Конармия

by Isaac Babel, Исаак Бабель

«Конармия» – цикл (сборник) из 38 рассказов Исаака Бабеля, 34 из них написаны в 1923-1925 годах, последний – в 1937. Они объединены темой гражданской войны и основаны на дневнике, который автор вел на службе в 1-й Конной армии, под командованием Семена Буденного во время Советско-польской войны 1920 года. Цикл является зарисовками жизни и быта Первой Конной армии, объединенных едиными героями и временем повествования. В книге честно и без прикрас показаны реальности того времени, немотивированную жестокость ведения войны и безумие людей, отдававших свои жизни ради иллюзорного общего дела. Многие эпизоды произведения являются автобиографичными. Особенностью является то, что глаk [...]

Genres: Fiction, Short Stories, Russia, Russian Literature, Classics, Historical Fiction, Literature

208 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1926

About the author

Isaak Emmanuilovich Babel (Russian: Исаак Эммануилович Бабель; 1894 - 1940) was a Russian language journalist, playwright, literary translator, and short story writer. He is best known as the author of Red Cavalry, Story of my Dovecote and Tales of Odessa, all of which are considered masterpieces of Russian literature. Babel has also been acclaimed as "the greatest prose writer of Russian Jewry."

Loyal to, but not uncritical of, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Isaak Babel fell victim to Joseph Stalin's Great Purge due to his longterm affair with the wife of NKVD chief Nikolai Yezhov. Babel was arrested by the NKVD at Peredelkino on the night of May 15, 1939. After "confessing", under torture, to being a Trotskyist terrorist and foreign spy, Babel was shot on January 27, 1940. The arrest and execution of Isaak Babel has been labeled a catastrophe for the world of literature.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Isaac Babel was a witness of history, a partaker of the fratricidal Civil War. And his frightfully and mercilessly graphic Red Cavalry may be considered as a horrifying historical document.
The stories are written in the precise, laconic and juicy language and are as vivid as colourful photographs.

Fields of purple poppies flower around us, the noonday wind is playing in the yellowing rye, the virginal buckwheat rises on the horizon like the wall of a distant monastery. The quiet Volyn is curving. The Volyn is withdrawing from us into a pearly mist of birch groves, it is creeping away into flowery knolls and entangling itself with enfeebled arms in thickets of hops. An orange sun is rolling across the sky like a severed head, a gentle radiance glows in the ravines of the thunderclouds and the standards of the sunset float above our heads.

Everything is built on contrasts – the tranquility and beauty of nature opposes the ugliness and ghastliness of man’s doings…

In the billet that has been assigned to me I find a pregnant woman and two red-haired Jews with thin necks: a third is already asleep, covered up to the top of his head and pressed against the wall. In the room that has been allotted to me I find ransacked wardrobes, on the floor scraps of women’s fur coats, pieces of human excrement and broken shards of the sacred vessels used by the Jews once a year, at Passover… An old man is lying there, on his back, dead. His gullet has been torn out, his face has been cleft in two, dark blue blood clings in his beard like pieces of lead.

In civil wars there are neither right nor wrong, there are hatred, evil, enmity, cruelty and rivers of blood.

And truly, I confess, I threw that woman off, down beside the rails, but she, being very coarse, just sat and waved her skirts, and then went her own little low-down way. And, when I saw that woman unharmed, with untold Russia all around her, and the peasants’ fields without an ear of corn, and the violated girls, and the comrades many of whom go to the front but few come back, I wanted to jump down from the wagon and kill myself or kill her. But the Cossacks had pity on me and said:
‘Give her one from your rifle.’
And taking my trusty rifle from the wall, I wiped that infamy from the face of the working land and the Republic.

And ignorance triumphs.

[Bill Kerwin · Rating 5 out of 5]

These laconic, brutal sketches packed with lush, eccentric imagery tell the story of the campaign of the Cossacks of the Red Calvary against the Poles in the days following the revolution.

