* Finished. --Ed.
   
** Careerists. --Ed.
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was bad, yes, bad, inspired by petty motives of personal vanity and conceit -- an insincere man. This discovery -- and it was indeed a discovery -- struck us like a thunderbolt; for up to that moment both of us had stood in admiration of Plekhanov, and, as we do with a loved one, we had forgiven him everything; we had closed our eyes to all his shortcomings; we had tried hard to persuade ourselves that those shortcomings were really non-existent, that they were petty things that bothered only people who had no proper regard for principles. Yet we ourselves had been taught practically that those "petty" shortcomings were capable of repelling the most devoted friends, that no appreciation of his theoretical correctness could make us forget his repelling traits. Our indignation knew no bounds. Our ideal had been destroyed; gloatingly we trampled it underfoot like a dethroned god. There was no end to the charges we hurled against him. It cannot go on like this, we decided. We do not wish, we will not, we cannot work together with him under such conditions. Good-bye, magazine! We will throw every thing up and return to Russia, where we will start all over again, right from the very beginning, and confine ourselves to the newspaper. We refuse to be pawns in the hands of that man; he does not understand, and cannot maintain comradely relations. We did not dare undertake the editorship ourselves ; besides, it would be positively repulsive to do so now, for it would appear as though we really coveted the editor's post, that we really were Streber, careerists, and that we, too, were inspired by motives of vanity, though in a smaller way. . . . It is difficult to describe adequately what our feelings were that night -- such mixed, heavy, confused feelings. It was a real drama; the complete abandonment of the thing which for years we had tended like a favourite child, and with which we had inseparably linked the whole of our life's work. And all because we had formerly been infatuated with Plekhanov. Had we not been so infatuated, had we regarded him more dispassionately, more level-headedly, had we studied him more objectively, our conduct towards him would have been different and we would not have suffered such disaster in the literal sense of the word, we would not have received such a "moral ducking," as Arsenyev correctly expressed it. We had received the most bitter lesson of our lives, a
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painfully bitter, painfully brutal lesson. Young comrades "court" an elder comrade out of the great love they bear for him -- and suddenly he injects into this love an atmosphere of intrigue, compelling them to feel, not as younger brothers, but as fools to be led by the nose, as pawns to be moved about at will, and, still worse, as clumsy Streber who must be thoroughly frightened and quashed! An enamoured youth receives from the object of his love a bitter lesson -- to regard all persons "without sentiment," to keep a stone in one's sling. Many more words of an equally bitter nature did we utter that night. The suddenness of the disaster naturally caused us to magnify it, but, in the main, the bitter words we uttered were true. Blinded by our love, we had actually behaved like slaves, and it is humiliating to be a slave. Our sense of having been wronged was magnified a hundredfold by the fact that "he" himself had opened our eyes to our humiliation. . . .
   
Finally, we returned to our respective rooms to go to bed, firmly determined to express our indignation to Plekhanov on the following day, to give up the magazine and go away, retain only the newspaper, and publish the material for the magazine in pamphlet form. The cause would not suffer by this, we thought, and we would avoid having intimate dealings with "that man."
   
Next morning I woke up earlier than usual. I was awakened by footsteps on the stairs and the voice of Axelrod who was knocking at Arsenyev's door. I heard Arsenyev call out in reply and open the door -- I heard all this and wondered whether he would have pluck enough to come out with everything immediately. Better to speak out at once, indeed better, than to drag the thing out! I washed and dressed and went to Arsenyev's room, where I found him at his toilet. Axelrod was sitting in the armchair, his face wearing a somewhat strained expression. "Listen, Comrade X," said Arsenyev turning to me, "I have told Axelrod of our decision to go back to Russia, and of our conviction that things cannot be run like this." I fully concurred with this, of course, and supported Arsenyev's statement. We related everything to Axelrod, quite frankly, so much so that Arsenyev even spoke of our suspicion that Plekhanov regarded us as Streber. Axelrod half-sympathised with us generally, shook his head
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sadly, and appeared to be greatly perturbed, confused, put out. But hearing this last remark, he began to protest and to shout that our accusation was unfounded; that Plekhanov had many shortcomings, but not this one; that in this matter it was not he who was unjust to us, but we who were unjust to him; that until then he had been prepared to say to Plekhanov, "See what a mess you have made, now clear it up yourself, I wash my hands of the matter," but he could no longer say this, seeing that we were also unjust. His assurances made little impression upon us, as may be imagined, and poor Axelrod looked pitiful when he finally realised that we were firm in our decision.
   
