authorities if the Romanian government will not give in […]”.11 The Germans did not fail to seize such an opportunity. General August von Mackensen ordered his subordinates to ease pressure on areas along the front guarded by Russian forces. Cases of fraternization between Russian and Bulgarian soldiers were recorded as early as February and March 1917.12 This situation aroused great concern among civilian leaders and the Romanian army. On 7 August 1917, Fasciotti, the plenipotentiary minister (envoy) of Italy, sent a telegram to the Italian Government. Fasciotti stressed the fact that during a conversation the Romanian Prime Minister Ion I.C. Brătianu had expressed serious concerns about the resilience of the Romanian forces, which were already collapsing with no hope of being promptly helped by the former Imperial Army: “After the brilliant actions that they [the Russians] did at the beginning of the offensive, now they cannot be expected to show any offensive spirit […] Brătianu reiterated that two

 Ibid., telegram to Rome, 5 May 1917.  ASDMAE, AP-Russia 1914–1917, Busta 168. 12  See Torrey, The Revolutionary Russian Army and Romania, 3–4. In early June, Fasciotti telegraphed Rome, alarmed at the outcome of a conversation with a man named Ignatiev, a Russian delegate of the Red Cross, who confessed the desire of most of the soldiers to leave the front and go home; but above all, in certain fields “the soldiers of the two armies [Russian and German] do visit each other in the trenches, they are photographed together and exchange wishes for peace and brotherhood among all peoples […]”. ASDMAE, AP-Russia 1914–1917, Busta 168. Telegram to Rome on 1 June 1917. 10 11

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Russian divisions have fled their positions where the Romanians were forced to replace them […].”13 In short, the gradual disintegration and the growing insubordination sweeping the Russian army can be said to have helped diminish, at least in part, the bloody defensive victories (obtained, it should be emphasized, thanks to important Russian cooperation) against the Central Empires during the summer of 1917. However, the Bolshevik coup of October/ November 1917 was undoubtedly a decisive factor in the outcome of the Romanian war. The coup got rid of the interim Government and put Lenin in power. Within a span of a few weeks, Romania ended up completely isolated from its Western Allies and was squeezed between the grip of the Central Powers and the revolutionary impulses of Bolshevik power. The latter considered the ruling classes as an enemy to get rid of; their end would accelerate the spread of revolutionary sentiments in the Danube basin and throughout the Balkan region. In just a few weeks, the Romanian situation became even more frenzied. On 18 November 1917, Fasciotti urgently telegraphed a message to Rome. In it, he bluntly described the Romanian situation as “terrible” because of Russian events. He also informed his Government that a common step had been taken together with the French and British cabinets to seriously consider the possibility of sending “Czech and Serbian divisions on this front […] and the intervention of Japanese troops on the Russian front, and finally by agreements with Russian regions that proclaim to be autonomous state and who wish to continue the war”.14 On the one hand, the peculiar military political situation forced the Brătianu Government to consider the opportunity of a separate peace with the Central Powers.15 On the other hand, the chaos that enveloped the 13  Ibid. In another telegram on that same 7 August, after briefing King Ferdinand about the situation, Fasciotti annotated “the situation of this Court and the Government is really tragic and worthy of the sincere interest of the Allies”. Ibid. 14  Ibid., telegram from Fasciotti to Rome, 18 November 1917. 15  The possibility of a separate Romanian peace towards the end of 1917 started to become more and more concrete. “Lahovary [Minister of Romania in Rome] expounded to me on behalf of Brătianu in what difficult situation Romania is, and how the Royal Family and the Government […] in a crunch between the maximalists and the central Empires […] asked, starting from then, that the allies recognize this need if the painful situation mentioned as possible, were to come true […] I said that I understood the Romanian situation [… but] under no circumstances and in no case the allies could recognize any separate peace […].” ASDMAE, Archivio Politico di Gabinetto 1915–1918, Romania (hereinafter AP-G.R./15–18), Busta 169, Dispatch posted by Sonnino to Fasciotti, 9 January 1918.

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former Tsarist empire, with the drive for autonomy and independence that gained momentum in many regions (Ukraine, Baltic territories, the Caucasus, for example) opened up concrete possibilities of occupying (and annexing at a later stage) Bessarabia. Corresponding to much of today’s territory of the Republic of Moldova, the region of Bessarabia (mainly inhabited by people of Romanian ethnicity, especially in the countryside) that stretched between the Prut and Dniestr rivers belonged to the Principality of Moldavia until 1812, when it was conquered and later annexed by Russia. Bessarabia (an unknown land for most Romanians and in recent decades subject to intense Russification) cannot be said to have had the same value as other territories (such as Transylvania). However, given the particular condition of the Romanian state, the conquest of that region had partially offset the war’s disastrous results, which were ever more visible on the horizon.16 For nationalist forces and local autonomists in Bessarabia, just as in other provinces of the Russian Empire, the Democratic Revolution in March and then a few months later the Bolsheviks’ seizure of power represented a unique opportunity to attempt to detach or at least gain considerable autonomy from Petrograd. On 2 December 1918, a sort of national assembly (Sfatul Ţării, the Council of the Country, which had met for the first time earlier in November) in which representatives of all ethnic groups and all political sides took part, proclaimed the birth of the autonomous Republic of Bessarabia. After a few weeks, on 13 January 1918, the Romanian army settled in Bessarabia and occupied the city of Chişinău. As was written in a report sent to Minister of Education Simion Mehendiţi, the Romanian armed intervention in territories beyond the Prut was considered necessary seeing the great power that the maximalist elements had acquired. Their apparent aim was to make the region an organizational base from which to operate against Romania, thus extending revolutionary action into Moldovan territory, thereby affecting landowners in Bessarabia.17 This act of force enacted by Iaşi authorities, probably endorsed by both the Entente and the Central Empires— 16  On the role of Bessarabia in the Romanian National vision, see: Alberto Basciani, Irredentismo e diplomazia nel Regno di Romania e la questione della Bessarabia, in Fabio Todero (ed.), L’irredentismo armato. Gli irredentismi europei davanti alla guerra, Vol. II (Trieste: Istituto Regionale per la Storia del Movimento di Liberazione Nazionale del Friuli Venezia Giulia, 2015), 407–430. 17  See Arhivele Naţionale Istorice Centrale—Bucureşti (hereinafter ANIC), Fond Casa Regală—“Diverse” Ferdinand, Dosar 12/1918. Reported without any date or any signature,

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although for completely different reasons—marked the start of the unification process of Bessarabia with Romania, and the beginning of a tough battle between Romanian authorities and the new Bolshevik power in Petrograd. Reactions soon emerged. As early as 16 December 1918, a tough note by Trocskij, as People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, addressed to Romania’s Plenipotentiary Minister in Petrograd,18 Constantin Diamandy, denounced Romanian troops’ invasion of Bessarabian territory and the acts of violence that Russian citizens suffered on Romanian territory (from Russian citizens).19 Such events marked the escalation of an irreparable rift between the Romanian executive and the new revolutionary Russian power. Bolshevik leadership reacted promptly. The decision to unilaterally break diplomatic relations with Romania was followed by two astonishing moves: the arrest (on 13 January 1918) of the Romanian Plenipotentiary Minister, Constantin, Diamandy, in Petrograd and the seizure of the Romanian National Treasury, which only a few months earlier had been moved by the Iaşi branch of the National Bank of Romania to Russia for precautionary reasons. In the weeks that followed, there were several attempts to settle the issue, accompanied by armed clashes. On 29 January 1918, Brătianu sent a long and dramatic telegram to the Allied Governments: Le Gouvernement maximaliste de Petrograd nous a déclaré la guerre, mais cela ne fait que confirmer un état de fait. Les corps d’armée russes ont été désarmés après avoir bombardés la ville de Falticeni. Les Russes nous ont encore attaqués à Burdijeni et Dorhoi. Une armée russe considérable est sur le point de se concentrer en Bessarabie […] nos compatriotes son arrêtât, notamment ceux d’Odessa […].20 posted most likely in February or March 1918 for the attention of the Minister of Education at that time, Simion Mehendiţi. 18  On the events of Bessarabia, see Alberto Basciani, La difficile unione. La Bessarabia e la Grande Romania 1918–1940 (Rome: Aracne, 2007), 72–122. 19  See Relaţiile Romano-Sovietice, Documente, Vol. I, 1917–1934 (hereafter RRS-I), Doc. 3, 6–7. In truth, the note by Trockij referred to the alleged violence suffered by members and sympathizers of the Bolshevik movement when between 8 and 9 December 1918, after a dramatic Crown Council, the Government and the high-ranking Romanian military decided to take firm measures against the Russian troops located in Iaşi and the rest of the country with a sudden action, disarming and arresting the most relevant and active political agitators. See Torrey, The Revolutionary Russian Army and Romania, 63–74. 20  ASDMAE, AP-G.R./15–18, Busta 169, Telegram reviewed by Brătianu to the Allied Powers, 29 January 1918.

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The vote on 27 March 1918 by Sfatul Ţării was by no means in favour of the unification of Bessarabia to the Kingdom of Romani, which would have helped to stabilize the situation. In fact, in the near future the political/military action of both the Iaşi government and Lenin was strongly conditioned by the attitude of the Germans, who were strongly determined to stop fighting both the Romanians and the Russians in order to focus on their final blow on the Western front. On 3 March 1918, with the signing of the Peace of Brest-Litvosk, the Central Empires ended the war with Soviet Russia. On 4 May, with the Treaty of Bucharest, Romania had to bow out with conditions that were so draconian they would turn the country into a sort of German colony, with the mere consolation of occupying Bessarabian territories. Clearly, the Bolshevik Government was unwilling to consider the union of the former Russian gubernija to Romania: in Rakovski’s words, “a comedy designed to conceal acts of arbitrariness perpetrated against the workers and peasants of Bessarabia […]”.21 The irritation of Moscow leaders was expressed by proclamations and formal protests and also by means of military attacks. In 1918 and 1919, the territories of Bessarabia were marked by chaos and violence, which put a strain on the resilience of Romanian administration and security forces. The situation became all the more difficult to manage. Owing to its geographical proximity, Bessarabia deeply resented the same internal situation that was being suffered by neighbouring Ukraine. In fact, armed raids on Romanian territory were led not only by Bolshevik formations, but also by White Russians and even forces linked to the Ukrainian nationalist galaxy.22 Meanwhile, the general dynamics of the world war had a major impact on Romania. In September 1918, a massive offensive launched by the Armée d’Orient swept Bulgarian defences on the Macedonian front; and in just a few days, Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire were forced to ask for an armistice. Their defeat marked the beginning of the end of the Central Empires, and in a matter of weeks, the political, diplomatic and military situation in Romania capsized. In October 1918, a new Romanian war became even more plausible. This solution was strongly urged not only by Romanian liberals headed by Ion I.C. Brătianu, but also by the Entente diplomats who worked in Iaşi, who

 RRS-I, Doc. 20, Rakovski Statement issued in Moscow, 30 March 1918.  See Ludmila Rotari, Mişcarea subversivă din Basarabia în anii 1918–1924 (Bucureşti: Editura Enciclopedică, 2004), 67–98. 21 22

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feared that the void in the East left by retreating Germans and Austro-­ Hungarians would be filled by the Bolsheviks: […] Diverses personnalités parmi lesquelles le Ministre de Russie et le Maire d’Odessa sont venues nous faire part de la terreur qu’inspire à la population paisible de l’Ukraine la perspective de l’explosion du Bolchevisme qui suivra l’évacuation par les troupes allemandes si elles ne sont pas immédiatement remplacées par les troupes alliées. Déjà on signale des massacres dans les localités évacuées. Nous estimons que dans l’intérêt de notre action future en Russie, il est nécessaire de faire tous les efforts pour répondre à ces … [as in the original text] […] le concours des troupes roumaines a déjà été demandé pour le cas où elles pourraient agir avant les troupes alliées. Mais il est préférable si possible de réserver les troupes roumains pour les opérations en Autriche-Hongrie […].23

What Western diplomats were hoping for would be accomplished in a matter of months. When the conservative Executive, chaired by Alexandru Marghiloman, who had signed a separate peace with the Central Powers, finally fell on 6 November 1918, the new Government, headed by General Constantin Coandă, immediately worked to create the conditions that would drive the country back to warfare. King Ferdinand could therefore lead his troops into Bucharest four days later (10 November). Although the Austro-German defeat annulled the harsh obligations set by the Treaty of Bucharest (which was ratified by the Romanian Parliament, but never countersigned by the monarch), the Romanians had to go through a new ordeal that would have great political, military and territorial implications. On the one hand, the national aspirations of the leaderships in Bucharest had to share the strategies of the great powers, while on the other hand the revived Romanian kingdom seemed to be obliged to cope with the Bolshevik threat once again just months later. This time, however, the threat came not only from the East, but also from the West: from prostrate Hungary, where in March 1919, at the height of the crisis caused by the military defeat, a government that was clearly inspired by communists took over. Despite the mistakes and plenty of confusion, the new government merged strong Sovietization of the country with the defence of Magyar’s historical borders—or at least those that had not yet been 23  ASDMAE, A.P. Russia 1914–1917, Busta 168, Dispatch sent by the Minister of France in Iaşi, Graillet, to the Quai d’Orsay, 31 October 1918. An identical message was sent to the respective Foreign Affairs Ministers by his Italian, American and British colleagues.

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­ verrun by the enemy and by the armed forces of the countries that would o succeed the Dual Monarchy. For the liberal leader Ion I.C. Brătianu, who once again dominated the political scene in Bucharest, this opportunity was not to be missed: the fear that Bolshevik metastases could spread into Central Europe and infect other countries and territories would be the key to open the door for the Romanian occupation of Transylvania and other unredeemed Romanian lands that had belonged to Austria-Hungary until 1918. This political and military move trespassed on the unwritten agreement with the Allies, forcing their hands.24 Historiography has focused on the evolution of the Hungarian Soviet regime, which at a very early stage witnessed the affirmation of former prisoner of war Béla Kun as undisputed leader. Surely, for most of the Magyar elite, the overthrow of the Communist regime was a primary goal, and soon enough some members of the old regime were forced to leave the country. Gyula Andrássy Jr, Vilmos Vázsonyi and Lajos Windschgrätz strongly called for Romanian armed intervention, convinced that it was the only way to overthrow the Communist regime and establish a government that was closer to their political ideals. Perhaps they were not entirely aware of all the consequences—especially territorial ones. In a few months’ time, the Romanian occupation of much of the Magyar territory (including the capital, Budapest) would allow Romania to control part of Hungary’s historical borders.25 Despite the ambiguity of the Great Powers,26 a conclusion was reached: during August 1919, Romanians were able to launch a decisive offensive and, between the 3rd and 4th, Budapest itself was occupied by the army of Bucharest. This was a decisive step in the construction of Greater Romania (România Mare), which, together with Bessarabia, would acquire Transylvania, Bukovina and about half of the Banat territory. This move would double the t­ erritory 24  Cf. Keith Hitchins, Romania 1866–1947 (Oxford–New York: Clarendon Press, 1994), 285. 25  Cf. Francesco Guida, Al “servizio” della democrazia. Nicolae Petrescu Comnen e la Repubblica dei Consigli, in Alberto Basciani and Roberto Ruspanti (eds.), La fine della Grande Ungheria. Fra rivoluzione e reazione 1918–1920 (Trieste: Beit, 2010), 185–187. 26  Some illusion of a different attitude on the part of the Great Powers was created by a visit to Budapest in April 1919 by a delegation of Allies headed by the Prime Minister of South Africa, Jan Christiaan Smuts, and Harold Nicolson, who, however, left the Hungarian capital after only a few days without having offered any concessions to the Bolshevik government. See Robert Gerwarth, The Vanquished. Why the First World War Failed to End, 1917–1923 (London: Allen Lane, 2016), 137.

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and population, making Romania, after Poland, the largest and most populated country in Central and Eastern Europe. Such extraordinary political and diplomatic achievement, practically inconceivable at the time of the fall of 1918, could not hide the fact that Great Romania still had an open problem with Soviet Russia. This was all the more urgent since, despite everything, a Communist movement linked closely to Moscow seemed to be organizing itself in Romania. Above all, in Bessarabia, the power of the Communists still raised considerable concern about the diffusion of this, especially in residential areas. Consequently, there were very few elements that would encourage Romanian leaders to sleep soundly. The news reported by informants from territories along the Soviet shore of the Dniestr was undeniably alarming. The presence of Rakovski in the city of Tiraspol’ (the county seat of Transnistria) was reported to have taken place at a time of real social mobilization—when young people aged from 18 to 26 were called upon to contribute to the construction of fortifications. One million of the old Romanov rubles had also been invested in launching a strong political and subversive propaganda campaign in Bessarabia.27 This was confirmed months later in a report issued by the police of the city of Tighina (Akerman). It stated that, particularly in the winter months, the Bolsheviks would send refugees of Russian origin who had fled from Bessarabia at the time of Romanian occupation, “by exploiting the frozen surface of the Dniestr, by hook or crook, in Romanian territory […] to do propaganda work among the villages located in the Romanian bank of the Dniestr and are populated mainly by people of Russian, Ukrainian and Lipovenian origin and that these populations have very dangerous attitudes […]”.28 One of the most detailed reports (destined for the Director of the Romanian National Police) on the diffusion and underground organization of Communists who were operating in Bessarabia dates back to November 1920. Despite the efforts made by the security forces, “the Communist movement in Bessarabia was far from being weakened, indeed it is developing with increasing strength”.29 In the forthcoming months, security forces made many arrests, yet: 27   ANIC, Fond Direcţia Generală a Poliţiei (hereinafter FDGP), Dosar 30/1920. Disclosure of 3 March 1920. 28  Ibid., the Report of the Tighina Police, 20 December 1920. 29  Ibid., Dosar 60/1920. Report sent by the Chișinău Police Headquarters to Bucharest on 10 November 1920.

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The Communist Party of Bessarabia has never ceased to exist and to act, it has numerous links with the Bolshevik southern section in Odessa through the intermediary of the regional committee of Tiraspol, where the notorious Grigori Ivanovich Borisov—known as Sedoi—operates, who is, in fact, the head of the Communist movement in Bessarabia. The Southern Office of the Third International, based in Odessa, has as its main task to carry out Communist propaganda in all the Balkan States, including Romania. There is close contact between Odessa and Constantinople with an extended network of couriers, and such ties also cross Romanian territory. As we can see from the information in our possession, Constantinople is a big epicentre of Bolshevism: couriers, Russian envoys and Jews who tend to the anarchist movement among the different populations […] It seems significant that the communist agents who have been arrested are all Jews […] we came to the conclusion that the Jewish elements of that locality are dangerous to State security and public order […] in the old Kingdom the main communist center is Bucharest […] the Romanian Communist agents are, for the most part, from the territories beyond the Dniestr, just like the funds used to foment the anarchist movement […] the organization is well structured and the roles are shared with care and order […] it is rare to find a more careful division of roles and division of labour as in the communist organizations […] each agent is aware of only a few details, all his efforts must necessarily be aimed at ensuring the success of the operation in which they are involved.30

It is interesting to see—on a local basis—the tactics of double diplomacy that Soviet Russia applied in its international relations also with Romania. In this same period, despite the lack of formal diplomatic relations and, as already seen, the situation of virtual war along the frontier of the Dniestr river, Moscow and Bucharest governments still kept strong ties—mostly in neutral cities—in the attempt to reach an agreement that would end the disputes opened by the war.31 On 14 December 1920, the People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, Georgi Č ičerin, sent a note to his Romanian counterpart, Take (Dumitrache) Ionescu, in which he recalls the need to normalize bilateral relations.32 As is generally known, the  Ibid.  See the first part from Alexandru-Murad Mironov, Vremea Încercărilor. Relaţiile românosovietice 1930–1940 (Bucureşti: Academia Româna–Institutul Naţional Pentru Studiul Totalitarismului, 2014), 52–82. 32  RRS-I, Doc. 56, 77. The Romanian answer did not take too long to arrive. On 5 January 1921, Take Ionescu informed Č ičerin about his Government’s satisfaction reconfirming that 30 31

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Third International was acting differently. Admittance to the organization was conditioned by the acceptance of 21 specific conditions, which included a duty of unconditional support to the Soviet republics and the obligation to abide with the decisions taken by the Comintern, defined as the “Only World Party”. Moreover, since 1918, the aim of the Russian Bolsheviks had been to continue to transform the Romanian Social-­ Democratic Party into a Communist Party, hand in glove with Moscow. In the summer of 1918, a Maximalist Federation of Romania was founded in Bucharest with the objective of gaining control of the Romanian Social Democratic Party.33 In March 1919, the birth of the Comintern reinforced this operation. During the first Congress of the Third International, Cristian Rakovski would say (untruthfully) that the Romanian Social-­ Democratic movement had fully completed its evolution into a Communist one, and had also changed its name to the Romanian Communist Party.34 In actual fact, full compliance of the Romanian Social-Democratic movement with Communism still needed to be accomplished, but an attempt had been made to abide by Moscow’s will. After its foundation in March 1921, the Romanian Communist Party gradually eliminated executive members of Romanian ethnicity, replacing them with non-Romanians. It inexorably followed the directives Moscow imposed, to the point that, at the fifth Congress of the Comintern (17 June–8 July 1924), they slavishly accepted a resolution of the Balkan Communist Federation that condemned the Romanian national state, forcing it to break up.35 In 1922 and 1923, Moscow attempted, by means of the Balkan Communist Federation, to subordinate the Communist Bessarabian movement (to the Central Committee of the Romanian Communist Party). This reflected their tactical need to destabilize Romania by strengthening the links of the revolutionary organization without directly involving Soviet Russia.36 Romania “ne se mêlant en rien aux affaires de son voisin et ne nourrissaient aucune intention d’hostilité contre lui” RRS-I, Doc. 58, 80. 33  Cf. Hitchins, Romania 1866–1947, 393. 34  See Marin C. Stănescu, Moscova, Cominternul, filiera comunistă balcanică si România (Bucureşti: Silex, 1994), 13–14. 35   Alina Tudor-Pavelescu (ed.), Copilăria Comunismului Românesc în Archiva Cominternului (Bucureşti: Arhivele Nat ̦ionale ale României, 2001), Minutes of the Meeting of the VI Conference of the Balkan Communist Movement of 9 July 1924. Doc. 16, 139–152. 36  Cf. Vitalie Ponomariov, ‘Unele aspecte ale activităti̧ i comuniste în Basarabia în anii 1922–1923’, Analele Universităti̧ i “Dunarea de Jos” din Galaţi  – Seria 19, Istorie XVI (2017): 73–88.

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In some ways, the Communists from Bessarabia adopted the same tactics in their fight against the Romanian state and its institutions. According to police in Chişinău, there was unequivocal evidence of the existence of close ties between the Communist Party of Bessarabia and the trade unions from the region. The initiative of these organizations is due to the activity of the Bolshevik agents specifically designated to carry out such missions. It is, generally, the educated ones who are knowledgeable about the issues and dynamics of professional movements, both those native and foreign ones. […] The trade unions act in a dual role. On the one hand, they show themselves as legal organizations driven by business goals who help the demands of the workers. But this is only an appearance to deceive the authorities. The unions are actually communist associations of anarchist and clandestine nature, whose real purpose is propaganda and fight against state organizations […] unions are an integral part of the communist apparatus: they are in charge of conspiratorial activities, propaganda etc.37

The report continues by offering many more interesting details about the organization of the Communist movement. However, the most interesting section is the one that discloses the mechanisms adopted by Moscow to subject the entire Romanian Communist movement to its direct control, resorting to the tactic of divide and rule, setting Communists from Bessarabia against those who worked in the old kingdom. It should be emphasized that communism has spread over the territories of the right bank of the Prut [the river that marked the old border between the Romanian Kingdom and the Russian Empire, author’s note] through communist agents arrived from the territories beyond the Dniestr. In Iași, Bucharest, Galat ̦i, Brăila, Constant ̦a, according to our information, communist groups operate being closely linked with the Government of Soviet Russia.38

In fact, it was mainly in managing and distributing the financial resources needed to fuel the various activities flowing from Moscow that they could maintain control over both the Bessarabian Communists and those from Bucharest. In particular, the authority and influence exercised by Rakovski “seemed to emerge when he threatens to support the  ANIC, FDGP, Dosar 60/1920, cited above.  Ibid.

37 38

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Bucharest communist group instead of the Bessarabian one in Odessa”, and quite evidently when they showed too much autonomy in supporting one of the two rival groups.39 Romanian institutions and the very stability of the kingdom appeared under serious threat owing to Communist action. Reports highlighted that a special section of the Communist galaxy was acting in the country, particularly in Bessarabia, stealing and transmitting military information to Russia. The section was called Zakordot (Zakordonnyi Otdel, meaning the Department of Foreign Communist Party—Bolsheviks—of Ukraine) and had two main operating bases: one in Krakow, clearly directed against Poland, and another in Odessa, especially directed against Romania. The Zakordot was remarkably frightening. According to information gathered by Romanian security forces, while operating in close connection with the Communist Party, it kept its own autonomy.40 Zakordot’s subversive actions were directed against the Romanian power to help the party in its illegal work: organizing Communist propaganda, spying and counter-­ espionage, increasing terrorist activity and organizing a guerrilla movement throughout Bessarabian territory.41 The Polish Foreign Ministry in an official note to the Romanian Embassy in Warsaw dated 1 September 1921, confirmed this information. The document specified that the Zakordot organization a pour but la propagande des idées communistes et le renversement du régime nationale et démocratique. De plus, en usant de moyens de provocation, elle cherche à créer dans les pays limitrophes, une action qui permettra aux Gouvernements des Soviets de Russie et d’Ukraine, au moment donné, de se procurer des preuves établissant d’un des Etats capitalistes quelconque, entreprend une action hostile au régime actuel en Russie et Ukraine […] les informations concernent l’établissement des organes de la sous-section d’Odessa à Kichinew et à Akermann, proviennent des dépositions des communistes arrêtés par les autorités polonaises dans les environs de Rovno et Luck […]42  Ibid.  Ibid. On the action of the Zakordot revolt against Poland, see: Jan Jacek Bruski, Between Prometheism and Realpolitick. Poland and Soviet Ukraine, 1921–1926 (Krakow: Jagiellonian University Press, 2016), 125. 41  Cf. Vitalie Ponomariov, ‘Zakordot și activitatea subversivă comunistă din Basarabia în anii 1920–1921’, Danubius 2 (2017): 95–116. 42  ANIC, FDGP, Dosar 60/1920, cited above. Communication of September 1, 1921 sent by the Polish Foreign Ministry to the Romanian Legation in Warsaw. 39 40

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Both Warsaw and Bucharest became aware that Soviet Russia was a common enemy. This belief urged the governments of Poland and Romania to seek, in March 1921, a real military alliance in order to contain the dangers that came from the land of the Soviets.43 In June 1919, when the first Polish official envoy, Władyłasw Skrzyński, was sent to Bucharest, he immediately met the Romanian Foreign Minister, Mihai Pherekyde, to inform him that minor misunderstandings must give way before “the one main idea guiding all our undertakings: the common boundary that we must achieve, and the joint political line against the enemies surrounding us, the only means of giving our demands their proper weight and importance […]”.44 In this vision of Polish and Romanian statesmen, the Dniestr, which marked the common border between the two allied countries, and also the border with Russia, was supposed to be transformed into a sort of impregnable fortification. On the one hand, this would promote trade contacts between the Baltic Sea and Black Sea, improving communication between the Polish port of Gdynia and the Romanian port of Constance. On the other hand, it would separate two substantially different and enemy worlds.45 Nevertheless, a military alliance with Poland alone would not be enough to remove the Communist threat in Romania. On the contrary, until at least the late 1920s it continued to fuel the fears and phobias of the Romanian ruling class. It is worth pointing out that the extremely delicate economic and social situation played a role as well.46 Between March and October 1920, a vast part of Romania was affected by strikes and violence that culminated in the huge (and largely failed) general strike of October 43  On the terms of the military agreement concluded 3 March 1921, see România-Polonia, Relaţii diplomatice, Vol. I, 1918–1939 (Bucureşti: Ministerul Afacerilor Externe–Direcţia Arhivelor Diplomatice, 2003), Doc. 14, 18–24. On this occasion, the French press spoke about the new Thermopylae in Europe against the red menace. See Dan Diner, Raccontare il Novecento. Una storia politica (Milano: Garzanti, 2007), 82. 44  Polish Documents on Foreign Policy (PDFP) (Warsaw: The Polish Institute of International Affairs, 2017), 11 November 1918–28 June 1919, Doc. 188, 443. 45  Cf. Florin Anghel, ‘Eastern Boardlands as “cordon sanitaire”. Romanian and Polish Frontiers in Interwar Geopolitics’ Ananles Universitatis Marie Curie-Sklodowska, Second Section F, Vol. LXVII, 1 (2012): 54. 46  These fears, it is important to emphasize, were not unjustified: for the Comintern the new Romania was only a reactionary state and just an instrument of the Capital and the Western powers, and the Romanian state simply had to be demolished. See Alberto Basciani, ‘Screditare un sistema, delegittimare uno Stato. “La Fédération Balkanique” e la Grande Romania 1924–1932’, Krypton. Identità, Potere, Rappresentazioni, 2 (2013): 76–85.

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1920. Despite the high expectations and dissatisfaction among large segments of the population, counter-measures—including policies of the Romanian government—and the poor organization of trade unions and, more generally, of the left, caused the initiative to fail.47 On this occasion too, strong divisions emerged within the Romanian socialist movement, which was increasingly torn between the component that was inspired by Western-style social democracy and the one oriented towards the Russian Bolshevik experience. Such contradiction in tandem with the unsuccessful strike yielded a very discouraging picture of Romanian socialism. Only a few months before, at the Second Congress of the Comintern (Moscow, 23 July to 7 August), where Romanian leaders participated to ask for the party affiliation to the Third International, they received severe reprimands from the Soviet leadership. Accused of being too moderate in their attitude, they were warned that affiliation to the Comintern was conditional on the acceptance of a more radical political line and on the replacement of their leadership with one that had to be closer to Moscow’s strategies.48 This led to a decisive transformation of the Romanian Social-­ Democratic movement into a resolutely Communist one. This was not an easy path to follow, and the movement became weaker owing to internal divisions. Moreover, there was an increase in police control following an act of violence. On 9 December 1920, a shattering bomb attack struck the Romanian Senate, causing several injuries and a few deaths, including the Minister of Justice. Extreme left-wing forces were almost immediately suspected and consequently suffered heavy repression. The following year, the Congress of the Romanian Socialist Party, which took place between 8 and 12 May, was abruptly interrupted by police, who arrested many participants. A young activist, Marcel Pauker, managed to avoid being jailed. Undoubtedly, he greatly contributed to the party’s final transformation towards a Communist force that was closely tied to Moscow. As Vladimir Tismaneau wrote, the new Romanian Communist leaders were convinced they had to forge a party that would become an active part of the world revolution to destroy the traditional order and defend the Bolshevik Revolution at all costs.49 The second 47  See Francesco Guida, ‘Romania 1917–22: Aspirazioni nazionali e conflitti sociali’ in Franco Gaeta (ed.), Rivoluzione e reazione in Europa 1917–1924, Vol. II (Roma: Mondo Operaio–Edizioni Avanti!, 1978), 78–85. 48  Cf. Stănescu, Moscova, Cominternul, filiera comunistă, 18–19. 49  Cf. Vladimir Tismaneau, Stalinism for All Seasons: a Political History of Romanian Communism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 73.

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Congress of the Party further clarified this concept, clearly reiterating it in the movement’s cumbersome name: the Communist Party of Romania (PCdR)—Section of the Third International. Leaving illegality—albeit only for a few years, as we shall see—did not resolve the contradictions within the Romanian Communist movement. This continued to be torn between the so-called Bessarabian wing (perpetrating violent actions and convinced of the need to destroy the Romanian national state), supported by Moscow, and the former socialist group, which tended to operate peacefully within the context of Romanian political institutions. All the chickens came home to roost in the following months. In September 1923, the Sixth Conference of the Balkan Communist Federation, held in Moscow, adopted in toto the positions of the Bulgarian Communist Party. Romania was just an artificial state to be dismembered as soon as possible; and, in particular, South Dobrogea, Bukovina and of course Bessarabia had to be “freed” from the oppression of the Romanian boyars. Such a resolution, confirmed at the Fifth Congress of the Comintern, 11 April 1924,50 condemned the party to be clandestine. It also strengthened extreme antiCommunist feelings among the Romanian elite. Most of all, it stripped the Communist movement of any residual legitimacy in the eyes of its opponents: whoever they were, they could legitimately accuse Romanian Communists of treason with sound reasons.51 This condemned it to play a marginal role in interwar Romanian politics and society until World War II. The ultimate open challenge to Romanian institutions by the Communist movement, now illegal and clandestine, actually came from Bessarabia. In September 1924, a large Bolshevik group, partly coming from the Ukraine and partly made up of people living in Bessarabia, attacked and occupied the village of Tatar Bunar, proclaiming it, for just a few hours, an ephemeral Soviet Republic of Bessarabia. Army and police intervened, subdued the revolt and arrested hundreds of people.52 Undoubtedly, such a display of force was a clear signal from the Comintern 50  During the proceedings, a document was adopted. This reiterated PCdR’s support to a revolutionary struggle strategy that would, among other things, separate Dobruja, Bukovina, Bessarabia and also Transylvania from Romania. 51  Ibid., 76. 52  The trial held in Chişinău of those arrested following the events of Tatar Bunar, was followed by an exceptional witness, the famous French Communist writer Henri Barbusse, who gave his impressions in an article that was very well known in Europe for a long time: “Un formidable process politique”. This writing together with other writings would make up the book entitled Le bourreaux (Paris: Flammarion, 1926), 181–259. This reportage contrib-

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and Soviet leaders that “Similar revolutionary organizations have spread everywhere in Bessarabia […]”.53 Keeping a state of latent tension by enforcing policy measures, such as the creation of the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic of Moldova in October 1924, was a clear form of the pressure that was exerted on Romania.54 Sooner or later, regardless of any further evolution of the political and diplomatic official relations between the two states, Moscow would ultimately settle accounts with its neighbours.

uted much to putting the Balkan political regimes then in power in a negative light in the eyes of the Western liberal public. 53  ANIC, Fond DGP, Dosar 54/1924; report of 24 September 1924 of the V Regiment of the Gendarmerie to the National Gendarmerie. 54  Laurenţiu Constantiniu, Uniunea Sovietică între obsesia securităti̧ i şi insecuritaţii (Bucureşti: Corint, 2010), 45. On the birth of the Autonomus Socialist Republic (ARS) of Moldavia, see Charles King, The Moldovans. Romania, Russia, and the Politics of Culture (Stanford: Hoover Institutions Press, 2000), 51–62.

