November 1916

by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

  Confession at school had been a joke, a giggle. One wave of the stole over your head and you were absolved. The priest’s questions were condescending, meant for infants. You almost expected him to get you a bonbon from the sideboard. “I have sinned, Father, I have sinned”—and off you flitted. She had never been to confession since. Now she waited impatiently for him to question her.

  The priest, hovering unseen above her, also waited. She could not raise her head, look into his eyes and speak to him simply, one human being to another, as she had after the requiem. She felt that she must answer to a superior being.

  It was good that she was not looking into his eyes.

  In fact, she could not see him at all. Nor anyone else. Only the crucifix, as she knelt with her brow pressed to the Gospel.

  No questions were asked, no answers demanded. She must struggle through the darkness unaided.

  She had not wanted to hear what her aunt or her sister nuns might say, they were all too holy to understand. But could she speak now?

  Speak, yes, but not say what hurt most! Let her thoughts come tumbling out—tell everything (but not quite everything)! You know all the things you’ve done, you’ve gone over them a hundred and twenty times. Can’t you, just this once, wrest them out of their protective covering of complicitous silence, say it all out loud? Impossible. (Everything else—yes—but not that one thing!)

  Hopeless. But no more hopeless than sitting at home alone in an empty house. And wherever she might go it would be just as hopeless. How could she haul herself up this steep incline beside the crucifix? Tell another person, a stranger, all that had happened? Without mincing her words, without dissembling? (Easier to do such things than to talk about them! Would she have voice enough, breath enough?) She plunged in without preliminary explanation, throat dry, voice cracked.

  “I have seduced a married man.”

  She was over the first threshold. No—that was all in the past. Why had she done it? That was the question.

  “I seduced him without really loving him. In fact … when I really loved someone else … It was just that … I’d reached the age … I had to have an outlet for my emotions.”

  If only some question were asked above her bowed head! An opinion expressed, a condemnation delivered! Or perhaps some murmur of sympathy? But was she even being listened to?

  “I made him confess to his wife. And by doing so … I suppose … I ruined their lives … forever.”

  The second threshold. A life as heavy as lead. How to haul it up the slope? But every time she put something into words a weight seemed to fall away.

  She had not yet finished, though. She must punish herself to the full.

  “It was all for no purpose … all for nothing … I am profoundly penitent.”

  Not true. It had a purpose. Not altogether clear or precise, but … I knew beforehand that we should part … No, I didn’t …

  “It was for a contemptible purpose … To snatch him for myself … No, it was simply out of vanity. Because the other man didn’t love me.”

  It had suddenly become so much easier to speak.

  “You see, I’ve loved him … the other one … all my life.”

  When you speak of love you should feel that you have wings. But she was struggling up that slope, every sin a stone over which she stumbled and slithered backward, nose to the ground.

  “And then I … concealed my pregnancy from my mother. I decided to hide myself in the country. My mother fell ill, she was dying, and I didn’t get there … I let her down … for the child’s sake.”

  Untrue. Another equivocation.

  “No, it was because I was ashamed. Because of my vanity.”

  It was like using the grapnel at a wellhead, with three hooks facing different ways—and what you have to do is find down there, in the dark depths of your soul, a hot stone, fish for it, grip it, only the hooks won’t take hold, it breaks loose, seventy times over it breaks loose until at last, with delicate movements, as cautiously as if it was your dearest treasure, you latch on to it, draw it upward, raise it carefully, carefully, then seize it. You burn your fingers but you have rid your soul of it.

  “I abandoned my child … for a lovers’ meeting … Like a mad thing … And while I was away he got sick … And because I wasn’t there he died …”

  Another great stone dragged painfully, breathlessly, upward, and tipped onto the surface. Her brow was bathed in cold sweat.

  What could the priest think of her now? He had been so full of pity for the grief-stricken young mother.

  But it was as if every stone thrown out had ceased to be part of her—forever? or just for the moment?—so that she could look at it objectively instead of dragging it around inside her.

  She had not once raised her head to glance at the priest, she wouldn’t dare to, and none of the other penitents had done so. But, without hearing a single sound from him, she realized that it was not the priest hovering invisibly over her who was hearing her confession! He was only the necessary witness.

