Stalin: A Biography

by Robert Service

  It may seem surprising that they managed to function at all as politicians. But this would miss the point. Although they would have engaged in sexual and alcoholic excess even if they had not become Soviet politicians, undoubtedly they were also driven in this direction by the pressures — and dangers — of their jobs.

  Stalin’s existence before Operation Barbarossa had been stolid by comparison, but it was not devoid of female companionship or heavy drinking. A plausible piece of gossip was that Stalin took a fancy to his deceased wife Nadya’s sister-in-law Yevgenia. She saw quite a lot of him in the months after the suicide. Another who did so was Maria Svanidze.27 This was not approved by Maria’s husband Alexander, who thought that it might lead to hanky-panky. Maria made no secret of the fact that she ‘loved Joseph and was attached to him’.28 She was good-looking and worked on stage as a singer:29 she could hardly help attracting Stalin’s attention. But it was Yevgenia who was most gossiped about. In fact Yevgenia, whose husband Pavel Alliluev died in 1938, quickly married an inventor called Nikolai Molochnikov. Although it is doubtful that she and Stalin had a sexual relationship, there remains the suspicion that Yevgenia went off with Molochnikov as a way of avoiding becoming more closely involved with Stalin. Her daughter Kira has said opaquely: ‘She got wed so as to defend herself.’30 But filial piety discouraged her from stating whether it was Stalin’s attentions that she wanted to escape. What is known is that Stalin subsequently rang her several times and that during the Second World War he asked her to accompany Svetlana and other relatives as they were evacuated from Moscow. Yevgenia refused his request on the ground that she had her own immediate family to think about.31

  Rumours had other candidates as his lovers in the late 1930s; it was even said that he secretly married again. The person said to have been his wife was named as Rosa Kaganovich. This allegation was peddled by the German Nazi media. Supposedly Rosa was Lazar Kaganovich’s beautiful sister. It was a pack of lies. Lazar Kaganovich had only one sister, Rakhil, who died in the mid-1920s.32 Another suggestion was that it was Lazar Kaganovich’s daughter Maya whom Stalin took to bed. Certainly she was good-looking. But there is no credible evidence. Lazar Kaganovich was not a prude and had no reason as a pensioner to pretend that his daughter had had no relationship with Stalin if this was not true.33

  What is beyond doubt is the kind of life enjoyed by Stalin among his male friends. He loved to sing with Molotov and Voroshilov accompanied by Zhdanov on the piano. Molotov came from a musical family and could play the violin and mandolin. When he had been in administrative exile in Vologda before the Great War, he had supplemented his convict’s allowance by joining a mandolin group which went round the local restaurants and cinema. Zhdanov too had a cultural hinterland and joined in the fun at the dacha, and Voroshilov had a decent voice. All had memorised church music as youngsters and, ignoring their atheistic commitment, performed the hymns they loved.34 Stalin’s voice had held up well and he could still take the baritone’s parts.35 He also sang to his daughter Svetlana and his Alliluev nephews and nieces. Kira Allilueva recalled him dandling her on his knee and giving renditions of his favourite tunes.36 Despite later being imprisoned and exiled by his police, she continued to hold her uncle in affection. His joviality in private surroundings had not vanished with his wife’s suicide.

  Another form of recreation was billiards. When the Alliluevs visited, Stalin sometimes played against Nadya’s elder brother Pavel. Usually it was a convivial occasion, but not always. Pavel had grown wary of Joseph. The house rule was that losers in any match had to crawl under the table afterwards. One evening in the 1930s Pavel and Joseph lost a match to Alexander Svanidze and Stanisław Redens. Pavel anticipated dangerous resentment and ordered his sons to do the crawling on behalf of himself and Stalin. But Pavel’s daughter Kira was present. ‘This,’ she cried with childish righteousness, ‘is against the rules. They’ve lost, let them crawl under!’ A frightened Pavel strode across to her and struck her with his cue. Stalin could not be allowed to feel humiliated.37