Hungarian Communists in Italy: Under the Surveillance of Italian and Hungarian Authorities Balázs Juhász

On 21 March 1919, the Party of Communists in Hungary and the Social Democratic Party of Hungary merged into the Socialist Party of Hungary, which, after a coup, proclaimed the Hungarian Republic of Councils (also known as the Hungarian Soviet Republic). After this proclamation, for the first time communists came into power in Central Europe. This region was not easy to manage, even before the coup. The Paris Peace Conference, aimed at putting an end to World War I, was in full swing. The states that had been born from the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire quarrelled over territories of the former Empire. Italy already had information about the Bolshevik strategy before the proclamation of the Hungarian Republic of Councils. Nevertheless, the directives of the Italian Prime Minister, Vittorio Emanuele Orlando, officially recognized its nationalist

B. Juhász (*) Department of Modern and Contemporary History, Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, Hungary © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_5

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nature.1 To better understand this approach, it is worth briefly highlighting the Italian interests in the region and the domestic political process that led to the proclamation of the Hungarian Republic of Councils. Hungary, similarly to the other parts of Austria-Hungary, had already declared her intention during the signing of the Armistice of Villa Giusti, also known as the Armistice of Padua, to become an independent country. The armistice merely applied to a fictive composite state. As a consequence, the intention of nationalities to become independent aggravated tensions even more, as the new independent Hungarian Republic had no official borders. The Hungarian political elite, wanting to prevent the secession of nationalities started to negotiate with the nationalites, which negotiation in the end was unsuccessful. The first step of this negotiation was to sign an armistice that acknowledged the new Hungary led by Mihály Károlyi, who tried to find a settlement for the southern border by signing the Belgrade Armistice, which applied exclusively to the Hungarian successor state. Another significant issue was that the Belgrade Convention of 1918, signed by General Louis Franchet d’Espèrey, was immediately refused by the Entente.2 Mihály Károlyi as Prime Minister and later as President of the Republic tried out all the combinations that could have led to a possible agreement and to maintain a mostly cohesive Hungarian state. However, his many attempts (at one point turning to Belgrade to talk about the establishment of a confederation, then asking the help of Rome, one of Belgrade’s greatest rivals) made his intention of reaching an agreement appear unreliable. The Italian political strategy played a significant role in the course of such attempts. Oszkár Charmant, the Hungarian Envoy in Vienna, undertook negotiations with Sidney Sonnino,3 the Italian Minister of Foreign Affairs, but all efforts proved ineffective. The cabinets of Mihály Károlyi, and later of Dénes Berinkey, believed unduly in Wilson’s promises. They therefore tried to fulfil the Hungarian project through peaceful agreements. The military actions that were adopted came too late to guarantee even the demarcation line set by the Belgrade Convention. The Károlyi-system was 1  Mosca, R. (Ed.) (1980). I Documenti Diplomatici Italiani. Series VI. Volume 2. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato. n. 937. 2  The Military Convention of Belgrade was signed on 13 November 1918. See: Ormos, M. (1979). A belgrádi katonai konvencióról. Történelmi Szemle, 20(1) 12–39. 3  ACS, Carte Orlando, bundle n° 77, fascicle n° 1617 Bianchieri to Bucarest, Rome, 14 February 1919. 21:00, Telegramma Gabinetto n. 46 Confidenziale; ASDMAE AP 1919–1930, 1738. Bianchieri, nota verbale to Charmant, 3 March 1919; ASDMAE CP, 9, 16. Sonnino to London and Paris, 6 March 1919.

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criticized and attacked by communists on the left and by nationalist and conservative groups on the right. Difficulties in domestic affairs were further aggravated by a hopeless foreign policy. Moreover, the defence of Hungarian state integrity was unsuccessful, and the economy did not work as expected. Urban–rural exchange continued to stall as a consequence of post-war recession, and industrial production capacity began to collapse, which also increased social tensions. Since land reform began too late, the civic liberal system received less support from its countrymen. In the light of this, when Lieutenant-­Colonel Ferdinand Vix, officer of the French Armistice Commission of Budapest, handed over his infamous Note that contained the line of demarcation tracing the (at that time) final borders, Mihály Károlyi searched for a stronger form of protest and tried to push the cabinet to the left. This would have resulted in a cabinet governed purely by a social democratic party. However, behind Mihály Károlyi’s back, the leaders of the Party of Communists in Hungary, who had been arrested, reached an agreement with the leaders of the Social Democratic Party: not only would they form a new party, but they would also proclaim the Hungarian Republic of Councils. Consequently, the struggle for unity of the Hungarian Republic proved unsuccessful. As a tool of foreign political machinations, the left became more radical than originally planned. Italy, besides emphasizing and securing its own economic and political presence in the region, aspired to find those who did not support the Yugoslavian conglomerate state in relation to its control of the Adriatic Sea. Before the Paris Peace Conference was convened, Italy developed a twofold foreign policy to achieve this aim: cautious and Czechoslovak-­ friendly, and more convinced Romanian-friendly. Since both of these countries were interested in dismembering the historical Hungary, Károlyi’s request for help and attempts to gain rapprochement between Italy and Hungary were useful from the Italian perspective because they kept the Hungarians away from Belgrade. After the Bolshevik seizure of power, when the Entente through the mediation of General Jan Smuts tried to find a modus vivendi with the Hungarian government led by Béla Kun, Italy adopted a rather moderate position supporting the agreement.4 In addition, trade negotiation proposals were revived from the Károlyi era. In turn, Béla Kun offered a similar kind of cooperation to Italy, and this 4  ASDMAE CP, 9, 23. Revised Instructions to Gen. Smuts, 2 April 1919; ACS, Carte Orlando, bundle n° 75, fascicle n° 1612/7. Orlando to Colosimo, Paris, 4 April 1919, telegram N° 1007-P 12:15 (arrived 13:30), encrypted.

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was initially accepted by Sonnino.5 In the Hungarian Bolsheviks that were leading the government, Italy acknowledged the power of a party but not so much its ideology. As an example of this hardly balanced relationship, Lieutenant-Colonel Guido Romanelli, as the representative of Italy in Budapest, defended not only counter-revolutionaries, who rebelled against the Hungarian Republic of Councils, but also helped the people’s commissars and their family members to escape into Austria after the fall of the Hungarian Republic of Councils.6 Although Italian authorities kept the propaganda activity in Vienna of the Hungarian Republic of Councils under cautious surveillance while it was in power, a socialist member of the Italian Parliament, Oddino Morgari, often visited Budapest, attracting the attention of the Italian internal security forces. But the real trouble only began when the Hungarian communist emigration spread. Italian authorities had to simultaneously deal more seriously with the question of Hungarian communists and with the ferment of Italian labour movements. The Hungarian counter-­ revolutionary system under Miklós Horthy supported this, as documents with the signature of the future Regent-Governor illustrate. These informed the Entente about the discovery of communist conspiracy.7 The National Army headquarters had several reasons to spread the content of these documents: • First, the chase against Hungarian revolutionaries was ongoing, and anyone who could be accused of something was brought to trial. The legitimacy of the judgements against those who were accused was further justified by alleged or revealed communist conspiracies. Most of the judgements were not executed because the Hungarian authorities asked for the release of Hungarian prisoners of war held 5  AUSSME E–11, 8, 17. Béla Kun to Segre, 28 April 1919. + attachments; AUSSME E–8, 116, 1. Cavallero to the HQ, 13 June 1919; AUSSME E–8, 117, 7. Sonnino to Crespi, 21 June 1919; AUSSME E–8, 116, 2. Enquiry on the commercial relations with the Republic of councils, August 1919. 6  Romanelli, G. (1964). Nell’Ungheria di Bela Kun e durante l’occupazione militare romena. Udine: Doretti, 157–179, 260–262. 7  Some examples: MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 364 37/a. Kommunista szervezkedés (HQ 77 vkf 31 December 1919), n° 184/1920. M.E.I., Political Directorate, dated 13 January 1920, for the same see: ASDMAE, Conferenza della Pace, 8, 2; ASDMAE, Conferenza della Pace 7, 1-d. Horthy to the Interallied Entente Committee of the Generals, 31 January 1920, n° 23/VKF/1920, ibid. Horthy to Cerruti, 6 February 1920, n° 27/VKF/1920.

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in the Soviet Union as an exchange. The request was fulfilled by both sides, but this was not the issue at stake, of course.8 • Secondly, significant anti-Soviet armed struggles were still under way in 1919–1920. There was the Polish–Soviet War, and Miklós Horthy’s officers, convinced of a communist threat, made plans to remove any restrictions that limited Hungarian military forces or even attempted partial restoration of the sovereignty of the Hungarian state.9 • Thirdly, when fighting against Bolshevism it was easier to support the request of the Hungarian peace delegation based on the assumption that the Trianon Peace Treaty would not weaken Hungary too much. Hungary’s adhesion was nonetheless necessary to bring about an anti-Soviet cordon sanitaire. On the Hungarian side, several documents that appeared to underpin the growth of the communist threat were produced. In Italy, this had several political consequences. Although Prime Minister Nitti wavered in fully grasping the Hungarian situation, he exploited the danger of Bolshevism, tightening internal security, monitoring suspicious people and expelling them from Italy.10 In fact, the Italian authorities had begun this practice earlier: they regularly opened and took photographs of the letters of Hungarian communists interned in Vienna and its neighbourhood. They took similar precautions with the contacts of Hungarian Bolsheviks, who had the right of free movement. The letters of Hungarians living in Italy were also monitored. In fact, this was so successful that in

8  Vass, H. & Bassa, E. & Kabos E. (Ed.) (1976). Munkásmozgalom-történeti lexikon. Budapest: Kossuth. 172. 9  See: Juhász, B. (2016). I piani di guerra ungheresi dal 1920 al 1940. In Ilari, V. (Ed.) Future Wars: Storia della distopia militare (pp. 387–389). Milan: Acies Edizioni. 10  ACS, Carte Nitti, 26, 95, 5. Nitti to Mortara, 19 February 1920, n° 182; ACS, Carte Nitti, 26, 95, 8. Nitti to Flores, 20 February 1920. 13:00, n° 246; ACS, Carte Nitti, 26, 95, 18. Quaranta to Nitti, 21 February 1920, n° 3687; ACS, Carte Nitti, 26, 95, 8; Nitti to Flores, 22 February 1920, n° 270; ACS, Carte Nitti, 26, 95, 9; Nitti to Magno, 1 March 1920, n. 471; Archivio Storico del Museo Storico dell’Arma dei Carabinieri (ASMSAC), bundle n° 309; memoria relativo al servizio informativo speciale disimpegnato dal Capitano dell’Arma Soncelli Sig. Aldo, pp. 50–55—Luigi Caldara e il trasporto in Italia dei bimbi viennesi e di famiglie di rivoluzionari stranieri; ibid. pp.  56–60—Tentativo di introdurre Béla Kun in Italia.

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most cases the subjects did not even notice that they were under the control of the authorities.11 In these years, there was evidence of cooperation between the internal security services of the two countries. For instance, Mária Goszthonyi was aware that Italian authorities had asked for information about her from Hungary.12 A certain Dr Kelemen, head of a beer factory with alleged communist sympathies, was also checked in Budapest.13 Other sources do not mention Dr Kelemen, but Mária Goszthonyi was quite well known: her name was familiar among the artist elite of the Hungarian Republic of Councils and because of her romantic relationship with Tibor Szamuely, who was notorious to the Hungarian Republic of Councils police. This made her a potential communist. In the light of such knowledge, it is worth noting that she is present in neither Italian nor Hungarian political records. A possible explanation for such an inconsistency in the Hungarian records may be the fact that after her return to Hungary she converted to religious life. This led authorities to believe that she had temporarily gone astray, and they deleted the relationship with Szamuely from her file. Nevertheless, there is no explanation for the inconsistency in the Italian records, since official expulsion was passed against Goszthonyi.14 Among those who were monitored by the Italian authorities, only Edith Hajós can be found in the Hungarian records.15 This raises questions about the completeness and usefulness of the Italian political records. In monitoring and restricting the activity of Hungarian communists who had emigrated, Italian authorities were not heavy-handed, since communists who were caught red-handed got away unharmed but were expelled. In Italy, unlike Hungary, there was no reason to be afraid of capital punishment or life imprisonment. This difference helped the relatively free movement of communists in Italy and, in many cases, allowed them to act undisturbed. There is information about several people who played  See: ACS, Dir. Gen. PS, Movimento comunista in Italia e all’estero, 5, 6, 11.  ACS, Dir. Gen. PS, Movimento comunista in Italia e all’estero, 5, 6, 11, 3D. Hungarian letter of Mária Goszthonyi to her mother, Vien, 4 January 1920. 13  ASDMAE AP 1919–1930, 1738. Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Directorate of Internal Security of Ministry of Interiors, 6 November 1919, n° 19663. 14  ACS, Dir. Gen. PS, Movimento comunista in Italia e all’estero, 1, 1, book. Goszthonyi Mária, and her pseudonyms: Csiszár Mária, Mária Gilly. 15  Fekete könyvek I–III.  – Munkásmozgalmi és más baloldali személyek adatai a Horthyrendszer rendőrségének államrendészeti nyilvántartása alapján. Vol. I–III. [no year], [no editor]. I. 306. 11 12

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a significant role at this time or became important later on. One of the best-known counter-examples is Béla Kun, whose comrades asked the Austrians to release him from prison and transport him to Italy. However, once the Italian authorities identified this intention, they did their utmost to prevent it and similar occurrences, with all possible means. Others who had less publicity than Béla Kun could operate more successfully. Róbert Orosdy, an aircraft builder, known as Roberto Bartini, was Hungarian by birth but eventually chose Italian citizenship. He successfully collaborated with the Italian intervention forces from Russia when they were brought home, and he worked in Milan from 1920 as a member of the network that supported Hungarian communists who emigrated to Austria.16 He was probably even involved in industrial espionage when he worked for the Isotta Fraschini factory. Once he moved to Rome, besides his activity in the service of the Communist Party, he realized his long-standing desire to acquire a pilot’s licence. He was obliged to leave Italy in 1923 after a second assassination attempt against him by the anti-communist emigration team working with its Berlin headquarters. Therefore, he did not leave Italy because of the Italian authorities.17 The case of Mátyás Rákosi, later a Hungarian communist leader who had been in Italy several times in the second half of 1922, is more significant politically. As a representative of Communist International, he encouraged a closer approach between the communists, the maximalist parliamentary group of Serrati and the Maffi–Riboldi–Lazzari group. A review of his Italian activity was published in the journal Inprekorr. In the confession he made during his Hungarian trial in 1925, he recalled his Italian activity, but later withdrew this statement at his main trial.18 Because of their significant activities, Hungarian communists in Italy were monitored closely by the Italian authorities, and they provided information to the Hungarian authorities. A good example of this collaboration involved the Bolognese arrests, in which besides small fish, really big fish were caught. The Italian Legation of Budapest sent a note to the 16  Of course, the network checked people before it provided its support to them. The leaflet entitled ‘Beware of the Hungarian pictures’ also relates to this network function, claiming that such Hungarians arrived in Italy just to make people believe that they were communists, because they intended to spy on the connection between the Hungarian and Italian parties. ACS, Dir. Gen. PS, Movimento comunista in Italia e all’estero, 5, 6, 13, I, 11F. 17  Ciampaglia, G. (2016). Krasnyj Baron (Robert Ljudvigovič Bartini, 1897–1974). In Ilari, V. (Ed.). Future Wars. Storia della distopia militare (pp. 449–464). Milan: Acies. 453. 18  Székely, G. (1980.). A Komintern és a fasizmus 1921–1929. Budapest: Kossuth. 45.

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Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs about communists of Hungarian origin who had been arrested in Bologna in December 1920.19 In this note, they requested information about János Siebenhofer,20 Andor (or András) Havas,21 Béla Friedbauer,22 Alfréd Korach,23 László Leipnik,24 László Friedbauer25 and Elemér/Vladimir Müller.26 During the investigation, it turned out that János Siebenhofer was the same person as Gyula Hevesi, one of the commissars for social production of the Hungarian Republic of Councils. The Public Prosecutor’s Office of Budapest issued a warrant (number 2699) for his arrest because of incitement, and criminal proceedings were brought against him under the N° fk. res. 10836/1920 and 8445/1920. Among the listed people, it was discovered that Béla Friedbauer, László Leipnik and Andor Havas had compromised themselves during the Hungarian Republic of Councils: Béla Friedbauer was said to be the member of the terrorist group led by József Cserny27; László Leipnik was an agitator in Miskolc or a political commissioner; and Andor Havas was Commissar for Disability Issues during the Hungarian Republic of Councils. During Károlyi’s premiership, Havas harboured Tibor Szamuely and was one of his good friends, then after the Hungarian Republic of Councils he escaped. Criminal proceedings were brought against him under N° fk. res. 25666/1919, 13383/1919, 17598/1919  MNL OL K 578 Reservált iratok bundle n° 97, PTI 653.f.2 16. őe. Bi. 560.  According to the documents, he is the son of Mária Polassek and Móric, place and date of birth: near Wartburg Schoder, Styria, 15 October 1889, engineer. 21  Son of Fanny Schiedler and József, place and date of birth: Debrecen, 10 October 1891, doctor, Romanian citizen. 22  Son of Berta Deutch and Lipót, place and date of birth: Beled, 21 January 1896, Austrian citizen. 23  Son of Berta Singer and Lipót, place and date of birth: Kassa, 11 February 1891, resident of Budapest, Czecho-Slovakian citizen. 24  Son of Carolin Brik and Lipót, place and date of birth: Budapest, 21 March 1890, resident of Sopron, fitter. 25  Son of Róza Bleik and Bernát, place and date of birth: Budapest, 21 December 1899, resident of Budapest, fitter. 26  Son of Johanna Lampl and József, place and date of birth: Rákospalota, 15 October 1894, resident of Rákospalota, medical student. 27  This was only claimed by Boris Grünblatt, a former Lenin Boy who was interrogated by the authorities of the Hungarian Ministry of Interior. Other sources did not confirm this claim, so Hungarian authorities probably wanted to blacken Béla Friedbauer more than the real situation required it. The fact that no judicial record contains his name also refers to this assumption. See: Biró A. (2014). A Tanácsköztársaság fővárosi karhatalmai. Budapest: Hegyvidéki Helytörténeti Gyűjtemény. 19 20

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and 19425/1919. By investigating the police records of Alfréd Korach, it turns out that he had never lived at the given permanent address, never registered a place of residency in the capital and did not appear in criminal or political records. That is to say, he used a pseudonym, and all the attempts to discover who had been caught in Italy proved to be unsuccessful. László and Béla Friedbauer belonged to the art world element of the Hungarian Republic of Councils. They played a significant and active role in the Art School of Nyergesújfalu, in which Mária Goszthonyi was also actively involved. This fact had no effect on the way in which they were judged, as they were considered by the authorities to be committed communists. However, others on the list were known exclusively for their political engagement. Following their arrest in Italy, they were released in February 1921 thanks to intercession by the Italian socialist representatives, and they were expelled from Italy within a few weeks.28 Gyula Hevesi was later brought to the Soviet Union at an unknown date and occupied second-line positions in Hungary after World War II.29 Andor Havas returned home, was arrested and imprisoned in 1933, then emigrated to France in 1939. He died in the 1950s as a victim of Hungarian show trials.30 László and Béla Friedbauer moved to Austria, where Béla continued his art and political activity. After several further moves, Béla returned to Hungary in the middle of the 1930s. Apart from some difficulties, owing to his communist past, he was even able to perform in a country-wide exhibition in 1940, and was a returning guest at the art exhibitions of the Hungarian Jewish Educational Association.31 Any attempts to gain information about the lives of the other people listed here have proved unsuccessful. Beyond data exchange, there was obviously no close cooperation between the authorities of the two countries, and the possibility that Italy should extradite Hungarian communists compromised during the Hungarian Republic of Councils did not come up. Of course, the case of Andor Havas should be considered in a different way: later repatriated to Hungary, he was not registered in the police records, while Hungarian

 Heitler, L. (1965). Egy elfelejtett művész: Friedbauer Béla (1896–1945). Életünk, 3(2), 74.  Vass, H. & Bassa, E. & Kabos E. (Ed.) (1976), 224. 30  Vass, H. & Bassa, E. & Kabos E. (Ed.) (1976), 219. 31  Heitler, L. (1965), 76. 28

29

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authorities did this in the case of Béla Friedbauer.32 However, Friedbauer was not prosecuted for his activity during the Hungarian Republic of Councils, whereas Havas was sent to prison for another reason. Therefore, the Italian arrests in 1920 did not influence the lives of those who were involved. Information exchange continued between Italian and Hungarian authorities. Hungarian inspectors cooperated with German, French and Austrian authorities to monitor Hungarian communists working abroad, to supervise and neutralize them. The Italian investigation focused mainly on József Klauber (born in Szolnok in 1894), a Jew and a baker’s helper, and against his collaborators. He appeared in Lodi 14 months after the collapse of the Hungarian Republic of Councils, but he only stayed there for a short time. He then went to Milan, where he joined a group of around 20–25 Hungarian emigrants. Klauber’s pseudonym in Milan was Giulio Gaba, and he lived at 19 Via Manfredo Fanti. In a short time, Klauber became the leader of the Italian Organizing Committee of the Party of Communists from Hungary. He was in contact with the Hungarian section of Kommunistische Partei Deustchlands in September 1921, and requested books and leaflets. Then he worked on expanding his network. The investigation report on him contains two of his leaflets that had been distributed to Hungarians working in Italian cities, dating from October 1921. According to one of the appeals, the Milan section had already acted on the basis of the Instructions of the Central Committee and launched a regular course of political training. As fascism grew stronger, Klauber had to move his operations to Rome, and was then forced to leave Italy urgently. He went to Vienna and then to Hungary to organize communist groups. On 19 November 1923, since the Royal Table of Budapest found him guilty of the crime of subversive activity against the state and social order, he was sentenced to 13 years of strict prison regime (or maximum security prison), his civil rights were suspended for ten years and he lost his job. However, he was taken to the Soviet Union with one of the transports on 9 October 1924. According to inside information, he allegedly returned to Milan or Rome where, together with anarcho-­communists, he prepared assassination attempts to shatter Fascism. Secret investigations carried out in Milan and Rome concluded that all these rumours are false: he never returned to Milan or to Rome, and the activities of 32  On page 228 of ‘Fekete Könyvek I.’, the following registration can be found: Béla Friedbauer, Jew, 1896. I. 21, Beléd, painter, sculptor, communist.

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Hungarian sections ceased to exist after Klauber left Italy, with no traceable evidence of any communist activity among the Hungarian emigrants.33 The claim of the Italian authorities about the elimination of Hungarian communist movements in the country proved to be an exaggeration of course, since there were similar charges later about the organization of activities. However, members’ activities decreased and became extremely difficult as fascism grew. Since the Italian authorities were probably aware of this, they wanted to prevent the Hungarian authorities’ intention of further investigation. To illustrate how Hungarian communists were treated in Italy, two other cases are worth investigating. • Endre (András) Bakonyi (born in Karcag on 21 November 1887) was a journalist who worked at the public relations office of the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs in 1919. He then emigrated to the Soviet Union, where he was naturalized. He appeared in Vienna in 1924 as one of the members of the local Soviet Commissariat for Trade and was responsible for foreign propaganda. He had to monitor the political news of Italy, Austria and Hungary. In 1927, he was working in Berlin at the local Soviet Commissariat for Trade. The Hungarian consulates were informed about this fact.34 • Ferenc László (born in Veszprémvarsány on 29 August 1892) was the organizer of the Soviet group at the Trade Fair of Milan, which he visited every year from 1926 as representative of the Soviet Trade Office. His passport was issued by the Soviet People’s Commissariat of Foreign Trade of Moscow. According to the records of Csót camp,35 he was the Secretary of the Communist Party in Novo-­ Nikolaevsk and later in St Petersburg. He was the chief accountant of the office of international battalions, and Commander Training School in St Petersburg and was also employed at 33  MNL OL K 149 Reservált iratok 1917–1947. PTI 651.f.13 Vörös könyvek Vol. 8, 60–61. Chief of the political investigation group to the Chief of the Police, Budapest, 4 January 1925. 34  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 362 37/a. Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 27 May 1927, n° 1996/Pol/1927. 35  A World War I prisoner-of-war camp at Csót was used as a transit camp for those who were fleeing from the Romanian Royal Army during 1918–1919; then it was used until its closure in 1923 as a demobilization camp for soldiers returning home from Italy, France and Britain, but mostly from Soviet Russia.

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the commodities exchange. He travelled from Berlin to Italy via Domodossola on 15 March 1932, and stayed at Hotel Loreto in Milan. The County Police Department of Milan provided information for private use to Tibor Pőzel, the Hungarian Consul General of Milan.36 In both these cases, the records were about Hungarian commissars of the Soviet state. Although the Italian and Hungarian authorities monitored them, neither did anything against them. In the case of Ferenc László, the only instruction was to forbid the release of a Hungarian visa for him.37 Therefore, these two people, despite their ideology, enjoyed immunity owing to the good Italian–Soviet relations, and because Italian authorities considered the officials to be state representatives. At most, Italian authorities forwarded information to the Hungarian authorities. Nonetheless, the information sent was incomplete. According to an Italian foreign affairs record of 25 January 1930, despite the existence of a verbal agreement to combat communist propaganda between Italy and Hungary, the Italian side refused to fulfil Imre Hetényi’s request, as Deputy Police Chief of Budapest, for the name of the Italian informer.38 Considering facts such as this, it becomes clear why András Hory, the Hungarian legate of Rome, often spoke in June 1930 about the usefulness of sharing police records. The official reason was that visa requirements no longer existed between Austria and Italy after the ratification of the Austrian–Italian Treaty on Friendship of 1930. However, András Hory continued to raise the topic in order to access the Italian official records.39 With his letter, he convinced the Hungarian internal security authorities, Aladár Boór being ministerial councillor at the time, that this was desirable and indeed necessary. Boór supposed that the Italian government would hand over the data on Italian communists and anarchists residing abroad as well. The classification of Hungarian material was not yet finished, and 36  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 365 37/a. Information on the behaviour abroad of Mária Major and Ferenc László, 24 September 1932, n° 5379. pol. 37  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 365 37/a. Information on the behaviour abroad of Mária Major and Ferenc László, 24 September 1932, n° 5379. pol. 38  ACS, Dir. Gen. PS Div. Aff. Gen. 1930–31, bundle n° 422 fascicle n° K1B-2-66 Ungheria (Partito Comunista all’estero). Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Chief of the Police, 25 January 1930, n° 303218/545. 39  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 365 37/a. Hory to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 12 June 1930, n° 59/pol.-1930.

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Boór expected the same to be true on the Italian side. Nonetheless, he asked for the necessary steps to be taken by the Italian government, and Hory was empowered to act. Consequently, to fend off an invasion of Bolshevik agitators because of the Austrian visa requirements, during his visit of 8 November 1930 Hory suggested to Raffaele Guariglia, the executive of the Italian Foreign Office Department for Europe and Levante, that they should exchange police records on Hungarian communists residing abroad and Italian communists and anarchists. Guariglia promised to answer Hory’s request after discussing it with authorized people. He personally suggested that Italian and Hungarian police authorities should be in direct contact.40 What Hory had suggested was approved by Italian authorities, and Hory reported back at the end of November: I have the honour to inform you that the Italian Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in his Pro-memoire attached here in copy, assented to our proposal that police records concerning abroad-residing Hungarian and Italian subversive elements are to be exchanged between the authorities of the two countries. According to the opinion of Palazzo Chigi, it would be the most appropriate if the Hungarian and Italian authorized elements determined the ways of the settling the information exchange in question through and by involving the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Rome.41

The Hungarian Ministry of Interior sent the first edition of ‘The state security pocketbook’ to the Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs six months later,42 but the Ministry of Interior had doubts on whether to share all the data with Italian authorities. Even if Italy was a friendly country, they found it practical to send only abridged reports. The Ministry of the Interior found it plausible to impart personal data and names labelled with K.B., referring to those convicted of communist crimes. However, before sharing the information, they asked for appropriate guarantees from Italian authorities that at most they would take preventive measures against Hungarian citizens travelling to or residing in Italy, but under no

40  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 366 37/a. Hory to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 8 November 1930, n° 118/pol.-1930; Attached Boór to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 16 September 1930, n° 6385/1930-VII.res. 41  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 364 37/a. Hory to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 26 November 1930, 135/pol-1930. sz. 42  These are the ‘Fekete Könyvek I–III’.

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circumstances would the Italian police begin reprisals against them.43 K.B. accompanied the names of those who were called to account for their activity during the Hungarian Republic of Councils. This was the last element of the interministerial communication that had to do with the handover of the documents. If the Hungarian Ministry of Interior had also handed over the abridged data to the Italian authorities, the latter might not have recorded the information. The fact that the aforementioned Edith Hajós44 and Gyula Hevesi45 were not put into the Casellario Politico Centrale refers to this assumption.46 However, given Hevesi Gyula’s pseudonym, we may presume that there must have been a trace of the information exchange between the Italian and Hungarian authorities in connection with the Bologna arrest of December 1920, since the János Siebenhoffer pseudonym could not have been known from other sources. Hungarian and Italian authorities chiefly wanted to access each other’s data, but we have no sources that indicate how they shared the information. Nevertheless, the exchange of information about individual cases continued. These included in 1931 there was a request from Italy aiming to prevent a potential assassination,47 information about the rehabilitation

43  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 364 37/a. Hory to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 25 November 1930, n° 135/pol-1930, Attached Boór to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 8 June 1931, n° 4427/1931. 44  About her, see page 306 of ‘Fekete Könyvek I.’: Edith Hajós dr., pseudonym: Edith Mullon, Roman Catholic, 45/1934, Budapest, woman doctor, communist. 45  About him, see page 335. of ‘Fekete Könyvek I.’: ‘Gy. Hevesi’, pseudonym János Siebenhoffer, Jew, 21 March, 1890, Ungvár, Chemical engineer. 46  The latter is available at the following link, on the webpage of Archivio Centrale dello Stato: http://dati.acs.beniculturali.it/CPC/ accessed 17 July 2019. 47  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 369 37/b Italy. Promemoria of the Legation of Italy in Budapest to the Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1931. Illegible signature (the Political Directorate of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs received it in 27 October 1931), n° 7281/A6. An anarchist federation allegedly wanted to drop bombs from aircraft in Italy. If there had been any possibility that this plan could be implemented, the plane would have been piloted by Italian emigrants. The anarchist Emilio Recchoni came up initially as a possible choice. One of the main problems in connection with this request is the fact that the Italian political records do not identify anything about Emilio Recchoni; they only mention Emidio Recchoni and Ercole Recchoni. The former was born in 1864 and the latter in 1867, which means that it was impossible to expect any of them to make an attempt to fly an aircraft in 1931.