We went out together to warn Vera Zasulich. It was to be expected that she would take the news of the "break" (for it did certainly look like a break) very badly. "I fear," Arsenyev had said to me the previous evening, "I do seriously fear that she will commit suicide. . . ."
   
I shall never forget the mood in which we three went out that morning "It's like going to a funeral," I thought to myself. And indeed we walked as in a funeral procession -- silent, with downcast eyes, oppressed to the extreme by the ahsurdness, the preposterousness, and the senselessness of our loss. As though a curse had descended upon us! Everything had been proceeding smoothly after so many misfortunes and failures, when suddenly, a whirlwind -- and the end, the whole thing shattered again. I could hardly bring myself to believe it (as one cannot bring oneself to believe the death of a near one) -- could it be I, the fervent worshipper of Plekhanov, who was now filled with bitter thoughts about him, who was walking along with clenched teeth and a devilish chill at the heart, intending to hurl cold and bitter words at him and almost to announce the "breaking-off of our relations"? Was this but a hideous dream, or was it reality?
   
The impression clung to us even during our conversation with Zasulich; She did not display any strong emotion, but she was obviously deeply depressed and she asked us, almost implored us, could we not go back on our decision, could we not try -- perhaps it was not so terrible, after all, and it would be possible to set things to rights once we were at work; during the work the repellent features of his characler
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would not be so apparent. . . . It was extremely painful to listen to the sincere pleadings of this woman, weak before Plekhanov, but absolutely sincere and passionately loyal to the cause, who bore the yoke of Plekhanovism with the "heroism of a slave" (Arsenyev's expression). It was, indeed, so painful that at times I thought I would burst into tears. . . . Words of pity, despair, etc., easily move one to tears at a funeral. . . .
   
We left Axelrod and Zasulich. We lunched, dispatched letters to Germany saying that we were coming and that they were to stop the machine ; we had even sent a telegram about the matter (prior to our conversation with Plekhanov!!), and neither of us doubted for a moment that we had done right.
   
After lunch, at the appointed hour, we again went to the house of Axelrod and Zasulich, where Plekhanov was due to be by now. As we approached, the three of them came out to meet us. We greeted each other in silence. Plekhanov tried to start an extraneous conversation (we had asked Axelrod and Zasulich to warn him of our intention, so that he would know all about it), we returned to the room and sat down. Arsenyev began to speak -- drily, briefly, and with restraint. He said that we despaired of the possibility of carrying on with relations such as they had developed on the previous evening; that we had decided to return to Russia to consult the comrades there, since we no longer dared to decide the matter ourselves, and that for the time being we would have to abandon the idea of publishing the magazine. Plekhanov was very calm and restrained, and apparently had complete command of himself; he did not show a trace of the nervousness betrayed by Axelrod and Zasulich (he had been in bigger battles than this! we thought to ourselves, gazing at him in fury). He inquired what it was all about. "We are in an atmosphere of ultimatums," replied Arsenyev, and he expounded the idea at greater length. "Were you afraid that after the first issue I would go on strike before we got out the second?" asked Plekhanov aggressively. He thought we would not dare to say a thing like that. But I too was calm and cool, as I replied: "Is that very much different from what Arsenyev said? Isn't that what he said?" Plekhanov seemed to bristle under the words. He had not expected such a dry tone and direct accusation.
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"Well, if you have decided to leave, what is there to discuss?" he said. "I have nothing to say, my position is a very curious one. All you do is talk of impressions and nothing else. You have the impression that I am a bad man. I cannot help that."
   