  Indulgence also had to be shown him at his dinner parties. He himself liked to flirt with women and probably he bedded some of them. It would be astounding if such an egotist had failed to take his opportunities with at least some of the many women who made themselves available. But he disapproved of public licentiousness (which is one of the reasons why his sex life after 1932 remains mysterious). His hypocritical prudery about women, though, was accompanied by an open relish for sessions of heavy drinking. He virtually forced brandies and vodka on his guests — and then stood back and waited for them to blurt out some secret while under the influence of alcohol. He himself took the precaution of drinking wine in the same size of glass that the others had for vodka. Another of his tricks was to imbibe a vodka-coloured wine while others drank spirits. (He admitted this stratagem to Ribbentrop in 1939.)38 Having put his guests uncomfortably at their ease, he wanted to watch and listen rather than to get drunk. He liked practical jokes and dirty anecdotes, and there was trouble for anyone who declined to join in. Among his more childish tricks was to put a tomato on the seat of a Politburo member. Always the squelching sound brought tears of laughter to his eyes.

  Such parties continued to be held after 1941 even though they happened less frequently. They belonged to the secret life of the Kremlin’s rulers. The only witnesses, apart from the small number of servants, were communist emissaries from eastern Europe who reached Moscow in the closing years of the war. Brought up to imagine Stalin as an austere character, they were always stupefied by the vulgarity of the scene. Stalin must have suspected that this would be the reaction of most people. Although he ordered lots of drink for Churchill and Roosevelt, he never got up to the usual japes in their presence.

  He also dressed up for meetings with the Allied leaders. But this was exceptional. With other visitors he saw no need to look smart. He continued to shuffle around the grounds of the Blizhnyaya dacha in his favourite Civil War coat which had fur on both its inside and outside. Alternatively he might put on his ordinary fur coat (which had also been acquired after the October Revolution). When servants surreptitiously tried to get rid of it, he was not fooled: ‘You’re taking the opportunity to bring me a new fur coat every day but this one has another ten years in it.’ He was no less attached to his old boots.39 Zhukov noted that he stuffed his pipe not with any special tobacco but with the filling of the Herzegovina Flor cigarettes available in all kiosks. He unravelled the cigarettes himself.40 One rising young official, Nikolai Baibakov, was taken aback by his shabbiness. His boots were not only decrepit; they even had holes in the toes. Baibakov mentioned this to Stalin’s personal assistant Poskrëbyshev, who told him that Stalin had cut the holes to relieve the friction on his corns.41 Anything to avoid submitting himself to a doctor’s regular inspection!

  Although he occasionally let his hair down, Stalin spent most of the war overladen with work. Most nights were passed in his makeshift office deep below the Mayakovski Metro station. The days were long and exhausting, and usually he slept not in a bed but on a divan. Not since Nicholas I, that most austere of Romanovs, had a ruler of the Russians been so frugal in his habits. Stalin was aware of the precedent,42 and turned himself into a human machine for the winning of the Great Patriotic War.

  40. TO THE DEATH!

  Victory at Stalingrad in February 1943 made the defeat of the Wehrmacht possible but not yet certain. Hitler’s forces in the East were determined and well-equipped. They kept Leningrad under siege. The Ice Road linking the city to the rest of Russia was under constant bombardment. Moscow too remained in peril. Any strategic mistake or diminution of patriotic commitment would have baleful consequences for the USSR.

  The Red Army strove to follow up Stalingrad with total victory. Stalin’s growing readiness to listen to advice in Stavka and the State Defence Committee paid dividends. It was as well that he changed his ways, if only for the war’s duration. Manstein was hastily reassembling the divisions of the We
hrmacht after the Stalingrad defeat for a campaign which he designated Operation Citadel. Pushing up from Ukraine, he aimed to confront the Red Army at the large bulge in its south-facing front near Kursk on the Russo-Ukrainian border. Manstein was planning rapid action. But he was prohibited by Hitler from opening his offensive and taking Stavka by surprise. Hitler had learned like Stalin that the careful preparation of each campaign was crucial; inadvertently he gave the Reds time to think and react. This should have played into Stavka’s hands. Unfortunately, though, Stalin’s caution was only intermittent. The instinct to attack at every opportunity had not died in him. Learning that the Wehrmacht was holding back, he could not help himself: he demanded that Stavka organise a massive offensive without delay.