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of a Hungarian resident of Italy that failed in 1932,48 and shared intelligence connected with the Second Italo-Ethiopian War.49 The traces of closer cooperation between the authorities are recognizable from a document dated 1939, according to which the Budapest police office had actively been helping the Italian legation of Budapest to track down suspicious individuals for 17  years (that is, since 1922).50 Italian requests covered the following topics: 1. monitoring suspicious people and notifying the Italian authorities;

48  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 364 37/a. Pőzel to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 16 September 1932, n° 28/pol./1932. Árpád Klein, ex-resident of Budapest, had been resident of Alasso for six  years (Savona) when, as a Hungarian citizen, he requested his passport renewal and the deletion of limiting registration contained by his passport. In essence, he requested his rehabilitation. His request only drew the attention of the Hungarian authorities because it turned out that Klein strongly exposed himself during the Hungarian Republic of Councils. In addition, the Italian police, after inquiring about his employer, started asking about Klein as well. Therefore, Pőzel asked for an urgent report about the behaviour of Klein during the Hungarian Republic of Councils, about his jobs during the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, about crimes he might have committed and about the data concerning a warrant for arrest possibly issued against him. Pőzel requested whether he should withdraw the passport of Klein and thereby draw the attention of the Italian authorities, or not. In the former case, Klein would have received a permit card for returning home or a passport, which would have been valid only for Italy. 49  MNL OL K 63, bundle n° 378 37/g (Communist movements in 1927–1938). Gyula Kilb to Bakách-Bessenyey. 26 August 1935, n° 9917/1935/VII.res. At the instruction of the Political Secretariat of the Comintern, the Commissariat for Foreign Affairs of the Party of Communists in Hungary (KMP) sent Kálmán Berger, a cement worker and Hungarian communist agitator, to Italy in order to enhance the anti-war agitation. Berger used the pseudonym Kálmán Hegyi in KMP. Before this, he continued communist party activity in Florence, and allegedly served as a courier for the French and Italian communist parties. Attempts to ascertain data about him were unsuccessful. MNL OL K 63, bundle 369 37/b, Italy. Villani to Kánya, Rome, 11 September 1935, n° 14xxx/1935, On 10 September 1935, Villani informed Buti of the content of a confidential report, who found it immensely exciting and asked that similar pieces of information should be taken to the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs in future. The subject of the report is ‘The antifascist action of the Comintern in connection with the Italo-Ethiopian conflict’, which was submitted to the Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs by the Hungarian consulate of Istanbul on 3 August 1935 (N° 118/ny.-1935). 50  We know from previous cases that such help was actually given in 1919/1920.

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2. requesting information about the innumerable people who wrote to  Benito Mussolini, those who asked for autographs, pictures, financial aid and so on51; 3. giving the names of those who applied for Italian citizenship; 4. answering questions about Italian and Hungarian citizens requested by the Italian Ministry of the Interior, by its county offices and by its police offices; 5. information exchange in general about communists and about communism in general. At the request of the Italian party, the police department of the Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs sent information directly to the Italian internal security organization, resulting in swift processing. The 1939 summary states that from the beginning of that year the political department immediately sent information received from their local police offices. Consequently, the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs was excluded from the information exchange, speeding up the process by at least two months. Italy formulated approximately 800 requests between 1 January 1939 and April 1939. Several investigation officers dealt with these requests, especially an investigator named ‘Makany’52 who worked under Dr József Sombor-Schweinitzer, Deputy Chief of Police and leader of the Political Security Department of the Central Police Office of Budapest. In 1936, when the Italians formulated many fewer requests than in 1939, the Italian authorities paid 600–800 Pengő,53 the Hungarian currency at that time, to cover investigation costs.54 In assessing these requests, a conclusion can be drawn: that Hungarian and Italian authorities monitored not only communists, but also shared the data of all Hungarian and Italian citizens. Based on the information that was handed over, it remains unclear whether the Hungarian party’s permission was preventive or whether it allowed retaliatory measures. Presumably, the information exchange was not unilateral, and the Italian 51  See Salusinszky, G. (1987–88). “Olaszország Ducséjának…” Történelmi Szemle, 30(1), 61–70. 52  It proved to be impossible to identify him. 53  As a basis for comparison, the full month salary of a Hungarian colonel was 655.5 Pengő in 1938. At the same time, a second lieutenant earned 254.5  Pengő. Szakály, S. (2002). Honvédség és tisztikar 1919–1947. Válogatott írások 1984–2002. Budapest: Ister. 113. 54  ACS, Archivi in fotocopia e microfilm, Joint Intelligence Agency, JOB 305, T 586 Budapest legation. 097 067-69—political investigation office of the legation.

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internal security data were received by the Hungarian Legation of Rome. There is no information about extraditions, so we can only make a general conclusion: a significant amount of information was exchanged at minimum cost. However, there is no trace of this exchange either in the records of 1939 or later. Most probably, all new data was used exclusively for daily administration by both parties, and the possibility that such information should be preserved was not envisaged. Nevertheless, the monitoring of communists and of suspected communists and sharing information about them became common practice of the two parties. But since most of the documents produced during this cooperation were lost, it is impossible to draw serious conclusions. It is nonetheless interesting that Hungary had such an agreement, signed in 1930, only with Italy. Even though Italy could successfully build connections with the Polish, German, Yugoslav, Spanish and Japanese police, the only contracts made were with the Hungarian police authorities.

The Empire Under Attack: Anglo-Soviet Relations and Bolshevik Infiltration in India in the Early 1920s Giulia Bentivoglio

Lenin’s concept of imperialism as the highest stage of capitalism led the Bolsheviks to subvert European colonial empires and find in the colonies fertile ground for expansion through the Third Communist International agency (Comintern). With this in mind, relations with Britain, the country with the largest empire in the world, were destined to be extremely difficult. In the meantime, with the consolidation of the Bolshevik regime, Moscow wanted to develop profitable relations with the outside world, although direct contact with the governments of Western powers was relatively rare. Most surprisingly, by the autumn of 1920, Britain had become one of Soviet Russia’s most important partners. Despite a long tradition of imperial confrontation, the first legal acknowledgement of Soviet Russia came from Britain: just one week after the introduction of the New Economic

G. Bentivoglio (*) Department of Political Science, Law and International Studues, University of Padua, Padua, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_6

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Policy, an Anglo-Soviet trade agreement was signed in London on 16 March 1921. This agreement established the re-emergence of trade and commerce between the countries and the exchange of official representatives. For the British government, the most important clause was that each party would refrain from action and official propaganda against the other, with India being explicitly mentioned. Concern in the United Kingdom grew after Comintern’s declaration that they would destroy all empires, combined with the discovery, in 1919, of Bolshevik documents throughout India and the presence of Moscow-trained agents who were engaged in creating the Indian Communist Party. Based on records from the National Archives of the United Kingdom, the India Office Records and the Trades Union Congress Archive, this chapter aims to analyse the correlation between the development of Anglo-Soviet relations and Bolshevik attempts to infiltrate India in the early 1920s.

Britain and the October Revolution The United Kingdom was the first power to conclude a trade agreement with the Soviet Union, in March 1921, and granted full diplomatic recognition in February 1924. But relations between the two countries were very troubled and poisoned by a deep-rooted confrontation over empire.1 During the nineteenth century, British Liberals looked to Moscow as the embodiment of reaction, but above all, Czarist Russia was the most significant threat to the Empire and to British sea power because of its ambitions towards central Asia and India. The outbreak of war and the Entente against a common enemy, the Central Powers, could not sweep away decades of tense relations. The Russian Revolution of 1917 caused growing concerns in the British government and among the political elite, especially because it occurred at the most critical stage of the First World War. It brought the Allies to the brink of defeat, after closing the Eastern front that Russia had held for more than three years, with the British army 1  W. P. Coates and Z. K. Coates, A History of Anglo-Soviet Relations (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1943); F.S. Northedge and Audrey Wells, Britain and Soviet Communism. The Impact of a Revolution (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1982); Curtis Keeble, Britain, the Soviet Union and Russia (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000); Keith Neilson, Britain, Soviet Russia and the Collapse of the Versailles Order, 1919–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). On the Bolshevik Revolution see E.  H. Carr, The Russian Revolution – from Lenin to Stalin 1917–1929 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004).

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trapped in Flanders while the German submarine campaign raged. At first, London viewed the fall of the Romanov family as instrumental to the Allied cause, and Russian Liberals were helpful in dealing with war problems. David Lloyd George, Prime Minister since December 1916, was head of a coalition government whose mandate had been renewed at the 1918 general election with sweeping success. The British government had miscalculated the situation in Russia: many members of Lloyd George’s cabinet knew nothing of Lenin or Trotsky, and the Bolshevik seizure of power in November came unexpectedly for them. Conservatives also experienced a series of growing blows, from the execution of Czar Nicholas II to the nationalisation of property, and the anti-capitalist and international revolutionary nature of the Bolshevik state. Widespread and vigorous reservations prevailed about most aspects of Soviet policy and practice. Many in Parliament continued to regard the Bolshevik government as an unstable, ill-fated experiment bound to collapse, and Soviet Russia as a country to be brought back to ‘civilisation’.2 Russophobia thus arose from a sense of strangeness and of not knowing Russia’s new rulers, with their frightening language, strange doctrines and violence.3 As stressed by G.H. Bennet, British policy towards Bolshevik Russia showed no rationality. The Soviet threat to the United Kingdom was manifold: internal subversion; a victorious advance by the Red Army across Europe; hostile action against the Empire; undermining established economic conventions by rejecting Russia’s Czarist debts and the nationalisation of foreign investments; and the danger that Russia’s economic and social collapse would spread to other countries. This explains the extreme hatred of some ministers towards Bolshevism, particularly Winston Churchill’s Bolshophobism.4 Most of all, Bolsheviks were blamed for the unrest in the Empire and at home that characterised the aftermath of the First World War in the United Kingdom. Post-war Britain did not look like a country that had just experienced a great military triumph: a ‘land fit for heroes’, as Lloyd George had promised in 1918. A deepening economic and political crisis in the 2  G. H. Bennett, British Foreign Policy during the Curzon Period, 1919–24 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1995), 61. 3  Northedge and Wells, Britain and Soviet Communism, 143–144. See also John Howes Gleason, The Genesis of Russophobia in Great Britain: A Study of the Interaction of Policy and Opinion (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950). 4  Bennett, British Foreign Policy, 74.

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years that followed prevented this from happening.5 During the war, Britain had incurred debts equivalent to 136 per cent of its gross national product and, after a temporary, short-lived boom and a swift return to pre-war ‘normality’, the British economy was hit harder than expected. Economic decline and unemployment were accompanied by social unrest and a massive strike wave in 1919, involving miners, transport workers, engineers and even the police. Conservatives did not doubt that these economic and social troubles were merely the short-term price that had to be paid for Britain’s victory, but if the Bolsheviks continued their practice of inciting—and exploiting—political unrest abroad, the stakes would be much higher. Quite paradoxically, the trauma of the economic consequences of war—analysed in detail in the next paragraphs—can be a useful tool to comprehend the openness of the British government in dealing with the Soviets as an opportunity to solve the problems that affected Britain’s economy and trade. In the meantime, the Government and public opinion alike were haunted by the idea that the revolution could be exported onto British soil.6 Many anti-Soviet and ‘patriotic’ organisations were created during the ‘Red scare years’, such as the National Party, the Comrades of the Great War and the British Commonwealth Union. They were all very active in spreading hostility and fear of Soviet Russia. Even British literature and movies of the 1920s focused on the ‘new Russia’, depicting it as an urgent threat to the United Kingdom and the Empire.7 Conversely, for part of the political left, Soviet Russia became an ideal model. In 1919, the British Socialists launched the ‘Hands Off Russia’ campaign to strengthen opposition to British intervention in favour of the ‘White’ in the Russian Civil War.8 5  On the psychological impact of war see Susan Kingsley Kent, Aftershocks: Politics of Trauma in Britain, 1918–1931 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). 6  On the widespread network of Soviet agents in the West, see Robert Service, Spies and Commissars: Bolshevik Russia and the West (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). On the role and evolution of British intelligence see John Fisher, Gentleman Spies: Intelligence Agents in the British Empire and Beyond (Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing, 2002). 7  Keith Neilson, ‘Tsars and Commissars: W. Somerset Maugham, Ashenden and Images of Russia in British Adventure Fiction, 1890–1930’, Canadian Journal of History, Vol. 27 (3), 1992: 487–500; Eric Homberger, ‘English Spy Thrillers in the Age of Appeasement’, Intelligence and National Security, Vol. 5, 1990: 80–92. 8  Many of those who were active in the ‘Hands Off Russia’ campaign would go on to found the Communist Party of Great Britain.

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With the 1917 Revolution, the United Kingdom therefore had a twofold threat to face: nationalism within the British Empire’s ‘jewel in the crown’ and an expanding Marxist movement at home, epitomised by the foundation of the Communist Party of Great Britain in July 1920. With the growing role of the Comintern, Russia would jeopardise British political legacy and social stability. The connections between Soviet Russia, socialists in Britain and nationalists in India came to be a major concern for British intelligence, and made Bolshevism a prime point of focus on issues of imperial defence.9

‘The Achilles Heel of British Imperialism’: Comintern, the Colonial Question and India As grand strategy for the October Revolution, the Bolsheviks envisaged its transcendence through internationalisation. On these premises, the Comintern was founded in Moscow in 1919 with the declared purpose of promoting world revolution.10 The Comintern would fight ‘by all available means, including armed force, for the overthrow of the international bourgeoisie and for the creation of an international Soviet republic as a transition stage to the complete abolition of the State’.11 In this international approach, the question of colonies and their insurgency from the oppressive and capitalistic powers was of paramount importance for Soviet Russia. A traditional historiographic interpretation identifies an alternation between the Bolsheviks’ geographical interests: promoting revolution in ‘the East’ compensated for defeats in ‘the West’, after the failure of a proletarian revolution in Europe.12 Other authors stress how Soviet Russia did not alternate its focus of attention in Europe

9  Keith Jeffery, The British Army and the Crisis of Empire 1918–1922 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), 44–49; Richard J. Popplewell, Intelligence and Imperial Defence. British Intelligence and the Defence of the Indian Empire 1904–1924 (Abingdon: Routledge, 1995), 306–325. 10  Tim Reese and Andrew Thorpe (eds.), International Communism and the Communist International (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998). 11  ‘Statutes of the Communist International adopted at the Second Comintern Congress, 4 August 1920’, in The Communist International 1919–43: Documents Volume One (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 161–166. 12  See, among others, Peter Hopkirk, Setting the East Ablaze: Lenin’s Dream of an Empire in Asia (London: John Murray, 1984).

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and then Asia, but had a concurrent policy to either advance or withdrawal in both regions.13 It was inevitable that the Comintern would pay attention to Britain, the world’s leading imperial power. The British Empire achieved its largest territorial extension just after the First World War, covering almost a quarter of the world, despite the nationalism that was flourishing throughout its colonies, which Comintern described as ‘the Achilles heel of British imperialism’.14 Bolshevik propaganda in the colonial world had become a problem for Britain almost as soon as the October Revolution had taken place. In December 1917, the Intelligence Bureau of the Department of Information circulated a memorandum on the manifesto issued by the Soviet government ‘to all the toiling Moslems of Russia and the Orient’. The Bureau considered the document as ‘another indication of the ultimate Bolshevik policy […] for a campaign of universal sabotage, designed to overthrow the existing order all over the world, as it has already been overthrown in Russia’.15 Lenin dealt with the colonial issue during the second Congress of the Third Communist International in the summer of 1920 in Petrograd and Moscow. Unlike Comintern’s founding Congress, it was the very first representative meeting of the international proletariat, with 169 voting delegates from more than forty countries. On that occasion, Lenin formulated eleven ‘colonial theses’. The second of these stated that the Communist Party had to ‘specifically distinguish the interests of the oppressed classes, of working and exploited people, from the general concept of so-called national interests, which signif[ied] in fact the interests of the ruling class’. One of the biggest problems that Soviet Russia had to face in establishing a world revolution was to deal with pre-capitalist and sometimes feudal systems. A choice had to be made: was it better—and wiser—to wait for a bourgeois revolution in the East first, and for the development of the class struggle of the rising proletariat later? Or was immediate action possible, which could move alongside world revolution in the capitalist countries? 13  Jon Jacobson, When the Soviet Union Entered World Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 106–107. 14  ‘Theses on the National and Colonial Question’, 28 July 1920, in The Communist International, Volume One, 151. 15  The National Archives (TNA), CAB/24/35/59, Short memorandum on the Manifesto of the Bolshevik Government at Petrograd ‘to all the Labouring Class Moslems of Russia and the Orient’, 12 December 1917.

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The Eastern delegates in the Comintern Congress favoured the latter and, in the end, that was the final decision that led to a clear strategy: class struggle in the metropolis, political organisations of the Communist vanguards even in the colonies, national insurgency under the lead of revolutionary Russia, until the worldwide overthrow of capitalist power.16 India proved to be a fertile ground for Soviet propaganda, especially among revolutionaries.17 A prominent figure was Virendranath Chattopadhyaya, alias Chatto. A leading Indian revolutionary, he played a significant role in the Indo-German Zimmermann Plan to overthrow the British Raj in India during the First World War. When the plan failed in 1917, Chatto moved to Stockholm, where, in October 1920, he created the Indian Revolutionary Society, an all-Indian revolutionary organisation in Europe. Based in Berlin, this included both Nationalist and Communist revolutionaries, although the members of the Executive Committee pursued the Communist cause. Several national branches were foreseen, and the head of the Political Section would be in close touch with the Soviet authorities in Russia, who were supposed to finance the scheme. Chatto went to Moscow to meet Lenin and discuss the proposal.18 During the Second Congress of Comintern, a new young Indian revolutionary figure would come to play a crucial role in the ideological and propaganda struggle between Soviet Russia and Britain. Narendra Nath Bhattacharya, later known as Manabendra Nath (M.N.) Roy, was a young teenager who had participated in the nationalist, anti-British uprising in his native Bengal. He took part in the Indo-German conspiracy, striving to obtain funds and armaments. Roy then moved to Japan and the United States, to Palo Alto and New  York, where he developed an interest in Marxism. In 1917, evading British and American intelligence, Roy went to Mexico and founded the Mexican Socialist Party, which became the Communist Party of Mexico in 1919 and the first Communist Party outside Russia. Roy participated in the Second Congress of Comintern as a delegate of Mexico.19 In Moscow, Roy distinguished himself by writing a set of supplementary theses, reminding other delegates of India’s rapid 16  ‘Theses on the National and Colonial Question’, 28 July 1920, in The Communist International, Volume One, 140. 17  Sobhanlal Datta Gupta, Comintern, India and The Colonial Question, 1920–37 (CalcuttaNew Delhi: K P Bagchi & Company, 1980). 18  Cecil Kaye, Communism in India (Calcutta: Editions India, 1971), 1. 19  John Patrick Haithcox, Communism and Nationalism in India: M.N. Roy and Comintern Policy, 1920–1939 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971).

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industrial development. All of the above contributed to giving rise to a peculiar revolutionary movement, autonomous from middle-class nationalism. India’s role in the future downfall of European imperialism was pivotal for the European proletariat. Roy’s theses were adopted unanimously, but were rarely referred to afterwards by the Comintern, which instead adopted Lenin’s theses as a guide.20 As illustrated later, M.N. Roy was the man whom Moscow chose to launch a massive attack on British imperial interests in India.

Economic Rapprochement: The Trade Agreement Despite imperial conflict, the United Kingdom inaugurated a policy of economic rapprochement to Soviet Russia, culminating in the signing of an Anglo-Soviet trade agreement on 16 March 1921. It was the concerns about the Bolshevik threat to the Empire, together with economic considerations on the advantages likely to derive from re-opening of the Soviet market, that shaped this peculiar British policy. The British government’s counter-revolutionary strategy of the 1920s would link diplomatic and commercial relations to the cessation of revolutionary activity.21 Lloyd George personally drove British policy towards the Bolsheviks and planned to re-establish economic relations with Russia just after the ratification of the Treaty of Versailles. On 14 January 1920, at a meeting of the Allied Supreme Council in Paris, the British Prime Minister announced his project to stop the blockade of Soviet Russia and resume trade with ‘the Russian people’ through cooperative societies. The Supreme Council approved both the policy and a press communiqué on the subject, which ended in a firm reminder to the Bolsheviks that such arrangements implied no change of policy and therefore no recognition. Although originally an allied proposal, the French declined Britain’s 20  The Communist International, Volume One, 151. See also John P. Haithcox, ‘The RoyLenin Debate on Colonial Policy: a New Interpretation’, The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 23 (1), 1963: 93–101. 21  Jacobson, When the Soviet Union Entered World Politics, 7. On economic and trade relations with Soviet Russia see Andrew J. Williams, Trading with the Bolsheviks. The politics of East-West trade, 1920–39 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992); Christine A. White, British and American Commercial Relations with Soviet Russia, 1918–1924 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992); Jennifer Siegel, For Peace and Money: French and British Finance in the Service of Tsars and Commissars (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

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i­nvitation, and the Italians sent a chargé d’affaires who participated in only one session.22 As Lloyd George told the House of Commons in February 1920, ‘We have failed to restore Russia to sanity by force. I believe we can save her by trade. […] Trade […] will bring an end to the ferocity, the rapine, and the crudities of Bolshevism surer than any other method. Europe needs what Russia can give.’23 The United Kingdom no doubt needed what Russia could offer. After a brief post-war boom, unemployment in Britain at the end of 1920 had increased to 7.9 per cent, reaching, in 1921, its highest point (11.3 per cent) since records began. The Government’s concern brought about the creation of an ad hoc Cabinet committee on unemployment in December 1920. Decline in foreign trade was believed to be closely linked to the rise in unemployment, so a new strategy was called for to revive imports and exports. Trade development with Russia was what interested the British government the most. With the re-opening of the Russian market, orders of up to £100 million were foreseen in the first year.24 Even the Trades Union Congress (TUC) showed keen interest in the development of trade with Soviet Russia, although its final aim was to attain peace with Moscow. According to the TUC Council of Action, the lack of imports of wheat, barley, oats and eggs from Russia caused price rises in essential goods. Shortage of timber in the United Kingdom contributed to a spike in the cost of building and a delay in housing construction. Availability of large stocks of Russian timber for export could easily avoid this situation. New economic relations with the Bolshevik regime meant ‘cheaper food, cheaper clothes, cheaper fuel, cheaper building, and more employment’.25 As for the Bolsheviks, their initial effort to establish a Communist economy was abandoned in favour of a New Economic Policy, launched in March 1921, just one week before the signing of the trade agreement with Britain. Aware of British interest in developing mutual trade, the Soviets successfully promoted it further as a way to boost the Russian economy, which was on the brink of ruin. In June 1920, the All-Russian Co-operative 22   M.V.  Glenny, ‘The Anglo-Soviet Trade Agreement, March 1921’, Journal of Contemporary History, Volume 5 (2), 1970. 23  Parliamentary Debates, 5th Series, vol. 125, 44. 24  Stephen White, Britain and the Bolshevik Revolution (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1979), 16. 25  Trades Union Congress (TUC) Archive, 292/947/1/31, leaflet ‘Peace with Russia’, dated 1920.

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Society (Arcos), a private British company but under ultimate Russian control, was founded; three months later, five Yorkshire textile firms received a £1  million order from Moscow, causing ‘a sensation in the City’.26 Britain too had something to offer the Bolsheviks: the arrival of a Russian trade delegation in London, in May 1920, marked the first step in establishing diplomatic relations between the two countries. For the international community, Soviet Russia was still an outcast. The Anglo-Soviet trade agreement was seen as a step towards a formal peace treaty; it gave Bolsheviks de facto recognition by the strongest capitalist power. For Soviet Russia, it marked the end not only of the economic blockade but also, even more importantly, of the political blockade.27 Even for the United Kingdom, trade was just one of the issues at stake: the agreement with the Bolsheviks had been considered from the very beginning as a diplomatic action to halt Soviet propaganda. In this sense, the Anglo-Soviet agreement became a model for other Western countries when dealing with Russia. For instance, both the Soviet-German agreement of May 1921 and the Soviet-Italian agreement of December 1921 made similar provisions to discourage agitation or propaganda against the government or political institutions of the other party.28 According to John Baird, the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for the Home Office, Bolshevist propaganda in Britain fell under three headings: ‘the payment of salaries to Communist officials, ranging from £5 to £10 a week [equivalent to a range of £200–£400 in 2017], subsidies to the extremist press, and the free distribution of revolutionary literature’. The amount spent exceeded £23,000 a month [almost £1 million in 2017], and the number of paid agents varied on the basis of the amount of money available: evidence shows that some of the money came directly from the Moscow Government.29 As for the British case, the Cabinet would never give widespread support to the Anglo-Soviet agreement without the ‘propaganda clause’: the prospect of diplomatic advantage surpassed the hostility of the Foreign Secretary, Lord Curzon, former Viceroy of India, who had a strong bias  White, Britain and the Bolshevik Revolution, 16.  Alex Pravda and Peter J.S. Duncan (eds.), Soviet-British Relations since the 1970s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 20–22. 28  Stephen White, The origins of détente. The Genoa Conference and Soviet-Western Relations, 1921–1922 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 25–26. 29  TNA/FO/371/6844, 4878, n. 256, 20 April 1921. 26 27

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towards Russia even before the October Revolution. Only Churchill continued to oppose signing the treaty with the Soviets, to the point that he threatened to resign from his position as Secretary of State for War. The concern of the British government was rightly justified considering the surprising success of Soviet diplomacy in the Middle East at the end of February 1921. Within the span of four days, Russia dramatically reduced Britain’s influence in the region, signing treaties with Turkey, Persia and Afghanistan. Moreover, on 28 February, the Soviets placed a £7 million order for German locomotives. Fearing German competition, many British industrialists put pressure on Lloyd George for a safe and swift conclusion of the agreement. Bolshevik ‘diplomatic frenzy’ can be explained not only as a confrontational machinery against London’s interests, but also as a last attempt to settle their Middle Eastern affairs before imposing the restrictions on the trade agreement. This proved to be a severe blow to the British government, and Curzon had to change the preamble of the agreement, deleting any reference to Asia Minor and Persia as spheres of British influence. Beyond the above-mentioned Middle Eastern concerns, India was at the centre of the struggle between revolutionary Russia and the British Empire. Not surprisingly, the Anglo-Soviet trade agreement made explicit reference to the Soviets refraining ‘from any attempt by military or diplomatic or any other form of action or propaganda to encourage any of the peoples of Asia in any form of hostile action against British interests or the British Empire, especially in India’.30

Communism in India: The Tashkent Experiment The Bolshevik project for an international revolution struck a blow to British India, inflicting a decisive defeat to British power in Asia that set the East ablaze. The main Soviet propaganda placed its focus on the Indian sub-continent, trying to exploit the country’s nationalist movement. Already during the First World War, India had been the theatre of an Indian–German conspiracy, a series of plans by Indian nationalist groups to attempt a pan-Indian rebellion against the British Raj with the help of exiled nationalists living in the United States and Germany. In the war 30  ‘Trade Agreement Between His Britannic Majesty’s Government and the Government of the Russian Socialist Federal Soviet Republic’, 16 March 1921, in Richard H. Ullman, The Anglo-Soviet Accord (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 474–478.

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aftermath, the British colonial government to India started a series of reforms to gradually introduce self-governing institutions to the country. The Government of India Act of 1919 disappointed many Indians (and was criticised by Conservatives) for being too limited in its concessions and, at the same time, compromised by the adoption of the Rowlatt Acts, which limited the press and the movement of people. Gandhi launched a nationwide protest that culminated in the Amritsar massacre in April 1919, with the death of 379 Indians.31 Bolshevik propaganda in India had been a major concern for British authorities since 1917. A ‘Blue Book’ was issued in Moscow in 1918 under the auspices of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs (Narkomindel), containing secret documents on the relations between Czarist Russia and British India. Its title page read ‘India to the Indians: Down with Imperialists: Long Live the International’.32 In 1919, the Foreign Office unveiled a plot of Eastern enemies against Britain, which could rely on Germany’s support and on some new, more powerful allies—the Bolsheviks. ‘A plot [was] on foot’ to give fresh impetus to insurrection movements against the presence of the British and French in the East. Their communication lines went through Switzerland, while a German pan-Islam propaganda bureau was founded in Berlin. Eastern nationalists in Switzerland were also trying to enlist the sympathies of non-Bolshevik socialists in many countries. In this regard, they had ‘invented fictitious socialist parties’ in Turkey, Egypt and India, where ‘socialism [was] in reality almost unknown’.33 An alliance of Bolsheviks, Germans, Turks, Indian agitators and pan-Islamists appeared to ‘materialise in a somewhat vague form’. Diverse in origin and ideals, these groups shared one main desire: the downfall of the British. Apart from Switzerland, there were also major organisations in Moscow, Constantinople and Tashkent, in Central Asia.34 The connections between Bolsheviks and pan-Islamists in India and other regions of the Empire deeply worried the British government. As generally thought, Bolshevism and pan-Islamism seemed to have little in common and the nations concerned felt they had little to fear from this  Rupert Furneaux, Massacre at Amritsar (London: George & Unwin, 1963), 34–35.  India Office Records (IOR), L/PS/11/136, file 2888, The Bolshevik Blue Book on India: English translation, 4 June 1919. 33  TNA/FO/141/433, report ‘The Nearer East and the British Empire’, 5 May 1919. 34  TNA/FO/141/433, Note on Pan-Islamism and Bolshevism, 22 December 1919. 31 32

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combination. This, however, was not entirely correct, for ‘the Bolshevists, being absolute opportunists and utterly unscrupulous, [we]re willingly exploiting Pan-Islamism and any other form of religious fanaticism which [would] assist them to attain their ends’.35 After the war, in India, ‘to the menace of German arms there succeeded the more formidable menace of Bolshevik ideas’.36 A Special Bureau of Information had been set up, and from the beginning of 1920, this issued a ‘Weekly Report’. The Bureau’s first action was to prohibit the circulation of rouble banknotes (with the slogan ‘Workers of the world, unite’ printed on their face in nine languages), and also monitor frontiers and ports. The Bolsheviks used other devices: a news service was provided for Indian newspapers, while Bolshevik leaflets were concealed in copies of the Gospels, printed in Chinese. It was ‘certain that Red propagandists [took] every advantage of Indian susceptibilities’. Although no actual avowed Bolshevik agent had been discovered by the following October, precautionary measures were reinforced: they included extra vigilance at the frontiers, the appointment of officers to investigate the spread of Bolshevism, the banning of ‘undesirable papers’, the surveillance and detention of refugees, a close eye on the movement of jewellery and the promotion of anti-Bolshevik fiction.37 According to the Foreign Office, the Secretariat for Propaganda in the East of the Comintern had created a united front from Southern India to Morocco, embracing the whole of the Muslim world, as a constant menace to British power. This front extended from Egypt (‘the spiritual leader for North Africa’) through Turkey in the centre as a threat to Europe, to India on the left flank.38 The second phase of the Communist colonial policy started in September 1920 in Baku, with the First Congress of the Peoples of the East, which had the explicit aim of fighting imperialism in Asia. In Baku, the theoretical confrontation with the British Empire culminated in a new, practical application: a ‘Small Bureau’ of five people was created as the supreme policy-making body of the Comintern. The primary goal of the 35  TNA/FO/141/433, 10,770/8, Note on Pan-Islamism and Bolshevism, Cairo, 22 December 1919. 36  Statement Exhibiting the Moral and Material Report for India during the year 1920, Cmd. 950, 6. 37  White, Britain and the Bolshevik Revolution, 100–101. 38  TNA/FO/141/433, The activities of the Secretariat for Propaganda in the East, August 1921.

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Small Bureau was to plan the revolution that would liberate the oppressed people of Asia, with a twofold strategy: the organisation of the Baku Congress and the creation of a Central Asian Bureau of the Comintern. Roy was at the head of the Central Asian Bureau, and Lenin sent him to Tashkent to organise an Indian revolutionary army. He deployed two trains comprising twenty-seven wagons loaded with weapons, ammunition and military supplies, ten wagons with dismantled aeroplanes, gold coins, bullion, pound and rupee notes, and the staff of a military training school.39 At his arrival in Tashkent, Roy founded the Communist Party of India, on 17 October 1920; this counted seven members (including his American wife, Evelyn Roy-Trent). The Tashkent school recruited some fifty young Muslim zealots, mujahideen, and members of the Pan-Islamic Khilafat movement in India, a small minority belonging to a group of 18,000 that left India to go to Afghanistan in the summer of 1920. On their way, some were captured by tribesmen. They were then liberated by the Red Army and taken to the school in Tashkent. One of them, Shaukat Usmani, would become a leading figure in the Indian party. Among the various activities of the school, there was the publication of Zamindar, a pro-Communist journal in Urdu and Persian.40 The ‘Tashkent experiment’ proved to be short-lived and quite unsuccessful. The Indian Military Training School lasted only a few months before being dismantled in May 1921, in the aftermath of the signing of the Anglo-Soviet trade agreement, together with the Central Asian Bureau of the Comintern. In the meantime, the Communist University of the Working People of the East was established in Moscow. Roy also returned to Moscow and was placed in charge of coordinating Communist activities in India. This setback, however, did not prevent Soviet Russia and the Comintern from continuing their ‘grand design’ of internationalisation of the revolution: India remained a valuable target.