Babel--a Jewish intellectual from the cosmopolitan port city of Odessa--was assigned to a regiment of Cossacks, and he used his sharp eye and outsider's perspective to reveal to his readers the character of these barbarians of the plains. He shows us Cossacks who are violent, merciless, sentimental, cynical, and yet passionately attached to their naive conceptions of revolution.

He wrote with great artistry and honesty, so it comes as no surprise to learn that Stalin eventually had him liquidated. (Perhaps Babel himself had less than a realistic concept of "revolution.")

[Kalliope · Rating 4 out of 5]

The value of this book lies almost more in what it is not than it what it is. And additional value could be extracted from the additional books to which it could have led.

When Isaac Babel after working as a translator for a Cheka was destined to join the Soviet Army in their war with the recently new Republic of Poland. His role in the front was as journalist. The Soviets carried a writer in their wars to record their heroic deeds. When thanks to Mayakovski’s efforts, the notes that Babel took in 1920 as he witnessed in the war, were published a few years later, they did not please Babel’s military superiors.

What was expected was a clear rhetoric lauding the heroic Soviets, damming the enemies and beautifying the glory of the new Russian nation.

And this certainly the thirty-five (my edition has only thirty) vignettes do not show.

Brutality is there - irrespectively whether on the Soviet or on the Polish side. There is also a sense of futility. One wonders whether any of the fighters, or the narrator, apart from evoking the stock utopias of the new society, and naming Lenin and even Trotsky, really see any sense in all that violence. For often it is perpetrated out of very base human instincts - forget ideologies, or purpose, or justice. There are victims, however. And these are clear victims – the Jewish population that neither the Poles nor the Soviets treat with dignity.

This was a schizophrenic reading for me. The fierce bloodshed and the pervasive dehumanization was difficult to stomach. But there was also a mesmerizing lyricism that enchanted me. Jewel-like sentences could suddenly spring out of what otherwise seemed a desolate and barren world. Landscape sketches in which skies with light from the moon –always the moon --filtering through mellow clouds and tree branches add a disconcerting beauty to the harsh text.

And that wrapping lyricism awoke a longing for Babel to have written more, much more, about settings and characters and stories in which depravity had no place. This is the additional value - a frustrated promise of the hypothetical existence of other writings fruit of a beautiful pen - that this book entailed for me.

It is impossible to assess the quality of a translation unless both languages can be considered. What can be evaluated is the clarity or beauty or fluidity of the translation – per se. My edition read beautifully. The translator, Alejandro Gago, was a poet. It also comes with a short but very enlightening introduction by the writer Juan Bonilla (whose novel on Mayakovsky Prohibido entrar sin pantalones I hope to read soon). I particularly appreciated the way Bonilla presents the support that Gorki gave to Babel. For the latter, Gorki was not just a friend, but a “place”. This notion comes from something that Babel wrote in 1916: “I arrived at Gorki”. When Gorki died in 1936, Babel lost his place.

And not long after, his place in this life, as the NKVD decided.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow! I just got this finished, barely in time to be included in this year's reading challenge! I picked a doozy to finish the year with, from an author I had never heard of writing about an obscure conflict that had occurred without the knowledge or permission of any other chronicler of war, apparently.

What a hard book to rate! The work is a book of fiction, on the face of it, written by Babel who actually did accompany Cossack cavalry into Poland when Russia invaded that hapless country shortly after WWI. A book of fiction in which every word has the ring of truth, and no effort is made to conceal the identities of the persons about whom Babel is writing. I wouldn't be surprised if the entire book turned out to be gospel disguised as fiction.

It wasn't an easy book for me to read, as it is presented in short story format, and anyone who has glanced over my list of books completed will know that I am not a reader of short stories. Babel presents snippets or vignettes of the invasion, very short and brutal. The book is racing at breakneck pace, just like the cavalry he accompanied. And when they stop, they bring misery in the form of rape, murder, and plunder. None of this is concealed from the reader, and Babel does not try to absolve himself from involvement in some of these excesses. He professes pity for the oppressed Jewry, but finds it hard to conceal his contempt for the Polish Peasantry.