"We may be to blame," I said, desiring to turn the conversation away from this "impossible" subject, "for having rushed across in this headlong manner without first sounding the ford."
   
"Not at all," replied Plekhanov. "To speak quite frankly, you are to blame (perhaps Arsenyev's state of nervousness may have had something to do with it) for attaching too much importance to impressions to which no importance whatever should have been attached." After a moment's silence we said that we could confine ourselves to publishing pamphlets for the time being. Plekhanov angrily retorted: "I haven't thought about pamphlets and am not thinking of them. Don' t count on me. I shall not sit idle with my arms folded if you go away. I may take up some other enterprise before you return."
   
Nothing so much lowered Plekhanov in my eyes as this statement when later I recalled it and turned it over in my mind. This was such a crude threat and such a badly calculated attempt to intimidate us, that it simply "finished" Plekhanov as far as we were concerned and esposed his "policy" towards us: give them a good scare and that will suffice. . . .
   
But we did not pay the slighest attention to his threat. I simply pressed my lips tight in silence: very well, if this is how you would have it, then à la guerre comme à la guerre *; but you must be a fool if you cannot see that we have changed, that we have undergone a transformation overnight.
   
Perceiving that his threats were ineffective, Plekhanov tried another manoeuvre -- for what else can it be called, when a few moments later he stated that the break with us would spell for him complete abandonment of political activity, that he would give up political work and devote himself to science, to purely scientific literature, for if he could not
   
* If it's war, then the way of war! --Ed.
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work with us, it meant that he would not be able to work with anybody. . . . Having found threats to be unavailing, he tried flattery! But coming as that did after threats, it could only produce a feeling of revulsion. . . . The conversation was very brief and nothing came of it. Seeing this, Plekhanov switched the conversation to Russian atrocities in China, but he was almost the only one who spoke and very soon we parted company.
   
Our conversation with Axelrod and Zasulich after Plekhanov's departure was neither interesting nor important; Axelrod wriggled and tried to prove that Plekhanov was also crushed and that the sin would be on our heads if we left in this manner, etc., etc. In a têle-à-tête with Arsenyev, Zasulich confessed that "Georg" was always like that. She confessed to her "slavish heroism," but admitted that it would "teach him a lesson" if we went away.
   
We spent the rest of the evening in a state of idleness and depression.
   
On the next day, Tuesday, August 28 (New Style), we were due to leave for Geneva, and from there to proceed to Germany. Early in the morning, I was awakened by Arsenyev (a late riser usually). I was surprised. He said that he had slept badly and that he had thought of a last possible scheme by which the matter could somehow be adjusted so that a serious Party enterprise might not be ruined by spoiled personal relations. We would publish a collection, since we had the material ready and had established contact with the printing-house. We would publish this collection under the present undefined editorial relations and see what happened; from this it would be just as easy to pass on to the publication of a magazine as to the publication of pamphlets. If Plekhanov remained stubborn, then, to the devil with him, we would know that we had done all we could. . . . And thus it was decided.
   
We went out to inform Axelrod and Zasulich and met them on the way; they were coming to see us. They, of course, readily agreed and Axelrod undertook the task of negotiating with Plekhanov and of obtaining his consent.
   
We arrived at Geneva and had our last interview with Plekhanov. He adopted a tone which might have suggested that all that had happened was a sad misunderstanding due to
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nervousness. He inquired sympathetically after Arsenyev's health, and nearly embraced him -- the latter almost gave a jump. Plekhanov agreed to the publication of a collection. We said that in regard to the editorial arrangements, three variations were possible: 1) we to be the editors, and he a contributor; 2) all of us to be the editors; 3) he to be the editor, and we contributors; that we would discuss all three alternatives in Russia, draw up a plan, and bring it back with us. Plekhanov declared that he absolutely rejected the third variant, that he insisted emphatically that this arrangement be definitely excluded, and that he agreed to the first two. We therefore decided that for the time being, until we submitted our proposal for the new editorial regime, the old system was to remain in force (the six of us to act as co-editors, with Plekhanov apportioned two votes).
   