 Jacobson, When the Soviet Union Entered World Politics, 77.  Robert H.  Donaldson, Soviet Policy toward India: Ideology and Strategy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974), 6–7. 39 40

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Violation of the Agreement and the Curzon Ultimatum British concern for Soviet propaganda did not decrease after the signing of the trade agreement. On the contrary, Bolshevik violations began to emerge very soon. Already in April 1921, the Foreign Office received reports on the intensification of Eastern propaganda, particularly in Turkestan and on the Indian frontier. Tashkent and Kabul were to be used as bases for the dispatch of agitators to India, and 2 million rubles in gold were allocated for this purpose. According to an agent who returned from Moscow, ‘it was common knowledge in the Commissariat for Foreign Affairs that propaganda in India would not be stopped, and that the Bolsheviks intended keeping England busy in the East by means of intense agitation in India’. The Foreign Office began to keep a careful record of apparent violations of the terms of the trade agreement: by 28 April, merely six weeks after the signature, ‘violation no. 13’ was being reported.41 Particular attention was dedicated to the Bolshevik menace to India, as a broad range of activities were allegedly still directed against the British Empire. Evidence of a connection between Soviet officials in Europe, mostly the Soviet representative in Berlin, Victor Kopp, and the Indian revolutionary movement emerged. British agents recounted several meetings between Chatto and Kopp in Berlin. Chatto, travelling from Stockholm to Germany in the spring of 1921, managed to obtain financial aid from the Bolsheviks for the Indian Revolutionary Society and the Indian nationalist movement.42 A paper on ‘Bolshevik Intrigue’ noted that India still represented ‘the main objective of Bolshevik foreign policy’. In a ‘combined effort converging on India’, Soviet Russia had created a situation that was ‘actually dangerous to the safety of the Empire’, and her ‘hostile influence’ had to be countered by taking ‘serious steps’.43 In the summer of 1921, an Inter-Departmental Committee on Bolshevism as a Menace to the British Empire was created. Its final report listed a long series of direct and indirect hostile acts by the Bolsheviks and violations of the ‘propaganda clause’. Representatives of the Soviet government were involved in actions that violated the trade agreement,  TNA/FO/371/6844, 5116, n. 15, ‘Eastern propaganda’, 28 April 1921.  TNA/FO/371/6844, file 5258, Bolshevik aid to Indian revolutionaries, 2 May 1921. 43  IOR/L/PS/10/886, paper 2094, circulated 14 June 1921. 41 42

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although it would be difficult to prove that they had seriously exceeded the proper functions of their office. Other violations included Lenin’s appeal at the third Congress of the Comintern to awaken the millions of workers in the colonies, and the involvement of Grigory Zinoviev, President of the Executive Committee of the Third International, to take over the propaganda that targeted the whole East and to transfer most of the existing Government agents to his service. The question concerning the Oriental pupils attending the propaganda schools could be solved by giving them Russian citizenship and names. Yet the most threatening violation was Trotsky’s plan to create a powerful military base on the Caucasus, ‘which would conform to the requirements arising from the problems of Soviet Russia in the East’. Lenin and Georgy Chicherin, the People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, opposed the plan chiefly for economic reasons, and also for fear of upsetting the peasants because of the great sacrifices imposed on the local population to supply such a large force.44 By the end of the summer of 1921, there was ‘strong evidence of bad faith on the part of the Bolsheviks in carrying out the conditions of the Trade Agreement’.45 On 15 September, the Foreign Office handed Chicherin a note listing only the ‘more flagrant’ violations of the agreement, based upon ‘irrefutable evidence’. The Soviets were asked for a prompt reply and an immediate halt of hostile activities.46 The Bolshevik reply was not prompt and represented a great source of embarrassment for London. Many of the charges imputed were incorrect, and the British Secret Service was to be blamed for this failure. As a matter of fact, the Bolshevik threat was a major stimulus for the development of British intelligence.47 In 1919, the Cabinet’s Secret Service Committee recommended the creation of a peace-time code-breaking agency, given the cover-name Government Code and Cypher School (GC&CS). By the opening of the negotiations for the trade agreement, GC&CS could decrypt most Bolshevik telegrams and wireless messages. Much of its 44  IOR/L/PS/10/886, paper 2956/1921. Despite this reassurance, other reports suggested that the Bolshevik could attack in the Caucasus (‘Bolshevik concentrations in the Caucasus are of such nature as not to exclude the possibility of offensive action’): IOR/L/ PS/10/886, paper 3135, 9 July 1921. 45  TNA/CAB/23/26/22, Cabinet minutes, 15 August 1921. 46  TNA/FO/371/6855, N 10221/5/38, Curzon to Hodgson, 7 September 1921. 47  Victor Madeira, Britannia and the Bear: The Anglo-Russian Intelligence Wars, 1917–1929 (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2014).

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s­ uccess was due to Russian émigrés, since the head of the Russian section of GC&CS, Feterljain, was one the leading cryptographers of tsarist Russia.48 Additional information came from other sources: for example, the Secret Intelligence Service in London had collected information on India through its Berlin post. This German base was a source of—unreliable—information used to validate charges against Moscow. To Curzon’s dismay, a Foreign Office control concluded that only two or three of the charges could be verified.49 Bolshevik propaganda in the Empire—and particularly in India— became a sort of personal question for Curzon, who pursued a more intransigent policy toward Russia after the fall of Lloyd George’s government in November 1922. In the new Conservative Cabinet, led by Andrew Bonar Law, Curzon began to collect a wide range of new Soviet offences against British interests. Bulletins on Bolshevik activities in India were released between 1922 and 1923, reporting threats from the Tashkent area.50 This fervent activity by the Foreign Secretary culminated in the so-­ called ‘Curzon ultimatum’, delivered to the Narkomindel on 8 May 1923. This time, the Foreign Office relied exclusively on GC&CS decoding of intercepted diplomatic correspondence.51 The most ‘pernicious activities’ were conducted by the Bolsheviks in Asia, in particular the infiltration into India of revolutionaries trained in Moscow and Tashkent. Several £100 banknotes, originally issued to an official of the Russian trade delegation in London, had been cashed in India ‘on behalf of a revolutionary Punjabi in touch with other Indian revolutionaries who [were] known to have been closely associated with the Russian representatives in Kabul’. The Fourth Congress of the Comintern was believed to have allocated further funds to support the British and Indian Communist parties, and to dispatch to Eastern countries sixty-two Oriental students ‘trained in propaganda schools under the Third International’. Soviet Russia was requested to ‘fully and unconditionally’ apologise and repudiate similar actions.

48  Christopher Andrew, ‘The British Secret Service and Anglo-Soviet Relations in the 1920s. Part I: From the Trade Negotiations to the Zinoviev Letter’, The Historical Journal, Vol. 20 (3), 1977: 683. 49  Jacobson, When the Soviet Union Entered World Politics, 110. 50  IOR/L/PS/11/212, Bulletins on Bolshevik activities in India. 51  Christopher Andrew, Secret Service: The Making of the British Intelligence Community (London: Heinemann, 1985), 292–293.

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Otherwise, the Anglo-Soviet trade agreement would be annulled and British representatives in Moscow withdrawn.52 In the end, Soviet diplomacy succeeded in avoiding the ultimatum, thus preventing a break in Anglo-Soviet relations. Nonetheless, Moscow agreed to the demands of the Foreign Office, and the British government obtained a new definition of the term ‘propaganda’, extending its meaning as defined in the 1921 trade agreement. Curzon claimed what he called ‘a considerable victory over the Soviet government’.53

Conclusion: The Attack on the Jewel of the Crown During the 1920s, the ‘Bolshevik threat’ was not only a foreign policy issue, but also a question of internal political debate. The Russophobic trend would soon change (albeit briefly) with the first Labour Government in British history, led by Ramsay MacDonald in 1924. The MacDonald Government was the first to give full diplomatic recognition to the Soviet Union—beating the Italians by a matter of hours—followed by a new Anglo-Soviet trade agreement. And yet Labour was defeated at the 1924 general elections mainly because of the dispute over the ‘Zinoviev Letter’, a document (later discovered to be a forgery) that revealed a ‘Red plot’ to paralyse Britain and to plunge it into civil war.54 Three years later, in May 1927, strains between London and Moscow reached a peak, with a raid on the London headquarters of Arcos and a breach of diplomatic relations between the two countries.55 The attitude of the British governments towards Soviet Russia reflected its strategy of—mostly reluctant—pragmatism in dealing with an awkward and unreliable partner. And yet Soviet Russia could no longer be considered an ephemeral experiment, but a tangible reality that was going to stay, at least in the short to medium term. Even Bolshevik hostile activities, such as propaganda in the colonies, seemed more likely to be stopped with a softer approach that was based on recognition (either de facto or de jure) and the development of trade links.  TNA/FO/371/9365, N 3948, Curzon to Hodgson, 2 May 1923.  Lawrence Dundas, Life of Lord Curzon, vol. 3 (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1928), 356. 54  See the recent volume by Gill Bennet, The Zinoviev Letter. The Conspiracy that Never Dies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). 55  Harriette Flory, ‘The Arcos Raid and the Rupture of Anglo-Soviet Relations, 1927’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 12 (4), 1977: 707–723. 52 53

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In this context, India became an ideological battleground not only for the confrontation between London and Moscow, but also for the internal conflict that spread within British public opinion. Meanwhile, paradoxically, the Bolsheviks were the cause of unrest at home and throughout the Empire, but also a feasible solution to the economic post-war problems affecting Britain.

Perceptions of Bolshevism: People, Networks and Ideas

From Mistrust to Hostility: Perceptions of the Russian Revolutions Among French Political Circles (1917–1919) Frédéric Dessberg

Introduction Throughout World War I, relations between France and the Russian Empire were characterized by a strong military alliance in the 1890s against the Central Powers: France’s worries were consolidated into this alliance. Both countries built deeper relations throughout the nineteenth century as the Russian Empire welcomed an increasing number of French residents.1 Within a scope of the military rapprochement and in relation to ever-increasing French economic investments, French–Russian relations deepened in an array of fields. The presence of many French soldiers, teachers and businessmen thus contributed to strengthening French influence within the Russian Empire, to the detriment of Germany.  They were nearly 12,000 on the eve of World War I. See Paul Gerbod, ‘D’une révolution, l’autre: les Français en Russie de 1789 à 1917’, Revue des études slaves, 57/4 (1985): 605–620. 1

F. Dessberg (*) Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne University, Paris, France © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_7

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When Tsar Nicholas II abdicated in March 1917, France had to defend her still prominent economic and commercial position in Russia.2 The war had substantially worsened the social and economic situation of the Russian Empire, endangering the solidity of the military alliance. The most important priority for the French government was for the Russian Empire to fight within the Entente, to strengthen its military capacities and to rely on Russia’s support in the war waged on the Western Front. Several political and military missions were sent out to Petrograd to avoid the risk of a separate peace. These missions were devised to support the work of the French ambassador Maurice Paléologue and of General Pierre de Laguiche, the military attaché. Elderly General Paul Pau was then appointed as head of a military mission, before General Maurice Janin succeeded him in August 1916. This mission was decided upon in November 1915, while attempting to develop cooperation between allies. President of the Council Aristide Briand wanted the Russian General Headquarters (Grand Quartier Général) and the French government to build closer relations. It should be noted that this military mission was part of a broader initiative: General Pau was the assistant of Senator Paul Doumer, who was in charge of a political mission that was responsible for an expedition of 40,000 Russian contingents per month in France.3 Reformist Socialist Albert Thomas, Under-Secretary of State for Artillery and Munitions and then Minister of Munitions, was also sent to Petrograd in May 1916 to consolidate French–Russian cooperation, which had become fragile owing to the disastrous situation of the Empire. At the same time, numerous political manoeuvres such as these reflected the pessimism of the French vis à vis the capacity of their Russian ally to continue the war, especially after the bloody battles of Verdun and the Somme, and the Brusilov Offensive in 1916. What changes could the Russian Revolution bring about? Ambassador Maurice Paléologue became more and more critical of Russia. Forced to leave St Petersburg, he was replaced by Joseph Noulens. General Janin,

2  Big French companies had remained present in Russia. For example, among them the Schneider group set out to create a metal trust, on the basis of the Putilov factories. See particularly J. Bouvier, R. Girault, J. Thobie, Impérialisme à la française, 1914–1960 (Paris: éditions de La Découverte, 1986), 32 and following. 3  Documents Diplomatiques Français (DDF), 1915, t. 3 (Bruxelles: P.I.E.  Peter Lang, 2004) A. Briand (President of the Council) to M. Paléologue (ambassador), 12 November 1915.

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who was close to the Tsar, was replaced by General Henri Niessel, who became head of the military mission. In France, more than ever, the imperative of waging war against Germany was a central concern for the government and in parliamentary circles, whereas the Socialist component welcomed the idea of a new society being brought to Europe by the Russian February Revolution. Parliamentary debates, especially those taking place in the Chamber of Deputies, demonstrate how the revolutionary events in Russia were perceived. Since they were belatedly made known in France owing to the lack of major communication channels, these events were often perceived in a contradictory way. The first years of the Russian Revolution corresponded to the last months of the war and the building of peace in Western Europe. At the same time, the Allies abandoned their strategy to avoid the expansion of the revolutionary wave over a Europe in ruins. The political sphere (government and parliament) and the French High Command addressed the situation of the Russian Revolution differently because of the wartime situation and domestic policy issues. They shared concerns regarding the revolutionary threat that were based on French political goals: outside the country, the German threat had to be contained while France aimed to play a dominant role in Europe; inside the country, the revolutionary influence had to be fought in a context of serious civil unrest.

First Hopes Generated by the February Revolution: A Social and Patriotic Revolution? In France, Aristide Briand resigned and was replaced by Alexandre Ribot only a few days after the fall of the Tsarist regime in Russia, opening a year of political, social and moral crisis. In the Chamber of Deputies, formed after the elections of April and May 1914, the left-wing party represented the majority of the seats: half of them were occupied by 104 Socialist deputies, by 24 Republican-Socialists and by 172 Radicals. Deputies of the Centre were assigned 180 seats, belonging to various parties, and only 121 seats were assigned to the right-wing party.4 The Sacred Union (Union sacrée) Government came into effect when the war broke out. However, some Section Française de l’Internationale Ouvrière (SFIO) Socialists (French Section of the Workers’ International) decided to secede from the majority 4  Jean-Marie Mayeur, La vie politique sous la Troisième République, 1870–1940 (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1984), 230–231.

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of the Group in the middle of 1915, in order to call for peace “without annexation and without compensation”. Their claims met the requirements of the Zimmerwald Conference. French Parliamentarians had a strong conviction that the French– Russian alliance had to be consolidated to relieve the Western front and detach the Russian Empire from German political, economic and intellectual influence as much as possible. As mentioned earlier, this conviction was backed by political, military and economical missions, and by propaganda that spread across the Russian territory in the name of the Alliance. This is why the Franco-Russian Association was created in June 1916, chaired by Édouard Herriot,5 leader of the Radical-Socialist party. But this conviction was also shared by small groups such as the Peace Movement and the Socialists, who fraternized with the Russian migrants who opposed the Tsarist regime. The fall of the Russian monarchy was welcomed. Yet French revolutionaries were not the only ones to be encouraged by the February Revolution, despite the negative opinion that was coming from French diplomatic circles, especially Ambassador Paléologue. Thus, on 21 March, the President of the Chamber, Paul Deschanel, offered “ardent and brotherly” wishes from the deputies in a context of overall enthusiasm. He particularly insisted on the fact that the Russian armies should pursue combat until final joint victory.6 The pacifist Socialists (a minority), who refused to approve war credits, were the only ones to be publicly enthusiastic about a social revolution that could spread throughout Europe.7 Behind their official position, there was a real concern about Russia’s ability to act like an ally, since the country was generally falling apart.8 Furthermore, the newspapers willingly echoed possibilities offered to a democratic Russia to encourage it keep on fighting, even when Petrograd’s court, allegedly too pro-German, collapsed. The idea was especially widespread among Socialists of the

5  Sophie Coeuré, La Grande lueur à l’Est. Les Français et l’Union soviétique (Paris: Seuil, 1999), 23. 6  Journal Officiel (J. O.) de l’Assemblée nationale, 21 March 1917, 783. 7  Deputy Brizon, Journal Officiel, 23 March 1917, 856. 8  Besides, Alexandre Ribot, President of the Council, acknowledged this concern to the deputies on 22 May. But at the same time, he tried to reassure them about guarantees given by the new Russian authorities: “[They] tell us with energy that there can be no question at any time of a separate peace that would be contrary to the honour of Russia … Russia will do its duty.” J. O. 22 May 1917, 1161–1162.

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SFIO.9 This was particularly the case of Minister Albert Thomas, sent once again to Russia in April 1917 along with British Arthur Henderson, who supported the Russian Provisional Government. This parliamentary delegation, sent by the French Committee on Foreign Affairs of the Chamber of Deputies, comprised Marcel Cachin (the future leader of the French Communist Party), Marius Moutet and Ernest Lafont. Meanwhile, Senator Georges Weill also went to Russia: on his return, he informed his sceptical colleagues of the imminent fall of Kerensky’s government. After meeting the Petrograd Soviet, the Assembly delegation wanted to manage the war with a different strategy from the one that the Entente had conceived from 1914 onwards—that is, giving up all territorial claims, because they meant a war of conquest. Marcel Cachin and Marius Moutet delivered their mission report in June 1917 to a secret committee. They particularly emphasized Russia’s capacities and willpower to keep on fighting within the Entente. The Socialist deputies had to convince the Chamber, which anyhow remained very sceptical.10 After tracing the events of the February Revolution and giving a general picture of the military situation in Russia, Marius Moutet emphasized the exhortations of the members of the parliamentary delegation, who had gone there “as Socialists and as Frenchmen”, to continue fighting against Germany. Marcel Cachin criticized Lenin’s arrival in Petrograd by “sealed railcar”, saying that not only would the Russian Provisional Government not seek a separate peace (already mentioned by Moutet), but also that the revolution was undoubtedly a guarantee to prevent Russia’s failure.11 The Russian Revolution brought hope to the Socialists, since it was not only social, but also patriotic. The delegation’s report triggered a debate that centred on the state of Russia. Centre and right-wing deputies were not convinced by Marius Moutet and Marcel Cachin regarding the Russian army’s ability to get involved once again in the war. The deepest disagreements between the Socialists and most of the other deputies were perceived through two other issues that Marcel Cachin addressed in his speech. First, the French left-wing party wanted to make sure that the goals of the war did not hide any secret clause of territorial annexation that  Coeuré, La Grande lueur à l’Est, 25–26.  Georges Bonnefous, Histoire politique de la Troisième République, t. 2, La Grande Guerre (1914–1918) (Paris: PUF, 1967), 254. 11  Journal Officiel, 1 June 1917, 495–522 and 5 June 1917, 1329; G. Bonnefous, Histoire politique de la Troisième République, 240–244. 9

10

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had been concluded with Russia over the past year: the party wanted to convince the government to change its war goals. The President of the Council, at the time Aristide Briand, implicitly admitted that such dialogues had been held. He stated that the Russian Revolution should be accepted by the majority of the Chamber, welcoming the liberation of Russia but also reminding Russia of its commitments.12 Secondly, the French Socialists also wanted the government to allow them to send a delegation to the Stockholm conference so that they could vote for a white peace, without annexation and without compensation. Alexandre Ribot refused to deliver passports to Socialist representatives, justifying himself by saying that no political party could replace a government during peace negotiations. However, there seemed to be no potential prospect of an early peace owing to the uncompromising position of the Allies.13 The fall of Tsarism was perceived as an authentic revolution in France and as a positive development for the French political spectrum. The collapse of the Russian Empire hampered progress of the Alliance. The fall of the monarchy and the advent of a politically progressive provisional government fully satisfied the elected representatives of the French Third Republic, including a majority of the right-wing party. Indeed, the war could be more easily waged in the name of the law if a democratic Russia was inside the Alliance. Despite profound questioning of the Russian army’s military potential, France could rely on the ongoing alliance: this was the main concern of French public opinion. Nevertheless, France started to perceive Russian events with hostility. This was particularly because of the worsening of the social crisis in France (as in other belligerent countries) throughout 1917 and into the beginning of 1918, and the October Russian Revolution that was followed by Russia’s withdrawal from the war.

The October Revolution and Policy Towards Russia The political divide in attitudes towards Russia became obvious when Lenin and his Bolshevik supporters seized power. The revolutionary character of the “October events” was not clearly visible, and French n ­ ewspapers

 Bonnefous, Histoire politique de la Troisième République, 245–249.  Georges-Henri Soutou, La Grande illusion. Quand la France perdait la paix, 1914–1920 (Paris: Tallandier, 2015), 75 and 240–253. 12 13

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described them as a “takeover”.14 The events led to a diplomatic rupture between France and Russia, mainly because of communication difficulties. The President of the Council, Georges Clemenceau, refused to send a new delegation of Socialist deputies to Russia in November 1917. In accord with his British counterpart, David Lloyd-George, Clemenceau defined the regions in which military interventions could be conducted. As French–Russian relations were coming to an end, the French government was counting on the fall of the new regime.15 The rupture deepened when Russia and Germany signed an armistice in December 1917. Clemenceau’s position has less to do with his ideological motivations than with the Russian withdrawal from the war. With prospects of a peace agreement between Russia and Germany, and while the Russian revolutionaries were extending their power in the northern part of the Empire’s former territory, the French and the British Allied Powers, along with their American associates, agreed on a naval blockade against Russia. A blockade call was already in place against Germany.16 However, in the last months of 1917, the French government did not show great hostility towards the new Soviet rule. There were still hopes to see Russia at war against Germany. Nonetheless, part of French public opinion was concerned about the repayment of the Tsarist regime’s debts to the French state. Banks and investors were therefore cautioning Paris. Georges Clemenceau, at the time both President of the Council and Minister of War, was in touch with Ambassador Noulens via the Quai d’Orsay and with the French military mission in Russia. He therefore had access to information that French Parliamentarians did not have. Since press censorship measures were still in force, political circles carried little weight compared with the government, and this situation lasted until January 1920, when Clemenceau’s government came to an end. Moreover, legislative life during wartime limited the influence of Parliamentarians, whose debates were diminished and whose powers were to come to an end

 Coeuré, La Grande lueur à l’Est, 28.  Michael Jabara Carley, Revolution and Intervention: The French Government and the Russian Civil War, 1917–1919 (Montréal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1983), 22–23. 16  David S. Fogelsong, America’s Secret War Against Bolshevism: U. S. Intervention in the Russian Civil War, 1917–1920 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 80–90; Michael J.  Carley, Une guerre sourde. L’émergence de l’Union soviétique et les puissances occidentales (Montréal: Les Presses de l’Université de Montréal, 2016), 41–42. 14 15

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in the spring of 1918. Clemenceau ruled without listening to the Chambers.17 The deputies—without even considering the opinions of the senators, who were not fully involved in foreign policy issues—were concentrating on ways in which to maintain Russia within the Alliance,18 and to bring to an end the practice of secret treaties.19 Socialist deputies tried to link the two questions: they explained that the conference in Stockholm would give enough guarantees for the Allies’ willpower to modify their war goals in order to maintain Russia at war.20 Indeed, the issue of French–Russian relations became a distinguishing factor between those, mainly Socialists, who favoured close relations with the Soviet government, and the majority of Parliamentarians. The latter remained determined to support the government’s refusal to maintain “official” relations (as stated by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Stephen Pichon) with the new Russian regime.21 Political representatives did not have enough information on Russia’s financial commitments, partly because, in response to deputy queries, the French government tried to minimize the risk of reimbursement default on the part of Russia. First, it tried to censor press information that spread rumours about Moscow’s refusal to pay back the previous regime’s debts, not only to avoid French investors from panicking, but also to protect savers from turning against the French government. The financial press disclosed information about the Soviet decision to denounce former international agreements before other important newspapers, such as Le Petit Parisien, Le Temps and Le Figaro.22 At first, the government responded timidly to Parliamentary interpellations, hiding behind the fact that Russia did not officially announce its intention to not pay back the debt.23 The Chamber quickly monopolized the debate about Russia’s financial commitments, especially regarding the French government’s responsibility to 17  Jean-Jacques Becker, Serge Berstein, Nouvelle histoire de la France contemporaine, t. 12, Victoire et frustrations, 1914–1919 (Paris: éditions du Seuil, 1990), 181. 18  For example, several Socialist deputies asked the government about the means implemented with the Allies in order to “bring Russia to come back more completely in the concert of the Entente”, Journal Officiel, 11 December 1917. 19  Journal Officiel, 18 and 27 December 1917. 20  Journal Officiel, 27 December 1917, speech by Marius Moutet, 3617. Against these arguments, right wingers accused Lenin and Trotsky of treason. 21  Journal Officiel, 12 January 1918, 36. 22  Michael J. Carley, Revolution and Intervention, 44–45. 23  Journal Officiel, 14 December 1917, response of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

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compensate savers.24 Clearly, this would affect not only the largest shareholders, but also the middle classes. Consequently, the affected holders of Russian securities grouped together to defend their interests. They demonstrated strong anti-Bolshevism sentiments that were shared by a very influential opinion movement among Parliamentarians.25 The government had to act more discreetly. According to the President of the Council, it was preferable not to show too much hostility towards the Russians, so that they were not pushed into the arms of the Germans. It would be more effective to let the maximalist regime collapse and help Russia to gain a brighter outlook. At any rate, the reception of the Russian Revolution became exclusively negative from November 1917. Journalists returning from Russia or the Russians that were driven out by the revolution contributed to the spreading of hostile opinions. As for the very rare French Communists, they were too poorly organized to spread positive ideas about Russia’s political events. French Socialists were publicly disappointed: they advocated maintaining relations with Russia’s new authorities, but regretted the rapid changes towards undemocratic practices and the ongoing economic chaos that had dissuaded Russia from remaining allied to France during the war. The Bolshevik coup d’état was particularly disturbing, due to its military consequences. Moreover, political violence in Russia was frightening for the Socialists who disapproved, together with other Parliamentarians, of the dissolution of the constituent assembly.26 Thus, the majority of Socialists soon started to criticize the Russian Revolution. Marius Moutet spoke about a “great hope that was to be disappointed” and Marcel Cachin criticized Trotsky, who had reproached French Socialists for participating in the National Union’s policy.27 French Socialists, without being politically favourable to Lenin’s partisans, sought peace above all and a revision of war objectives, in particular the renunciation of annexations. In President  Journal Officiel, 1 February 1918 (session of 31 January), 249.  Anne Hogenhuis-Seliverstoff, Les relations franco-soviétiques, 1917–1924 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1981), 33. 26  Hogenhuis-Seliverstoff, Les relations franco-soviétiques, 32. 27  Journal Officiel, 27 December 1917, 3617 and 12 January 1918, 38. Adrien Pressemane declared at the Chamber, before regretting an impossible agreement with the “Bolsheviki”: “I ask you, Gentlemen of the right wing, to be towards the Russian revolution as harsh as we are ourselves. With no doubt, the wrongful acts of the Maximalists are serious. For our part, we condemn their inner policy which is made of acts of force. We do not understand the reasons of the demobilization before peace…” Journal Officiel, 29 March 1918, 1190. 24 25

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Wilson’s Fourteen Points, they found a political guide to follow with reference to the self-determination of peoples and public diplomacy. Most of them, including Albert Thomas, firmly opposed the revolution. At the same time, they opposed most of the political movements in terms of the aims of war, not only the right-wing party, which justified the practices of secret diplomacy and claimed territories for the benefit of France and her partners in the Entente. The press and the High Command, beginning with General Foch, then the head of the French General Staff, essentially saw Lenin and his supporters as revolutionaries who had been bribed by Germany.28

Allied Intervention in the Russian Civil War and “Sanitary Cord”: Bolshevism Through the Prism of Domestic Policy On 3 March 1918, the peace treaty of Brest-Litovsk ended the hopes of the Allied Powers to maintain Russia at war against Central Powers. The French military mission commanded by General Jean Lavergne was in touch with the Bolsheviks, but their relations ceased a few weeks later. At the end of February, Leon Trotsky asked the military mission to reorganize the Red Army. Ferdinand Foch accepted the request,29 but this reconciliation only lasted until the end of March, when Ambassador Noulens returned to Russia, thereby hindering the decision of cooperation of the military staff. Moreover, Trotsky, who favoured continuation of the war against Germany, was becoming less and less popular. At the end of March, he asked Lavergne for technical cooperation, which consisted mainly of training troops and officers, but despite Foch’s approval, this was never achieved. French Parliamentarians were, however, not aware of a possible military cooperation in favour of the Bolsheviks. French approval of Trotsky’s requested assistance could be interpreted as a sign of openness towards the Soviet Government: though it was positive, it was too late.30 28  Tatiana Konovalova-Martino, ‘Foch et la Russie bolchevique’, in Rémy Porte, François Cochet (dir.), Ferdinand Foch (1851–1929). Apprenez à penser (Paris: Éditions SOTECA, 14–18, 2010), 293–310. 29  Jean Delmas, ‘La paix de Brest-Litovsk et le maintien en Russie de la Mission militaire française’, in Jean-Marc Delaunay (ed.), Aux vents des puissances (Paris: Presses Sorbonne nouvelle, 2008), 209–227. 30  Journal Officiel, 30 March (session of 29 March) 1918, 1190.

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For French and British political leaders, gathering the Russian anti-­ Bolshevik forces seemed to be the most efficient action against Germany in Russia and the best way to maintain influence in the country. During the summer of 1918, French military and political circles felt the need to intervene in Russia, especially in Siberia where the Czechoslovak army had taken control of the Trans-Siberian Railway. At the time, information reached Paris with great difficulty: telegrams took weeks.31 There were various reasons for this, among them Ambassador Joseph Noulens’s departure and, more generally, the recall of diplomats of the Allied Powers in the second half of 1918, as well as a limited presence of military men (especially French) and of journalists on Russian soil. It is essential to remember this point in order to understand how difficult it was for politicians to make the necessary decisions. A civil war was raging in southern Russia, particularly in Ukraine, where Bolshevik troops formed the Red Army, created in February 1918. They progressed towards southern regions, while General Anton Denikin’s Volunteer Army started his horrendous “Ice March”.32 France stopped supporting the Government of the Rada when Ukraine sought German protection from Russia’s Red Guards and signed a truce with the Central Powers. Jean-Baptiste Duroselle disclosed in his Georges Clemenceau biography that, at the end of 1917, the President of the Council was flexible concerning Ukraine, apart from the fact that France had to get involved. He was divided between, on the one hand, the positions of Ambassador Noulens and General Niessel, head of the Mission Militaire Française (MMF) (French military mission) in Russia, who were both in favour of the annexation of Ukraine by Russia. On the other hand, General Berthelot, head of the French military mission in Romania, was in favour of an independent Ukraine.33 In spite of Ukraine’s ties with Germany, the option of Russia’s encirclement and action in Ukraine prevailed over the decision taken in the summer of 1918. In fact, neither of the two alternatives was possible: neither Ukraine as a French sphere of influence—as stated in a December 1917 French-British agreement—nor an independent Ukraine, because the military situation benefited the Red Army. 31  Margaret MacMillan, Les Artisans de la paix. Comment Lloyd-George, Clemenceau et Wilson ont redessiné la carte du monde (Paris: LC Lattès, 2006), 125. 32  Jean-Jacques Marie, La guerre civile russe, 1917–1922. Armées paysannes, rouges, blanches et vertes (Paris, Autrement, 2005), 42–44. 33  Jean-Baptiste Duroselle, Clemenceau (Paris: Fayard, 1988), 802–803.

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Allied intervention in Russia had been decided upon at the end of 1917. French public opinion was reticent about this, as were parliamentary debates. Parliamentary questions often emanated from Socialist circles: they sought explanations of France’s war objectives and tried to figure out whether or not France was at war with Russia. Several months later, when peace was being negotiated at the Paris Conference, the need to intervene was articulated. Joseph Noulens, who returned to the Chamber as a deputy of the department of Gers, still believed that an intervention was necessary and that France was “in a state of war” against Bolshevism.34 It is worth noting that politic circles largely approved of the military intervention in Russia, even Socialists who, along with Albert Thomas, thought that the Russian Revolution betrayed Socialism.35 However, protests took place as the war came to an end. In December 1918, when Clemenceau mentioned his desire to intervene in Russia in accordance with the will of the Allied Powers, Socialists protested against dispatching soldiers to military service when the war had ended, and against their will, in order to fight the Russian government.36 More and more Socialist deputies protested against a military operation being implemented without Parliament’s approval. The debate that took place at the end of March 1919 in the Chamber of Deputies showed that the Deputies had expected the government to take the opinion of the national representation into account. Radical Socialist Henry Franklin-Bouillon, President of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, attacked the hegemonic role taken by the Ministry of War (Clemenceau) and the military staff over the diplomats of the Quai d’Orsay. He criticized the government’s lack of decision in refusing to negotiate with the Bolsheviks or to implement the adequate resources to make a successful intervention.37 Foreign Affairs Minister Stephen Pichon retrospectively summarized the arguments for an intervention against Russia: on the one hand, the intervention was intended to avoid Germany from gaining power to turn 34  Le Temps, 15 January 1919, cited in Georges Bonnefous, Histoire politique de la Troisième République, t. 3, L’Après-guerre, 1919–1924 (Paris, PUF, 1959), 7. 35  Jean-Jacques Becker, Serge Berstein, Histoire de l’anticommunisme en France, t. 1, 1917–1940 (Paris, Olivier Orban, 1987), 43. 36  Journal Officiel, 16 January 1919, 11–24. See particularly the speeches of the deputies Bracke, Lafont, Renaudel (on the rebellion of British soldiers at Folkestone) and Cachin. 37  Journal Officiel, 25 March 1919, 1452. For Franklin-Bouillon, military intervention against Bolshevism could be justified because of the “German origin” of this revolutionary ideology.