Although I didn't care for the format, I noticed immediately that I was in the hands of a master story teller who was brutally and brilliantly efficient in his ability to convey impressions:

P. 85: "A sour odor rose from the ground, as from a soldier's wife at dawn."

P.194: "The machine guns were dragged up onto a hill like calves on halters.

Every page is a treasure of metaphor and simile, so delightful to read that you sometimes miss the horror that Babel is depicting. The last third of the book is a replication of Babel's 1920 diary. It is in note form and repetitive, but is nonetheless interesting. Some people won't like this book, and it isn't my preferred format, but I can't deprive the author of the 5 stars I think are due him. It was a good way to end the year and I hope to read more of his work in the future.

[Patrizia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sembra di vederla uscire da queste pagine l’armata dei cosacchi, con la sua rivoluzione e la sua guerra brutale che non risparmia nessuno. La vediamo spostarsi da un villaggio all’altro in una serie di istantanee che ne coglie il riposo, la lotta, l’umanità e la fede politica. Una rivoluzione che per molti ebrei, vittime sia dei bianchi che dei rossi, non si distingue dalla controrivoluzione.
Giungono le notti, una dopo l’altra,

“La città bruciata – colonne rotte, quasi uncini interrati di malevoli mignoli di vecchia – mi parve sospesa nell’aria, comoda e inverosimile come una chimera. Il nudo splendore della luna vi scorreva sopra con una forza inesauribile”.

[Albus Eugene Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore · Rating 4 out of 5]

Pioveva. Sulla terra inondata volavano tenebre e vento. Tutte le stelle erano state soffocate dal turgido inchiostro delle nuvole.
Isaak Ėmmanuilovič Babel' nasce da una famiglia ebraica a Odessa nel 1894 e sopravvive al pogrom del 1905 con l'aiuto di vicini di casa cristiani.
Dopo essersi laureato all’Istituto di Finanza e Affari di Kiev, scrive alcuni saggi giovanili, alcuni dei quali vengono pubblicati dallo scrittore russo Maksim Gor'kij, che gli consiglia però, prima di continuare a scrivere, di “fare apprendistato tra la gente”.
E così, nel 1920, Babel’ si fa assegnare come giornalista, alla Prima Armata a cavallo del Feldmaresciallo Semën Michajlovič Budënnyj, e partecipa così alla guerra sovietico – polacca.
Diventa così testimone oculare di episodi dove, in un universo corrotto dalla guerra e dalla fame, si intrecciano passioni, atrocità, ferocia ma anche solidarietà e fratellanza. Babel’ nei suoi racconti affronterà anche il tema di una cultura antisemita, che solo qualche anno prima aveva generato i Protocolli dei savi Anziani di Sion.
I racconti appariranno su giornali e riviste tra il ’23 ed il ‘25, per poi essere raccolti in volume nel 1926.
Ma il regime sovietico non perdonerà mai a Babel’ di aver descritto la brutalità di una guerra ‘giusta’ e di non essersi mai del tutto allineato col regime stalinista.
Quando nel 1936, per effetto delle ‘grandi purghe‘ staliniane, Gorkij muore in circostanze misteriose, Babel’ scrive: "Ora verranno a cercarmi.".
Nel maggio del ’39 viene arrestato e il 27 gennaio del 1940 viene fucilato in prigione.
Solo 14 anni dopo, alla morte di Stalin, sua moglie sarà informata dell’accaduto e lo scrittore ‘riabilitato’.
Sono 35 racconti, alcuni di sole due o tre pagine. Racconti ruvidi, cupi, pieni di azioni crudeli e insensate, a tratti allucinati e di difficile comprensione, ma assolutamente coerenti con l’universo della guerra. Babel’ trova comunque il modo di regalarci delle descrizioni di accorata poesia ... «La prima stella brillò su di noi e s’inabissò nella nuvolaglia. La pioggia sferzava i salici e s’indeboliva. La sera volava su in cielo come uno stormo d’uccelli ed il buio mi cingeva della sua molle corona. Io ero affranto e, curvo sotto quella corona mortuaria, andavo oltre supplicando il destino di darmi la più semplice delle arti, l’arte di uccidere l’uomo.»
Nel ’68, il regista ungherese Miklós Jancso gira un film con lo stesso titolo del libro, ma narra di episodi della guerra civile russa nel ’19 tra Armata bianca e bolscevichi. Nessuna attinenza col libro di Babel’, ma le stesse atmosfere intrise di ottusa ferocia e insensatezza.
Forse lo si trova ancora su prime video.
E con questo, umilmente vi saluto, bianco viso all’umida terra ...

