Stalin (5 page)

Yet behind this promising façade lurked a growing dissatisfaction and insubordination. While there is no moment that stands out as marking his departure from the path of the law-abiding and well-adjusted student, we do have two well-known pieces of evidence attesting to the unbearable living conditions at the seminary. The first such testimony belongs to Stalin himself. In 1931, in an interview with German writer Emil Ludwig, he described the seminary’s role in pushing him toward insurrection: “In protest against the outrageous regime and the Jesuitical methods prevalent at the seminary, I was ready to become, and actually did become, a revolutionary, a believer in Marxism as a really revolutionary teaching.… For instance, the spying in the hostel. At nine o’clock the bell rings for morning tea, we go to the dining-room, and when we return to our rooms we find that meantime a search has been made and all our chests have been ransacked.”
¹⁶
This account is supplemented by a widely cited description by one of Stalin’s classmates:

We were brought to a four-story building and put in huge dormitory rooms with 20–30 people each.… Life in the theological seminary was repetitious and monotonous. We arose at seven in the morning. First, we were forced to pray, then we had tea, and after the bell we went to class.… Classes continued, with breaks, until two o’clock. At three we had supper. At five there was roll call, after which we were not allowed to leave the building. We felt as if we were in prison. We were again taken to vespers, and at eight we had tea, and then each class went to its own room to do assignments, and at ten it was lights out, sleep.

Having only Sundays free of this regimentation probably did not much brighten the seminarians’ lives, especially as the day was partially taken up by mandatory church services. It was a regime of constant surveillance, searches, denunciations, and punishments. Although the range of disciplines was somewhat broader than in Gori—in addition to scripture, church singing, Russian philology, and the Greek and Georgian languages, the curriculum included biblical and secular history and mathematics—intellectual life was constrained by dogmatism. The reading of secular literature was harshly punished and Russification was crudely enforced, insulting the national pride of Georgian seminarians. The strong undercurrent of resentment and rebellion among the students was hardly surprising. A strike had erupted the year before Ioseb enrolled. The seminarians stopped attending their classes and demanded an end to arbitrariness by the teachers and the firing of some of them. In response, the authorities closed down the institution and expelled a large number of students.

The firm suppression of unrest doubtless helps account for the lack of open protest during Ioseb’s years at the seminary. Any individual or group dissent was kept underground. At first the future dictator found an outlet in romantic literary heroes exemplifying the struggle for justice, especially those from Georgian literature. One of his first models came from
The Patricide,
a novel by Alexandre Kazbegi. This was a tale of the fearless and noble avenger Koba, scourge of Russian oppressors and the Georgian aristocracy.
¹⁸
Koba became the future leader’s first pseudonym, one he treasured and allowed his closest comrades to use for him throughout his life.

His fascination with romantic rebellion flavored with Georgian nationalism predictably led young Stalin to try his hand at verse. After completing his first year at the seminary, he brought a sample of his poetry to the editorial office of a Georgian newspaper, which published five poems between June and October 1895. Another poem appeared in a different newspaper the following summer. The poems, written in Georgian, extolled service to the motherland and the people. During Stalin’s leadership of the Soviet Union, his poetry was translated into Russian, but these translations were not included among his collected works. He undoubtedly understood that his undistinguished and naive verse belied the image of the single-minded revolutionary:

A lark in the high clouds

Sang ever so sonorously.

And a joyous nightingale said this:

“Blossom, lovely land,

Exult, country of Georgians.

And you, Georgian,

Gladden your motherland with learning.”

Although such lines do nothing to soften the image of Stalin the dictator, they do attest to the pure intentions of Jughashvili the seminarian, who found inspiration in the ideas of service to the motherland and the people. During his third year at the seminary, these vague, half-formed strivings did lead to one concrete step. Ioseb joined an illegal discussion group of seminarians and apparently assumed a leadership role within it. The books read by the group were perfectly legal but forbidden by the seminary. Entries in the journal used to keep track of the seminarians’ conduct record violations by Jughashvili involving the reading of forbidden books, including novels by Victor Hugo, in late 1896 and early 1897.
²⁰
Beginning in his third year, Ioseb’s grades began to decline, and he was caught violating rules with increasing frequency.