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against France; on the other hand, the intervention was conducted to enable France to intervene in three geographic areas: Siberia, to assist the Czechoslovak Legion when it would return to Europe; northern Russia, to maintain communications; and in southern Russia, especially Ukraine, to safeguard French interests. Through this intervention, the need to create a zone of French influence in Russia was asserted, with support to the Russian Volunteer Army and the white authorities, in what the minister considered opposition to Bolshevism.38 The problem with such arguments was that they had become outdated by the time Pichon formulated them. With the only other choice being the “sanitary cord” policy, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was to adopt Clemenceau’s option. He should recognize that, not only France stayed out war with Russia, but also that no intervention was conducted. The end of 1919 corresponded to the last days of Clemenceau’s government. He expressed his decision to spend no more money on military interventions, but instead to “put a belt of barbed wire around Bolshevism” and to assist Poland, then at war with Bolshevik Russia.39 Debates on intervention highlighted that the danger of revolutionary expansion was not the most frequent argument among the majority against Bolsheviks. To justify such statement, the German factor was anachronistically put forward by the centre and right-wing parties. They advanced testimonies about the participation of many German officers in the operations of the Red Army, while the Socialists accused the right-wing party of supporting reactionary and pro-German Russia.40 The French obsession with Germany still had beautiful days ahead. In June 1919, there was intense debate about the presence of French troops in Russia as the French fleet was evacuating Odessa. The decision to repatriate the sailors had been taken before the mutinies, during which red flags had been waved. But, for some of the deputies, the question pointed to the danger of revolutionary propaganda, while opponents insisted on the need to evacuate.41 In France, the Russian Revolution was mostly perceived as a source of chaos. Since the information from Russia

 Journal Officiel, 27 March 1919, 1575.  Journal Officiel, 23 December 1919, 5337. 40  Journal Officiel, 24 March 1919, 1409 and 13 June 1919, 2672. 41  Bonnefous, Histoire de la Troisième République, t. 3, 9; Journal Officiel, 23 May 1919, 2394, 10 June 1919, 2590–2592, 12 June 1919, 2652–2653. 38 39

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was scant, the only issue that mattered was the impact of the revolution in France. This issue was addressed in terms of domestic policy during the course of 1919, in a very demanding economic context where the costs of living were increasing and there was a shortage of supplies. This made the workers’ demands stronger. The Reformist Socialist party, advocated by the French General Confederation of Labour (CGT), lost ground to a growing minority of Russian Revolution supporters.42 From January 1919 onwards, while revolutionary movements were spreading across Germany and Hungary, this minority served as a reference for those who triggered social protests. Clemenceau had illustrated this issue in Parliament when he passed the eight-hour day Act. Albert Thomas, speaking in favour of this specific passage of the Act, explained that the eight-hour day was adopted since the revolutionary movement started not only in Russia, but also in “countries where the revolution [assumed] a national and popular aspect”.43 However, after the and through the prohibited demonstration of 1 May, SFIO and CGT’s minorities were the strongest, supporting social revolution and voicing a message of peace. Meanwhile, French Socialists were on the verge of breaking down. To avoid this, they adopted a revolutionary programme, forbidding any electoral alliance with the Radicals. This electoral strategy resulted in isolation and defeat. It reflected an adaptation to the growth of revolutionary influence among workers, aimed at preserving the unity of the socialist movement. In the agitated social context of the spring of 1919 and with the extension of the revolutionary wave in Europe, the Socialist position on the Russian Revolution evolved, returning to revolutionary and pacifist pre-war principles. Defenders of post-Tsarist Russia were supporting the Bolshevik revolution, adopting a defensive attitude and condemning the intervention and the blockade that had been imposed on Russia. But others alongside Albert Thomas and Marius Moutet rejected the anti-­ democratic character of the October Revolution. Georges Clemenceau was at the forefront of the attacks on the Russian Revolution. During a speech in Strasbourg on 4 November 1919, shortly before the Parliamentary elections, he attacked the Bolsheviks, targeting the Socialists who showed solidarity with the October Revolution. Some Socialists, who belonged to the Society of the Friends of Russia’s People,  Becker, Berstein, Victoire et frustrations, 182–183.  Journal Officiel, 17 April 1919, 2029.

42 43

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defended the social revolution. They even justified terror by relying on contextual explanations (for example, the need to defeat the counter-­ revolution) or on historical explanations (the violent repression in Russia of the Tsars).44 But these arguments responded to very strong anti-­ Bolshevik charges, especially in a series of pamphlets published in 1919.45 During 1919, the ideological debate within the Chamber of Deputies became more intense after the founding of the Third International. The debate was also very present in the newspapers, even though there was very little information coming from Russia. A majority of Socialists still saw Bolshevism as a foreign doctrine. For instance, they were offended by the Minister of Foreign Affairs who, speaking about Bolshevism and French Socialism, stated: “We will not let confuse socialism and bolshevism, which is only a caricature of socialism.”46 He was responding to charges against the Russian Revolution that were coming from right- and left-wing parties alike. Deputy Chappedelaine summarized the accusations in a speech: after having castigated Brest-Litosvk’s betrayal and the alleged Russian collusion with Germany, Chappedelaine condemned collective ownership, the persecution of wealthy farmers, the terror and the privileges granted to proletarians, a minority in Russia. To these critics, other right-wing deputies (as illustrated by some newspapers) added xenophobic and anti-Semitic accusations, claiming that the Bolshevik revolution was not Russian, but Jewish and German.47 In 1919 and 1920, the French government sent no official delegate to Moscow or Petrograd, where only about a thousand French people were living. Journalistic investigations resumed only in 1920. At the same time, Soviet propaganda in France, mainly made by French Communists who were living in Russia (Jacques Sadoul, Pierre Pascal), remained quite confidential, even if it was a sensitive subject for the French government.48 44  Coeuré, La Grande lueur à l’Est, 43–44. Deputy Bracke, setting forward the argument of historic continuity, justified the crimes and the lootings in the new Russia by the mention of “the use of means that where written in the code of Tsarism”: Journal Officiel, 17 June 1919, 2705. References to acts of violence in the revolutionary period in France were also particularly numerous. 45  For example, La vérité sur les bolcheviks, by Charles Dumas or Bolchevisme et Misère, by the deputy Maurice Bokanowski. See Becker, Berstein, Histoire de l’anticommunisme, 44; Dominique Lejeune, La peur du ‘rouge’ en France. Des partageux aux gauchistes (Paris: Belin, 2003), 131. 46  Journal Officiel, 27 March 1919, 1476. 47  Journal Officiel, June 1919, 2654–2655. 48  Sophie Coeuré, La Grande Lueur à l’Est, 31–32.

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The revolutionary wave was spreading across Europe. It generated instability throughout European countries, triggering social protests in France. Whether or not the Soviet reality was distorted, it served the electoral interests of most French political parties, in view of the November 1919 elections and to weaken social demands. For the minority Socialists, the Bolshevik revolution paved the way to potentially access power without going through an election. The 1919 election was marked by a violent campaign against Bolshevism: the infamous caricature depicting a Bolshevik with a knife between his teeth was supposed to temporarily hinder the left-wing party from attaining power.

Conclusion France’s National Bloc, a centre–right-wing political coalition, won the 1919 election, obtaining the majority and taking advantage of the electoral system. Fear of Bolshevism, fomented by employers, influenced election results but without diminishing social demands in 1920.49 From 1917 to the end of 1919, most of the French political forces perceived the Russian Revolution in a negative light. With Lenin in power, there was no hope left that France could maintain relations with its former Eastern ally against Germany. Instead, according to French politicians and to military staff, the Russian Revolution was doomed as a consequence of the Brest-­ Litovsk betrayal. This episode is crucial in understanding why French public opinion was hostile to Russia: political and military circles were obsessed by security matters, mainly directed towards Germany. A minority perceived the revolution as a model for a better future, as an Eastern bright spot. But, from 1919 and 1920 onwards, it was seen by many as a bogeyman: the danger of Communism was emphasized, especially in domestic policy. The danger lay in the social revolution in Europe, the subversion of the colonies and the collusion with Germany. It is therefore no exaggeration to say that from 1917 until the end of the 1930s, French political circles had been watching the revolutionary Russia, then the Soviet Union, through the lens of the German threat and basing their opinions on domestic political concerns.

 Jean-Marie Mayeur, La vie politique sous la Troisième République, 256.

49

The Russian Revolution and Polish Communism in the Interwar Era Eryk Krasucki Translated by Tomasz Sawka

On 21 January 1954, Lenin’s Museum in Kraków opened, marking the 30th anniversary of the death of Russia’s revolutionary leader.1 At that time, Poland was experiencing extreme Stalinism, and this event was connected with current propaganda and elements of ideology, which often used violence instead of persuasion.2 Prominent guests attended the opening, such as the Soviet ambassador to Poland, Gieorgij Popow, many ­diplomats from the so-called people’s democracies, and the director of the  Archive of New Records in Warsaw (Archiwum Akt Nowych, then: AAN)/Collection of files of various provenance/I/218/Note on the nodal issues of the work of the Department of the History of the Party of the Central Committee of the PZPR, 20 April 1953. According to the initial assumptions, the museum was to have two patrons—Lenin and Stalin. 2  Andrzej Garlicki, Stalinizm (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Szkolne i Pedagogiczne, 1993); Dariusz Jarosz, Polacy a Stalinizm (Warszawa: Instytut Historii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2000); Andrzej Werblan, Stalinizm w Polsce (Warszawa: Towarzystwo Wydawnicze i Literackie, 2009). 1

E. Krasucki (*) University of Szczecin, Szczecin, Poland © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_8

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Central Lenin Museum in Moscow, Wiaczeslaw Morozow. Though Lenin actually lived in Kraków for some time,3 it is rather difficult to believe the words that Morozow supposedly delivered in the name of the people: To commemorate Great Lenin, who lived and worked in our city from 1912 to 1914, the National City Council in Kraków decided to create Lenin’s Museum in honor of his memory, cherished by the working class, people of Kraków and the entire Polish nation. This is yet another monument of friendship and kinship between the Soviet and Polish people in our city. This monument represents the history of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and the help it provided to the Polish revolutionary movement in the fight for social freedom and socialism nationwide.4

But Lenin’s presence in Kraków and in the nearby Poronin did not trigger pride for most people. There was opposition to the city clerk’s speech because the Bolshevik leader symbolized the year 1920 for most Poles, a time when Poland and Russia were at war. This almost led to the fall of the newly reborn Poland.5 From this perspective, the event held in January 1954 was a rather grim and most certainly humiliating spectacle. A museum was being opened in honor of the man who had officially called himself a friend of the Poles, but had tried to destroy Poland in accordance with his internationalist principles. The same day, Franciszek Jóźwiak, one of the top leaders of the Communist Party, which secured a monopolistic position in Polish politics at least since the elections in 1947, delivered a speech on Lenin6: Our party—Polish United Workers’ Party—the avant-garde of the workers’ class and the Polish nation —was born in the fire of fighting for the unity of the working class, for the adaptation of great Leninist ideas. Our forces are 3  Walentyna Najdus, Lenin wśród przyjaciół i znajomych w Polsce 1912–1914 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1977). 4  “Otwarcie Muzeum Lenina,” Dziennik Polski, January 22, 1954, 1. 5  Piotr Wandycz, Soviet-Polish Relations, 1917–1921 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969); Norman Davies, White Eagle, Red Star, the Polish-Soviet War, 1919– 1920 and ‘The Miracle on the Vistula’ (London: Random House, 2003); Lech Wyszczelski, Wojna polsko-rosyjska 1919–1920, vol. 1–2 (Warszawa: Bellona, 2010). 6  Andrzej Paczkowski, The Spring Will be Ours. Poland and the Poles from Occupation to Freedom, trans. Jane Cave (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), 146–197.

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unbeatable as long as we are true to Marxist-Leninist ideas. That is why we are to protect our loyalty to Leninism, loyalty to the internationalism of proletariat, brotherly loyalty to the alliance with the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, with the country of the victorious socialism.7

The dignitary’s speech tells us much about the character of the party, but it also omits much. In his speech, Jóźwiak did not mention the Communist Party of Poland (KPP), up to 1925 the Communist Workers’ Party of Poland (KPRP), which was disbanded by the Comintern in 1938, though its fate was decided by Stalin a year earlier. Along with the party, the whole partisan elite was physically destroyed, despite friendly relations with Lenin and their direct participation in the Russian Revolution, or indirect support of it, hoping that it would soon reach Poland. Jóźwiak does not mention these people because they were turned into Orwellian “non-persons.”8 Similarly, the whole KPP, its history and whatever came before faded into oblivion. This is crucial in properly understanding the relations between Polish communism and the Russian Revolution. The history of Polish communism did not truly begin in 1917; it was actually an older phenomenon. To discover its true genesis, one must go back to the 1870s, to a man named Ludwik Waryński who worked and studied in Petersburg. Through his involvement in self-educating clubs and socialist organizations, he became interested in a new ideology. He remained loyal to its principles in the years that followed, until his death in a prison cell.9 In 1882, Waryński and some friends formed the first workers’ party, devising a program that was centered on the dissolution of private property and internationalism.10 The Social Revolutionary Party, the “Proletariat,” was not a pure emanation of Marxist ideas as it combined aspects of anarchy with the concept of Trier’s wise man. It was also heavily influenced by the Russian Narodnaja Wola. It was not by chance that Russian and Polish revolutionaries were connected. Since 1795, Poland had not been an independent country, as its territories had been taken over by neighboring superpowers (Russia, Prussia and Austria). Unable to 7  “Lenin żyje w każdym naszym sukcesie i zwycięstwie, żyje i żyć będzie w naszej Nowej Hucie. Przemówienie członka Biura Politycznego KC PZPR min. Franciszka JóźwiakaWitolda”, Dziennik Polski, January 22, 1954, 2. 8  George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four (London: Everyman, 1976). 9  Andrzej Notkowski, Ludwik Waryński (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1989). 10  Irena Koberdowa, Socjalno-Rewolucyjna Partia Proletariat 1882–1886 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1981).

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study at Polish universities, Polish youth could have a Russian education. Upon their return, they would bring back revolutionary ideas, such as Marxism. It is symbolic that the first Polish edition of Marx’s Das Kapital was not based on the German original source text, but on the Russian translation.11 Polish and Russian revolutionary associations were organized independently, leading to different visions of revolutionary processes. The Polish workers’ movement was not only inspired by the Russians; it sat halfway between Russia and the West. Polish socialists looked up to Germany, with its full-fledged socialist movement. After several decades, it would have a real influence on politics with its own representation of international movements and parties. While Polish workers’ parties were being formed in the 1890s, Western social democracy was more influential than that from the East.12 Nevertheless, Feliks Tych said: “Polish workers’ movement did not choose as in a Swedish buffet: something à la russe, something from French cuisine, Austrian or German, instead its program and tactics were developed independently, with its own search of ideas and policies.”13 In the 1890s, the Polish workers’ movement experienced a major split that, in a slightly different form, impacted the relationship among socialists during the whole interwar period. The divide goes back much earlier, to the time of “the cloudy searching of ways and diversifying of ideas and notions”14; to the discussions between Waryński and Kazimierz Dłuski with Bolesław Limanowski, living in Galicja, under Austria’s reign, who first translated Ferdinand Lassalle’s works and became a doyen of Polish socialism. The division among Polish socialists arose from a different vision of an independent Poland, often encased in an antagonism of

11  Ludwik Krzywicki, Wspomnienia, vol. III, ed. Wanda Jedlicka and Janusz Wilhelmi (Warszawa: Czytelnik, 1958), 36–61. 12  An important exception would be SDKiP and Rosa Luxemburg herself, who even though tied to the radical wing of German social-democracy, and later to the Spartacus League, described herself “as a woman of the East.” Her choice was purely pragmatic: the revolution was supposed to start in Germany, and she wanted to be as close to the centre as possible. 13  Feliks Tych, “Miejsce polskiego ruchu robotniczego między Wschodem a Zachodem (od pocza ̨tków do wybuchu II wojny światowej),” in Między Wschodem a Zachodem. Studia z dziejów polskiego ruchu i myśli socjalistycznej, ed. Andrzej F.  Grabski and Paweł Samuś (Łódź: Uniwersytet Łódzki, 1995), 23. 14  Feliks Perl (Res), Dzieje ruchu socjalistycznego w zaborze rosyjski. Do powstania PPS (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1958), 6.

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“patriotism” and “socialism.”15 In a text dating to 1879, Dłuski stated the following: Polish patriotism with its intentions of restoring the country had in mind the old order, with a privileged minority, that is the nobles and bourgeoisie. […] The idea of socialism is wider and grander than the idea of patriotism. […] Socialism is not a national idea, it is important to all abused people, regardless of nationality, it is paramount to the whole proletariat. Therefore it is international, just as international is the exploited proletariat.16

This issue was the main bone of contention between the Polish Socialist Party (PPS), created in 1892, and the Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland (SDKP), created in 1893, and transformed, in 1899, into the Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania (SDKPiL). PPS built its political strategy by combining the nationalistic factor and international aspects, in order to strike a balance on economic, political and national issues. Kazimierz Kelles-Krauz greatly contributed in leading the party towards nationalism.17 PPS became the most important party following revisionism in the Polish workers’ movement.18 On the other hand, based on economic analysis, SDKPiL consistently rejected any independence movements, since nationalism was considered a mortal enemy of the Marxist cause. Rosa Luxemburg was one of the creators and most important ideologists of the party.19 Her name and ideas about national and economic issues proved to be pivotal for the formation of the revolutionary-internationalist trend and for the Polish workers’ movement, even for Polish communism during the 15  Brian Porter-Szűcs, Gdy nacjonalizm zacza ̨ł nienawidzić. Wyobrażenia nowoczesnej polityki w dziewiętnastowiecznej Polsce, trans. Agnieszka Nowakowska (Sejny: Pogranicze, 2011), 142–182. 16  Pierwsze pokolenie marksistów polskich. Wybór pism i materiałów źródłowych z lat 1878– 1886, vol. 1, ed. Alina Molska (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1962), 103–111. 17  Timothy Snyder, Nationalism, Marxism, and modern Central Europe. A biography of Kazimierz Kelles-Krauz (1872–1905) (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997). 18  Jerzy Holzer, PPS. Szkic dziejów (Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna, 1977); Jan Tomicki, Polska Partia Socjalistyczna 1892–1948 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1983); Jan Kancewicz, Polska Partia Socjalistyczna w latach 1892–1896 (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1984). 19  Bronisław Radlak, Socjaldemokracja Królestwa Polskiego i Litwy w latach 1893–1904 (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1979); Aleksander Kochański, Socjaldemokracja Królestwa Polskiego i Litwy w latach 1907–1910. Problemy polityczne i ideologiczne (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1971).

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interwar period. Luxemburg claimed that under the three powers that controlled the partitioned Polish land, capitalism would integrate them “organically.” Economic processes were supposed to influence class approaches towards independence, setting even the bourgeois against it owing to concerns about their interests. Independence is “fictitious and alien,”20 Luxemburg wrote. Elsewhere she added that “in a class society the nation as homogenous socio-political whole does not exist.”21 Workers were supposed to be neutral towards independence as well because, were it to happen, it would generate two types of disadvantages. First, the restoration of Poland would lead to an economic collapse of Polish land, worsening the proletariat’s quality of life. Secondly, it was against the idea of working-class unity and solidarity that, in accordance with The Communist Manifesto, “is without homeland,”22 leading to the conclusion that: “In order to restore Poland as a capitalistic country the socialistic communities would have to resign from their ultimate goal—socialism, social improvement. But to go towards this goal the proletariat must turn its back to the restoration of Poland.”23 Following this approach, according to SDKPiL, to reclaim independence would not only be a utopia, but as Adolf Warski said “a reactive utopia,”24 and all signs of “social-­ patriotism” were suppressed almost fanatically by the party and its leader. This issue became the first controversy between Luxemburg and Lenin. The issue arose in 1903 as the SDKPiL and Russian Social Democratic Labor Party (RSDRP) were trying to integrate into one movement. But although integration seemed almost certain, it never came to fruition. The Polish party was more radical than its Russian counterpart, even than the party wing that was later known as Bolshevik. Lenin, who was their 20  Róża Luksemburg, Wybór pism, vol. II, ed. Bronisław Krauze (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1959), 38. See also Marek Waldenberg, “Z problematyki narodu w polskiej myśli socjalistycznej okresu porozbiorowego,” in Idee i koncepcje narodu w polskiej myśli politycznej czasów porozbiorowych, ed. Janusz Goćkowski and Andrzej Walicki (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1977), 246–266. 21  Luksemburg, Wybór pism, vol. II, 123–124. 22  Feliks Tych, Socjalistyczna irredenta. Szkice z dziejów Polskiego Ruchu Robotniczego pod zaborami (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie, 1982), 255–293; Marek Waldenberg, Narody zależne i mniejszości narodowe w Europie Środkowo-Wschodniej. Dzieje konfliktów i idei (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 2000). 23  Róża Luksemburg, Niepodległa Polska a sprawa robotnicza (Paryż: Wydawnictwo “Sprawy Robotniczej”, 1895), 31. 24  Adolf Warski, Wybór pism, vol. 2, ed. Tadeusz Daniszewski (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1958), 433.

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­ outhpiece, wrote in his article entitled “The National Issue in Our m Program,” published in Iskra, that the Russian social-democracy program did not envisage the right of nations to self-determination, and, although highly unlikely, “It recognizes the possibility that Polish proletariat will follow the principles of free and independent Polish republic.”25 SDKPiL found this a heresy until 1923, when the Polish Communist Party adapted the concept into its own program. This occurred because SDKPiL merged with RSDRP in 1906, even though it could still “act independently in its area.”26 Polish social-democrats (SDKPiL) therefore considered any independence issue as dogmatic. Some situations even appeared comical. For instance, when Karol Radek, a high-ranking leader of the SDKPiL, described the April 1926 Easter Rebellion in Ireland as “a putsch,” this sparked lively reprimands from Lenin. Lenin himself missed no opportunity to criticize the Poles. In one of his texts about their attitude towards national issues, he wrote that “they are all over the top” with particular (sometimes maybe excessive) “zeal.”27 He used pejorative connotations such as “Krakowian horizon” to impute provincialism to Polish socialdemocrats as they groundlessly projected a Polish point of view onto international social democracy. Often these issues were disputed, and the right of nations to self-­ determination was one of the most important arguments that Lenin and Luxemburg did not agree upon. Bolsheviks and Polish social-democrats later clashed on the same grounds—on the right of revolutionary self-­ determination of the proletariat and working class. Finally, in 1929, Adolf Warski publicly admitted that the Polish communist approach to national issues was wrong, while Lenin was right.28 Polish stubbornness was a grave mistake. According to Warski, it caused the almost complete isolation of KPRP/KPP in the interwar period.29 The party, which in October 1918,  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 7: wrzesień 1902–wrzesień 1903 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1985), 223. 26  Walentyna Najdus, SDKPiL a SDPRR 1893–1907 (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1973), 251–301. 27  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 25: marzec–lipiec 1914 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1987), 277. 28  Another question is if the declarations of the Russian Revolution leader concerning independent Poland were frank, which was shown clearly in 1920, but also how the national issue was solved in the USSR. In other words, what did Lenin think about this independence?, Wojciech Zaja ̨czkowski, Rosja i narody. Ósmy kontynent. Szkic z dziejów Eurazji (Warszawa: MG, 2009), 181–214. 29  Henryk Cimek and Lucjan Kieszczyński, Komunistyczna Partia Polski (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1984); Henryk Cimek, Komuniści – Polska – Stalin 1918–1939 (Białystok: 25

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a month before the restoration of independence, declared that “people who talk about independence are enemies of the working class,” did not have any chance of gathering positive feedback from society, especially because its opinion about the country’s internal situation was horribly wrong.30 The party wanted to “throw its despise in the face of independence fraudsters and democracy” without actually having any real power, leaving aside the influence it gained in the newly founded Workers’ Councils (1918–1919).31 Its proclamations were simply words, with nothing behind them and no practical solutions. The nation’s approach to restoration consisted of acceptance that Poland would lose a lot of land (according to the idea of national self-determination). This made Polish communists seem to be a revolutionary party. Radical change in the ­mid-­1930s emerged from the creation of the National Front. The g ­ rowing opposition against fascism did not change the situation, since the faces that represented it were Julian Leński-Leszczyński and Julian B ­ run-­Bronowicz, Krajowa Agencja Wydawnicza, 1990); Antoni Czubiński, Komunistyczna Partia Polski (1918–1938). Zarys historii (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Szkolne i Pedagogiczne, 1985); Marian Kamil Dziewanowski, The Communist Party of Poland. An Outline of History (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1959); Bogdan Kolebacz, Komunistyczna Partia Polski 1923–1929 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1984); Józef Kowalski, Komunistyczna Partia Polski 1935–1938. Studium historyczne (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1975); Jan Alfred Reguła, Historia Komunistycznej Partii Polski w świetle faktów i dokumentów, ed. Witold Pronobis (Toruń: Portal, 1994); Gabriele Simoncini, The Communist Party of Poland, 1918–1929. A Study in Political Ideology (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1993); Felicja Świetlikowa, Komunistyczna Partia Polski 1918–1923 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1968); Krystyna Trembicka, Między utopia ̨ a rzeczywistościa ̨. Myśl polityczna Komunistycznej Partii Polski (1918–1939) (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marii Curie-Skłodowskiej, 2007). 30  With a few exceptions. Julian Marchlewski saw this differently and “heretically,” arguing that in 1918 “the feeling of joy caused by freeing from the lashes of foreigners took over the determination and consciousness of classes.” Julian Baltazar Marchlewski, Rosja proletarjacka a Polska burżuazyjna (Moskwa: Wydawnictwo Komunistyczne “Trybuna”, 1921), 5; AAN/Collection of files of various provenance/I/20/Julian Marchlewski – Letters, 3–7; see also Andrzej Walicki, Prace wybrane, vol. 4: Polska, Rosja, marksizm, ed. Andrzej Mencwel (Kraków: Universitas, 2011), 260–269. 31  Rady Delegatów Robotniczych w Polsce w 1918–1919, ed. Henryk Bicz (Moskwa: Wydawnictwo Partyjne, 1934); Rady Delegatów Robotniczych w Polsce 1918–1919. Materiały i dokumenty, vol. 1–2, ed. Hanna Buczek and others (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1962); Zbigniew Szczygielski and Aleksandra Tymieniecka, Z dziejów Rad Robotniczych (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1960); Karol Sacewicz, “Wojna na lewicy  – pierwsze starcia. Walka o hegemonię w Warszawskich Radach Delegatów Robotniczych pomiędzy KPRP a PPS (1918–1919),” in Komuniści w międzywojennej Warszawie, ed. Elżbieta Kowalczyk (Warszawa: Instytut Pamięci Narodowej, 2014), 241–294.

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commonly considered as “Moscow’s men.” This approach is well summarized in a passage of a PPS declaration towards native communists: “The difference between you and us is that we represent the Polish workers’ movement, its aims and needs, its qualities, and in your case, gentlemen, we never know when an ideology fighter ends and a Russian agent begins.”32 The second reason for disagreement between Rosa Luxemburg and Lenin had to do with party organization. The vision of the Bolshevik leader—introduced in his article of 1902 entitled “What to do?,” established that the social-democratic party would be a centralized organization with a leadership of professional revolutionaries. Their social background was irrelevant. Lenin’s intent was to eliminate the “vagueness” that accompanied the party,33 which came from “broad democratism” or, as he called it, an “empty and harmful playtoy.” In its place, he demanded absolute trust in party guidelines, ideological unanimity, unity of aim and permanent control, with any deviation punished “with ruthless severity.” Through this, Lenin wanted to combat spontaneity so the party only had a unanimous will. This eventually led to a ban of factional activity. In the years to come, the Bolshevik leader deepened this vision, emphasizing “bureaucracy against democracy” and “centralization against autonomy.”34 The approach triggered immediate criticism, both inside the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party (Plechanow, Trotsky) and outside. Luxemburg was totally against it, pointing to the danger of something like “Blanquist centralism” that would transform the party into a kind of a sect, where the workers, the main actors of revolutionary activities, were barred. She wrote that “nothing pushes the young laborers’ movement so easily in the grasps of little coups of intelligentsia as putting in the framework of bureaucratic centralism, which degrades the fighting proletariat to the role of a docile tool of the Committee.”35 In The Accumulation of Capital, Luxemburg accuses Lenin of opportunism, showing that in Russia’s specific conditions his party had to work through conspiracies, therefore often choosing more effective solutions to complex problems. A simpler solution, a mechanical copy of the methods  “Odpowiedź komunistom,” Robotnik, 4 September 1923.  This term appears in one of Ferdinand Lassalle’s letters to Karl Marx. 34  Włodzimierz Lenin, Krok naprzód, dwa kroki wstecz (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1951). 35  Luksemburg, Wybór pism, vol. I, 325–326. 32 33

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used by the Blanquists, was adapted to the completely different Russian situation. Besides these particular reasons, there was a major problem: the workers’ movement would be deprived of its vigor and the proletariat would lose “idealistic consciousness/self-knowledge.” In Lenin’s words, “If working masses did not self-discover their own ideology, then we can talk only about bourgeois or socialist ideology. There is no middle ground. […] The rampant development of the labor movement comes under the leadership of the bourgeois ideology.”36 To prevent this, workers had to be instructed from outside. According to Luxemburg, this was a deviation from Marxism, and she considered it to be a means to hinder the free development of the proletariat and transform the party into a bourgeois organization. The consciousness of the workers would be replaced by the consciousness of partisan leaders.37 The revolutionary events of 1905–1907 in Russia (and the Kingdom of Poland, part of the tsar’s empire) heightened the argument about how the movement ought to be organized. Until those days, it had been the largest political strike in history. The events became a pretext for the SDKPiL leader to recognize the proletariat’s consciousness about its rights, despite the weakness of political organizations. The following years must have been very disappointing for Luxemburg as the revolutionary tide faded, local social-democratic organizations visibly weakened and split up, and, around the working class, nationalist organizations (such as the National Workers’ Union) emerged. But the real blow came at the start of war, revealing that the ideas and declarations of the 2nd International were merely empty words. “Proletarians of all countries unite in peace and go for your own throats during war!”—this is Luxemburg’s comment on Western-European socialists voting for war loans.38 Even more painful was the fact that the war sparked no reaction among the workers; there was no general strike and class unity was a mirage. The Russian Revolution of 1917 brought her hope, but there was still an organizational problem. Luxemburg wanted no compromises or half measures because the doctrine she followed was considered scientifically. This caused a conflict with Lenin and led to more severe divergences among Polish SD, whose 36  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 6: styczeń–sierpień 1902 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1985), 39. 37  Leszek Kołakowski, Główne nurty marksizmu (Londyn: Aneks, 1988), 424. 38  Rosa Luxemburg, “Der Wiederaufbau der Internationale”, Die Internationale, 15 April 1915, 8.

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­ embers, especially after their participation in the Russian Revolution, m became far more pragmatic than before. Politics and its ruthless rules became tangible for them. Luxemburg’s natural environment was writing; less often, she was involved in laborers’ rallies, and other people took care of the organizational work. In particular, Jogiches-Tyszka was responsible for editing, Dzierżyński, at one point, rebuilt the disbanded party, Warski was the handyman who looked after everything else, such as raising funds and maintaining contacts among different parties. Rosa Luxemburg towered above all this. In his memoirs, writer and columnist Wacław Solski, who participated in the Russian Revolution, describes a conversation with Dzierżyński, which took place in 1917, just after the February Revolution. It refers to a situation that had occurred years before, when Luxemburg had to leave the country to avoid being arrested. Marcin Kasprzak, a legend of the revolutionary movement who was hanged in 1905 on the slopes of the Warsaw Citadel, organized her escape. He lied to the coachman, telling him that he was taking abroad the daughter of a rabbi, who was fleeing from her father’s wrath. During a conversation with the coachman, Luxemburg did not confirm the story but was frank about who she was: she could easily have been unmasked and imprisoned. Luckily all ended well, but it cast a shadow over the movement, raising questions about appearing in public and giving the revolutionaries sleepless nights for decades to come. Is it all right to lie for the idea? Can you do anything, even something unethical, to support the cause? Luxemburg did not think so. Young Solski had a similar opinion that was based on ethical grounds. “There is no doubt that Marx and all other real socialists propagated overthrow of capitalism for moral and ethical reasons; the reason for their actions was to care for people,”39 he wrote. On the other hand, Dzierżyński did not have this moral conflict.40 According to him, objective fairness did not exist; it was a fabrication of the bourgeoisie. He did not appeal to Marx or any other classical socialist thinker, but instead he looked up to Stendhal’s novel The Red and the Black in which the main character, Julian Sorel, said that he would hang three people to save four.41 This story reflects the core of Lenin’s and Luxemburg’s quarrel and how things had changed over the years. Dzierżyński, one of SDKPiL’s  Wacław Solski, Moje wspomnienia (Warszawa: Prószyński i S-ka, 2008), 95.  Sylwia Frołow, Dzierżyński. Miłość i rewolucja (Kraków: Znak, 2014), 159–171. 41  Solski, Moje wspomnienia, 94. 39 40

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leaders, became a follower of Lenin and a merciless director of the Bolsheviks. Many other revolutionaries, whose experience came from the Russian Revolution with its compromises, where almost everything was based on the organization, shared the same approach.42 Lenin and Luxemburg in 1917–1918 were of a different age, following different rules and with different methods and ideas about the revolutionary movement, although their aim was the same. KPRP, created in 1918, was a child of this complicated situation. Polish communists were still closer to Western social-democracy, where the issue of organization and discipline was not important for the “new type” of party. The only thing that counted was “the movement”—just as in Eduard Bernstein’s formula, which, paradoxically, Luxemburg had rejected years before. It suffices to say that party activities were based on a “temporary organizational act” and the author herself approved it, becoming the “godmother” of KPRP/KPP. What is interesting is that there was no proper discussion about organizational issues within the party until 1923, during the 2nd Convention; and even then, not all members were convinced to define the group organization as a Leninist party.43 Extensive debates on the differences between Luxemburg and Lenin served to illustrate the Polish radical left situation during both Russian revolutions: that is, “on the verge of two ages,” as this period was called in the memoirs of the October Revolution published in Poland.44 Its reception was influenced by the rules set by the author of The Accumulation of Capital. As a matter of fact, both revolutions were perceived to pave the way to “the ultimate, decisive battle for socialism.”45 This battle was supposed to take place in Western industrialized countries, but the “first shot was in Russia,” as Luxemburg wrote, and what followed was a ­continuation

42  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 38: marzec–czerwiec 1919 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1988), 133. 43  II Zjazd Komunistycznej Partii Robotniczej Polski (19.IX–2.X.1923). Protokoły obrad i uchwały, ed. Gereon Iwański, Henryk Malinowski, and Felicja Świetlikowa (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1968), 259–295 and 507–535. 44  Na granicy dwóch epok. Wspomnienia o udziale Polaków w Rewolucji Październikowej i wojnie domowej w Rosji 1917–1921, ed. Zbigniew Iwańczuk, Roman Juryś, and others (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1967). 45  Appeal: “Rewolucja proletariatu w Rosji!,” in Socjaldemokracja Królestwa Polskiego i Litwy. Materiały i dokumenty, vol. 2: 1914–1918, ed. S. Krzyżanowski (Moskwa: Towarzystwo Wydawnicze Robotników Zagranicznych w ZSRR, 1936), 236–237.