[Dax · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was anticipating this one ever since I read an essay from Salter in which he mentions 'Red Cavalry' as one of his all time favorite books (he has a blurb on the back of this edition as well). Consider me disappointed. The subtleties and the comic aspects of these stories might have been lost in translation, or maybe the potency (or poignancy) has simply faded over the last nine decades. Or maybe I'm not a sufficient enough reader to grasp those nuances. Most likely the latter. Either way, this was just okay. Moments of impressive prose, to be sure, but I never felt the writing made up for the flat story telling.

These stories are famous for their truthful portrayal of an ugly conflict. I'll go ahead and make a pointed statement on that; 'Red Cavalry' is famous for its honesty and for the fact that the author died because of that honesty. If Stalin's goons hadn't cut Babel's life tragically short, these stories would be largely forgotten today. They certainly would not be read as widely as they are today anyway. Two stars for the occasionally impressive prose, but overall a collection of forgettable vignettes. I think I will revisit this one at some point though; you can't help but question yourself when a highly regarded "classic" comes up short for you.

[miledi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dice Wikipedia:
“Nel 1920, nel corso della sanguinosa guerra civile, Babel' fu assegnato, come giornalista, alla prima armata a cavallo del Feldmaresciallo Semën Michajlovič Budënnyj, essendo così testimone diretto della campagna di Polonia che cercava di portare la rivoluzione comunista fuori dalla Russia. L'Armata Rossa penetrò fin quasi a Varsavia ma fu infine respinta nella battaglia di Varsavia del 1920”.

Da questa esperienza nascono i meravigliosi racconti di “L’armata a cavallo”. Più che racconti sono schizzi, lampi, fotogrammi vividi, cruenti e romantici insieme, usciti dalla penna di un poeta che coniuga lirismo e barbarie. Un capolavoro di epica.
Ebreo Russo, Babel’ ebbe una vita travagliata e una morte ingiusta (fu “epurato” da Stalin). Ci ha lasciato solo una manciata di racconti (insieme a questo, consiglio anche “I racconti di Odessa”), poco forse, ma sufficiente (per me) a collocarlo tra i grandi della letteratura russa.
Metto il link della pagina di Wikipedia a lui dedicata perché merita di essere ricordato:
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isaak_%...
Cinque stelle intense e brillanti per questo piccolo (solo nelle dimensioni) capolavoro.

