Помимо прочего, в этой статье Галковский "пересказывает" мемуары итальянского дипломата Карло Сфорца. Выглядит это так:
Однажды старый прожженный дипломат граф Сфорца, к тому же дипломат итальянский (итальянская дипломатия после 1870 года славилась своей беспринципностью), встретился с советским послом Вацлавом Воровским. Слово за слово разговорились sans fason. Только что приехавший в Италию советский "полпред" закинул ногу на ногу:
- Да, собственно говоря, все мы подлецы.
- Россия - страна подлецов. Да и дураков. Я тут недавно руководил Госиздатом. Что сказать - русские обезьяны.
- Позвольте, но ведь ваша страна сейчас сильно изменилась. Вы в своем роде проводите, э-э, грандиозный социальный эксперимент. Старый режим, может быть, действительно sit venia verbo оставил родимые пятна, но теперь...
- Что? Это вы о ком? О полоумных марксистах?
- Эти идиоты хотят сразу взять кассу. В политике так не бывает. Я, кстати, советую с ними особо не связываться. Все равно ничего не получится. Они исходят не из анализа обстановки, а ищут все ответы в марксистских учебниках. Так дела не делаются.
- Э-э, о ком же из ваших коллег вы такого невысокого мнения?
- Да о всех. И первый кретин - Ленин.
Поперхнулся тут видавший виды циничный старик от сего lapsus linguae, закашлялся. А Воровский продолжил:
- Собственно говоря, кто такой Ленин? Немецкий сельский учитель, которого убил сифилис, перед смертью наградив несколькими искрами гениальности.
И далее во всех разговорах со Сфорцей Воровский употреблял имя Ленина (впадающего в детство, но еще живого) только с уничижительными эпитетами.
Такого ЦИНИЗМА маститый дипломат не видел никогда. Разумеется, сам Сфорца Ленина оценивал невысоко и понимал, что Воровский ломает перед ним дурака, возможно, по инструкции самого "сельского учителя". Его поразило другое: личное отношение Воровского, считавшего всех своих собеседников идиотами, поддающимися примитивному манипулированию, и этим примитивным манипулированием наслаждавшегося.
Сразу надо сказать, что Сфорца родился в 1873 году, а умер в 1944, так что в 1923 году "циничному старику" (который у Галковского почему-то оказывается сильно сочувствующим ленинскому "социальному эксперименту") было пятьдесят лет. Но это ладно. Если бы речь шла о чисто художественном произведении, то вопросов бы никаких просто возникнуть не могло. В романе или рассказе Воровский может быть кем угодно - уругвайским шпионом, прогрессором-марсианином, генералом иезуитского ордена, тайным братом Николая II. Но данный текст предлагается не как художественный, а как публицистический, как исторический анализ. Поэтому имеет смысл сравнить пересказ с первоисточником.
Источником для этого эпизода, очевидно, послужила известная книга Сфорца, которая по-английски называется "Makers of Modern Europe" и издана впервые была в 1928 году, после того, как он эмигрировал из Италии в 1926 году.
Воровский упоминается в главе 33, которая посвящена Ленину. Вот эта глава целиком:
Lenin has been dead since 1924; but something much more important and complex than him, Leninism, is still living in Russia – and living as a religion. Being a religion, it burns with ecumenical proselytizing ambitions. Being a religion, Leninism pursues unto death, with neither pity nor remorse, all those who are opposed to the new truth. Being a religion, it cares not whether it destroy all the joy and beauty of life, since it fights for a future paradise; and the fact that this paradise for the first time in any religion is promised on earth adds to the violence.
Therefore, when one has proved that Leninism is the creed of a minority of fanatics, one has proved nothing. Political parties are tested by universal suffrage, but religions are not.
If it is difficult for a religion to arise, it is even more difficult for it to disappear completely; and so it will be, probably, with Leninism.
I have been in Russia twice since the Revolution of 1917; twice I have undergone the terrible feeling of suffocation one has when one is spied upon day and night, when one sees on the faces of all those one meets, the same air of terror, of reciprocal and general mistrust. The fact that this was the atmosphere of Fascist Italy as well, increased my longing for free air again. But – and this is the difference between the Russian and other terroristic regimes – a sincere Communist may reply that all that is so revolting to a Westerner is not his Lentnistic religion, but only the passing methods of a revolution to insure the New Order for the good of the human kind.