  That was what made it so hard—that she was left to herself. But it was also a relief. A relief for how long? Could a word she said aloud outweigh guilt, sin, evil?

  Yet strangely, incomprehensibly, as soon as the words were out a weight was lifted from her. If only for the moment.

  As for forgiveness—who could forgive such things? How could any other person grant you forgiveness? You must bear the burden alone, labor on alone.

  But that means movement. All that is piled up in a living breast cannot lie there inert forever. If it did, we would ourselves be stones.

  But what does he mean by it, hovering over me without saying a word? He might help with a question, a sound of some sort, a murmur of encouragement.

  But once you have learned how to drag these stones out with your grappling hook—your throat is less dry, speech becomes less hesitant, confession flows faster, until your words tumble over themselves as you hurry to snatch at and identify all your betrayals (your own betrayals! You were blaming him a little while ago, but that was a lie!), mention them for the second time (all futile! all rejected!), or perhaps it wasn’t the second time? Perhaps this was another betrayal? Yes, I have betrayed you again, sinned not against your life this time, but against the still fresh, still warm memory of you, before your little grave has been smoothed over, that will have to wait till next spring—and who is it I am thinking of again? Of him, of him, that is why I fled, among flying sparks, like a mad thing swerving so as not to burn myself, at times even leaping through the flames, unable to find the straight path, which anyway did not exist, over the baking-hot earth, the soles of my feet burning, returning to the same place—he rapped my fingers, said keep away, get your claws out of me—for six years I had thought of him, and now I am thinking of him again, I have sacrificed my little son, and before I am out of mourning here it comes again, for the fifth time like a tornado, and now … there is no pulling this stone out, it is ablaze! Scorched as I am, desire writhes in me like a fiery serpent—the desire to conceive again! Conceive a child of his! He has never known this joy—with me!

  And however much the priest might object, and try to forbid it, whether he forgave her or not, she realized, horrified, that she was fatally tied. Tied to him.

  Was she doomed, then, yet again, to deprive someone else? To snatch, to steal what was not hers? Was it impossible to walk this earth without trampling others? Simply to walk on the grass-grown earth?

  How treacherous the earth’s crust was! At every step there was molten lava underfoot! If you tried to run it would cave in under you!

  Flinching from the flames, she dropped her hook, staggered back from the well, and—oh, God!—had all the stones crashed back down there? Help me, O God! You see that I want to tear myself away! I want to change! But this is one disaster too many …

  She had struggled as far as she could up the slope, and now lay prostrate, one temple against the crucifix, her meager strength, that of a single h
uman being, exhausted.

  She was silent.

  She felt the weight of something woven rest on her head, shutting out the little she could still see. And through the fabric she felt the touch of a hand making the sign of the cross.

  And a voice—no ordinary voice, one capable of soaring above a thousand others, of supplication, of suffering, of repentance, now hushed and meant for her alone, but with the same significance as when it reverberated in the dome.

  “May the Lord Our God Jesus Christ through His grace and the munificence of His love for mankind …”

  She had blurted out all she had to say, however horrible it was she had done all she had to do, and now she crouched with her head pressed to the crucifix, breathless.

  But another Breath, the Spirit, hovered over her and stole tremulously into her.

  “… forgive you, my child, all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, with the authority vested by Him in me …”

  He stressed not his authority, but his unworthiness. Grief-stricken witness of her struggle against grief, he testified to her forgiveness.

  “I pardon you and absolve you of all your sins …”

  He pronounced these words as weightily and as meaningfully as if he knew of many details which she had not mentioned and, having weighed them, nonetheless unhesitatingly forgave her.

  But Zinaida herself did not feel that all was forgiven, forgotten and over. And that her labor had not been in vain.

  She still had a question to ask. Perhaps she had already formulated it when she was jumping about to avoid being burned.

  He withdrew his stole, and she quietly raised her uncovered head to look at Father Aloni.

  She saw his frank gaze, his honest, firm, guileless, big-browed face. Yes, he had understood her question, and let it be seen that he had.

  But, with splayed fingers, he gently but firmly pressed her head down.

  She was at a loss until she saw the Gospel there beneath her.

  She kissed the ancient dark red cover with its half-effaced embossed pattern.