[Marica · Rating 4 out of 5]

La Cavallarmata
Babel nel 1920 era giornalista al seguito della Prima armata a cavallo del Feldmaresciallo Budënnyj, quando la Russia rivoluzionaria cercava di travolgere la Polonia. Quella esperienza venne riversata in un libro molto bello, sincero, indigesto, scritto benissimo. La particolarità del libro sta nell’esprimere contemporaneamente l’amore assoluto dell’autore per la rivoluzione russa e per l’armata cosacca e l’enormità della brutalità e violenza gratuita sugli inermi con la quale la rivoluzione si propagava. Babel certamente non avrà condiviso la ferocia dei cosacchi, ma l’ammirazione per questi guerrieri che portavano avanti l’ideale della rivoluzione fino a cadere a pezzi era più grande. Tale anche da accettare l’assassinio di un vecchio ebreo polacco, proprio lui, che da bambino era scampato a un pogrom.
La sincerità è encomiabile per il giornalista e liberatoria per l’uomo, purtroppo a lungo termine non ha ricompensato Babel, che è stato eliminato da Stalin.
Babel scrive straordinariamente bene, in una prosa immaginifica ed espressionista e mi fa anche pensare un po’ a Chagall, solo che al posto dell’asino e della capra ci sono i cavalli dei cosacchi. L’altissima qualità della scrittura consente di leggere queste storie, che è giusto conoscere e che aprono varie domande: su quello che si è disposti a fare per ottenere un miglioramento della società; se è necessario per la causa santa e il luminoso scopo commettere atrocità gratuite; come ci si sente quando si passa dall’altra parte del tritacarne rivoluzionario.

[Marc Lamot · Rating 2 out of 5]

These clearly are no bedtime stories. Babel gives impressions of the Russian-Polish war in 1920, at the very beginning of the Soviet Union. He does this (usually) through the eyes of an intellectual who accompanies the coarse and brutal Cossacks, always the terror of the Russian armies. The horrors of war are highlighted in several episodes, sometimes through very direct descriptions of arbitrary slaughter, sometimes indirectly, but no less effective. There’s also a clear social undertone, with rants against landlords, endearing stories of oppressed little people and references to Lenin and Trotsky.

But this collection of short stories is not just of documentary-historical interest. Occasionally there are episodes that seem rather surreal, and they often focus on Jewish communities and figures, with a dreamy undertone. Just to say that this is no ordinary literature. This collection certainly contains beautiful gems, but far too often for my liking, Babel indulges in exuberant descriptions and a rather clumsy style, although that may also be due to the translation. No, I am not completely convinced.

[Dimitri · Rating 4 out of 5]

Il quieto Volinia serpeggia; si piega il Volinia e s’allontana nel chiarore perlaceo dei boschetti di betulle, scivola tra le colline e le sue braccia ormai spossate s’impigliano nelle macchie del luppolo. Un sole arancione rotola nel cielo come una testa mozzata, s’accende negli squarci delle nuvole un timido bagliore, e sulle nostre teste sventolano gli stendardi del tramonto. L’odore del sangue di ieri e dei cavalli uccisi gocciola nella frescura della sera.

Volinia e Galizia, attuale Ucraina. L’odessita Babel’ partecipa in qualità di corrispondente alla sanguinosa guerra russo-polacca del 1920.

Io piango per le api. Le api vengono sterminate dagli eserciti in guerra. In Volinia non ci sono più api. Noi abbiamo profanato bellissimi alveari, li abbiamo avvelenati con lo zolfo e distrutti con la polvere. Gli stracci fumanti hanno ammorbato le sacre repubbliche delle api. Morendo, le api volavano lente, e ronzavano che si sentivano appena. In mancanza di pane ci siamo procurati il miele usando le sciabole. In Volinia non ci sono più api.

L’ordine che aveva ricevuto Babel’ era quello di scrivere articoli di propaganda. Il risultato sarà profondamente diverso. Non una semplice testimonianza ma un’opera letteraria. Natura e violenza, vita e morte in questi trentasei racconti sulla cavallarmata di cosacchi rossi “portatori di libertà e di sifilide”.

Nella valle, levigata come una tavola, andavano riordinandosi le brigate. Il sole rotolava nella polvere scarlatta. I feriti, nei fossati, si rifocillavano. Le sorelle di misericordia erano distese sull’erba e cantavano, a mezza voce.

L’urrà si spense. Il cannone tacque. Un inutile shrappnel scoppiò sopra il bosco. E noi sentimmo il solenne silenzio dell’assalto alla sciabola.