  Zhukov would have none of this; he delivered a report to Stavka insisting that defence in depth was the better option: bloody but dependable attrition was preferable to a bloodier and riskier attack — and Zhukov predicted that Kursk would be the place where the decisive battle would take place.1 On 12 April a Stavka conference was held. Stalin gruffly gave way to Zhukov’s proposal, which was backed by his military colleagues Alexander Vasilevski and Alexei Antonov.2 German intentions quickly became clear as fifty of Hitler’s best divisions were moved into an attacking position where Zhukov had predicted. Stalin, though, had second thoughts in May and argued again in favour of a pre-emptive offensive. Zhukov, Vasilevski and Antonov held firm and carried opinion in Stavka with them.3 Stalin accepted the result and rushed Zhukov and Vasilevski to take direct command. By 4 July the imminence of the German attack was obvious to Zhukov, who ordered Rokossovski to put the agreed plan into operation. Stalin was informed of the decision without prior consultation. It was a bold gesture of autonomy by Zhukov but he got away with it. Stalin received the news without his usual rancour: ‘I’ll be in Stavka awaiting the development of events.’4

  When hostilities started early next morning, Zhukov was immersed in the task of reacting to unexpected dispositions made by the Germans. It was Stalin who rang him rather than the other way round: ‘Well, how’s it going? Have they started?’ Zhukov simply replied: ‘They’ve started.’5 Stalin had to bide his time and control his nerves. The fate of the USSR was in the hands of the Red Army, and there was no longer anything he could do from Moscow that could affect the outcome of battle.

  Wehrmacht tanks made ground in the first two days, but then the Soviet lines held. Zhukov and Manstein struggled to outwit and out-punch each other. Zhukov’s ruthless tactics were effective. Instead of waiting for his artillery to batter the enemy before throwing his tanks at them, he undertook both actions simultaneously. Soviet losses were immense; but although the Germans suffered fewer, they could ill afford them in the light of their increasing shortage of men and supplies. Zhukov by his own estimation had 40 per cent more troops, 90 per cent more weaponry, 20 per cent more tanks and 40 per cent more aircraft.6 Wasteful though he was of his resources, he had calculated that the Germans faced disaster unless they carried off a speedy victory. German success was never likely. In accordance with the long-elaborated plan, the Red Army counter-attacked from both the Bryansk Front and the Western Front. The Wehrmacht was pummelled backwards. Stalin could not resist demanding the intensification of offensive operations, and as usual it fell to Zhukov to get him to allow time for physical recovery and tactical regrouping. Disputes proliferated and Stalin made plenty of wounding accusations.7 But Zhukov was made of strong stuff and was sustained by confidence in imminent triumph. In August he had his moment of glory when he was able to report his final success to Stavka.

  The Germans had failed to win the battle of Kursk. The Red Army had not won in a conventional sense because the Wehrmacht conducted a planned and orderly retreat. Thus there was no definitive end to the battle. But Hitler had sustained strategic defeat simply by not having been able to win. After Kursk the Wehrmacht was pushed steadily westwards. Red Army morale rose as German spirits dipped. The USSR conscripted its vast reservoir of peasant soldiers while the Germans and their allies were running out of fighting men. Soviet factories reached a peak of production and were accelerating at a faster rate than Germany’s industrial capacity. Stalin and his Stavka believed that the reverses suffered by German arms at Kursk signalled the beginning of the end for Hitler’s New Order in Europe.

  Soviet commanders were right that Stalin had contributed less than themselves to the victory at Kursk. Yet they saw only the military side of his activity: they had little cognisance of his other interventions in the USSR’s war effort. Stavka had nothing to do with foreign policy, political organisation, cultural and social policy or economic mobilisation. Stalin interfered in all these sectors and his impact was deep. In 1941–2 this had already led to several adjustments which he thought necessary to the interests of the USSR. The massive territorial losses in the war’s early months precipitated a collapse in food supplies as Ukrainian wheat, potatoes and sugar beet fell into the hands of the Germans. Although no directive was issued, the authorities slackened off their efforts against the black market in agricultural produce. The exceptions were cities under siege such as Leningrad where the NKVD punished anyone caught trading on the street. But market economics more widely crept back into the Soviet order as party and municipal government accepted that peasants bringing sacks of vegetables for sale helped to alleviate urban malnutrition;8 and Stalin, who had fulminated against the flouting of trading laws in the 1930s, kept silent about this during the war.