Ioseb Jughashvili was growing increasingly radicalized. He stopped writing verse and developed an ardent interest in politics. Participating in the discussion group was no longer enough. He longed to get involved in something “real,” a desire that led him to the Social Democrats, an interest in Marxism, and attendance at illegal meetings of railway workers. According to his official biography, in August 1898, while still enrolled in the seminary, Ioseb joined a Social Democratic organization and began working as a propagandist for small groups of workers. At this point, his knowledge of Marxism must have been fairly superficial, but his fascination with it was consuming. For the young seminarian, the all-encompassing nature of Marxism, almost religious in its universality, was tremendously appealing. It filled the gap in his worldview created by his disillusionment with religion. The belief that human history was governed by a set of laws and that humanity was inexorably advancing toward the higher stages of socialism endowed the revolutionary struggle with special meaning. But this fascination with Marxism hardly set young Jughashvili apart. Belief in Marxism was a veritable epidemic.

One influence on Ioseb was the older fellow revolutionaries and rebels who came to Tiflis from other regions of Georgia. The figure most often mentioned in this context is Lado Ketskhoveli. Though still a young man, he had already advanced along the path on which young Stalin was just embarking. After being expelled from the Tiflis seminary, Ketskhoveli enrolled in the Kiev Theological Seminary, where he was arrested by the authorities for possessing illegal literature. Only a general amnesty occasioned by the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II saved him from punishment. After returning to Tiflis and then moving to Baku, this committed revolutionary immersed himself in subversive work and organized an underground printing press. In 1903 he was shot by a prison guard. Legend has it that he was killed for shouting revolutionary slogans. This was the sort of man of action Ioseb looked up to.
²¹

Ioseb’s behavior during his final academic year at the seminary (1898–1899), when he was increasingly involved in the Social Democratic movement, clearly shows an intention to break with the past. All the indignation that had festered during his first years in Tiflis came to the surface. The seminary’s conduct journal serves as a chronicle of his rebellion. In September he was caught reading excerpts from banned books to his comrades. In October he was confined to a punishment cell three times for failing to attend prayers, bad behavior during liturgy, and returning late after a school recess. Over the following months, periods of confinement alternated with reprimands for a variety of offenses.
²²

In January 1899, a serious conflict with the seminary’s administration resulted in Ioseb’s being prohibited from leaving the seminary for a month. Historian Aleksandr Ostrovskii attributes this punishment to an incident described in the memoirs of one of Ioseb’s classmates, published in 1939.
²³
According to this account, a seminary inspector searched Jughashvili’s room and found forbidden books. At this point, a seminarian by the name of Kelbakiani pounced on the inspector and knocked the books out of his grasp. Helped by Jughashvili, Kelbakiani then gathered up the books and fled.
²⁴
Among the sources that cast doubt on this account is the seminary’s conduct journal for 1899, which describes Kelbakiani’s infraction quite differently.
²⁵
A search of Kelbakiani’s own possessions turned up a notebook into which excerpts from prohibited literature had been copied. When the inspector refused Kelbakiani’s request that the notebook be returned, the seminarian grabbed it and threw it into the toilet. The seminary rector was immediately informed of this incident and Kelbakiani was placed in a punishment cell for several hours.

According to the conduct journal, “Kelbakiani displayed strong remorse.” He admitted his guilt and asked for indulgence. There is no mention of Jughashvili’s involvement in this incident. All that is known for certain is that in January 1899 Jughashvili was deprived of the right to leave the seminary premises for one month, and Kelbakiani was expelled.
²⁶
The difference in punishments may indicate that Ioseb was penalized for some other infraction or that he played only a minor role in the destruction of the notebook.