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of the revolutionary events of 1905–1907.46 In the summer of 1917, she had even anticipated the end of the revolution to cover up the failure of the Paris Commune,47 but later, after the October uprising, she changed her mind and stressed that Lenin and Trotsky were the first who could say “I dared to do this!” This does not mean that she automatically accepted everything that came with the revolution. In her texts (published after her death by Paul Levi), she wrote about Lenin’s “political opportunism,” referring to such notions as national self-determination and a misguided approach to agrarian issues.48 She also stigmatized the factual destruction of democracy by dissolving the Constituent and terrorizing opponents. She was in favor of protecting democracy: “Just like in an infection and start of a disease the most efficient cleansing and healing agent is sunlight, in the same manner the cleansing and healing factor is the revolution and its revival of the spiritually free, active and self-aware masses—the as wide as possible form of political freedom.”49 Other Polish revolutionaries expressed their thoughts in a similar tone, doubting Bolshevik tactics. Some years later, Adolf Warski wrote: “In 1918 I had many reservations about the October in Russia. Who did not have any? Bolsheviks probably!”50 Lucjan Rudnicki, a well-known writer and party activist, recalled details from that time: Already after the victorious October Revolution, we met semi-privately with Wilamowski, one of the editors of the Kurier Wieczorny. Warszawski-Warski, present at this meeting, said, among other things, that he does not think that this revolution will last longer than four months. I am stating this because, after the Russian Revolution, Rosa Luxemburg and others had much to blame Lenin. They believed that this was not Western-European Socialism, although none could actually really know what it would become. Lenin was accused of Blanquism. In general, Lenin was a suspected Marxist according to German activists.51

46  Róża Luksemburg, O Rewolucji. Rosja 1905, 1917 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 2008), 204, 206. 47  Luksemburg, O Rewolucji, 212. 48  Luksemburg, O Rewolucji, 219. 49  Luksemburg, O Rewolucji, 254. 50  Warski, Wybór pism, vol. II, 149. 51  AAN/Collection of files of various provenance/R 51/Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania during the First World War, 32.

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The Polish Socialist Party-Left (PPS-L) and Karl Kautsky were afraid that in an under-developed country such as Russia, where there were not many proletarians, the Bolsheviks had no right to introduce the dictatorship of the proletariat.52 Many doubts were voiced in Maria Koszutska’s text from August 1918, reflecting a change of values within left socialist circles.53 Another question was how the revolution and the fact that power had shifted to Bolsheviks could prevent international “isolation.” Should they find peace with bourgeois governments or fight a “revolutionary war”?54 This was a question about the future prospects of the revolution. The Treaty of Brest created much chaos in the ranks of both Polish and foreign revolutionaries.55 Despite doubts about the strategy, everyone agreed that the Russian Revolution was the first world experiment of proletariat dictatorship. Although not ideal, it was still impressive, worthy of admiration and support. Luxemburg and SDKPL, in the brochure Revolution and War published shortly after October, said: “Bolshevik victory is a victory of our strategy and our ideas.”56 Even the PPS-L used the same tone.57 Among the Polish revolutionaries who actually took part in the Russian Revolution, quite a few of them still had doubts.58 In their opinion, rebellious Russia should have been supported for tactical reasons and because of the historical conditions. Many revolutionary leaders were close friends and workmates of Polish revolutionaries—on all sides. The most important, of course, were those who backed the Bolsheviks. Their attitude is clearly reflected by Dzierżyński. He not only stopped caring about moral  Robotnik, no. 10 (1918).  Maria Koszutska, Pisma i przemówienia, vol. 1, ed. Natalia Ga ̨siorowska (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1961), 242–243. 54  Feliks Tych, “Stosunek SDKPiL, PPS-Lewicy i KPRP do Rewolucji Październikowej,” in Rewolucja Październikowa a Polska. Rozprawy i studia, ed. Tadeusz Cieślak and Leon Grosefeld (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1967), 147. 55  Rewolucja i wojna. Po gwałcie brzeskim (Warszawa: no publishing house, 1918). 56  Rewolucja i wojna (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Zarza ̨du Głównego SDKPiL, 1917), 7. 57  “Między rewolucja ̨ a reakcja ̨,” Głos Robotniczy, November 21, 1918, 1. 58  In 1917, about 2 million Poles lived in Russia, of whom 600,000 served in the tsar’s army. After the outbreak of the revolution, in the autumn of 1917 in Russia there were about 40 local SDKPiL groups (about 5000 people) and 30 PPS-Left groups (about 3000 people). Polish social-democrats at the same time belonged to the Bolshevik party and accounted for about 2 per cent of the membership, Antoni Czubiński, Rewolucja październikowa w Rosji i ruchy rewolucyjne w Europie lat 1917–1921 (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1988), 69–70. 52 53

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dilemmas, but also supported Lenin’s strategy of national self-­ determination even though, in the spring of 1917, during the 7th Russian Socialist Conference, he claimed that he was against the principles of internationalism.59 Dzierżyński quickly became one of Lenin’s closest associates and the leader of the Emergency Committee (Cheka)—symbol of Bolshevik terror.60 Beside him, several important national and partisan positions were filled by activists whose names were esteemed by the radical left in Poland: Józef Unszlicht, Bronisław Wesołowski, Stanisław Pestkowski, Jakub Hanecki, Mieczysław Broński, Julian Leszczyński-­ Leński, Stanisław Bobiński, Stanisław Budzyński, Feliks Kon, Kazimierz Cichowski and Karol Radek.61 Their approach, which reflected the atmosphere in the country, was aptly described by Radek. In the following years, he would become one of the most important members of Comintern—a kind of professional revolution exporter.62 In a 1918 brochure, he wrote: “Marxism has been transformed into a mechanical mathematical puzzle,”63: meaning that, comparing the current situation in Russia with Marxist dogmas was pointless, as the uniqueness of the revolution had to be fully recognized.64 What distinguished Polish activists in Russia and those who watched the revolution from afar was their motivation and the direct or indirect experience. Lenin, during a speech at the 8th Convention, in which he summarized the problem of national self-determination, was engaged in a vivid discussion with Nikolai Bukharin, who recalled an interesting 59  Walentyna Najdus, Polacy w rewolucji 1917 roku (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1967), 208–209. 60  Ф.Э. Дзержинский – Председатель ВЧК-ОГПЫ 1917–1926, ed. Андрей Плеханов and Александр Плеханов (Москва: Международный фонд “Демократия”, 2007). 61  Konrad Zieliński, O Polska ̨ Republikę Rad. Działalność polskich komunistów w Rosji Radzieckiej 1918–1922 (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marii Curie-Skłodowskiej, 2013), 21–104. 62  Jean-François Fayet, Karl Radek (1885–1939). Biographie politique (Bern: Peter Lang, 2004). 63  Karol Radek, Rozwój socjalizmu od nauki do czynu (Wilno: Wydawnictwo “Komunista”, 1919), 14. 64  In reference to this, it is worth quoting Luxemburg’s words: “The silent premise of the theory and dictatorship in the sense of Lenin and Trotsky is that the socialist revolution is such a thing, what the revolutionary party have in his pocket as the ready recipe, which must be only vigorously realized. Unfortunately—or, relatively: fortunately, there is no such thing!” (Luksemburg, O Rewolucji, 251). Rosa Luxemburg was wrong: the theory in the Bolsheviks’ action was not—excepting verbal reality—for them practically important, which Luxemburg did not understand.

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c­ onversation: “One of the best Polish communist comrades, I once told him: ‘You do it differently.’ He answered: ‘No, we will do the same, but better than you did.’”65 The Polish activist was Julian Marchlewski, an outstanding Polish communist, closely related to Bolshevik Russia since the revolution. The above dialogue illustrates the “nationalist” approach. Their watchword, in short, was nothing except socialist revolution, no half-­measures—which would mean a deviation from the “doctrine” (but not Marxist, Luxemburgist!). The alternative was either to build “a bourgeois independence and selling ourselves to them” or a “fierce fight against it and then building socialism.”66 Tertium non datur! The Russian model did not work here, neither to tackle national issues, nor to promote agricultural or social reforms. Polish independence, beginning in November 1918, was called a “fraud,” and the prevailing opinion was that its reappearance on the European map was solely owing to the German and Russian proletariats.67 Moreover, Poland seemed ready for a revolution; the proletariat prepared to seize power to join their German, Russian and Hungarian counterparts in a grand revolt. Despite the revolutionary tide in Europe at the end of World War I, the Polish movement was rather calm. This was thanks to workers’ councils and the social reform of the government cabinets of Ignacy Daszyński and Jędrzej Moraczewski, which largely comprised socialists and members of the peasant movement.68 To put it simply, Poland did not have enough social support to fire up a revolution. The assumptions of Polish communists, working as KPRP since 1918, were from the very beginning until the end wishful thinking rather than an attentive analysis of the long-term effects of the social-political situation. They were barred from politics partly because of their own actions. Indeed, the party boycotted the elections for the Constituents in 1919 to avoid legitimizing the bourgeoisie system. Eventually delegitimized, they

 Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 38, 157.  Dokumenty i materiały do historii stosunków polsko-radzieckich, vol. I: marzec 1917–listopad 1918, ed. Natalia Ga ̨siorowska (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1957), 369–375. 67  Dokumenty i materiały do historii stosunków polsko-radzieckich, vol. II: listopad 1918– kwiecień 1920, ed. Natalia Ga ̨siorowska-Grabowska, Iwan Chrienow (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1961), 54. 68  Od Moraczewskiego do Składkowskiego. Gabinety Polski Odrodzonej 1918–1939, ed. Janusz Faryś, Adam Wa ̨tor, and Henryk Walczak (Szczecin: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Szczecińskiego, 2010), 13–27. 65 66

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faced obvious difficulties in terms of activity and had to work ­underground.69 Communists were also cut off, and any contact with their Russian and Polish counterparts in Russia was not easy. They soon realized that they were unlikely to join the Russian Revolution as anticipated. The communists therefore devised new propositions. The most ambitious and important of these was the creation of a Polish Republic of Workers’ Delegates from Cities and Villages: a sovereign state allied to the communist republic. This idea made no reference to the borders of the planned Polish country and fell on deaf ears. Moreover, a large part of the party rejected the idea, which was considered to be a heresy. According to Adolf Warski, this was the time of “explaining, revealing and teaching awareness,”70 but the party was powerless when it came to contacting the masses, this being fully revealed in the failure of revolutionary agitation in workplaces and the army. KPRP’s propaganda was lackluster, with rather modest potential.71 The party’s isolation was complete. The lack of unanimity was particularly evident in the case of perhaps the most important for Polish interwar communism, i.e. the Polish-Russian war in 1919–1920. Neither before nor after the war did the communist revolution have the chance to enter Polish lands. The problem was that it had to come from abroad. KPRP claimed that “the working class of all countries is obliged to help the laborers of other nations in their revolutionary fight,” and therefore that “the armed help of the Russian proletariat, if needed by the growing Polish revolution […] would be an embodiment of international solidarity of the revolutionary proletariat.”72 Despite these words, foreign military intervention was not approved because of the weakness of revolutionary sentiment in the current Polish situation. Moreover, the intervention was supposed to be class rather than nationally oriented. In the summer of 1920, as a result of Russia’s attack, this theoretical problem became very real. As Warski said, party executives were confused, leaving Russia to find a suitable solution since it “was not dependent on the stance of our partisan and political interests in Poland, 69  Eryk Krasucki, “Das Misstrauen – die Haupteigenschaft des Konspiranten. Der Fall der Kommunistischen Partei des Polens (1918–1938),” Jahrbuch für Historische Kommunismusforschung (2016), pp. 113–129. 70  Warski, Wybór pism, vol. 2, 212. 71  Andrzej Paczkowski, Prasa Drugiej Rzeczypospolitej 1918–1939 (Warszawa: Instytut Badań Literackich, 1972), 85–95. 72  KPP.  Uchwały i rezolucje, vol. 1: I–II Zjazd (1918–1923), ed. Tadeusz Daniszewski (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1954), 66.

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but rather on the interests of the Russian revolution and its whole-world extension.”73 In August 1920, a flyer signed by the KPRP calling for the creation of the Polish Red Army was published. Its author is unknown, but it was in opposition to Warski’s words.74 It is also known that many Polish activists voiced their reservations about the entry of Russian forces into Poland, especially Henryk Lauer in “Rothe Fahne,” Klara Zetkin,75 and Edward Próchniak, who on 15 July 1920 recalled the terms of the 1919 party convention: “Even though political and military reasons will demand the Soviet army to enter Lubelskie, any steps giving excuses to hinder Polish independence should be avoided at all cost.”76 He also noted that this statement was not taken up with enthusiasm, meaning that crossing ethnic borders would be fatal. Before this, he and his comrades had said that “particularly on the Western front it should be clear that Soviet Russia does not intend to introduce communism in Poland by force.”77 This approach was in contrast to the views of Polish communists, who wanted “swift export of the revolution” to Poland. Marchlewski was an exception, but he changed his mind after the events on the war front (Próchniak did the same). At this time, the most interesting episode in the activity of Polish communists who had come back from Russia was the creation of a short-lived 20-day Temporary Polish Revolutionary Committee (TKRP), a secret “export” version of the Polish Office of the Russian Communist Party (Bolshevikov).78 When the Committee came to Białystok, in the first days of August 1920, TKRP tried to administer the region, announcing a manifesto to the working class that proclaimed social freedom and emphasized the class, not national, character of the war. He also announced the creation of a Polish Socialist Soviet Republic in the near future. The Committee was in fact a substitute for the future 73  Dokumenty i materiały do historii stosunków polsko-radzieckich, vol. III: kwiecień 1920– marzec 1921, ed. Natalia Ga ̨siorowska-Grabowska, Iwan Chrienow (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1964), 495–500. 74  Dokumenty i materiały do historii stosunków polsko-radzieckich, vol. III, 261–263. 75  Rote Fahne, July 22, 1920, see: AAN/microfilm 30/Article by Henryk Domski, Rosja Sowiecka a pokój. Wstępniak, no page. 76  AAN/microfilm 30/Letter by Edward Próchniak to Polish Office at RKP(b), 23 July 1920, no pag. 77  Коминтерн и идея мировой революции. Документы, ed. Яков Драбкин (Москва: Наука, 1998), 174. 78  Zieliński, O Polska ̨ Republikę Rad, 133–171; Michał Klimecki, Sowietyzacja Polski w 1920 roku. Tymczasowy Rewolucyjny Komitet Polski oraz jego instytucje latem i jesienia ̨ tegoż roku (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2016).

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r­ evolutionary government that was to be revealed after the victory of the Red Army, probably soon after the conquest of Warsaw. Clearly, the Committee was not only part of the plan for a worldwide revolution, but also an element of Russian foreign affairs. Its aim was to break or to overthrow the political order of the Treaty of Versailles. Russia was excluded from that and wanted to renew former Russian spheres of influence and prestige. Lenin described the new order coming from Paris as “a treaty of predators and plunderers” and the Sovietization of Poland as “the end of all international politics.”79 In July 1920, Lenin and Soviet Russian leaders had two alternatives. The first was to accept peace and have safe borders recognized by Western superpowers (this option was finally rejected, although Georgy Chicherin warned that this would lead to disaster) or play with high stakes and go West with revolutionary mottos. The latter, more romantic, option was chosen in the light of victories on the front. On 23 July, Lenin sent a telegram to Stalin: “Comintern’s position is great. Zinoviev, Bukharin and I think that it is imperative to start the revolution in Italy. In my opinion we should sovietize Hungary, maybe the Czechs and Romania.”80 Stalin approved the idea: “we need to pull the anchor and move on as long as imperialism is still in shambles.”81 The loss in Warsaw and retreat of the Red Army meant the end of the Committee. The Sovietization of the territories failed miserably. The anticipation of revolutionary moods proved to be a mistake: not many supporters joined the cause and the Committee worked in a vacuum. It did not manage to strike a deal with KPRP, which in turn stated that the Revolutionary Committee had been created against their will and participation.82 The Committee had to fight a double-government system and the Red Army’s disrespect. It was unable to defend its lands from plunder and terror, and, last but not least, the leaders’ organizational skills were poor at best. These events took place during a difficult time of war, and in

79  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 41: maj-listopad 1920 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1988), 338. 80  The Unknown Lenin. From the Secret Archive, ed. Richard Pipes, David Brandenberger, trans. Catherine A. Fitzpatrick (New Heaven–London: Yale University Press, 1996), 90. 81  Большевистское руководство. Переписка. 1912–1927. Сборник документов, ed. Александр Квашонкин, Олег Хлевнюк, Людмила Кошелева, and Лариса Роговая (Москва: РОССПЭН, 1996), 145. 82  Adolf Warski, “Korespondencja polityczna z lat 1920–1926,” ed. Teodora Feder, Z pola walki 52, no 4 (1970), 154.

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some respects the Committee appeared comical and amateurish.83 Interestingly, in depicting their activities, leaders claimed that they had performed their roles flawlessly and sought other reasons for their own failures; for example, mistakes were made in the agricultural department, and they confiscated land without parceling it. On the other hand, they did not blame the war in Russia, which sparked national enthusiasm and unconditional patriotism. Those factors were not calculated and were deliberately ignored. Most importantly, the communists did not understand them.84 From the Bolshevik perspective, the Committee was only an episode in the Polish-Soviet war. Similarly to other previously created revolutionary republics (Ukraine and Lithuania-Belarus), the Committee was only a tool dependent on the RKP(b), without any subjectivity. Thus, the Polish Soviet Socialist Republic was an empty slogan, a strategic move by the Bolsheviks, without significant support from working-class and other societal groups in Poland. For Lenin and other leaders, this was a non-issue. Lenin did not even mention the Białystok Committee and its experiences. He and other leaders said that they overstepped their limits without the capacity to succeed. Poland was not considered a player in the world revolution, but a buffer country (between Russia and Germany, or rather between Russian and German proletariats), an element of international politics in “the center of the whole world system” (from Versailles).85 This system could not be destroyed, nor weakened. The defeat in the war against Poland and the Peace of Riga (1921) marked the end of the export of armed revolution to the West. The Soviets seemed to have shifted from an aggressive to a defensive strategy, but everyone in Moscow kept an eye on the world revolution.86 Soon, there was a pragmatic “building of socialism in one country.” The international communist movement, under Comintern’s and Moscow’s boot, became a mouthpiece of Soviet interests. In roughly 1922, a rhetorical formula was enforced, stating that “the one and only motherland of the proletariat” was Soviet Russia (USSR), 83  Russian State Archive of Socio-Political History in Moscow (Российский государственный архив социально-политической истории; then: RGASPI)/f. 68, op. 1, d. 7/Report on the activities of the Temporary Revolutionary Committee of Poland, n.d., 20–25. 84  Karol Sacewicz, Komunizm i antykomunizm w II Rzeczypospolitej. Państwo  – społeczeństwo – partie (Olsztyn: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytet Warmińsko-Mazurskiego, 2016), 17–157. 85  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 41: maj–listopad 1920, 271–272. 86  Bogdan Musiał, Na Zachód po trupie Polski (Warszawa: Prószyński i S-ka, 2009), 45–48.

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establishing a sort of Soviet patriotism. Any criticism of the actions of the country or its leaders was considered to be treason.87 This change forced Polish communists to adapt. They became weak and more and more financially dependent on Moscow, slowly losing their identity. Although they were one of the creators of the 3rd Communist International, they lost contact with it from 1921. In domestic politics, they tried to find new solutions to tackle tactics or agricultural issues.88 This gradually distanced them from Luxemburgism and shifted them towards Leninism. In the end, the radical left that protested against the betrayal of revolution was partially disbanded.89 This was not only an inner party discussion, because it was transferred to the Comintern arena. The emerging ideas were in line with what Lenin had said about defeating “the Infantile Disorder of the Left-Wing Communism,”90 in 1922. The current party leaders—Maria Koszustka, Adolf Warski and Henryk Walecki—considered the KPRP to be a sovereign party. They did not notice, however, that the Polish discussion and its solution were part of a process that can be called “Bolshevism,” as a result of which the Comintern and all its sections become more and more heterogeneous and heteronomous.91 This process recognized the primacy of Comintern within the party and its role in deciding whether party activities complied with the rules.92 The road to recognition often entailed eliminating “old comrades” with many decades of revolutionary experience and real achievements, such as Paul Levi in Germany and Alfred Rosmer in France. Sometimes those who could not 87  Jerzy Holzer, “Jedyna ojczyzna proletariatu – ZSRR: w dobrym i złym to jest mój kraj,” in Komunizm. Ideologia, system, ludzie, ed. Tomasz Szarota (Warszawa: Instytut Historii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2001), 9–16. 88  Trembicka, Między utopia ̨ a rzeczywistościa ̨, 141–169 and 195–217. 89   Maciej Zakrzewski, “Przezwyciężenie “dziecięcej choroby lewicowości” w Komunistycznej Partii Robotniczej Polski (wokół II Zjazdu KPRP w 1923 r.). Zarys problematyki z perspektywy historii doktryn politycznych,” in Komuniści w II Rzeczypospolitej. Ludzie – struktury – działalność, ed. Marcin Bukała and Mariusz Krzysztofiński (Rzeszów: Instytut Pamięci Narodowej, 2015), 207–233. 90  Włodzimierz Lenin, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 41, 1–99. 91  “Bolshevization” is not an unambiguous term, because in the Comintern nomenclature it describes the years 1924–1928. The parties, according to the organization, were supposed to “Bolshevize,” though they actually “Stalinized.” Brigitte Studer, “Stalinization: Balance Sheet of Complex Notion,” in: Bolshevism, Stalinism and the Comintern. Perspectives on Stalinization, 1917–53, ed. Norman LaPorte, Kevin Morgan, and Matthew Worley (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 45–65. 92  Hermann Weber, Die Wandlung des deutschen Kommunismus. Die Stalinisierung der KPD in der Weimarer Republik, vol. 1 (Frankfurt/M: Europäische Verlagsanstalt, 1969), 8.

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adapt to Moscow rules remained in the back rows of the party. Elements of intellectual discussion within the party were still present, giving some members the impression that not much had changed since the old days. This was supposed to transform Comintern into a Leninist “new type of party” that would spread worldwide. The continuation of this process involved “Stalinization” of the Comintern,93 which in turn subjected all other parties to Moscow by simply creating branches under Soviet control.94 In KPRP the process became visible in the years 1923–1924 with RKP(b), when the party was unceremoniously deprived of the opportunity to comment on the situation in RKP(b), in connection with depriving them of the right to defend the Trotskyist opposition and the different Bolshevik perception of what happened in Germany in connection with the unsuccessful attempt to start the revolution in the autumn of 1923.95 Polish party leaders felt humiliated during the 5th Comintern Convention as new people were assigned to the highest positions. From the very start (even in 1922), Comintern Commissions were acting as a punishment tool, something that was clearly evident. There was no longer the illusion that the party could internally solve its problems; it could only decide on minor issues. The ultimate revelation came after 1926, when Józef Piłsudski led a coup against the democratically elected government. The Comintern completely rejected the KPRP’s interpretation of the event, ordering it to adopt the Moscow/Comintern version. From this moment on, the party loyally fulfilled “central” instructions and followed any program “changes,” even those related to a “pure” revolution perspective. Nevertheless, such an approach did not prevent the party from breaking up, as ordered by Comintern in 1938, or its leadership from death.96 There was no longer any place for an autonomous interpretation of the revolution. Rosa Luxemburg was gradually discredited, though some of 93  Andreas Wirsching, “The Impact of “Bolshevization” and “Stalinization” on French and German Communism: A Comparative View,” in Bolshevism, Stalinism and the Comintern. Perspectives on Stalinization, 1917–53, ed. Norman LaPorte, Kevin Morgan, and Matthew Worley (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 89–104. 94  Boris Souvarine, Stalin. Rys historyczny bolszewizmu, trans. Artur Foryt (Kraków: Księgarnia Akademicka, 2016), 332–335. 95   “List Komitetu Centralnego KPRP do prezydium Egzekutywy MK i do Biura Politycznego CK RKP,” in “Nowy Przegla ̨d” 1924–1925 (reissue) (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1959), 238–242. 96  Tragedia Komunistycznej Partii Polski, ed. Jarema Maciszewski (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1989).

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her legacy continued to be respected. “We are her children,” Warski said during the Polish Commission at the 5th Congress of the 3rd International.97 There was never a person in the Polish communist movement, who, like Ruth Fischer, said that the ideas of the author of the Russian Revolution were something more or less like “syphilis mycobacteria,”98 though in 1931 the KPP passed a resolution “concerning the fight against Luxemburgism.”99 However, this was a consequence of Stalin’s letter to the newspaper Proletarskaja Riewolucija, in which he set the ideas of Luxembourg and Trotsky on the same level.100 In such a way, the whole tradition and the foundation of communism in Poland were eliminated. This way of describing the beginnings of Polish communism was rehabilitated, with some reservations, in a secret report by Nikita Khrushchev during the 20th Convention of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Roman Werfel, in the preface of selected works by Luxemburg, published in Poland after 1959, wrote: “Everything that she was accused of, though many charges were gradually dropped, but not all of them, not until she passed away, paled in comparison in the light of her historical legacy.”101 Although not completely historically accurate, and even falsifying the truth, it was something new, and it acknowledged the works of this activist and philosopher. At the same time, information about KPRP/KPP and their leaders once again became available. However, the history of the October Revolution and the attitude towards Polish communists was still subject, until 1989, to many myths and lies. In his autobiography Julian Brun, one of the more interesting Polish revolutionaries of the interwar period, describes his first years in the Communist Party of the Soviet Union: “Leninism was known to us only superficially.”102 Warski, at the meeting of the Polish Commission 97  Sprawa polska na V Kongresie Międzynarodówki Komunistycznej (Warszawa: Spółdzielnia Wydawnicza “Trybuna”, 1924), 33–34. 98  John Peter Nettl, Rosa Luxemburg, vol. II (London: Oxford University Press, 1966), 800. 99  “W sprawie przezwyciężenia spuścizny ideologicznej luksemburgizmu w KPP (Rezolucja KC KPP),” Nowy Przegla ̨d, no 1 (1932), 50–53. 100  “Józef Stalin o niektórych zagadnieniach historii bolszewizmu. List do redakcji czasopisma “Prolietarskaja Riewolucija,” in Józef Stalin, Dzieła, vol. 13 (Warszawa: Ksia ̨żka i Wiedza, 1951), 96–113. 101  Roman Werfel, “Róża Luksemburg. Na marginesie pierwszego polskiego wydania pism wybranych,” in Luksemburg, Wybór pism, vol. 1, LIX. 102  RGASPI/f. 495, op. 252, d. 9548/Julian Brun – Personal Files, Biography, 7 March 1938, 114–127.

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appointed by the Comintern, said: “Our party was separated from the Russian Revolution by the wall of German bayonets, and later by Polish ones.”103 This is a partial truth. Polish revolutionaries and the Russian Revolution grew out of different traditions and were fighting for different things; they were different revolutions. Finally, owing to their own weakness, lack of social support and inability to influence Polish society with their program, but also because of international reasons, they found a different solution, thus founding another “motherland.” One could express this differently: they believed in a swift revolution in the name of a “scientific” approach, which was a lie, so they used their skills and talents to serve a country that was supposed to guarantee the realization of their dreams. Consequently, almost all of them were killed, and in Poland there was a revolution in 1944–1945 that was very far from their expectations. The Lenin Museum in Kraków—mentioned at the beginning of this chapter—was closed in 1990. The only real display linked directly to Lenin were a fork and a soda bottle that Lenin had touched while eating a meal in a restaurant near Zwierzyniecka Street. There is no better way to sum it up.

 Sprawa polska na V Kongresie, 37.

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“A Successful Method”: The Chinese Reception of the Russian Revolutionary Model in the 1920s Lorenzo M. Capisani

The study of the October Revolution impact on China represents a very specific perspective on the political transformation of this country.1 The subject has been explored by a consistent tradition of historical works. The relevance of Soviet help to China has been emphasized in some cases and diminished in others, while the significance of the Russian paradigm and the Chinese ability to develop an original program have both been topics of discussion.2 This chapter focuses on the same historical interrogatives,

 I would like to thank Professor Agostino Giovagnoli and Professor Elisa Giunipero. This chapter is based on the doctoral work: Lorenzo M. Capisani, China from Empire to NationState: The Definition of a Political Space in the 1920s (2017). 2  A few examples of reference works: Tony Saich and Benjamin Yang, The Rise to Power of the Chinese Communist Party: Documents and Analysis (Armonk-London: M.E.  Sharp, 1996). Arif Dirlik, Revolution and History: The Origins of Marxist Historiography in China, 1919–1937 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978). 1

L. M. Capisani (*) Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, Milan, Italy © The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6_9

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but starts from the observation that the Bolshevik claim to be a universal model for radical parties was far from being an issue only in China.3 The Russian Revolution seemingly showed resemblance to the insurrections that took place in the nineteenth century, but unlike its antecedents, it went as far as to introduce the concept of a world revolution.4 This particular consideration is at the heart of this chapter. After 1917, Bolshevik efforts were indeed directed to the international context, and fostered the hope that the “liberation” of Russia would trigger insurgencies in the industrialized countries of Europe.5 However, this policy changed after the Brest-Litovsk Peace Treaty, and Moscow avoided frontal attacks in favor of a more realistic approach.6 The Bolsheviks indeed aimed their efforts at exploiting the alleged contradictions of capitalism. Following the foundation of the Third International (Comintern), Soviet Russia upheld a stance influenced by its national and international interests, being halfway between an international front and an emerging power. Not by chance, the first consequence of Moscow’s supremacy in the Comintern was the imposition of the Bolshevik model on socialist forces across the world.

The Reasons for Choosing Asia It seems only natural, from a Marxist-Leninist perspective, that the Comintern initially focused on the most developed part of Europe. Only when the revolution in this continent failed to materialize did Lenin and 3  This was the case in Italy, where a socialist party had been active since 1892. After World War I, the missed opportunity for a revolution, following an escalation of social conflicts, caused criticisms of the main party leaders, even though they were maximalist and the reformists were in a minority. The Italian Communist Party was founded at the Congress of Livorno (1921) by a smaller separatist group, in accordance with the twenty-one conditions set by Lenin at the Second Congress of Comintern. See: Paolo Spriano, Storia del Partito Comunista Italiano, Vol. 1 (Torino: Einaudi, 1967), 31–48. 4  Jurgen Osterhammel, The Transformation of the World. A Global History of the Nineteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 514–571. 5  Serge Wolikow, L’Internazionale comunista. Il sogno infranto del partito mondiale della rivoluzione (1919–43) (Roma: Carocci, 2016), 25–126. Andrea Graziosi, L’Urss di Lenin e Stalin. Storia dell’Unione Sovietica 1914–1945 (Bologna: Mulino, 2007), 89–252. Edward H. Carr, The Russian Revolution. From Lenin to Stalin (New York: Free Press, Macmillan, 1979). 6  Silvio Pons, The Global Revolution. A History of International Communism, 1917–1991 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 7–65.