  Still gripping her head with his fingers, he guided it toward the crucifix.

  She pressed her lips to its silvery surface.

  And again threw back her head with that mute question still in her gaze.

  Father Aloni’s eyes were moist with unshed tears.

  He had said what was required of him, and need say no more. But she waited, head thrown back, for words meant only for her.

  His thick lips moved among the dark auburn undergrowth.

  “In each of us there is a mystery greater than we realize. And it is in communion with God that we are able to catch a glimpse of it. Learn to pray. Truly, you are capable of it.”

  But as yet she did not feel herself to be capable of it. For her this was no answer.

  His gray eyes gazed on her sorrowfully, compassionately. He saw that she wanted him to continue.

  “The world holds no sufferings worse than those caused by family problems. They leave festering sores on the heart itself. For as long as we live this is our earthly lot. You can rarely decide for another that he or she should do or not do this or that. How can anyone forbid you to love when Christ said that there is nothing higher than love? And He made no exceptions, for love of any kind whatsoever.”

  Index of Names

  The index that appeared in the print version of this title does not match the pages in your eBook. Please use the search function on your eReading device to search for terms of interest.

  For your reference, the terms that appear in the print index are listed below.

  Adler, Friedrich (“Fritz”) (1879–1960) Son of secretary of Austrian Social Democratic Party. Shot Count Stürgkh, Prime Minister of Austria-Hungary, in October 1916.

  Adler, Viktor (1852–1918) Austrian socialist leader, prominent in Second International.

  Adzhemov, Moisei (1878–?) Deputy in Second, Third, and Fourth Dumas. Prominent member of Kadet Party.

  Agou Surname used by Nikolai II in letters to his wife.

  Aladin, Aleksei (1873–?) Leader of the Trudovik group in the First Duma.

  Aleksandr II (1818–81) The “Tsar Liberator,” presided over the emancipation of the serfs, the introduction of the zemstvos, modernization of the judicial system, easing of the burden of military service. Assassinated 13 March 1881 by members of the Narodnaya Volya (People’s Will) Party.

  Aleksandr III (1845–94) Became heir to the throne on the death of his older brother in 1865. Discontinued and in part reversed his father’s program of reform. Played an important part in bringing about the alliance with France.

  Aleksandr Mikhailovich (“Sandro”) Grand Duke (1866–1933) Friend of Nikolai II in his youth. Married Nikolai’s sister Ksenia.

  Aleksandr Nevsky (1220–63) Grand Prince of Novgorod. Defeated the Swedes on the Neva (1240), then the Teutonic Knights (1242). Canonized.

  Aleksandra Fyodorovna (1872–1918) Empress. Born Princess Alix of Hesse. Married the future Nikolai II in 1894. Murdered together with her husband and children by the Bolsheviks.

  Alekseev, Evgeni Ivanovich (1843–1909) Viceroy in the Far East 1903–5.

  Alekseev, Mikhail Vasilievich (1857–1918) Infantry general, Chief of Staff, first on the Southwestern, then on the Northwestern Front. From 5 September 1915 Chief of General Staff. On sick leave 21 November 1916 to 7 March 1917. Advised the Tsar to abdicate in March 1917. Commander in Chief till 3 June 1917. After the October Revolution organized first White Army on the Don.

  Aleksei Aleksandrovich, Grand Duke (1850–1908) Brother of Aleksandr III. Commander in Chief of the Russian navy during the war with Japan.

  Aleksei Mikhailovich (1629–76) The second Romanov Tsar. Father of Peter the Great.

  Anna Ivanovna (1693–1740) Daughter of Ivan V (Peter the Great’s half brother). Empress of Russia 1730–40.

  Arakcheev, Aleksei (1769–1834) Artillery general. Favorite of Paul I and Aleksandr I.

  Armand, Inessa (née Steffen) (1874–1920) Bolshevik. French wife of the industrialist Armand, and subsequently of his brother. Close friend and ally of Lenin from 1909.

  Artamonov, Leonid (1859–1932) General. Explorer. Court-martialed for abandoning Soldau (East Prussia) in August 1914.

  Azef, Yevno (1869–1918) Terrorist. Double agent of the Socialist Revolutionary Party and the Okhrana.