In June 1951, Kelbakiani wrote the following to his former classmate:

Comrade Soso! If you knew how impoverished I was at the present time, I am certain you would not leave me without attention. I have grown old and have no income and I am in a state of need.… Comrade Soso, in some way you are in my debt: you probably remember how I grabbed from the seminary inspector … illegal literature that was taken during a search of your drawer, for which I was expelled from the seminary.… I am not proud of this and am not boasting, of course.… Poverty has forced me to remember this. Help me, Comrade Soso.

This letter was placed before Stalin. There is no record to show whether Kelbakiani was given any assistance, but his letter does shed light on the 1899 incident. Kelbakiani was undoubtedly familiar with the account published in 1939 describing the future Stalin’s “heroic deed,” and he generally adheres to its details. The confiscated notebook is identified as “illegal literature” and is found among Jughashvili’s possessions rather than Kelbakiani’s. It is, however, noteworthy that Kelbakiani unequivocally states that he himself, without help from “Comrade Soso,” was the one to grab the confiscated notebook from the inspector. He is just as unequivocal on the subject of Soso’s involvement in the incident and in suggesting that he, Kelbakiani, performed a favor for the future leader. Overall, it would appear that Ioseb really was involved. We can surmise, for example, that the notebook Kelbakiani destroyed belonged to Jughashvili. This may not have been reported in the conduct journal because it was not known at the time. It seems almost certain that Ioseb did not help Kelbakiani save the materials. This was among the more harmless of the legends that took shape to foster the cult of the leader.

The notebook incident aside, Jughashvili committed more than enough sins in the eyes of the seminary leadership to render him persona non grata. In May 1899 he was expelled, the formal cause being “for failing to appear at examinations for unknown reasons.” One odd detail is that the certificate he was given upon expulsion, stating he had completed four years at the seminary, gives him excellent grades for behavior.
²⁸
Stalin’s biographers have long commented on the confusion surrounding the circumstances of his departure. He himself preferred to say that he was “kicked out” “for Marxist propaganda.” In one interview, Ekaterine claims that she took her son out of the seminary because of his poor health.
²⁹
There may be some truth to all these accounts—both the official formulation and the statements by Jughashvili and his mother. The seminary leadership may have been eager to rid itself of a rebel while avoiding scandal. Ioseb may have withdrawn “by mutual consent” with a commendatory certificate on the completion of four years. If so, Ekaterine and her complaints of her son’s worsening health probably played a major role. In the end, Ioseb really was “kicked out,” but quietly, leaving the door open for him to mend his ways.

The certificate issued to Ioseb Jughashvili by the seminary would have enabled him to work in the area of religion or teach elementary school.
³⁰
But a return to ordinary life did not interest him. In late 1899 Ioseb was hired, with the help of friends, to work at the Tiflis Meteorological Station. His job involved constant recording of instrument readings and therefore required him to live on the premises, taking care of his need for both money and housing.

Continuing to work with revolutionary groups, he soon aligned himself with the radical wing of the Tiflis Social Democratic organization, which rejected agitation through legal propaganda and instead favored fomenting strikes and demonstrations. Given the twenty-two-year-old rebel’s record at the seminary and his friendship with such revolutionaries as Lado Ketskhoveli, his turn toward radicalism is hardly surprising.

The years 1900 and 1901 saw a wave of strikes in Tiflis, followed by crackdowns. Under threat of arrest, Jughashvili left the weather station and went underground. There was no turning back; he had become a professional revolutionary.

Whatever their backgrounds, Russian revolutionaries tended to have one thing in common. Their break with ordinary life and move underground took place in a moment of hatred and decisiveness: hatred for the existing order and a decision to combat it. In the Russian Empire, there was no shortage of either emotion. An authoritarian regime and social injustices created a breeding ground for rebels. The persecution to which radicals were subjected radicalized them still more. The hatred felt by Ioseb Jughashvili, aroused by the arbitrariness and obscurantism that prevailed at the seminary, was further inspired by the propaganda and actions of his more experienced comrades, those who had chosen the path of revolution before him. His decisiveness was both a feature of his character and a product of the milieu into which he was born. Anyone with social origins like his had little to lose.