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his comrades turn their attention to colonial Asia.7 They still intended to exploit the supposed ambiguities of the Western socioeconomic system, but aimed to fulfill their plan by damaging the peripheral branches of imperialism. This move was hardly novel, as Karl Marx had already speculated about a connection between crises in China and crises in European countries.8 However, the German economist had nineteenth-century revolutions in mind, and these were mostly carried out by internal forces. In contrast, Comintern envisioned internationally connected insurrections to be coordinated from above. This problem was central, as the Bolsheviks in Asia dealt with countries that lacked a tradition of labor movements structured along the lines of European unions. The Second Congress of Comintern, held in 1920, addressed this issue with a special commission headed by Lenin on the “national question.”9 The majority line was based on Hank Sneevliet’s experience. This Dutch socialist, also known as Maring, had successfully organized the forerunner of the Indonesian Communist Party.10 Maring believed that nationalist movements in colonized countries were centered on the question of independence and lacked more sophisticated foundations. These organizations could thus be “inoculated” with socialist ideas, leveraging the desires of colonized people to achieve purposes that were more radical. On the other hand, the minority line was discussed by Manabendra Nath Roy. This Indian activist agreed on the need to fight for national independence, but required the drawing of a clear line between communist and nationalist forces, the latter being the expression of the bourgeoisie and having a different ideology. Seen from a non-Marxist point of view, the 7  Michael Weiner, ‘Comintern in East Asia, 1919–39’, in Kevin McDermott and Jeremy Agnew, The Comintern. A History of International Communism from Lenin to Stalin (Basingstoke, London: Macmillan, 1996), 158–190. 8  Eleven years after the First Opium War, Karl Marx analyzed the impact of foreign economic activity on the Chinese economy. Because the Asian country tended to lose hard currency in silver, he argued that its capability of absorbing the commodities of European factories was going to end. Therefore, Marx argued that a crisis of prices in the East and the subsequent crisis in European exports could turn into a spark for revolutions in the West. Cf. Dispatches for the New York Tribune: Selected Journalism of Karl Marx (London: Penguin Books, 2007), pp. 3–10. 9  Second Congress of the Communist International. Minutes of the Proceedings (London: New Park Publications, 1977), 109–183. 10  Tony Saich, The Origins of the First United Front in China. The role of Sneevliet (Alias Maring) (Leiden: Brill, 1991), pp.  1–198. Michael Williams, ‘Sneevliet and the Birth of Asian Communism’, New Left Review, Vol. 123 (1980): 81–90.

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fact that Maring’s position prevailed showed that Comintern disregarded the revolutionary traditions that already existed in the colonies. Several historical narratives on the exportation of the Bolshevik model to China start with the foundation of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) (共产党).11 Certainly, this was a new political subject, and from the beginning was committed to form mass movements. Therefore, it may seem natural that historical analyses should center on the relations between Comintern and Chinese communist forces. However, Moscow had a second interlocutor in the Chinese Nationalist Party (GMD) (国民党). As mentioned already, this situation developed because of the inoculation strategy of the Second Congress. The nationalists could be accounted for being a major interlocutor from some points of view, as they had a longer history and were well rooted in society. For these reasons, this chapter focuses on the entanglements between GMD policy and Comintern policy in the Far East.12 The Chinese nationalist movement began as a revolutionary organization, set up in Japan on August 1905 under the name of United League ( 同盟会). Six years later, it succeeded in overthrowing the monarchy and the Qing dynasty. Only at this point did the nationalists found a proper political party to participate in the upcoming elections.13 They ultimately won the voting competition, but the later coup by Provisional President Yuan Shikai and the failure of the “second revolution” against him ended with the ousting of the GMD from power. These events exposed the weakness of the nationalists’ first party configuration. The establishment of a new political entity, the Chinese Revolutionary Party (CRP) (革命党),

11  Simplified Chinese characters and the Pinyin romanization have been preferred where different transliterations are not commonly used. The Chinese texts have been translated by the author, where English translations are not already available. The chosen acronyms are those most commonly used in other sources. 12  The examination of the CCP’s early history and its relationship with Comintern would require a separate work. For this reason, this chapter mostly refers to secondary sources on communist-related topics. 13  Marianne Bastid-Bruguière, ‘La crisi delle istituzioni imperiali e l’esperienza repubblicana’, in M. Scarpari and G. Samarani, La Cina, Vol. 3 (Torino: Einaudi, 2009), pp. 50–79. Guido Samarani, La Cina del Novecento. Dalla fine dell’Impero a oggi (Torino: Einaudi, 2008), 65–92. Jonathan D.  Spence, The Search for Modern China (New York, London: W. W. Norton & Company, 1990), 300–402. C. Martin Wilbur, ‘The Nationalist Revolution in China, 1923–1928’, in Denis Twitchett and John K.  Fairbank (ed.), The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 12 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 527–720.

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originated from the need to strengthen organization and hierarchy.14 The CRP statute was oriented to tighten the relations between members and party in several ways, solving the problem of loyalty, for example, by asking for an oath of allegiance. Nonetheless, the experience of the CRP was unsuccessful. Five years later, just a few months after the May Fourth Movement, the Chinese Nationalist Party (国民党) was founded again.15 This move was a return to a more open structure with a less secretive stance, but it can hardly be considered a complete throwback. In fact, the new Nationalist Party maintained some commonalities with the CRP and, for example, its agenda continued to be disconnected from electoral legitimization. Instead, it aimed at a broader revolutionary stance, and pursued a period of “political tutelage” as a way in which to consolidate revolutionary conquests after the insurgency. Only at a later stage was the Republic supposed to enter a genuinely democratic period under constitutional law. It may be inferred that when Maring managed to meet the nationalists’ leader, Sun Yat-sen, the Chinese nationalists were already searching for a new party organization. Maring reached China in 1921 and helped to prepare the First Congress of the CCP. He was the second Comintern envoy to China, but was seemingly the first to have significant talks with Sun. The Chinese leader described the nationalist movement as based on “purely nationalistic” propaganda and fighting to set up a strong government.16 Therefore, the purpose of the Nationalist Party was limited to “revolutionary tasks.” Sun was probably referring to the first stage of the revolutionary process, which according to his writings concerned the military takeover and came before the tutelage period. Nonetheless, Maring had a different understanding of the situation. He seemed to interpret Sun’s assertions as confirmation that the Second Congress line was right. Indeed, the Chinese nationalists at that time seemed to lack a definite agenda and a long-term perspective.17 14  General regulations of the Chinese Revolutionary Party [中华革命党总章], 08.07.1914, in Complete Works of Sun Yat-sen [孙中山全集], Vol. 3 (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju Chuban, 1984), 97–102. 15  Public notice and statute of the Chinese Nationalist Party [中国国民党通告及规约], 10.10.1919, in Complete Works of Sun Yat-sen, Vol. 5 (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju Chuban, 1985), 127–131. 16  The Chinese Reconstruction and the Relations to Russia (D.4), 10.01.1922, in Saich, The Origins of the First United Front in China, 229–231. 17  Even a historian such as John K. Fairbank has stated that, before 1923, Sun’s theories could hardly be considered a coherent ideology; see: John K. Fairbank and Merle Goldman, China. A New History (Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 2006), 285.

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When Sun had talks with Maring, the Chinese leader made significant mention of the International Conference on Naval Limitation (also known as the Washington Conference). In 1921–1922, this initiative of the United States (USA) attempted to tackle China’s problematic situation in order to stabilize the situation in East Asia.18 The strategy strengthened the central government of Beijing, which was under the control of the so-­called Zhili warlords. As a result, Washington alienated the nationalists, considering them a marginal force.19 Sun criticized the USA for these reasons, but still defended the idea that the Chinese revolution was a question of “direct international importance.” The GMD leader looked as if he was representing the interests of China, considering Russia to be a sort of partner. The Bolshevik support for the Chinese revolution therefore seemed to be intended as a sort of bilateral cooperation on equal terms. When Sun and the Soviet plenipotentiary Adolph Joffe signed a joint statement on January 1923, the text dealt with potential frictions between the Soviet Union (USSR) and China as states.20 The document addressed issues such as Mongolia and the Chinese Eastern Railways. Sun even managed to add the following statement: “the communist organization, as well as the Soviet system, cannot really be introduced into China, because China does not have the conditions that made the Communist organization and the Soviet system have success.”21 Unmistakably, the inoculation of socialism had already triggered a defensive reaction. On the other hand, Sun’s negative opinion of the Washington Conference conveyed the impression that he was disenchanted with the West, partly because of the interference of the Treaty Powers and partly because the constitutional process had failed to secure the stability of the Chinese republic.

18  Treaty series n. 723, 06.02.1922, in Foreign Relations of the United States, 1922, vol. 1 (Washington: United States Government Printing Office, 1938), 276–281. 19  Brian T.  George, ‘The State Department and Sun Yat-sen: American Policy and the Revolutionary Disintegration of China, 1920–1924’, Pacific Historical Review, Vol. 46 (3), 1977: 387–408. 20  Joint declaration of Sun Yat-sen and Joffe [孙中山与越飞联合宣言], 26.01.1923, in Reference Materials on CCP History [中共党史参考资料], Vol. 2 (Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe, 1979), 553. 21  Ibid.

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The First Congress of the Nationalist Party Scholars have described the alliance between the Chinese Nationalist Party and Soviet Russia as a “marriage of convenience.”22 Certainly, Sun forged other opportunistic bonds before 1923. For example, he reached an agreement with the German empire during World War I, raising financial support but then withdrawing from the pact before the end of the conflict.23 The collaboration with the USSR, however, directly affected the nationalist movement, as the first congress in the history of the nationalists (January 20–30, 1924) confirmed.24 It was the first time that the party was reorganized, with a common effort being made to this end. Six delegates per province joined the conference: three were chosen by local representatives and the other three by Sun. The leader had a major role as chair, but his functions were shared by a presidium consisting of eminent figures, such as Wang Jingwei and Hu Hanmin, and by the well-known communist intellectual Li Dazhao. When Sun Yat-sen gave the opening speech, he was an old leader with twenty years of experience. Although all his revolutionary projects failed, he never abandoned the aspiration to build a strong and self-determining state in China. Sun started his speech with a reference to the Double Ten festivity (双十节), celebrating the day that triggered the 1911 revolution.25 Recalling past failures, the leader blamed unsound relations with the army and with the old bureaucracy that, in his opinion, was still compromised by the Qing emperors after the revolution. In the past, the “party of the revolution” has overthrown the Manchu dynasty of the Qing,26 but once the big emperor of the Manchu had been overthrown […] this gave birth to a multitude of small emperors [Yuan  Fairbank, Goldman, China, 281.  Marie-Claire Bergère, Sun Yat-sen (Paris: Fayard, 1994), 309. 24  SHAC (Second Historical Archives of China, Nanjing), Historical materials on the meetings of the GMD First and Second National Congresses [中国国民党第一、二全国代表大会会 议史料] (Beijing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1986), 3–105. 25  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 4–7. 26  The term used for “the part of the revolution” is gemindang [革命党], which literally means “revolutionary party.” It can refer to the organization that replaced the old Nationalist Party, but that substitution occurred only in 1914. In this case, Sun was probably referring to the wider coalition of forces that made the fall of the Empire and the birth of the Republic possible. It is interesting that he accentuated the revolutionary nature of the early Nationalist Party, notwithstanding its electoral goals. 22 23

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Shikai and the warlords]. These small emperors are despotic as before and, in comparison with the big emperors, they are even more brutal and tyrannical. Therefore, China today cannot still resemble England or the US in being ruled by a political party.27

In Sun’s mind, the Bolshevik accomplishments in 1917 meant that, in general, revolutionary ideas could actually generate a state on new radical premises. He also described the 1911 insurrection as initially positive: the nationalists apparently had the strength to rise up, but they failed to stabilize the state after taking power.28 In retracing the history of his political movement, Sun selected the elements that, according to him, jeopardized the situation in 1912–1913. Six years after the Chinese Revolution (of 1911), only Russia had a revolution. The Russian revolutionary party [俄国革命党] not only overthrew the imperialism of the world’s biggest authoritarianism, but it also continues to address the world’s economic and political issues.29 This kind of revolution (the Russian one) has really been a complete success, and this was because its method is good.30

Even though the concept of “method” merely points to techniques, the actual keyword for the Chinese revolutionary was “success.” At a time of radical reassessment of the nationalists’ worldview, their leader embraced a pragmatic approach: he looked for a working case of an underdeveloped country that had gone through a revolution without failing. Russia was the result of this search for a “successful method.” The Chinese communists contributed to the nationalists’ reorganization, acquiring a double membership in the CCP and the GMD.31 With  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 5.  Recent studies have disputed this interpretation, stating that the 1911 revolution was rather incidental. Some authors argued that the foundations of modern China laid in the reforms called the New Policies, launched by the Dowager Empress Cixi during the late imperial period, immediately after the Boxer Uprising. See: Joseph W. Esherick and C. X. George Wei (ed.), China: How The Empire Fell? (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014). 29  The term for the Russian revolutionary party, Eguo gemindang, referred to the CPSU. As we have seen, the word gemindang was used shortly before to refer to the forces that led to the 1911 revolution. Sun established a parallel between Russian and Chinese revolutions for their alleged similarities. 30  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 10. 31  For example, refer to: Hans J. Van De Ven, From Friend to Comrade: The Founding of the Chinese Communist Party, 1920–1927 (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991). 27 28

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certainty, the agenda of the Chinese communists during this period cannot be reduced to the cooperation with the nationalists, but it should be remembered that, according to the provisions of Comintern, a group of CCP members was instructed to form a bloc within the Nationalist Party. They acted inside the ranks of the nationalist organization, modernizing its strategies and simultaneously spreading communist ideas.32 They eventually ended up in key positions. In general, the CCP members aimed to organize workers’ unions, and they were ready to do so by leveraging the existing social connections of the nationalists. The First Congress of the Communist Party, indeed, took place in industrially developed Shanghai, and it had the establishment of workers’ unions as its first goal.33 The CCP was directed to push the members of the Nationalist Party towards positions that were more radical in order to separate its two alleged souls: the truly revolutionary one and the bourgeois one.34 Communist leaders had doubts about such a strategy. For instance, the Secretary-General, Chen Duxiu, stated several times that the discussions with nationalists were leading nowhere. Despite reservations, Chen and the others complied in the end. When Li Dazhao addressed the First Congress of the GMD, he supported the alliance once again and remarked that mere collaboration was insufficient35; only strong “teamwork” (队伍) would be effective. Li also defended the association between CCP and Comintern, as the idea of an “international organization” (国际的组织) apparently alerted the nationalists, who feared foreign interference. Li stressed that Comintern was an international front of the oppressed people, and this would amplify—not diminish—GMD claims. The strongest advocate for this “marriage” was the new Comintern agent in South China, Mikhail Gruzenberg.36 This Belarus communist, 32  Marianne Bastid-Bruguière, ‘Patterns of Propaganda Organization in the NationalRevolutionary Movement in China’, in Mechthild Leutner, Roland Felber, Mikhail Titarenko and Alexander Grigoriev (ed.), The Chinese Revolution in the 1920s: Between Triumph and Disaster (London, New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002), 1–23. 33  Elizabeth J. Perry, Shanghai on Strike: The Politics of Chinese Labor (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), 69–87. 34  On the contrary, the Nationalist Party hesitated to take a strong left-wing stance on social issues, as its leaders feared losing their main and richer supporters. See: Spence, The Search for Modern China, 342. 35  Closing words [闭会词], 30.01.1924, in SHAC, Collection of materials from the Chinese Republican archives [中华民国史档案资料汇编], Vol. 4 (Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1986), 234–236. 36  A thorough and updated biography of this interesting Comintern agent, who was active in the USA and Mexico, besides China, is still unavailable. See: Lydia Holubnychy, Michael

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also known as Borodin, was the main interlocutor representing Comintern. It must be said that in his speeches Sun mostly referred to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) or the USSR itself. The Chinese leader was making it clear that the most relevant partner was Moscow, not the CCP. In addition, Borodin quickly became one of Sun Yat-Sen’s personal advisors, and his influence on the leader’s decisions seemed to be noteworthy. Rumblings of dissent rose from many GMD members at congress. Many felt uncomfortable that a newborn party—the CCP—would be joining an already well-established one—the GMD. An emergent personality since 1919, Liao Zhongkai supported the communists by stressing that the nationalists needed to avoid quibbling distinctions and accept everyone who had revolutionary goals.37 Sun also played a primary role in persuading distrustful militants. Yet every time the debate turned to theoretical discussions, he emphasized the differences between China and Russia. For example, he openly criticized communism during lessons about the latest formulation of the Three Principles of the People, his most famous body of theories.38 Borodin reacted immediately and cautioned his ally. During the congress, Sun went as far as to argue that “the Russian insurrection of six years ago, without doubt, was a nationalist insurrection” and “the same initial Soviet communism finally corresponded to nationalism.”39 These statements revealed that interest in the Russian revolutionary model could go hand in hand with a sense of superiority about Chinese moral values. The adjective “Russian” was used much more frequently by Sun than “Bolshevik” or “communist.” In general, he repudiated the universality of Marxist theories. Instead, he stressed the geographical determination of the general struggle against autocracy: Russia freed itself from czarists, while China needed to defeat the innumerable “small emperors.” In January 1924, Lenin passed away after a long illness. As soon as the news arrived in Canton, Sun and Borodin organized a commemoration and sent a telegram of condolence to Moscow in the name of the conBorodin and the Chinese revolution 1923–1925 (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International, 1979). 37  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 53–54. 38  Bergère, Sun Yat-sen, 436. 39  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 14–15.

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gress. The Comintern agent delivered a speech recalling Lenin’s key role in leading the Bolsheviks to victory.40 Moreover, he highlighted Lenin’s efforts to build the Comintern and expand the revolutionary fight worldwide in favor of all oppressed peoples. By leveraging the Bolshevik leader to gain sympathy, Borodin equated CPSU and GMD as part of the global front against the Treaty Powers. For his part, Sun praised the Russian leader as “a successful revolutionary, a wise man,” and “a model revolutionary.”41 Curiously, the Chinese leader found another opportunity to recount his personal history. He remembered the 1910s and the frequent changes made to the nationalists’ political line in the effort to build a strong party. He complained about the reluctance of younger militants. Lenin, in contrast, managed to overcome similar problems in Russia by playing down the internal dissension provoked by the Mensheviks. Sun admired Lenin for this reason. However, the Chinese leader refrained from admitting that the Bolsheviks were in any way superior. Even while acknowledging his past failures, he considered himself to be on the same level as his lofty Russian counterpart. Sun saw his status as great theorist of the Chinese revolution, in no way inferior to Lenin and the October Revolution. When he renewed the impulse to “imitate the spirit” of the Russian model, he also specified that it should not be “completely” imitated.42 The GMD reorganization has been subject to a great variety of historical opinions. According to some scholars, it was a merely technical matter. For example, William Kirby has labeled the Nationalist Party in 1924 as a “Leninist party.” He argues that the typical organization of party states was directly adopted by nationalists as a way to dominate society.43 Indeed, the First Congress approved the reformation of party structures. New general headquarters were set up in Canton with a secretariat and nine departments. An Executive Committee (执行委员会) and a Supervisory Committee (察委委员会) were formed to make collective decisions. A Standing Committee (常务委员会) addressed daily affairs, while Sun was confirmed as president of the party (总理). Nonetheless, Hans Van De Ven has focused on the debates and protests that followed the alliance  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 47–49.  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 45–47. 42  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 46. 43  William C. Kirby, ‘The Nationalist Regime and the Chinese Party-State’, in Historical Perspectives on Contemporary East Asia (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 211–216. 40 41

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with the communists.44 He stresses the mitigating action of nationalist veterans in opposing the Comintern influence. Subsequently, the GMD– CCP–Moscow triangular relationship appeared as a permanent state of conflict between two different tendencies inside the Chinese revolutionary field. These dynamics produced good results in the mid-term, but they apparently turned out to be the reason for the later breakdown. However, Chinese reception of the Bolshevik model emerges in the present historical reconstruction as a more multifaceted phenomenon than the concept of “tension” suggests. A certain revolutionary tradition existed in China, notwithstanding Maring’s considerations. Although the contents of this tradition may be discussed, the ensemble of nationalists’ experiences was enough to filter the Bolsheviks’ strong influence, not only at the ideological level but also at the strategic one. The comparison with Russian experiences involved reevaluating precise aspects of the nationalists’ experience. Through such expedients as his personal recollections, Sun indicated a selection of what needed to be changed, while other aspects were destined to remain untouched. From this point of view, the influence of the October Revolution affected the GMD agenda and the First Congress resulted in something more than a technical reorganization. Although it was meant to be the opposite, it paved the way to the transformation of the nationalists’ initiative in its eminent political aspects.

Strategic Changes of Agenda The manifesto of the First Congress was the final document to be approved by the assembly.45 It confirmed that the Three Principles were the official doctrine, but a clear-cut vision of China’s problems was delivered as well. The weaknesses of the old GMD policy were emphasized—namely, blind faith in the constitutional process, the provinces’ right to have independent self-government and the possibility of peace talks on equal terms with the northern government. These issues were meant to be solved in the near future. The idea of a strong central government emerged as an answer to the past difficulties of enforcing hierarchy and obedience. In his lessons on the new Three Principles, Sun described a path to democracy that differed 44  Hans J. Van De Ven, War and Nationalism in China 1925–1945 (London, New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), 79–83. 45  SHAC, Historical materials on the meetings…, 80–90.

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from the one of 1905–1912.46 He lacked faith in Western mechanisms, such as elections, and sought a prolonged single-party rule during the tutelage.47 This period was formally provisional, but it had an unspecified term. During this period, the citizens would not enjoy all their rights: they would be “educated” to democracy first. Sun rejected federalist ideas because he believed they would aggravate China’s fragmentation into areas controlled by warlords. Hence, the need to control the territory overlapped with the right of the provinces to self-government, generating a top-down approach to the problem of state administration and its interaction with the central government. Similarly, relations with the armed forces, which had strategic importance in the reunification of the country, changed. The first point was to avoid external support from local militias, which were often more similar to bandits than freedom fighters.48 The challenge of binding soldiers to the Nationalist Party led to the project of a popular and ideologically committed army, which relied on the masses and left out mercenaries or uncontrollable allies. The memory of Chen Jiongming, a supporter of the nationalist cause with federalist orientations who had taken a stand against Sun in 1922, was still vivid.49 Another change of course regarded foreign policy. After World War I, a sort of distrust of the West seemed to stimulate the view of a post-war world divided into oppressing and oppressed countries. This perspective echoed Lenin’s speeches at the Comintern Second Congress.50 The Nationalist Party advocated a rigid respect of sovereign authority and tended to ban any economic or political ­ ­entanglement. GMD foreign policy put under strict supervision not only the political aspects of interstate relations but also the commercial ones. The transformation in foreign policy seems noteworthy, as it presupposes a radical change of the nationalists’ worldview. It shows that the 46  Audrey Walls, The Political Thought of Sun Yat-sen: Development and Impact (New York: Palgrave, 2001), 61–101. Bergère, Sun Yat-sen, 400–450. 47  See also: G. Samarani, La Cina e il mondo e la Cina nel mondo. L’epoca repubblicana, in La Cina, Vol. 3, 226–227. 48  [Soviet agents’ report] The National Revolutionary Army: Short History of its Origin, Development, and Organization, 1926, in C.  Martin Wilbur and Julie Lien-ying How, Missionaries of Revolution: Soviet Advisers and Nationalist China, 1920–1927 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), 479–485. 49  See: Leslie H. Dinyang Chen, Chen Jiongming and the Federalist Movement: Regional Leadership and Nation Building in Early Republican China (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999). 50  Second Congress of the Communist International, 109–114.

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1924 reorganization affected the party structure as well as its political foundations. The ideological orientation may well have resisted the Marxist-Leninist influence, but the necessary conditions for its action— the contextualization of the Chinese revolution in the national and international panoramas—had changed. Besides, the party platform was reassessed, and it was allowed to take collective decisions. The idea of shared guidance of the party promised to deepen the process of political transformation. In the meantime, Comintern was intensifying its efforts towards Bolshevization with the Fifth Congress in June–July 1924. The primacy of the Russian model became unquestionable. Yet the Third International lacked a uniform policy line. The working out of the directives became progressively interwoven with the struggles inside CPSU after Lenin’s death. In this period, the troika composed by Zinoviev, Kamenev and Stalin aimed to strike Trotsky by conveying a new faith in the imminence of world revolution. Consequently, the Fifth Congress confirmed the provisions of the Second Congress on the “national question.”51 Activists such as Roy continued to criticize the unconditional support of the nationalist bourgeoisie, but the case of the Chinese Nationalist Party, with its alleged shift to the left, was often assumed to be proof in favor of the majority line. It was a perfect situation for the Chinese nationalist movement, and with Soviet assistance it was able to flourish. A military academy to train officials, the School for Land Forces (陆军军官学校), was set up in Whampoa (Huangpu) near Canton. In-field and ideological training were provided with the assistance of Soviet advisors. The cadets from Whampoa would be culturally prepared and aware of the significance of their actions. They not only had to be trained, but they also had to “behave.”52 Meanwhile, the pro-communist Liao Zhongkai gained greater relevance inside the GMD and the southern government in Canton. He tried to reorganize rural associations and militias in the countryside, workers in

51  Extracts from a Manifesto to The Peoples of The East Issued by The Fifth Comintern Congress, 07.1924, in Jane Degras (ed.), The Communist International: 1919–1943: Documents, Vol. 2 (London: Oxford University Press, 1956), 156–159. 52  Speech at the opening ceremony of the Whampoa Academy [在陆军军官学校开学典礼的演 说], 16 June 1924, in Complete Works of Sun Yat-sen, Vol. 10 (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju Chuban, 1986), 290–300.

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the cities and students all across the country.53 The latter group, in particular, had been very influential since the May Fourth Movement. The Nationalist Party helped them financially if they showed adherence to Sun’s principles.54 In general, the nationalists sought control of civil and professional associations, as evident in the case of merchants, who worried about the alliance of GMD with the antibourgeois communists.55 As a result, the strategies envisioned during the First Congress deeply transformed the relations of the nationalist movement with social groups. Nonetheless, the modernization of the Nationalist Party was far from being a uniform process. A good example of this was the discussion on national reunification. A military campaign towards the north, the so-­ called Northern Expedition (北伐战争), had always been considered the best tactic to bring the country together province by province. In the 1920s, this still had many supporters among the nationalists, but it was considered disastrous by Borodin. He often approached Sun Yat-sen with the idea of a general strike (总罢工), which would entail simultaneous popular insurrections in the main cities. In reality, the mass organizations would be controlled by CCP members, allowing the Communist Party to take control afterwards. Comintern tried to involve the southern government of China, which was controlled by the Nationalist Party, in global initiatives against imperialism. This included the Hands-Off-China Society, whose promoters used every occasion to exacerbate tensions between China and the Treaty Powers, especially England.56 Nonetheless, Sun still preferred the idea of military conquest. In the fall of 1924, he tried to exploit one of the frequent warlord crises that devastated China. The war ended the Zhili-faction dominance over Beijing and saw the participation of the National Revolutionary Army, the nationalists’ troops headed by the first officials who graduated from Whampoa Academy. However, the GMD forces failed to go beyond the 53  Regulations for the farmers’ associations [农民协会章程], 24.06.1924, in SHAC, Collection of materials from the Chinese Republican archives, Vol. 4, 453–463. 54  GMD Archives (Historical Archives of the Chinese Nationalist Party, Taipei), Hankou dang’an, 7172, Letter of the National Student Union central body to Liao Zhongkai [全国学 生联合会总会致廖仲恺函], 5 April 1924. 55  Xu Xiaoqun, Chinese Professionals and the Republican State. The Rise of Professional Associations in Shanghai, 1912–1937 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 1–19 and 83–106. 56  ECCI manifesto on China, 4 September 1924, in Jane Degras (ed.), The Communist International, vol. 2, 169–170.

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territory that was already under their control. At this juncture, Sun revised the nationalists’ agenda once more. Delivering a speech to Whampoa Academy, which had been established to avoid external support, the Chinese leader declared for a stunning alliance with the warlords who had survived the conflict.57 This move was puzzling, if compared with Sun’s declarations at the First Congress. The northern trip to negotiate with the warlords yielded poor results. In addition, Sun was diagnosed with cancer while in Beijing. He died within a few months on March 12, 1925, leaving the Nationalist Party without a leader and a clear strategy.58 The alliance between the GMD and CCP carried on, even under these circumstances. Comintern and the communists took their chances. In an article in Pravda, Stalin commemorated Sun as the “organizer of the national liberation struggle of the workers and peasants of China.”59 Zinoviev wrote a telegram to the Nationalist Party in which he made no references to Sun’s trip to the north, but highlighted the good results of the coalition with the Third International.60 The May Thirtieth Movement in 1925 attempted to go a further step down this road, organizing a national strike that resembled the May Fourth Movement. The killing of Gu Zhenghong, a young worker and trade unionist involved in a Luddite action, led to a surge of protests in Shanghai, fomented by the labor unions and the Communist Youth League.61 These organizations had been unceasingly arranging strikes since February. The 57  Farewell speech at the Whampoa Academy [在黄埔军官学校的告别演说], 3 November 1924, in Complete Works of Sun Yat-sen, Vol. 11 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju chuban, 1986), 264–273. 58  Even during the terminal stage of Sun’s cancer, an intense debate started on the future of the Chinese revolution. See: GMD Archives, Hankou dang’an, 17849.8 [Press articles on the GMD future plans], 02.04.1925. In these articles, there were already references to the “left wing” and “right wing” of the GMD, along with positions such as “pro-communist” members and “anticommunist.” 59  The Central Committee of the RCP(B) to the Central Executive Committee of the Kuomintang, 13 March 1925, in Joseph Stalin, Works, Vol. 7 (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1954), 50. 60  Telegram from Zinoviev to the Kuomintang on the death of Sun Yat-sen, 14 March 1925, in Jane Degras (ed.), The Communist International, vol. 2, 182–183. 61  Richard W.  Rigby, The May 30 Movement: Events and Themes (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1980). Nicholas R. Clifford, Shanghai, 1925: Urban Nationalism and The Defense of Foreign Privilege (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1979). See also: Sofia Graziani, Il Partito e i giovani. Storia della Lega Comunista Giovanile in Cina (Venezia: Cafoscarina, 2013), 9–32.

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crowded protest rally on May 30 entered the International Settlement and assembled in front of the main institutions of the Concession. The situation escalated, with some people being wounded and others being killed. Only then did CCP and GMD intervene. Separately they tried to turn the protests into an organized movement, linking the incident to the more general situation of China, which was defined as being stirred up by foreign powers and oppressed by speculators who were imposing merciless work conditions.62 The demands of the movement acquired a broader dimension. They included workers’ requests as well as a refusal of imperialism, the abolition of unequal treaties and the blame on compatriots who served antinational interests.63 The death of Gu became a matter of interest for Chinese at home and abroad. Political parties took a proactive role, mediating between the particular situation in Shanghai and that of the whole country. In particular, the CCP grew rapidly and extensively, as did the League and the unions. Despite the movement’s modest results, it lasted several months, and the strikes in Hong Kong continued until June 1926, showing the potential of mass organizations. The news of this turmoil reverberated not only in China but also in the USSR. In April, Stalin’s theory of “Socialism in one country” was approved, suggesting that capitalism had changed and was not destined to fall soon. When the May Thirtieth Movement started, the Chinese revolution seemed instead to be confirmation that the world revolution might have another chance.64 A new university, dedicated to the memory of Sun Yat-sen, was opened for the occasion in Moscow. Its president Karl Radek, a former director of Comintern, gave visibility to the academic debate on the Asiatic mode of production, Marx’s unfinished study of archaic economy. Scholars argued that China was in a pre-capitalist phase—not a capitalist one, as had been supposed until that moment—and therefore it was impossible for the country to evolve directly into socialism. This 62  GMD Archives, Hankou dang’an, 6344, Letter from the Executive Committee to all the schools [中执会通致各学校函], 1 June 1925. 63  CCP addresses the nation to revolt against the wild and ruthless massacre of the imperialism [中共中央为反抗帝国主义野蛮残暴的大屠杀告全国民众], 5 June 1925, in Shanghai Archives (Municipal Archives of Shanghai), The May 30th Movement [五卅运动] (Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe, 1991), 25–36. 64  Compare with: Bruce A.  Elleman, Moscow and the Emergence of Communist Power in China, 1925–30. The Nanchang Rising and Birth of the Red Army (Abingdon: Routledge, 2009), 8–36.

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implied that supporting GMD was meaningless and the Chinese communists had to begin to act autonomously. In addition, Stalin and Bucharin appeared guilty of having jeopardized the situation in the Far East by restraining the communists. The Chinese question acquired internal relevance for the CPSU, as it became instrumental to the opposition to Stalin. At the same time, divergences within the Nationalist Party were increasing, and, in particular, anticommunist sentiments were coming to the surface. For instance, a nationalist leader such as Hu Hanmin, who had previously supported cooperation with the communists and the May Thirtieth Movement, expressed the idea that underdeveloped countries “could [make the revolution] without Communism.”65 He even worked on a new global front of oppressed peoples, led by nationalist China. In emphasizing the differences between Russia and China, Hu clearly advocated the legacy of Sun Yat-sen. Sometimes, anticommunist feelings resulted in violent actions. Liao Zhongkai, who supported the alliance with CCP and actively participated in the May Thirtieth Movement, was assassinated in August by hired killers at the end of a party reunion. The situation deteriorated even more in November. Some GMD members held an unauthorized conference on the Western Hills of Beijing and, without legitimacy, decreed that the communists should be expelled from the Nationalist Party. The Second Congress of the Nationalist Party (January 4–19, 1926) ruled to punish the defectors and planned to persevere along the road of general strikes and popular uprisings.66 However, the tide was turning. The idea of a military expedition regained strength, as became evident with the summoning of the Whampoa First Commander, Chiang Kai-shek, to the Second Congress.

