Stalin admired Zhenya’s joie de vivre. She was unafraid of him: the first time she arrived at Zubalovo after her return from Berlin, she found a meal on the table and ate it all. Stalin then walked in and asked: “Where’s my onion soup?”
Zhenya admitted she had eaten it. This might have provoked an explosion but Stalin merely smiled and said, “Next time, they better make two.”
She said whatever she thought—it was she, among others, who told him about the famine in 1932, yet Stalin forgave her for this. She was well read and Stalin consulted her about what he should read. She suggested an Egyptian history but joked that he “started copying the Pharaohs.” Zhenya made him laugh uproariously with her earthy wit. Their conversation resembled his banter with rough male friends. She was an expert singer of the chastushka, bawdy rhymes with puns that resemble limericks. They do not translate well but Stalin’s favourites were such gems as “Simple to shit off a bridge, but one person did it and fell off” or “Sitting in one’s own shit feels as safe as a fortress.”
Zhenya could not help tactlessly puncturing the balloons of the puffed-up Party women, and Stalin always enjoyed playing off his courtiers. When Polina Molotova, mistress of the perfume industry, boasted to the Leader that she was wearing her latest product, Red Moscow, Stalin sniffed.
“That’s why you smell so nice,” he said.
“Come on, Joseph,” interrupted Zhenya. “She smells of Chanel No. 5!” Afterwards, Zhenya realized she had made a mistake: “Why on earth did I say it?” This made the family enemies among the politicians at a time when politics was about to become a blood sport. Nonetheless she alone could get away with these comments because Stalin “respected her irreverence.”
When Stalin inaugurated the 1936 Constitution, Zhenya, who was late for everything, was late for that too. She crept in and thought no one had noticed until Stalin himself greeted her afterwards.
“How did you spot me?” she asked.
“I see everything, I can see two kilometres away,” replied Stalin whose senses were ferally acute. “You’re the only one who’d dare be late.”
Stalin needed female advice on his children. When Svetlana, maturing early, appeared in her first skirt, Stalin lectured her on “Bolshevik modesty” but asked Zhenya: “Can a girl wear a dress like that? I don’t want her to bare her knees.”
“It’s only natural,” replied Zhenya.
“And she asks for money,” said the father.
“That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“What’s the money for?” he persisted. “A person can live well on ten kopeks!”
“Come on, Joseph!” Zhenya teased him. “That was before the Revolution!”
“I thought you could live on ten kopeks,” murmured Stalin.
“What are they doing? Printing special newspapers for you?” Only Zhenya could say this sort of thing to him.
Stalin and Zhenya probably became lovers at this time. Historians never know what happens behind bedroom doors, and Bolshevik conspiratorial secrecy and prudish morality make these matters especially difficult to research.[78] But Maria Svanidze observed their relationship and recorded it in her diary, which Stalin himself preserved: that summer, Maria spotted how Zhenya went out of her way to be alone with Stalin. The following winter, she records how Stalin arrived back in his apartment to find Maria and Zhenya. He “teased Zhenya about getting plump again. He treated her very affectionately. Now that I know everything I have watched them closely…”
“Stalin was in love with my mother,” asserts Zhenya’s daughter Kira. Daughters perhaps tend to believe great men are in love with their mothers but her cousin Leonid Redens also believes it was “more than a friendship.” There is other evidence too: later in the thirties, Beria approached Zhenya with an offer that sounds like Stalin’s clumsy proposal of marriage. When she remarried after her husband’s death, Stalin reacted with jealous fury.
Stalin himself was always gently courteous with Zhenya. While he barely telephoned Anna Redens or Maria Svanidze, Svetlana remembered how he often phoned her for a chat, even after their relationship was over.
Zhenya was far from the only attractive woman around Stalin. During the mid-thirties, he was still enjoying a normal social life with an entourage that included a cosmopolitan circle of young and flighty women. But for the moment, it was Zhenya who sat at Stalin’s feet.1
Just after the party, on 28 and 29 December, the assassin Nikolaev and his fourteen co-defendants were tried by Ulrikh in Leningrad. That reptilian hanging judge called Stalin for orders.
“Finish it,” the Vozhd ordered laconically. Following the 1st December Law, they were shot within an hour—and their innocent families soon after. In the month of December, 6,501 people were shot. 2 Stalin had no precise plan for the growing Terror, just the belief that the Party had to be terrorized into submission and that old enemies had to be eradicated. Opportunistic and supersensitive, Stalin meandered towards his goal. The NKVD could not link Leningrad to the “Moscow Centre” of Zinoviev and Kamenev but it had the means to persuade its prisoners to do so. By mid-January, they had indeed encouraged a prisoner to implicate Zinoviev and Kamenev who were sentenced to ten and five years respectively. Stalin distributed a secret letter that warned that all the opposition had to be “treated like White Guards” and “arrested and isolated.” The flood of arrests was so huge that the camps were deluged by “Kirov’s Torrent,” yet, simultaneously, Stalin orchestrated a jazz-playing “thaw”: “Life has become merrier, comrades,” he said. “Life has become better.”3[79]
On 11 January 1935, Stalin and most of the Politburo attended a gala celebration of the Soviet film industry at the Bolshoi which was a sort of “Oscars without the jokes.” The directors were handed Orders of Lenin.
“For us,” Lenin had said, “the most important of all the arts is cinema,” the art form of the new society. Stalin personally controlled a “Soviet Hollywood” through the State Film Board, run by Boris Shumiatsky with whom he had been in exile. Stalin did not merely interfere in movies, he minutely supervised the directors and films down to their scripts: his archive reveals how he even helped write the songs. He talked about films with his entourage and passed every film before it was shown to the public, becoming his own supreme censor. Stalin was Joseph Goebbels combined with Alexander Korda, an unlikely pair united by love of celluloid, rolled into one.4
He was an obsessional movie buff. In 1934, he had already seen the new Cossack “Eastern” Chapaev and The Jolly Fellows so often he knew them by heart. Directed by Grigory Alexandrov, the latter was personally supervised by Stalin. When this director finished The Jolly Fellows,[80] Shumiatsky decided to tantalize Stalin by showing only the first reel, pretending the second was unfinished. The Vozhd loved it: “Show me the rest!”
78
Even today, those that know such secrets persist in believing, in the words of Stalin’s adopted son General Artyom Sergeev, now eighty, that his “private life is secret and irrelevant to his place in history.”
80
The star was his wife Liuba Orlova and the songs were by the Jewish songwriter Isaac Dunaevsky. The Russians, emerging from an era of starvation and assassination, flocked to see musicals and comedies—like Americans during the Depression. The style was singing, dancing and slapstick: a pig jumps onto a banqueting table, causing much messy hilarity with trotters and snout.