Such distinctions I heard formulated, by the way, during my last trip to Russia, not by one of the dubious politicians living at the Kremlin, but by the very nephew of a powerful ambassador of Nicholas II, with whom I had played polo years before in Constantinople and in Paris and who, having lost everything through the Revolution, was certainly a sincere, if rare, convert. Such a newly launched distingno may help Leninism to go on as a religion in spite of all the many horrors and stupidities of the Revolution.
The same phenomenon is taking place – even more generally and enthusiastically – in another great country beyond Russia: in China. The cult of Sun Yat-sen, the apostle of the Chinese revolution, is beginning to crystallize into a real and proper religion – and that with the least religious people in the world.
Now, having known Dr. Sun Yat-sen well, and having had an opportunity to judge of the mediocrity of his intelligence and of the childishness of his scientific work, I was very anxious to find out whether it was not the same thing with the founder of the adjacent Russian religion, whom I never knew personally.
The books on Lenin are even more misleading than those on Sun, Lenin having been more hated and more feared. Who has not turned Lenin into a devil has made an angel of him. There are documents in support of both versions, which complicates the task of the historian. But the real difficulty lies in this: that anecdotes do not give the key to great events. And biography, after all, is only anecdote. The only safe criteria are the books and pamphlets that Vladimir Ilyich Ulianow published during his long years of exile throughout Europe, and, during the last years, in Russia, under the name of Nikolai Lenin. But his writings thicken the mystery, for it is impossible to find one page in them, one single page, in which one feels the pulsing of a great soul, as in certain writings ot Jaures for instance, or, quite simply, any kind of originality of judgment. No, everywhere, with a persistent monotony, the copy and vulgarization of what is for him the new Gospel, Marx's work, with insults (quite his own) for the adversaries, appeals to hatred, and facile phrases that recur like the refrain of a song: "Take everything, workmen; everything you see has been stolen from you!"
At the dawn of modern life, a great Italian, Thomas Aquinas, wrote: "Timeo homines unius libri." He would have been right in fearing Lenin, who may have read other books, but has certainly learned by heart and revered but one: Das Kapital. Marx's book supplied him, not with a philosophical interpretation of the world, but with a text on which to build up a new society: it was simpler, and more to his taste.
One thing only in his books might explain the man's success: he reveals himself in them as little Slav as can be, if one accepts the current opinion that makes the Slav a dreamer, idler and metaphysician. And it is frequently an asset, for a ruler, to be different from his subjects.
Unable to find a satisfactory explanation of his success in Lenin's books, I tried to hear from the two prominent Bolsheviks, with whom I entertained fairly long official relations. I have already named one of them, Krassin; the other was Vorovski who came to Rome as soviet commercial agent when I was foreign minister, and who was murdered on May 20, 1923, at Lausanne, during the Conference for the Peace with Turkey.
I here limit myself strictly to putting down what I heard. If I tried syntheses or conclusions, I should only be repeating what has always struck me as being so weak in all the books on the Lenin phenomenon.
Krassin, honest as he was, and contemptuous of all personal vanity, seemed to me, however, in what he often told me of Lenin – he was appreciative for my curiosity – unconsciously tempted to draw a parallel between his kind of life and that of his old friend.
"He left Russia too young; he studied only in books; he had no direct personal knowledge of the world and of men; he lived in a world of abstractions; too much among exiles…" By which he implied that Lenin had always chosen in life the very contrary of what he had.
Krassin loved Lenin, or at least he was grateful to him for his support. But he was too frank not to admit that his friend and chief was, intellectually, very terre-a-terre, and – I quote a phrase of which I took note – "childish when trying to be original." Krassin added however: "As he is, he is the backbone of the new Russia, the main support on which everything rests."
When I pointed to the intellectual misery of Lenin's writings, he simply objected: "You can not deny, at least, that he has the courage to own his mistakes whenever he has made any, as when he adopted the Nep after he had branded the economic conception the Nep stands for."
"Your praises are dangerous, Mr. Krassin. Unless you happen, even with Lenin's case, to want to convert me to the Marxian doctrine that the material forces of history make men and that it is never men who make history."
"If you like."
