Whose Anthem, Anyhow?

The crowd packed into Holford Square. In a drab house in this drab square in a drab suburb of London, Nikolai Lenin lived and dreamed for a few months in 1903, when the Congress of Russian Social Democrats was convened in the capital of imperial Britain. One thing he never dreamed was that a bust of himself would one day be unveiled there. Last week one was.

Ambassador Maisky pulled a cord. The Union Jack and the Hammer & Sickle drew apart, revealed Lenin's likeness in white concrete against a red background, over a concrete block with a red marble top. A band blared. Hundreds of British throats sang, "Arise ye prisoners of starvation," and as many more of the Internationale's fine yeasty words as British heads could remember. Then came the surprise: when the band launched God Save the King, nobody sang.

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