Plekhanov then expressed the desire to know precisely what it was that we were dissatisfled with. I remarked that perhaps it would be better to pay more attention to the future rather than to the past. But he insisted that the question be gone into and clarified. A conversation started in which only Plekhanov and I took part, Arsenyev and Axelrod remaining silent. The conversation was carried on rather calmly, even very calmly. Plekhanov said he had noticed that Arsenyev was irritated by his refusal concerning Struve; I remarked that he, on the contrary, had laid down conditions to us, notwithstanding his statement, previously made during our conversation in the woods, that he would impose no conditions. Plekhanov defended himself, saying that he had been silent, not because he was laying down conditions, but because the question was clear as far as he was concerned. I urged the necessity for permitting polemics and the necessity for voting among ourselves. Plekhanov agreed to the latter, but added that voting, of course, was permissible on partial questions, but impossible on fundamental questions. I objected by saying that it would not always be easy to distinguish between fundamental and partial questions, and that it was precisely in drawing such distinctions that the co-editors would have to take a vote. Plekhanov was stubborn. He said that this was a matter of conscience, that the distinction between fundamental and partial questions was perfectly clear, and that there would
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be no occasion for taking a vote. And so we got stuck in this dispute as to whether voting should be permitted among the editors on the question of defining what were fundamental and what were partial questions, and we could make no progress. Plekhanov displayed all his dexterity, the brilliance of his examples, smiles, jests, and citations, which compelled us to laugh in spite of ourselves; but he evaded the question without definitely saying "no." I became convinced that he positively could not concede the point; that he could not abandon his "individualism" and his "ultimatums," since he would never agree to take a vote on such questions but would present ultimatums.
   
That evening I departed without again meeting any of the members of the Emancipation of Labour group. We had agreed among ourselves not to relate what had passed to any one except our most intimate friends. We decided to keep up appearances and not give our opponents cause for triumph. Outwardly it was as though nothing had happened; the apparatus must continue to work as it had worked till then, but within a chord had broken, and instead of splendid personal relations, dry, business-like relations prevailed, with a constant reckoning according to the principle: si vis pacem, para bellum.[*]
   
It will be of interest, however, to mention a conversation I had that same evening with an intimate friend and adherent of Plekhanov, a member of the Sotsial-Demokrat group. I mentioned no word to him about what had occurred; I told him that we had arranged to publish a magazine, that the articles had been decided on -- it was time to set to work. I discussed with him the practical ways of arranging the work. He gave stress to the opinion that the old ones were absolutely incapable of doing editorial work. I discussed with him the "three variations" and asked him directly which in his opinion was the best. Without hesitation, he answered -- the first (we to be the editors, they the contributors), but in all probability, he thought, the magazine would be Plekhanov's and the newspaper ours.
   
As the affair became more and more remote, we began to think of it more calmly, and became convinced that it was
   
* If you desire peace, prepare for war. --Ed.
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entirely unreasonable to give up the enterprise, that we had for the time being no ground for fearing to undertake the editorship (of the collection ), but that indeed it was neccssary for us to undertake it, for there was absolutely no other way of making the apparatus work properly, and of preventing the project from being ruined by the disruptive "propensities" of Plekhanov.
   
By the time we arrived at N.,[134]on September 4 or 5, we had drawn up the plan of the formal relations between us (I had begun to write it en route, on the train). That plan made us the editors and them the contributors, with the right to vote on all editorial questions. It was decided to discuss this plan with Yegor (Martov), and then to submit it to them.
   
Hopes were beginning to rise that the "Spark" would be rekindled.