  He also understood the need to widen the limits of cultural expression. Many intellectuals who had been suspect to the authorities were told that the state welcomed their creative services. Notable among them were the poet Anna Akhmatova and the composer Dmitri Shostakovich. Akhmatova had been married to the poet Nikolai Gumilëv, who had been killed as an anti-Soviet militant in 1921; her son Lev still languished in prison and her writings had not been published for years. But well-read members of society remembered her with affection. It was in Stalin’s interest to allow her work to be read over the radio and at concerts. This permission was not indiscriminate. Preference was given to those of her poems which emphasised the achievements of the Russian people. Shostakovich had learned the lesson of his troubles before the war and given up accompanying his music with words. He wrote the score of his Seventh (Leningrad) Symphony while working as a night fire warden. The piece was recognised for its greatness by the first-night audience in 1942.

  Cheap editions of the Russian classics were distributed at the front. Stalin as writer also belonged to the Soviet literary pantheon and the commissars gave his pamphlets to the troops; but he was not in fact a favourite author for men on active service. The regime recognised this and moderated its insistence on placing his oeuvre at the centre of its propaganda.

  Stalin also dropped the Internationale as the USSR state hymn (or national anthem) and held a competition for a new one. The winner was Alexander Alexandrov with a melody which stirred the soul. Words were added by Sergei Mikhalkov and Garold El-Registan and they were among the most effective items in the armoury of official propaganda. The first verse went:9

  The indestructible union of free republics

  Was bound together by Great Rus.

  Long live the united, the powerful Soviet Union

  Created by the will of the people!

  The second verse moored patriotism in allegiance to the October Revolution:

  Through the storm the sun of freedom shone on us

  And the great Lenin lit up the way for us:

  Stalin brought us up — he inspired us towards loyalty to the people,

  Towards labour and towards heroic feats!

  The hymn had a genuine emotional resonance for the wartime generation; it was hardly a cultural ‘concession’ since it contained a paean to Stalin; but it indicated that the authorities understood that cosmopolitanism, as embodied in the Internationale, did little to make Russians fight for the Motherland.

  Still more important were Stali
n’s decisions on the Russian Orthodox Church. By 1939 there were only around a hundred places of worship still open to believers.10 No monastery had survived the Soviet years. Tens of thousands of priests had been slaughtered in the Civil War, the First Five-Year Plan and the Great Terror. People nevertheless believed in God. When the USSR census took place in 1937, some 55 per cent of the population rejected the aspirations of the atheistic state and declared themselves religious believers — and naturally the true proportion of the faithful must have been much greater.

  Stalin, former pupil of the Tiflis Spiritual Seminary, welcomed Acting Patriarch Sergei’s patriotic stance. He was also pleased by the offertories collected in churches for the production of armaments. The Dmitri Donskoi tank column came from this source. It suited Stalin nicely that the Russian Orthodox Church was stiffening the military commitment of its congregations. Buildings were quietly allowed to be reopened for religious purposes. Stalin formalised the position by inviting Acting Patriarch Sergei to a meeting with him in the Kremlin on 4 September 1943. Sergei arrived, wondering what exactly awaited him.11 Stalin acted as if no contretemps had ever taken place between the Soviet state and the Russian Orthodox Church. Jovially he enquired of Sergei why he had come with so few priests. Sergei overcame the temptation to say that he could easily have mustered more clergy if Stalin had not spent the previous decade arresting and executing them. Yet the atmosphere was lightened by Stalin’s proposal that in return for the termination of persecution and for a measure of freedom to hold services of worship the Church should acknowledge the legitimacy of the Soviet state and avoid criticism of its internal and external policies.12