A Soldier's Death: From Solzhenitsyn's August 1914

Denied the right to publish his powerful new work in the Soviet Union, Russian Novelist Alexander Solzhenitsyn allowed it to be issued in Paris two weeks ago (TIME, June 21). Already August 1914 has been acclaimed by its early readers for its epic sweep, for the religious themes that echo through it and for its superb battle scenes; some, in fact, have called it Solzhenitsyn's War and Peace.

All of Solzhenitsyn's major novels are concerned with the behavior of men in extremis, be it in prison, in a cancer ward or, as in this case, at the battle front. The author describes the new work, the first volume of a projected trilogy, as "the main task of my life," and notes with regret in an afterword: "Now that I am on my way to the goal, I am afraid it is too late. I may not have time and creative imagination left for this 20-year work." Solzhenitsyn focuses on eleven days during the Czarist army's disastrous East Prussian campaign. He sees this period as the turning point of modern Russian history, leading to revolution and the birth of the Bolshevik regime. Although it occurs more than 100 pages before the panoramic novel's end, the excerpt that follows is the dramatic climax.

It takes place on the night of Aug. 29, 1914, after the rout of the Russians at Tannenberg. The Russian commander, General Alexander Samsonov (an actual historical figure), walks through the dense Prussian forests with the remnants of his staff. "He had only wanted what was good," writes Solzhenitsyn, "but it all turned out extremely badly." This is one of the novelist's principal themes--that good intentions are not enough to make the world a better place.

As his fellow officers prepare for their capture by burying their documents and insignia to conceal their high rank, Samsonov at first resists. Finally, apathetically, he allows one of his comrades to strip him of his own insignia. Suddenly he feels unencumbered and free--the freedom that rises out of total despair. Now he is anxious only to rid himself of his entourage and especially his orderly, Kupchik, who sticks close to him carrying the saddle blanket that belonged to the commander's abandoned horse.

IT was difficult to walk. His legs were not used to it, and he was stricken by shortness of breath. His asthmatic breathing was heavy with the effort of this simple, unencumbered movement. The real test for the body comes when you lose authority over others, when your means of transport and protection are gone, when your general's epaulets, which once expressed the essence of your being, have been cast away, and your heart cannot keep pace. Your lungs can no longer take a full breath, as though they were more than half blocked. Your legs are unsteady. Your pace falters. You stumble on the mossy ground, and trip on the fallen brushwood. Instead of being pleased to be making some headway, escaping perhaps, you are glad only of a halt when you can lean against a tree trunk and catch your breath.

Samsonov felt ashamed to ask his men to stop for a rest, but perhaps out of concern for him they did so every hour, and sat on the ground. Kupchik was always there to deftly spread out the saddle blanket under him. He was glad to be able to stretch out and rest his aching legs.

But they could never sit for long. The brief hours of night would soon slip away and with them, their last chance. Toward midnight, the moon lowered and was clouded over, together with the stars. They could see nothing in the dark as they stumbled along in single file sensing each other's presence only by the crackle of twigs underfoot and their own heavy breathing. The forest trail had got much worse. It was swampy and sometimes the way was barred by impenetrable undergrowth or by dense thickets of young pines. They thought it would be dangerous to stray in the direction of Willenburg where they could easily run into a German patrol. They bunched closer together and kept calling out in low voices. Now there were no more halts. Whenever they came to ditches, Kupchik and a Cos sack captain gripped Samsonov by the arms and pulled him across.

What Samsonov found most burdensome was his body. Only his body. It dragged him down into pain, suffering, shame and disgrace. To rid himself of the disgrace, the pain and the burden, all he needed to do was to rid himself of his body. It would mean passing over to freedom--something he longed for--like taking a first really deep breath with his congested lungs. Earlier that night he had been reduced to a mere sacrificial idol for his staff officers. Now, after midnight, he had become more like a pillar of stone that could scarcely be moved any longer.

The hardest thing was to get away from Kupchik, who kept right behind him, sometimes touching his back or his arm. But as they skirted a thicket, Samsonov tricked his orderly. He slipped to one side and stood dead still. The sound of branches crackling and breaking, and the lumbering tread of heavy footsteps faded away.

It was quiet everywhere. The whole world was hushed. Armies had ceased to battle. Only a fresh night breeze stirred, ruffling the treetops. This forest was not hostile. It belonged neither to the Germans nor to the Russians but to God, and it gave refuge to all His creatures.

Leaning against a tree trunk, Samsonov stood for a moment and listened to the sound of the forest. Near by, the torn pine bark creaked in the wind. And above it all, just under the sky: the cleansing sigh of the treetops.

He felt more and more at peace. He had come to the end of his long soldier's career. He was abandoning himself to danger and death. Now ready to die, he had never imagined that it could be so simple, and such a release.

But the only trouble was that suicide is held to be a sin.

The hammer of his revolver clicked back softly. Samsonov placed it in his cap, which had fallen to the ground. He took off his saber and kissed it. He groped for the locket with his wife's portrait and kissed it too. He walked a few steps to a place where the sky showed through clearly. It was clouded over except for one tiny star that vanished, then appeared again. Dropping to his knees on the warm pine needles, he prayed with his face lifted to the star --he did not know which way was east. First he said the ordinary prayers, then none at all. He just knelt, looked at the sky and breathed. Now he groaned out loud, without restraint, like any other dying forest creature: "Lord, forgive me, if You can, and receive me. You see: There was nothing else I could do, there is nothing I can do."

1971, Alexander Solzhenitsyn

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