  Bagotsky, Sergei (1879–1953) Polish doctor. With Lenin in Cracow, then in Switzerland. After the October Revolution worked for the Soviet Red Cross.

  Bakunin, Mikhail (1814–76) One of the major theorists of Russian anarchism.

  Balashov, Pyotr (1871–?) Member of the Fourth Duma. Died in emigration.

  Barclay De Tolly, Mikhail (1761–1818) General. Commanded the Russian army for two months (July–August) during the Napoleonic invasion in 1812.

  Bark, Pyotr (1869–1937). Minister of Finance from February 1914 to March 1917. Subsequently a banker in the UK.

  Bebel, August (1840–1913) One of the outstanding leaders of the German Social Democratic Party.

  Beilis, Mendel Victim of a vicious anti-Semitic campaign. Accused in 1911 of “ritual murder” of a Christian child, he was stoutly defended by Gorky and Korolenko, among others, and was finally acquitted in 1913.

  Bekhterev, Vladimir (1857–1927) Eminent Russian neurologist.

  Belyaev, Mikhail (1863–1918) General. Vice-Minister of War June 1915–August 1916, Minister January–March 1917. Shot by the Bolsheviks.

  Bernstein, Eduard (1850–1932) German Social Democrat, leading “revisionist” theorist, and one of Lenin’s bêtes noires.

  Bestuzhev-Ryumin, K. N. (1829–1897) Professor of history. Established the “Bestuzhev courses,” offering women the equivalent of a university education.

  Bezobrazov, Vladimir (1857–1932) Cavalry general. Commander of the Guards Army.

  Biron (von Bühren) (1690–1772) Favorite of the Empress Anna Ivanovna.

  Bobrinsky, Aleksei (1852–1927) Deputy in the Th
ird Duma. Minister of Agriculture August–November 1916.

  Bobrinsky, Georgi (1863–1928) General. Governor of Galicia after its conquest.

  Bobrinsky, Vladimir (1868–1927) Deputy in Second, Third, and Fourth Dumas. Moderate rightist, then leader of the nationalist group.

  Bogdanov, Aleksandr (1873–1928) (Real name Malinovsky.) Doctor and philosopher. Bolshevik. Leading exponent of various “heresies” condemned by Lenin.

  Bonch-Bruyevich, Vladimir (1873–1955) Publisher and publicist. Close to Lenin. Wrote for Iskra, specialized in history and sociology of religion.

  Bosch, Evgenia (1879–1924) Bolshevik. She and Pyatakov were nicknamed “the Japanese” because they had escaped from Siberia via Japan. Fought in the Civil War. Accused of “Trotskyism,” committed suicide.

  Botkin, Evgeni (1855–1918) Physician to the imperial family. Murdered with them by the Bolsheviks.

  Bramson, Leonti (1869–?) Deputy in the First Duma.

  Branting, Karl Hjalmar (1860–1925) Swedish socialist leader.

  Brockdorf-Rantzau, Count Ulrich von (1869–1928) German diplomat, envoy to Denmark during the 1914–18 war. Minister for Foreign Affairs December 1918, head of German delegation to Versailles Congress 1919, then Ambassador to U.S.S.R.

  Bronski, Moisei (Mieczyslaw), alias Warszawski (1882–1941) Polish Social Democrat. Later Bolshevik, close collaborator of Lenin before the Bolshevik Revolution.

  Brusilov, Aleksei (1853–1926) General, commander on the Southwestern Front, responsible for the offensive of June–August 1916 (“the Brusilov breakthrough”). Served in the Red Army after the revolution.

  Bryusov, Valeri (1873–1924) Symbolist poet.

  Buchanan, Sir George (1854–1924) British ambassador in Russia 1910–18. Close to leaders of Kadet Party.

  Bukharin, Nikolai (1888–1938) Bolshevik. Journalist. Marxist theorist. Called by Lenin “the darling of the Party.” Member of the Politburo 1924–29. Led the Right Opposition to Stalin in 1928–29. Expelled from Politburo 1929, but remained a member of the Central Committee, took part in drafting the “Stalin Constitution” and edited Izvestia. Leading defendant in a show trial in March 1938. Executed.