to talk to them about the general state of affairs. I saw Radek
grin atthis forecast of his speech. I understood why, when he
began to speak. He led off by a direct and furious onslaught
on the railway workers in general, demanding work, work
and more work, telling them that as the Red Army had been
the vanguard of the revolution hitherto, and had starved and
fought and given lives to save those at home from Denikin
and Kolchak, so now it was the turn of the railway workers
on whose efforts not only the Red Army but also the whole
future of Russia depended. He addressed himself to the
women, telling them in very bad Russian that unless their
men worked superhumanly they would see their babies die
from starvation next winter. I saw women nudge their
husbands as they listened. Instead of giving them a pleasant,
interesting sketch of the international position, which, no
doubt, was what they had expected, he took the opportunity
to tell them exactly how things stood at home. And the
amazing thing was that they seemed to be pleased. They
listened with extreme attention, wanted to turn out some one
who had a sneezing fit at the far end of the hall, and nearly
lifted the roof off with cheering when Radek had done. I
wondered what sort of reception a man would have who in
another country interrupted a play to hammer home truths
about the need of work into an audience of working men
who had gathered solely for the purpose of legitimate
recreation. It was not as if he sugared the medicine he gave
them. His speech was nothing but demands for discipline
and work, coupled with prophecy of disaster in case work
and discipline failed. It was delivered like all his speeches,
with a strong Polish accent and a steady succession of