Proprio lì, a due passi da noi, correva la prima linea. Potevo vedere i camini di Zamost’e, le luci furtive nelle viuzze del ghetto e la torre di guardia dei pompieri con il faro rotto. Un’alba umida colava su di noi come zaffate di cloroformio. Verdi bengala ondeggiavano sull’accampamento polacco. E nel silenzio sentii l’alitare remoto di un lamento. Il fumo d’un occulto massacro vagava intorno a noi.
“Stanno ammazzando qualcuno,” io dissi, “chi è che ammazzano?”
“Il polacco s’arrabbia,” mi rispose il mugicco, “il polacco scanna gli ebrei ... Il giudeo è colpevole dinanzi a tutti, e dinanzi a noi, e dinanzi a voi. Di loro, dopo la guerra, ne rimarrà un numero piccolissimo. Quanti ce n’è di giudei al mondo?”
“Dieci milioni,” risposi io intanto che imbrigliavo il cavallo.
“Ne resteranno duecentomila,” gridò il mugicco.

Valore aggiunto di questa edizione, ristampata ora da Feltrinelli: il diario privato di Babel’, ritrovato molti anni dopo la sua morte.

26.7.1920. L’Ucraina è in fiamme. Si sono costituite nuove bande, vicino a Cherson – insurrezione. Perché insorgono, è corta la giacca comunista? Cosa ne è di Odessa, angoscia.

10.8.1920. Di notte – uno spettacolo inconsueto, la carrozzabile sfuma nella luce, la mia stanza è illuminata, io lavoro, la lampada è accesa, i cosacchi del Kuban’ cantano con l’anima, le loro figure sottili accanto ai fuochi, canzoni ucraine, i cavalli si stendono per dormire.

18.8.1920. Echeggiano gli urrà, i polacchi sono respinti, andiamo sul campo di battaglia, un piccolo polacco con le unghie laccate si gratta la testa rosata con radi capelli, risponde in modo vago, si schermisce, sì, sì, Seko è impaziente e pallido, rispondi, chi sei – io sono – balbetta, una specie di alfiere, noi ce ne andiamo, lo portano più lontano, un ragazzo con un bel viso carica il fucile alle sue spalle, io grido: Jakov Vasil’evic! Lui finge di non sentire, va avanti, uno sparo, il piccolo polacco in mutande cade di faccia e sussulta. Si vive in modo ripugnante, assassini, è insopportabile, abiezione e delitti. E’ spaventoso come noi portiamo la libertà.

[Czarny Pies · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an excellent collection of stories the horrors of war. I found it to be of the same outstanding quality as Erich Maria Remarque's "All quiet on the Western Front." The big question is having read one or two books in the genre why would you want to continue. I leave this question to you.

My interested in Babel's book came from the fact that it involved the atrocities committed by the Communist Cossacks in the Polish-Russian War of 1918-1920 that my wife's grandfather participated in on the Polish side.

Even after having recently read Jonathon Littell's horrific Kindly Ones three years ago, Babel was still able to shock and disgust me. Babel was assigned as a journalist to the Cossack Cavalry that invaded Poland with the communist forces. All in all he presented a rather dim view of his side whose cruelty easily surpasses that of the Poles.

Babel makes no effort to hide his sympathies for the large number of Jews that lived in the area that the Russians and the Poles. The Poles were slaughtered by the Russian Cossacks. The Ukrainians were slaughtered by the Poles. The Jews got it first from the Poles and then from the Russian Cossacks.

Babel writes: "Khmelnitsky, now Budyonny, the unfortunate Jewish population, everything repeats itself, once again the same story of Poles, Cossacks and Jews is repeating itself with striking exactness, what is new is Communism."

Needless to say, Babel is hardly expressing the proper party line. All in all it is quite surprising that the Communists waited until 1941 before they liquidated him.

