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foreign bourgeoisie can give, tanks they can send, that our traitors may make mincemeat of Russian workers and peasants, plunder Russia, ruin the farms, try to throttle the Soviet Government. And of course the iron to a certain extent enters into the soul of the worker and the peasant, who are wasting away under the burdens of war, longing for rest. They have swept away the bourgeoisie and could rest, could put an end to the war, were it not for this portion of the officer class, the men who have given their swords, their honour and their conscience into the keeping of the French-English capitalists.
Under the Tsar much was said in the military schools about patriotism, love of country. But those were false, hollow words, for under the Tsars whole provinces were sold, whole districts given away as rewards for service rendered, or went to minions and favourites. Now, however, when Russia is no longer a stepmother but a true mother to her workers and peasants, we have the right to talk of country and native land. And who is it that now crucifies their native land, barters it away, sells it to the English, French, Chinese, Turks—to whomever will buy?
Alas, it is that portion of the officer class which is bound with hoops of steel to the landed proprietors, and which thinks that the wheel