Vorovski was as imaginative as Krassin was, or wished to appear, matter of fact. Sprung from a noble Polish family, born a Catholic, Vorovski, however sincere a revolutionary he had become, judged, perhaps unconsciously, his Russian comrades as a stranger. Vorovski was not lacking in humor. He had come to Rome as commercial agent. I had proposed the exchange of such agents between our two countries not only because important Italian interests were beginning to shape themselves in the basin of the Black Sea, but also because I was convinced that the resumption of some intercourse with Russia would deprive the Soviet propagandists of the forbidden fruit myth which they were trying to cultivate among certain groups of Italian workmen.
For the same reasons, I was planning to have ambassadors substituted very quickly for the commercial agents.
"A Soviet ambassador," I used to say, "received by the King with the traditional pomp of such ceremonies, making all the prescribed bows, will rapidly be a disillusion for the adoring communistic groups in Italy."
King Victor Emmanuel shared my views; and so did the Prime Minister Giolitti.
Vorovski came, therefore, to Rome, as a first step. It is worth noting, in passing, that the second step, the creation of Embassies, was taken, as soon as they came in power, by the Fascist leaders, one of whose slogans had been: "War to the knife against Soviet Russia." Such is the potency of reality in the international field.
We had in Rome thousands of Russian refugees, many of whom belonged to old families of the Moscovite aristocracy.
Some among them denounced Vorovski as bringing in his trunks historic jewels belonging to their families; strangely enough, none of the denunciators belonged to any of those families which had notoriously lost, in the recent Russian lootings, their famous and easily identifiable jewels. The denunciators added – as information received from Russia – that the jewels had been entrusted to Vorovski by the Kremlin people, as a fund for communistic propaganda in Italy. Vorovski did not enjoy diplomatic privileges; therefore his luggage was searched, but no jewels whatever were found. He came to pay his call on me before his luggage had been returned to him, and said:
"Excuse my flannel suit, Monsieur le Ministre, my frock coat is at the custom house."
Unreliable as he was, and useless as commercial agent, I ended by rather liking the fellow, although I threatened more than once to bring our relations to an end if nothing practical came of them.
His excuse was always the same: "Lenin," he used to say, "does not understand partial advantages, gradual progress." He would add with a grin, "He goes and reads in Marx how the situations are going to develop."
He had known Lenin in Stockholm in April, 1917; and, manifestly, no sympathy had sprung up between the two men. Whenever, during our negotiations for concessions to Italy in the Black Sea Basin, Lenin's name came up, Vorovski showed the poor opinion he had of his chief's mental level. Very gifted, Vorovski was a liar such as I had not met with among the pashas of Abdul-Hamid; but, Polish-wise, he would, from time to time, fall into abysses of truthfulness. And truthful he certainly was when, risking everything, he would, in his irritation at seeing all his proposals to Moscow come to nothing, say to me: "We are led by a German schoolmaster to whom a certain disease has given some sparkles of genius."
In 1917, when Vorovski saw him, Lenin was as a person possessed by the dark foreboding of some terrible issue that would enable him to establish "the dictatorship of the proletariat." It is the only one of his prophecies that has come true.
Two years earlier, for instance, he had declared that war would end in the fraternization (bratanie) of the soldiers at the front, – which did not happen anywhere.
The English and Italian Socialists who spoke to me of Lenin, after meeting him at the famous gathering held at Zimmerwald to hasten the end of the war, had all received the same impression: that Lenin seemed to have two aspects, one gentle and smiling, the other hard and criminal; and that it was like two men who succeeded each other without ever meeting: Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
One of the men of Zimmerwald, who eventually became Cabinet minister of a great country, has told me that in the little village of the Bernese Oberland where they spent so many days settling the terms of a mildly democratic resolution, Lenin, pointing to Zinoviev from a distance, said to his Western comrade: "Poor Zinoviev, he is so Utopian; he thinks that we can make a revolution in Russia without massacres."
Possibly Lenin's one source of strength was that he was not clever enough to doubt his own gospel. When the Caliph Omar burned the library of Alexandria, he exclaimed: "If those books contain what there is in the Koran, they are useless; if they contradict it, they are dangerous."
Lenin, more simply, has written: "The book kills the social revolution." And he acted accordingly.
Думаю, технология Галковского видна невооруженным глазом. Конечно, масштабы применения этой технологии в данном случае уступают тому, что было сделано с книгой Роникера, но принципы остаются те же самые.
Как говорится, инджой.