(See Cover]
At the elbow of Nikita Khrushchev, as he toured East Germany this summer, appeared a new traveling partner, sallow, stoop-shouldered, scowling. Unlike the previous sidekick, Bulganin, who looked like an amiable riverboat gambler living it up, this saturnine little man seemed to shrink from the speechmaking and the public panoply, the peculiar rites and duties of the proletarian potentates who parade about holding durbars in subject states like 19th century monarchs, while talking over their shoulders to the press like 20th century pols. Yet the world noted, as it was...