[sigurd · Rating 5 out of 5]

Alla vigilia del sabato mi tormenta la densa malinconia delle rimembranze. Quelle sere, in passato, mio nonno carezzava con la barba gialla i volumi di Ibn-Ezra. La mia vecchierella, coi pizzi tra i capelli, traeva la sorte con le dita nodose dal cero del sabato, e singhiozzava dolcemente. Il mio cuore infantile quelle sere veniva cullato come un vascello su flutti incantati. O consunti Talmud della mia infanzia! O densa malinconia delle rimembranze!
(L'Ebreo Gedali)

[Κωνσταντίνος Τσεντεμεΐδης · Rating 4 out of 5]

Αυτοί οι Ρωσοι... Με την τραχια τους ωμοτητα, τον αθεραπευτο ρομαντισμό τους, και το πικρό τους χιούμορ από πάνω... Είναι να μη τους λατρεύεις?

[Héctor Genta · Rating 4 out of 5]

Notizie dal fronte
Episodi della guerra sovietico-polacca del 1919-21, raccontati da un cronista d'eccezione, il ventiseienne Isaak Babel' aggregato all'armata a cavallo cosacca.
Storie crude, che non coinvolgono personaggi di primo piano e non parlano dell'andamento dei combattimenti ma che sono focalizzate su episodi minori, piccoli drammi privati, su vittime e carnefici senza nome o i cui nomi non hanno alcuna importanza per la Storia.
La voce di Babel' sembra risentire dell'influsso di correnti letterarie diverse, perché se il tratto stilisticamente dominante di questi racconti è il realismo, caratterizzato da una scrittura votata all'esposizione nuda dei fatti per cui i racconti dell'Armata a cavallo ci appaiono come resoconti di stampo quasi giornalistico/autobiografico con il tentativo di caratterizzare i personaggi anche in base al loro lessico, non mancano però momenti in cui questo realismo si scontra con la ricchezza del mondo interiore dell'autore e allora il tono sembra diventare quasi lirico, non lontano da un 'ornamentalismo' che ricorda il Pil'njak de L'anno nudo (senza trascurare certe atmosfere di stampo simbolista che non possono non far pensare a Belyj).
A questi aspetti contraddittori presenti sul piano formale corrisponde un gioco di contrasti che Babel' evidenza anche nei contenuti dei racconti, alternando ironia e violenza, crudeltà e tenerezza, riferendosi alla Rivoluzione in toni volutamente ambigui non arrivando mai a condannarla apertamente senza nemmeno esaltarla, in modo che forse proprio l'ironia risulta essere lo strumento utilizzato da Babel' per minare le fondamenta della costruzione bolscevica.

[Bryan Alexander · Rating 5 out of 5]

A fine edition of a 20th-century Russian classic about a forgotten war.

Red Cavalry is a brilliant account of part of the Polish-Soviet War. This grew out of the Russian Revolution and Civil War, as Bolshevik leaders sought to expand their territory, while aiming to provoke revolution in Germany by driving through Poland.

A very young Isaac Babel rode with the titular cavalry forces, jotting down his impressions while doing administrative work and trying to get along with Cossacks. Shortly afterward he turned his notes into splendid short stories. They show the chaos of war, the cruelty of soldiers crashing into civilians, the turmoil of a region wracked by multiple invasions and revolts. Stories mix horror with comedy and penetrating descriptions.

Red Cavalry also offers a complex narrative voice. The character - one part Babel, one part invention - is Russian and also pro-Soviet, Jewish yet ambivalent about his people. He struggles to understand and describe the revolution. He loves and despises the Jewish communities he comes across. He loves history with a young antiquarian's eye yet fervently wishes the young Soviet power to undo a heritage of oppression. And he fears, loves, is fascinated by, and removed from the Cossacks with whom he rides.

