[lbo-talk] "Stalingrad," by Ilya Ehrenburg

[Chris Doss]

STALINGRAD
By Ilya Ehrenburg
Published in Red Star Septermber 6, 1942

This is not the first week of the battle for
Stalingrad. A hard battle. The Germans have decided to
cut through the Volga, to strangle Russia to death.
Tens of German divisions have been thrown at
Stalingrad. Here Germany is raving on the scorching
steppe before an unrestrained city. Here there are
SS-men, Prussians, Bavarians, fieldmarshals, tank
crewmen, and soldiers transfered from France,
gendarmes from Holland, pilots from Egypt, veterans
and recruits. Here they are promising Iron Crosses and
handing out wooden ones.

When Russians give up a city, the hearts of everyone
weep blood. A city is a forest, and many years are
needed for it to grow. In every city, there are
centers of human lives, factories, steets complicated
as a brain with their ebbs and flows, big squares
where the will of the people is formed and small cozy
apartments where lovers trade burning oathes. Eevery
city is a wise book, it is a country, it is an
enormous family. A city cannot be fiven up. A city
cannot be thrown away. A city is not a name or a
circle on a map, a city is a living body, a loved one.

Defenders of Stalingrad, Russia is watching you with
hope. Remember -- the enemy was by Moscow. The enemy
burned homes in Moscow region. The enemy was strong,
and the enemy was in haste. The enemy was not allowed
to enter Moscow. Who didn't allow it? Soldiers. A year
go, the enemy was by Leningrad. He was breathing like
a raging beast, and the Leningraders felt its fiery
breath on the face of the city. The enemy did not come
into Leningrad: the enemy was not allowed to enter.
Tula is not Moscow, and it is not Leningrad, but Tula
stood fast. The enemy enveloped it and squeezed, but
Tula withstood. Defenders of Stalingrad, the country
is breathing with your valor. The enemy is close, but
the enemy has come close to its goal many times
without achieving it. The Germans know how to
calculate well, but they often miss the score, they
forget in their qwuations that a brave Russian is ten
and he is a hundred soldiers, that every little home
can be made a fortress and that every hour may change
the situation.

Stalingrad -- is the Volga. Who can say what the Volga
means for Russia? There is no such a river in Europe.
It cuts across Russia; it cuts across the heart of
every Russian. The people has composed hundreds of
songs about "Volga-Mother." It sings the Volga and it
lives through the Volga. Noisy cities and enormous
factories have grown up on the Volga, an on the Volga,
gazing on the mysterious fires of steamers, young
people talked about freedom, about struggle, about
love, about inspiration. On the upper reaches of the
Volga, harsch battles with the Germans are taking
place. The river will tell the heroes of Stalingrad
about the heroes fighting for Rzhev. The Colga is the
wealthm the glories, the pride of Russia. Will the
vile Hermans really wash their horses in it, in the
Volga, in this great Russian river?...

In an old song, it is sung:

"You have stretched yourself, o steppe, as far as
Tsaritsyn.
"With what are you, o steppe, adorned?"

Now, the steppe is adorned with German graves, and the
Germans fear to look back. "We have a peculiar disease
-- fear of space": thus speaks a captive lieutenant.
Behind them is ash. Before them is flame. Before them
is a city that is not giving up.

The Germans now have many words with which they can
frighten one another to death. And one more has been
added: Stalingrad. A German soldiers writes to his
mother: "In the fatherland, only a person with a
diabolical imagination could imagine that we are
surviving. There are four people left in the division.
I ask you: how many German cities must be emptied, for
us finally to control Stalingrad?" They have already
been emptied, all these hateful Stralzunds and
Schneidemuls, but Stalingrad the Germans have not
taken.

Hitler send newer and newer divisions into battle. The
fanatic will not stop no matter what: "More soldiers!
More airplanes!" When they tell him, "Sentember is at
the gate. What will happen to us in winter?", he waves
them aside. He needs Stalingrad at any price. And the
Germans are tearing into the city. Battles take place
day and night. It is unspeakably hard for the
defenders of Stalingrad, but they hold the line.

How to forget about the 33rd? Seventy German tanks
attacked them. The 33rd did not waiver. They destroyed
the tanks with bullets, with grenades, with Molotov
cocktails. The Russian heart once again proved itself
stronger than iron. If a foreigner tells else that
only a miracle can save Stalingrad, we will answer:
was the heroism of the 33rd not a miracle? The enemy
still does not know what a Russian person is capable
of when he is defending his earth.

You can choose your friend. You can choose your wife.
No one can choose his mother. There is only one
mother. She is loved, because she is -- mother. At
Stalingrad, we are defending our mother, Russia.

We are defending our earth. The people has long called
"mother earth" its provider and ??? (CD --
"poilitsaya" -- don't know this word). The earth is a
man's first joy and the place of his eternal rest. It
is washed with sweat, tears, and blood. They ??? (CD
-- "another word I don't know, Ehrenburg is using some
pretty high-falutin' vocab in this final paragraph)
kiss it the earth. Soldier, the earth beneath your
feet is holy. Don't give it up! Don't let the German
onto it. In olden days, when a Russian crossed
himself, it was possible not to believe him, but when
he swallowed a pinch of earth, everyone knew: he isn't
lying. They swore by the earth. We swear by the earth,
by a pinch and by an immense country. For Stalingrad,
for the Volga, for Russian earth!

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