The Magical Chorus

Gorbachev announced then that the ideas of “the great writer were unacceptable,” since Solzhenitsyn “was all in the past.” The suggestion of obsolescence was prompted by the deliberately archaic style of Solzhenitsyn’s text, which, as one reader put it, “makes you think Solzhenitsyn is addressing our great-grandfathers in 1913.”³⁵

His opponents called Rebuilding Russia a retrospective utopia. Anti-Solzhenitsyn demonstrations were organized in Ukraine and Kazakhstan, and newspapers with his article and his pictures were burned.

Solzhenitsyn had made a tactical error once again: instead of trying to influence concrete political leaders or deputies of the Supreme Soviet, he addressed himself to the people in general, the abstract masses, which, he felt, would read his work and in some mysterious way implement all his suggestions (there were more than two hundred in Rebuilding Russia).

But his manifesto did not interest the mass reader at all: it seemed too long, boring, and affected. He chose not to formulate his ideas in a simple, clear, and effective slogan-like style, preferring to use a highfalutin vocabulary. This was the conflict between Solzhenitsyn the writer and Solzhenitsyn the politician, in which the former won to the detriment of the message. Solzhenitsyn never did acknowledge this, explaining away the failure of his proposals by the fact that “first Gorbachev suppressed them, forbidding discussion…and then many people, busy with daily life and sitting by the television, as was fashionable then—they kept watching and watching the deputies give speeches, waiting for something to happen there—they missed these ideas…this means that the country at that time had not matured enough for those thoughts.”³⁶

When in his opinion Russia had matured enough for his thoughts, Solzhenitsyn returned to his homeland. It took place in May 1994, and his popularity and prestige in Russia was still incredibly high. He was even asked to run for president (he refused) and some people seriously thought that if he wanted, Solzhenitsyn could become a new Russian tsar.

But Solzhenitsyn did not want the burden of power or the responsibility, although he did not refuse the right to influence policy at first: “I, for as long as I have the strength, will try to help the people with my words, written and spoken. For we are in a crisis.”

From all appearances, Solzhenitsyn had only a vague idea of his part in the solution of that crisis. He did not want to join any existing movement in Russia or start his own party: “I am against parties in general. There are heavenly creations—nation, family—but a party…I not only have never belonged to any party—I reject on principle creating parties and a party system.”³⁷ Still, he maintained that “morality must not only influence the hearts of politicians, but it must have a certain advisory function. Not legislative, not executive power, but simply an advisory influence.”³⁸

That position on the eve of his return to Russia was yet another modification of his old idea that “a great writer is like a second government.” The model here for Solzhenitsyn was Leo Tolstoy, with his attempt to influence politics by the force of his colossal moral authority.

But when Solzhenitsyn gave a long speech televised live on October 28, 1994, to the parliament, the event was not reminiscent of Tolstoy, who avoided solemn meetings with the powers-that-be, but of Gorky’s pomp-filled return in 1928 to Stalinist Moscow from Italy.

For all the outward similarity, the substantive difference was great. Stalin, who was by then the dictator of the Soviet Union, saw in Gorky a potential powerful ally. The cultural programs of Stalin and Gorky did not always correspond, but the ruler and the writer demonstrated their solidarity to the world, each secretly hoping to use the other for his own goals. In exchange for Gorky’s public approval of his policies, Stalin conferred on him the unprecedented power of influencing the country’s cultural transformation.

Precisely because Boris Yeltsin was no Stalin, Solzhenitsyn could not have played the role of Gorky with him, even if he had wanted to. Yeltsin did not even have the dictatorial powers of Khrushchev. Without Khrushchev’s sanction, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich could not have appeared in the Soviet Union of that time. It is unlikely that Brezhnev actually read anything by Solzhenitsyn; Andropov definitely did, and hated it. Gorbachev’s aide recorded Gorbachev’s passionate reaction in January 1989 to Solzhenitsyn’s “Lenin in Zurich”(a chapter from August 1914); the ruler recounted what he had read at length and with emotion: “Strong stuff! Angry, but talented!”³⁹

While in power, Yeltsin could not be suspected of a passion for reading, but he was the first leader of Russia to publicly demonstrate his respect for Solzhenitsyn. According to his press secretary, Yeltsin considered few of his contemporaries his equal, but he valued the power of moral authority, and so he was quite anxious before his first meeting with Solzhenitsyn face-to-face on November 16, 1994.⁴⁰

By that time, Yeltsin permitted himself to meet even high-ranking guests while tipsy. But the president sensed that this would not do for Solzhenitsyn, who while not a teetotaler, did not approve of alcohol. Hard-drinking Viktor Nekrasov, author of the war classic In the Trenches of Stalingrad, recalled the time that Solzhenitsyn invited him over for a talk “about the future of Russian literature,” which turned into a half-hour monologue on the evils of drink: “When will you stop drinking? You’re not a writer anymore, you’re a writer plus a bottle of vodka.”⁴¹

The president’s aides tried to encourage him: “Who is Solzhenitsyn, anyway? He’s not a classic, no Tolstoy. And everyone is sick of him. So, he suffered from totalitarianism, yes, he knows history. But there are thousands like him! And there is only one of you.”⁴² Yeltsin’s foes tried to pit Solzhenitsyn against him when the meeting was announced. “Will Solzhenitsyn settle for the pathetic role of private confidant to an obstinate drunken fool who is consciously and ruthlessly destroying our common home, Russia?”⁴³

Yeltsin decided not to tease the bull and appeared for the meeting as sober as a judge and surprisingly well prepared. The conversation (without any witnesses) lasted more than four hours, and apparently went well— despite the obvious political disagreements—since both participants ended up having a drink, to the president’s great relief. When a journalist asked Solzhenitsyn to comment on his visit, the writer remarked: “He’s very Russian.” And added, “Too Russian.”⁴⁴

Despite the temporary cease-fire, Solzhenitsyn’s influence on real politics remained a phantom in Russia, as well. His “historic” speech at the parliament in 1994 was received sourly: the members of the government and a good half of the deputies did not show up, the audience reacted wanly and applauded sparingly (mostly the Communists). Some of the younger deputies laughed openly during his speech: the familiar moaning about “our woes and our wounds” did not touch them.

Relations between Solzhenitsyn and Yeltsin quickly deteriorated. At first the authorities gave the writer a platform for his views: in April 1995 on ORT, national Channel One, Solzhenitsyn began his talk show, in which he criticized the parliament, the Russian electoral system, grumbled about the horrible situation in the villages and attacked the government for its war in Chechnya.

His television appearances were not particularly popular, but they did irritate the authorities, who waited six months (there had been twelve fifteen-minute broadcasts in that period) and then blocked the writer’s access to television with a lame excuse about “low ratings”(while everyone knew that ratings were manipulated in Moscow). A commentator noted sarcastically: “Imagine Leo Tolstoy bringing an article to a magazine, and hearing, ‘Sorry,