It wasn't Ehrenburg only; but Ehrenburg certainly holds a central place in the battle for Red Army morale. His articles were printed chiefly in
Simonov's play,
motif: here, in a seaside town, a sort of miniature Sebastopol, a handful of Russians, an old ex-Tsarist officer among them, fight the Germans till nearly all are killed; they are touchingly frail human creatures fighting against a terrible inhuman machine. The
emotional appeal of the play was overwhelming in the conditions of 1942; I remember
how, at the Filiale of the Moscow Art Theatre, there was complete silence for at least ten seconds after the curtain had fallen at the end of the third act; for the last words had been:
"See how Russian people are going to their death". Many women in the audience were weeping. Needless to say, there was a happy ending; in the last act the town was
recaptured by the Red Army. It could not have been otherwise in those days: for a
[It was later, but only later, when the danger was over, that Simonov was rather sharply criticised in retrospect for having made his characters look such "amateur partisans", guided no doubt by the finest patriotic motives, but still lacking all the organisational precision of the Communist Party. Their resistance was marked, as it were, by
retrospect, with
representatives in German-occupied areas. Fadeyev was made to rewrite the novel.]
Another writer of considerable importance as a morale-builder was Alexei Surkov, the
"soldier's poet", as distinct from Simonov, more the "officer's poet", besides many others like Semyon Kirsanov, Dolmatovsky, etc. Surkov's poem
My heart is as hard as stone,
My grievances and memories are countless,
With these hands of mine
I have lifted the corpses of little children...
I hate them deeply
For those hours of sleepless gloom.
I hate them because in one year
My temples have grown white.
My house has been defiled by the Prussians,
Their drunken laughter dims my reason.
And with these hands of mine
I want to strangle every one of them.
And here was Ehrenburg at the height of the Russian retreat in the Northern Caucasus, and with the Germans breaking through to Stalingrad:
everything Russian ... We cannot live as long as these grey-green slugs are alive.
Today there are no books; today there are no stars in the sky; today there is only one thought: Kill the Germans. Kill them all and dig them into the earth. Then we can go to sleep. Then we can think again of life, and books, and girls, and happiness.