The Significance of China in Stalin’s Russia In 1926, the situation was uncertain for all the factions inside the Nationalist Party. As we have seen, the resistance to communist ideas only partially affected the Comintern strategy; old problems seemingly contributed to the chaos inside the nationalist movement. The most ­ ­evident of these issues involved decision-making, which also concerned  Declaration of Hu Hanmin to refute the slanders on communism [胡汉民辟共产谣诼宣 言], 04.06.1925, in SHAC, Collection of materials from the Chinese Republican archives, Vol. 4, 256–259. 66  Historical materials on the meetings…, 142–460. The national congresses should have been annual, but the concurrence of Sun Yat-sen’s terminal cancer and the internal disputes made convening impossible in 1925. 65

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leadership and the mechanisms that ensured change and renewal. After all, attacks on the GMD–CCP collaboration had been often linked to struggles inside the Nationalist Party. Some GMD members and leaders started to discover the origins of their problems in the fact that the communists had a different identity. Such an impression failed to be challenged by the Second Congress. A few months after January 1926, the GMD “right wing” managed to expel the communists from key positions. A leader on the rise, such as Chiang Kai-­ shek, appeared to be in two minds about cooperation with the CCP. To restore the balance between CCP-linked members and the rest of the party, he refused on the one hand to give full support to the anticommunist faction. On the other hand, he forced the temporary expatriation of the pro-communist Wang Jingwei, although this leader’s power was increasing. Wang notably chaired the Second Congress in 1926, thus resembling Sun when he chaired the First Congress in 1924. Even when thinking in terms of accepting or countering cooperation with Moscow, the Nationalist Party showed little uniformity. At first, the growth of the anticommunist faction was ignored by Comintern. Only in March 1926 did the Bolshevik leaders acknowledge the existence of these tendencies among the Chinese nationalists.67 However, the Executive Committee controlled by Stalin decided to maintain the old line, believing that the Second Congress of the Nationalist Party had resolved the anticommunist issue once for all. A rebuttal was expressed by political opponents such as Zinoviev, who raised the problem in a motion at the Politburo and demanded that the alliance with the Chinese nationalists should be abandoned.68 This idea was already circulating among the USSR representatives and the Comintern agents in China. Chen Duxiu was even informed of the possibility of passing from a “bloc within” to a “bloc without,” which implied breaking with the nationalists and gaining control of the mass movements before seizing power at national level.69 As we have seen, such a move was linked with the fate of the opposition to Stalin. The Fourteenth Congress of the CPSU saw the loss of consensus on Zinoviev’s views, 67  Extracts from the resolution of the Sixth ECCI plenum on the Chinese question, 13.03.1926, in Jane Degras (ed.), The Communist International, vol. 2, 275–279. 68  Telegram from Stalin to Molotov (letter 17), 03.06.1926, in Lars T.  Lih, Oleg V. Naumov and Oleg V. Khlevniuk (ed.), Stalin’s Letters to Molotov 1925–1936 (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1995), 110–112. 69  Roland Felber, ‘A “Bloc Within” or a “Bloc Without”? Controversies On The CCP’s Attitude Towards The Guomindang Before And After 20 March 1926’, in Leutner et  al. (ed.), The Chinese Revolution in the 1920s, 52–65.

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whose motion on the Chinese question was withdrawn in May. Consequently, the CCP was ordered to continue working with the GMD.  Once again, the discussion inside the Russian Communist Party affected the discussion over Comintern policy in China. In this climate, Chiang Kai-shek was able to gain even more leverage. He was elected commander-in-chief (总司令) in June and launched the Northern Expedition on July 1, 1926, with a directive communiqué that referred to Sun Yat-sen’s legacy: “Taking charge of the legacy of the Generalissimo (Sun Yat-sen), this army implements the vision of the National Revolution on the basis of the interest of the country and the masses.”70 Chiang clearly embraced anticommunist sentiments with the intention of working his way up. However, this communiqué showed that, more than anything else, he exploited the desire of many militants to move from theory to practice. The military campaign turned out to be successful from the beginning. Chiang benefited from the help of Soviet advisors and, especially, from mass organizations. These movements helped the nationalist army from inside the attacked cities with rallies and public demonstrations.71 The communists participated with enthusiasm in the Northern Expedition, according to a later interview with Mao Zedong, who was a young party leader at the time.72 Taking the opposite view, Chen Duxiu criticized the Northern Expedition for its short-sighted outlook.73 In his opinion, the military campaign was not going to be a real liberation because it was disconnected from the hopes of social change and reforms. Chen stated that, in the first place, “bourgeois deviations” had to be eradicated from Guangdong. The Comintern initially opposed the expedition, but Borodin subsequently consented, believing that the nationalists would launch it anyway. 70  SHAC, Chiang Kai-shek’s Chronology (1887–1926) [蒋介石年谱] (Beijing: Jiuzhou Chubanshe, 2011), 533. 71  Michael G. Murdock, ‘Exploiting Anti-Imperialism: Popular Forces and Nation-StateBuilding during China’s Northern Expedition, 1926–1927’, Modern China, Vol. 35 (1), 2009: 65–95. 72  Compare with: [Mao Zedong’s] Interview with the British journalist James Bertram, 25.10.1937, in Selected Works of Mao Zedong, Vol. 2 (Beijing, Foreign Language Press, Beijing 1965), 54. 73  On the Northern Expedition of the National Government [论国民政府之北伐], 07.07.1926, in Ren Jianshu (ed.), Selected Writings of Chen Duxiu [陈独秀著作选], Vol. 4 (Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe, 2009), 105–106.

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In November, Stalin delivered a long address to the Comintern, again supporting the GMD–CCP alliance.74 After the Trotsky and Zinoviev factions converged in the Left Opposition, the former criticized Comintern policy in the Far East.75 Not for the first time, the positions were stuck and the clash inside the CPSU hampered abilities to analyze the Chinese situation. The Northern Expedition lasted from 1926 until 1928, and resulted in what was finally celebrated as a success: national reunification. Before that date, the GMD–CCP alliance came to its end. On April 12, 1927, a bloody purge of communist leaders and militants took place in Shanghai and other cities under the direct orders of Chiang Kai-shek and Hu Hanmin. The Comintern blamed the Chinese communists, and months later Chen Duxiu was expelled from the party. Most historians have indicated that the Shanghai massacre marked the end of the CCP–GMD alliance. Actually, the coalition with the pro-­ communist nationalists in Wuhan endured longer. As Wang Jingwei had returned to China a few weeks before the Shanghai purge, the nationalist government in Wuhan, which was under his leadership, had the authority to take a position. Indeed, it condemned Chiang’s “betrayal.” However, Moscow repeatedly ignored Wang’s requests of funding, and when the situation became hopeless, Borodin and other advisors were called back to the USSR. The break between Wang and the CCP became official with a resolution of the Wuhan government in August. This document stated that the communist bloc was opposing the National Revolution, as their ideas substantially differed from Sun Yat-sen’s Three Principles.76 For this reason, the communists had to “be disciplined according to GMD regulations.” This document referred to the fact that the communists’ contribution had been subject to the acceptance of Sun’s theories. Ironically, the same argument had been used by Liao Zhongkai in 1924 to get the ­opposite effect—to support the alliance with CCP. More than three years

74  The prospect of the revolution in China. Speech delivered in the Chinese Commission of ECCI, 30 November 1926, in Joseph Stalin, Works, Vol. 8 (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1954), 373–391. 75  Alexander Pantsov, The Bolsheviks and the Chinese Revolution, 1919–1927 (London, New York: Routledge, 2000), 99–214. 76  Order to protect the CCP members’ personal integrity, freedom, etc. [頒发保护共产党员个 人身体自由等训令], 26 July 1927  in SHAC, Collection of materials from the Chinese Republican archives, vol. 4, 428–430.

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after the First Congress, a considerable gap still seemed to separate communists and nationalists, even those more open to cooperation. Shortly after these events, Stalin analyzed the shift of the Wuhan government to the “counterrevolutionary” camp.77 He overturned the critical allegation that Wang Jingwei’s orders proved the failure of the Comintern line. Instead, he argued that, now that even Wuhan had disgraced itself, it was time for the CCP to take its own path. The communists were instructed to rely solely on the peasantry and the urban lower classes. On August 1, 1927, the Chinese communists and some loyal nationalists rose in Nanchang, but the attempt ended under the blows of Wang’s faction. Later attempts organized by Qu Qiubai, an opponent of Chen Duxiu, and Mao Zedong failed even more severely. When Stalin got the better of the left opposition at the end of the year, the dice were already cast in China.

Conclusions Maring and Lenin were apparently right in predicting that the communists in China could exploit the nationalists’ movement in order to expand and develop. In the same way, the GMD proved to be sensitive to external inputs and social issues. However, Maring and Lenin were seemingly wrong in assuming that the majority of the nationalists would embrace socialist ideas. As a result, the correlation between the rise of the CCP and GMD–CCP cooperation still has strong foundations, but this process proved less linear than usually assumed. For example, consider the position of the anticommunist nationalists towards the First Congress. The consensual agenda of that period was conceptualized in the framework of cooperation with Russia, but it was never called into question and it even survived the vicissitudes of the GMD–CCP alliance. Furthermore, the spirit of the First Congress influenced the Chinese communists too. This became evident more than a decade later, when Mao Zedong, a major party leader then, proposed this riddle: “can a Communist, who is an internationalist, at the same time be a patriot?”.78 The answer given by Mao was neat: “He can be, and should be.” The 77  Notes on contemporary themes, 28 July 1927, in Joseph Stalin, Works, Vol. 9 (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1954), 337–369. 78  Mao Zedong, On the new stage. Report to the Enlarged Sixth Plenum of the Central Committee of the CCP, 12–14 October 1938, in Stuart J. Schram and Nancy J. Hodes (ed.), Mao’s Road to Power. Revolutionary Writings 1912–1949, vol. 6 (Armonk, London: Sharpe, 2004), 523.

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goals linked to the “national question” seemingly became part of the CCP agenda, as many points elaborated during the First Congress lasted in the political thought of the Chinese communists. The idea of a strong centralist state, a pervasive control of the territory, a non-professional army and a self-referential foreign policy became solutions that, notwithstanding the twists of fate, were considered necessary to build a modern China. In other words, the difference between the communist and the nationalist approaches remained noticeable, but some parallelisms emerged in the nationalists’ and communists’ ways of understanding China, both in terms of its internal situation and its international position. In the end, Chinese revolutionary parties derived from Soviet Russia an innovative view of the post-revolutionary state, and not only a method by which to seize power. After 1919, the validity of the European nation-­ state model was declared useless in China, if not a mystification. The comparison of the Asian country with Russia inspired an ensemble of technical solutions and political reflections, whose ultimate goal was to create a state that was going to last and would preserve its revolutionary mission. Therefore, Comintern might not have been the only influence on Chinese statesmen, but the 1920s appear a decisive historical juncture for the rise of this modern nation-state. Generally, all these aspects of continuity and discontinuity in the history of Chinese revolutionaries were signs that reception of the Russian revolutionary model diverged from the idea of an “importation.” Moscow’s endorsement of the Chinese revolution stemmed from an internationalist inspiration, but it tended to assume local relevance. As we have seen, Soviet support for the Chinese revolution was treated differently in different contexts: for example, what mattered in the GMD headquarters was not the same as what mattered in the Comintern premises. The Chinese revolution fell within a broader phenomenon of international reassessment and creation of national identities that, in the same years, also affected Ireland, Mexico and many other rising ‘nations’. Consequently, the Chinese reception of the Bolshevik method resembles a two-way process. Both the course of the Chinese revolution and the internal struggles of the CPSU seemed capable of influencing each other, even if asymmetrically, as they were part of an integrated system of connections, the Third International. Its history—at least in the Chinese case—seems to be a “global history,” blooming in the transformations that followed World War I.

Index1

A Allied powers, 22, 31, 36, 124–126 All-Russian Co-operative Society (Arcos), 102, 110 Andrássy, Gyula Jr., 65 Andrew, Christopher, 109n48, 109n51 Anghel, Florin, 71n45 Anglo-Soviet trade agreement, 94, 100, 102, 103, 106, 110 Arcos, see All-Russian Co-operative Society Austrian-Prussian war, 15 B Baird, John, 102 Bakonyi, Endre/András, 85 Baldwin, Stanley, 46 Barbusse, Henri, 73n52 Barrère, Camille, 22 Bartini, Roberto, 81

Basciani, Alberto, 10 Bennet, Gill, 95 Berger, Kálmán, 89n49 Bernardini, Giovanni, 4, 11n30 Bernstein, Eduard, 142 Bicz, Henryk, 138n31 Bismarck, Otto, 16 Bobiński, Stanisław, 145 Bokanowski, Maurice, 129n45 Bolshevik revolution, 3, 3n9, 4, 6, 8–10, 15–38, 72, 128–130 Bonar Law, Andrew, 109 Boór, Aladár, 86, 87 Borisov, Grigorij (Sedoi), 67 Borodin, 163–165, 169, 174, 175 Bourbon regime, 16 Brandenberger, David, 149n80 Brătianu, Ion I. C., 59, 60n15, 62, 62n20, 63, 65 Brest-Litovsk treaty, 9, 24–37, 43, 124, 129, 130, 144, 156 Briand, Aristide, 116, 117, 120

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s) 2020 V. Lomellini (ed.), The Rise of Bolshevism and its Impact on the Interwar International Order, Security, Conflict and Cooperation in the Contemporary World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35529-6

179

180 

INDEX

Broński Mieczysław, 145 Broue, Pierre, 57n6 Brun-Bronowicz, Julian, 138, 153 Brusilov Offensive, 116 Bruski, Jacek, 70n40 Buchanan, George, 21, 23 Buczek, Hanna, 138n31 Bukharin Nikolai, see Bukharin, Nikolaj Bukharin, Nikolaj, 145 Buttar, Pritt, 57n3 C Cachin, Marcel, 119, 123 Cadorna, Luigi, 20 Carlotti di Riparbella, Andrea, 19, 20, 20n13, 37 Catalani, Giuseppe, 21–24, 37 Cave, Jane, 132n6 Central Empires, 17, 18, 21, 22, 24, 28, 30, 60, 60n15, 61, 63 Central powers, 26 See also Central Empires Cerruti, Vittorio, 53 C. G. T., see General Confederation of Labour Chamber of Deputies, 117, 126, 129 Chappedelaine, Louis de, 129 Charmant, Oszkár, 76 Chatto, see Chattopadhyaya, Virendranath Chattopadhyaya, Virendranath, 99, 107 Chen, Duxiu, 163, 173–176 Chen, Jiongming, 167 Chiang, Kai-shek, 172–175 Chicherin, Georgy Vasilyevich, 108, 149 Chinese Communist Party (CCP), 11, 158, 158n12, 162–164, 169, 171–177 First Congress, 159, 177

Chinese Communist Youth League, 170 Chinese Nationalist Party (GMD), 11 First Congress, 163, 173 Second Congress, 158, 159, 172, 173 Chinese Revolutionary Party (CRP), 158, 159, 161n26, 162n29, 177 Chrienow, Iwan, 146n67, 148n73 Churchill, Winston, 95, 103 Č ičerin, Georgi, see Č ičerin, Georgij Vasil’evič Č ičerin, Georgij Vasil’evič, 40–45, 49, 51, 67, 67n32 Cichowski, Kazimierz, 145 Cieślak, Tadeusz, 144n54 Cimek, Henryk, 137n29 Clemenceau, Georges, 121, 122, 125–128 Coandă, Constantin, 64 Comintern, see Third Communist International Communist International (Comintern) Fifth Congress, 68, 73, 168 Second Congress, 72, 98, 99, 156n3, 157, 167, 168 Communist Party of Great Britain, 96n8, 97 Communist Party of India, 94, 106 Communist Party of Mexico, 99 Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), 11, 132, 133, 153, 162n29, 164, 165, 168, 172, 175, 177 Constantiniu, Laurenţiu, 74n54 Conte, Francis, 57n6 Cserny, József, 82 Csiszár, Mária, 80n14 Curzon, George Nathaniel, 102, 103, 107–110 Czechoslovak army, 125 See also Czechoslovak Legion

 INDEX 

Czechoslovak Legion, 127 Czubińsk, Antoni, 144n58 D Daniszewski, Tadeusz, 136n24, 147n72 Daszyński, Ignacy, 146 Datta Gupta, Sobhanlal, 2n4, 99n17 Davies, Norman, 132n5 Denikin, Anton General, 125 Deschanel, Paul, 118 Diamandy, Constantin, 62 Diner, Dan, 71n43 Dinu, Rudolf, 55n1 Dłuski, Kazimierz, 134, 135 Donaldson, Robert H., 106n40 Doumer, Paul, 116 Dumas, Charles, 129n45 Duncan, Peter J. S., 102n27 Dundas, Lawrence, 110n53 Duroselle, Jean-Baptiste, 125 Dzierżyński, Feliks, 141, 144, 145 Dziewanowski, Marian Kamil, 138n29 E Emmanuel, Victor, 20 Entente, the, 2, 6–8, 7n26, 10, 17–20, 18n6, 22, 26–30, 32, 32n67, 36, 37, 39, 46, 55, 58, 59, 61, 63, 76–78, 94, 116, 119, 124 F Facta, Luigi, 42 Faryś, Janusz, 146n68 Fasciotti, Carlo, 59, 60 Fayet, Jean-François, 145n62 February Revolution, 117–120, 141 Feder, Teodora, 149n82 Ferdinand I, 58, 60n13, 64

181

Figaro, Le, 122 First Opium War, 157n8 Fischer, Ruth, 153 Fisher, John, 96n6 Fitzpatrick, Catherine A., 149n80 Fitzpatrick, Sheila, 4 Flory, Harriette, 110n55 Foch, Ferdinand General, 124 Foryt, Artur, 152n94 Franchet d’Espèrey. Louis, 76 Franco-Russian Association, 118 Franklin-Bouillon, Henry, 126, 126n37 French Communist Party, 119 French High Command, 117 French military mission in Russia, 121, 124, 125 French political circles, 10, 115–130 French Section of the Worker’s International, 119, 128 Friedbauer, Béla, 82–84, 82n27, 84n32 Friedbauer, László, 82 Friends of Russia’s People Society, 128 Frołow, Sylwia, 141n40 Furneaux, Rupert, 104n31 G Gaba, Giulio, 84 Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand, 104 Garlicki, Andrzej, 131n2 Ga ̨siorowska-Grabowska, Natalia, 146n67, 148n73 Gemindang, see Chinese Revolutionary Party General Confederation of Labour (CGT), 6, 128 Germany, 10n28, 16, 18, 26, 37, 43, 49, 103, 104, 107, 115, 117, 119, 121, 124–130, 134, 134n12, 150–152

182 

INDEX

Gerwarth, Robert, 6 Gilly, Mária, 80n14 Giolitti, Giovanni, 16 Goćkowski, Janusz, 136n20 Goszthonyi, Mária, 80, 83 Grabski, Andrzej F., 134n13 Graillet, Michel, 64n23 Gramsci, Antonio, 49 Grandi, Dino, 49, 50 Grand Quartier General (GQG), 116 Great War, see World War I Grey, Edward, 18 Grosefeld, Leon, 144n54 Grünblatt, Boris, 82n27 Gruzenberg, Mikhail, see Borodin Gu, Zhenghong, 170, 171 Guariglia, Raffaele, 87 Guida, Francesco, 65n25, 72n47 Guomindang, see Chinese Nationalist Party (GMD) H Haithcox, John Patrick, 99n19 Hajós, Edith, 80, 88 Hanecki, Jakub, 145 Hardinge, Charles Lord, 25, 31 Havas, Andor/András, 82–84 Hegyi, Kálmán, 89n49 Henderson, Arthur, 119 Herriot, Édouard, 118 Hetényi, Imre, 86 Hevesi, Gyula, 82, 83, 88 Hitchins, Keith, 65n24, 68n33 Holzer Jerzy, 135n18, 151n87 Homberger, Eric, 96n7 Hopkirk, Peter, 97n12 Horthy, Miklós, 78, 79 Hory, András, 86, 87 Howes Gleason, John, 95n3 Hu, Hanmin, 161, 172, 175

Huangpu Military Academy, see Whampoa Military Academy I Ignatiev, Russian delegate of Red Cross, 59n12 Imperiali di Francavilla, Guglielmo, 18 Indian Revolutionary Society, 99, 107 International Conference on Naval Limitation, 160 Ionescu, Dumitrache (Tache), 67, 67n32 Iwańczuk, Zbigniew, 142n44 Iwański, Gereon, 142n43 J Jacobson, Jon, 98n13, 100n21, 106n39, 109n49 Janin, Maurice General, 116 Jarosz, Dariusz, 131n2 Jedlicka, Wanda, 134n11 Jeffery, Keith, 97n9 Jiang, Jieshi, see Chiang, Kai-shek Joffe, Adolph, 160 Jogiches-Tyszka, Leon, 141 Jóźwiak, Franciszek, 132, 133 Jurenev, Konstantin Konstantinovič, 42, 43, 45, 46, 48 Juryś, Roman, 142n44 K Kancewicz, Jan, 135n18 Károlyi, Mihály Ádám György Miklós, 76, 77, 82 Kasprzak, Marcin, 141 Kautsky, Karl, 144 Kaye, Cecil, 99n18 Keeble, Curtis, 94n1 Kelemen, Dr., 80

 INDEX 

Kelles-Krauz, Kazimierz, 135 Kerensky, Aleksandr Fëdorovič, 19–21, 24, 37, 57, 119 Kerženzev, Platon, see Lebedev, Platon Michailovič Khlewniuk, Oleg, 173n68 Khrushchev, Nikita Sergeevič, 3, 153 Kieszczyński, Lucjan, 137n29 King of Italy, 17 Kingsley Kent, Susan, 96n5 Kirby, William, 165 Klauber, József, 84, 85 Klein, Árpád, 89n48 Klimecki, Michał, 148n78 Koberdowa, Irena, 133n10 Kochański, Aleksander, 135n19 Kołakowski, Leszek, 140n37 Kolebacz, Bogdan, 138n29 Kon, Feliks, 145 Kopp, Victor, 107 Korach, Alfréd, 82, 83 Koszutska, Maria, 144 Kowalczyk, Elżbieta, 138n31 Kowalski, Józef, 138n29 Krasucki, Eryk, 11, 147n69 Krauze, Bronisław, 136n20 Krzysztofiński, Mariusz, 151n89 Krzywicki, Ludwik, 134n11 Krzyżanowski, S., 142n45 Kun, Béla, 65, 77, 81 L Lafont, Ernest, 119 Laguiche, Pierre de General, 116 Lahovary, Ioan, 60n15 LaPorte, Norman, 151n91, 152n93 Lassalle, Ferdinand, 134, 139n33 László, Ferenc, 85, 86, 86n36, 86n37 Lauer-Domski, Henryk, 148n75 Lavergne, Jean General, 124 Lebedev, Platon Michailovič, 51

183

Leipnik, László, 82 Lenin, Vladimir (Lenin Włodzimierz), 137n25, 137n27, 139n34, 140n36, 142n42, 149n79, 150n85, 151n90 Lenin, Vladimir Il’ič Ul’janov, see Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, 3, 6, 21, 22, 24, 28, 30–32, 39, 47, 56, 58, 60, 63, 93, 95, 98–100, 106, 108, 119, 120, 123, 124, 130–133, 131n1, 136, 137, 137n28, 139–143, 145, 145n64, 149–151, 154, 156, 156n3, 157, 164, 165, 167, 168, 176 Leszczyński-Leński, Julian, 145 Levi, Paul, 143, 151 Li, Dazhao, 161, 163 Liao, Zhongkai, 164, 168, 172, 175 Limanowski, Bolesław, 134 Litivinov, Maksim Maksimovič, 25 Lloyd-George, David, 121 Lockhart, Bruce, 26, 29–31, 32n64 London Treaty, 18, 23, 35 Longare, Bonin, 28 Luksemburg, Róża, 134n12, 135–137, 136n20, 136n21, 136n23, 139–144, 139n35, 143n46, 143n47, 145n64, 152, 153, 153n101 Luxemburg, Rosa, see Luksemburg, Róża M Macchi di Cellere, Vincenzo, 31 MacDonald, Ramsay, 110 Maciszewski, Jarema, 152n96 Mackensen von, August, 59 MacMillan, Margaret, 7, 7n26, 8 Maconnèn, Tafarì, see Selassie, Haile Madeira, Victor, 108n47

184 

INDEX

Majoni, Cesare, 33 Malinowski, Henryk, 142n43 Manzoni, Gaetano, 50, 52 Mao, Zeodong, 174, 176 Marchlewski, Julian Baltazar, 138n30, 146, 148 Marcin, Bukała, 151n89 Marghiloman, Alexandru, 64 Maring, 157–160, 166, 176 Marx, Karl, 141, 157, 157n8, 171 May Fourth Movement in China, 159, 169, 170 May Thirtieth Movement in China, 170–172 Mehendiţi, Simion, 61, 62n17 Mencwe, Andrzej, 138n30 Military alliance, 71, 115, 116 Military staff, 124, 126, 130 Mironov, Alexandru-Murad, 67n31 Molska, Alina, 135n16 Moraczewski, Jędrzej, 146 Morgan, Kevin, 4 Morgari, Oddino, 78 Morozow, Wiaczeslaw, 132 Moutet, Marius, 119, 123, 128 Müller, Elemér/Vladimir, 82 Mullon, Edith, 88n44 Musiał, Bogdan, 150n86 Mussolini, Benito, 38, 40–43, 45–48, 50–54, 90 N Najdus, Walentyna, 132n3, 137n26, 145n59 National Bloc, 130 Neilson, Keith, 94n1, 96n7 Nettl, John Peter, 153n98 New Economic Policy (NEP), 94 Nicholas II, 10, 56, 95, 116 Nicholson, Harold, 65n26 Niessel, Henry General, 117, 125

Nitti, Francesco Saverio, 79 Northern Expedition, 169, 174, 175 Notkowski, Andrzej, 133n9 Noulens, Joseph, 28, 30, 116, 121, 124–126 Nowakowska Agnieszka, 135n15 O October revolution, 17–24, 40, 94–98, 103, 120–124, 128, 142, 143, 153, 155, 165, 166 Odessa, 23, 58, 67, 70, 127 Orlando, Vittorio Emanuele, 20, 42, 75 Orosdy, Róbert, 81 Orwell, George, 133n8 P Pacifist Socialists, 118 Paczkowski, Andrzej, 132n6, 147n71 Painlevé, Paul, 20 Palace, Tauride, 27 Paléologue, Maurice, 116, 118 Pascal, Pierre, 129 Pau, Paul Général, 116 Pauker, Marcel, 72 Peace Movement, 118 Perl, Feliks, 134n14 Pestkowski, Stanisław, 145 Petit Parisien, Le, 122 Petracchi, Giorgio, 54 Petrograd, 19–29, 34, 37, 56, 61, 62, 98, 116, 118, 119, 129 Pherekyde, Mihai, 71 Pichon, Stephen, 122, 126, 127 Ponomariov, Vitalie, 68n36, 70n41 Pons, Silvio, 1n1, 3, 3n7, 4, 4n13, 11n30 Popplewell, Richard J., 97n9 Pőzel, Tibor, 86, 89n48

 INDEX 

185

Pravda, Alex, 102n27 President of the Chamber, 118 President of the Council, 116, 118n8, 120, 121, 123, 125 Public opinion, 10, 96, 111, 120, 121, 126, 130 Putilov Factories, 116n2

Roy-Trent, Evelyn, 106 Ruspanti, Roberto, 65n25 Russian General Headquarters, 116 See also Grand Quartier General (GQG) Russian Provisional Government, 119 Russian Volunteer Army, 127

Q Qu, Qiubai, 176 Quai d’Orsay, 121, 126

S Sacred Union, 117 Sadoul, Jacques, 31, 32n64, 129 Sakharov, Vladimir, 56n2 Salandra, Antonio, 18 Schneider group, 116n2 Service, Robert, 25n31, 26n36, 31n58, 31n64, 96n6 S. F. I. O., 117 See also French Section of the Worker’s International Siebenhofer, János, 82 Siegel, Jennifer, 100n21 Skrzyński, Władysław, 71 Smith, Leonard, 5 Smith, Stephen, 1, 3n9, 4 Smuts, Jams Christiaan, 65n26 Smuts, Jan, 77 Sneevliet, Hank, see Maring Socialists, 11, 31, 57, 58, 72, 73, 78, 83, 97, 104, 117–123, 122n18, 126–130, 133, 134, 140, 141, 144, 145n64, 146, 156, 156n3, 157, 176 Sombor-Schweinitzer, József, 90 Somme, Battle of, 116 Sonnino, Sidney, 18–23, 22n18, 25–38, 26n34, 35n81, 60n15, 76, 78 Soviet Russia (before December 1922), 40, 41n6, 63, 66–68, 71, 93, 96, 97, 100, 102, 107, 150, 177

R Racconigi Treaty, 17 Radek, Karl, 171 Radicals, 72, 77, 117, 128, 134n12, 136, 138, 142, 145, 151, 156, 157, 162, 163, 167 Radical-Socialist party, 118 Rákosi, Mátyás, 81 Rakovski, Christian, 57, 58, 63, 66, 68, 69 Recchoni, Emilio, 88n47 Recchoni, Ercole, 88n47 Red Army, 3, 95, 106, 124, 125, 127, 148, 149 Reese, Tim, 97n10 Reformist Socialist Party, 128 Renaudel, Pierre, 126n36 The Republic of China Military Academy, see Whampoa Military Academy Ribot, Alexandre, 117, 118n8, 120 Robins, Raymond, 31, 32n64 Romanelli, Guido, 78 Romei Longhena, Giovanni Girolamo, 20 Rotari, Ludmila, 63n22 Roy, Manabendra Nath (M. N.), 99, 100, 106, 157, 168

186 

INDEX

Soviet Union, 46–54, 53n62, 71, 79, 83–85, 94, 110, 130, 131, 137n28, 150, 160, 161, 164, 171, 173, 175 See also Soviet Russia Stalin, Joseph, 170–176 Stănescu, C. Marin, 68n34, 72n48 Stockholm conference, 120 Stone, Norman, 56 Studer, Brigitte, 5 Sun, Yat-sen, 159–162, 159n17, 161n26, 162n29, 164–167, 169–175, 170n58, 172n66 Sun Yat-sen University (Moscow), 171 Sun, Zhongshan, see Sun, Yat-sen Szamuely, Tibor, 80, 82 T Tanase, Stelian, 58n8 Temps, Le, 122 Third Communist International, see Communist International (Comintern); Third International Third International, 67, 68, 72, 73, 93, 98, 108, 109, 129, 151, 156, 168, 170, 177 Third Republic, 120 Thomas, Albert, 116, 119, 124, 126, 128 Thorpe, Andrew, 2n5, 97n10 Tismaneanu, Vladimir, 72 Todero, Fabio, 61n16 Tomasi della Torretta, Pietro, 20, 24–29, 37 Torrey, Glenn, 56n2, 59n12 Trades Union Congress (TUC), 94, 101 Trans-Siberian railway, 32, 125 Triple Alliance, 16, 17 Triple Entente, 16, 17 Trockij, Lev, see Trotsky, Leon; Trotsky, Lev

Trotsky, Leon, 21, 22, 25, 26, 28, 30–32, 57, 58, 62n19, 95, 108, 123, 124, 139, 143, 145n64, 153, 168, 175 Trotsky, Lev, 57, 58, 62n19, 168, 175 Tudor-Pavelescu, Alina, 68n35 U Ullman, Richard H., 103n30 United League, 158 Usmani, Shaukat, 106 V Van de Ven, Hans, 165 Vázsonyi, Vilmos, 65 Verdun, Battle of, 116 Vix, Ferdinand, 77 von Bismarck, Otto, 16 European balance, 16 W Wang, Jingwei, 161, 173, 175, 176 Washington Conference, see International Conference on Naval Limitation Weill, Georges, 119 Wells, Audrey, 94n1, 95n3 Whampoa Military Academy, 168, 170 White, Christine A., 100n21 White, Stephen, 4 Wildman, K. Allan, 57n5 Williams, Andrew J., 100n21 Wilson, Woodrow, 6, 76, 124 Windschgrätz, Lajos, 65 World War I, 5n15, 6, 9, 10, 18–19, 37, 40, 55, 55n1, 75, 94–96, 98, 99, 103, 115, 115n1, 146, 156n3, 161, 167, 177

 INDEX 

Y Yuan, Shikai, 158, 161 Z Zimmerwald Conference, 118

187

Zinov’ev, Grigorij, see Zinoviev, Grigory Yevseyevich Zinoviev, Grigory Yevseyevich, 108, 168, 170, 173, 175