I'm fascinated by the stories' mad turns of phrase:

Everything has been killed by the silence, and only the moon, clasping its round, shining, carefree head in its blue hands,
loiters beneath my window. (39)
Like all cooks he scorns mankind. (114)
"The International, Comrade, you have no idea how to swallow it!"
"With gunpowder," I tell the old man, "and seasoned with the best blood." (65)
The orange sun is rolling across the sky like a severed head.(39)
He knows the meaning of authority, the Germans taught him that. (223)
I waited with anxious soul for Romeo to descend from the clouds, a satin Romeo singing of love,
while backstage a dejected electrician waits with his finger on the button to turn off the moon.(61)
Night came galloping toward me on swift steeds. The wailing of the transport carts deafened the universe; on the earth enveloped by screams the roads faded away. Stars slithered out of the cool gut of the sky, and on the horizon abandoned villages flared up. (135)
[T]he terrible field sown with hacked-up men, an inhuman cruelty, inconceivable wounds,
crushed skulls, young, white, naked bodies are gleaming in the sun, notebooks lying around,
single pages, military booklets, Bibles, bodies in the rye. (246)

As historical record/fiction, Red Cavalry is very rich. Without exposition it sketches out parts of the Russian Civil War. Looming throughout the stories is the colossal wreck of World War One, which Russia lost horribly. Leftover trenches dot the landscape, German technology impresses, and we see traces of a short-lived Polish state. All sides in the Polish war use the tachanka, a horse-drawn or cart-mounted machinegun. Small groups of aircraft - fewer than ten at a time - terrorize ground forces lacking their own air cover or anti-aircraft weapons. One Cossack gets shot in the face by airplanes (!) and keeps on fighting, of course (126). Several Soviet military leaders appear by name, who will go on to become major actors in the 1930s and 40s: Timoshenko, Voroshilov. It's a deep glimpse into the time between the two world wars.

This edition is unusually rich, in that only one half is the originally published Red Cavalry stories. The book also includes subsequently published tales, along with Babel's fascinating diary and sketches from the time. It includes plentiful notes and useful front matter.

Strongly recommended for anyone with a taste for incandescent writing, the short story form, and/or history.

[Yani · Rating 4 out of 5]

Crudo. Algunos relatos no son tan memorables o parecen muy similares entre sí, pero logran su objetivo: contar e impactar. Varias imágenes se me quedaron pegadas a la mente por la forma en que están descriptas. Ejemplo:

Entro y me hiere el brillo de dos plateadas calaveras en la tapa de un féretro roto.

Es una de las primeras citas impresionantes que encontré, así que lo que resta es un horror. No podía esperarse menos de historias basadas en la guerra y escritas por un hombre que la conoció de cerca.

[Miloš · Rating 5 out of 5]

I
-Maćuša, - veli - jesi li mi ti sudbina ili nisi?
-Ne, - velim - i okani se tih reči. Nas je podlace i bog napustio, sudbina nam je ćurka, život kopejka, okani se tih reči i čuj, ako hoćeš, pismo Lenjinovo...
-Pismo za mene, Nikitinskog?
-Za tebe - i vadim knjigu naredaba, otvaram prazan list i čitam, mada sam nepismen iz dubine duše. "U ime naroda - čitam - i osnivanja budućeg srećnog života naređujem Matveju Rodioniču Pavličenku da lišava razne ljude života prema svom sopstvenom nahođenju" ... Evo - velim - evo ga, to je Lenjinovo pismo za tebe...

II
Gazio sam ga sat ili više od sata i za to vreme potpuno sam upoznao život. Kuršumom se - da se tako izrazim - čoveka možeš samo osloboditi, kuršum - to mu je pomilovanje, a tebi odvratna olakšica, kuršumom nećeš prodreti u dušu, nećeš naći gde je ona u čoveku i kakva je. Ali ja, ponekad, ne žalim sebe, ponekad gazim neprijatelja sat ili više od sata, jer hoću da upoznam život, kakav nam je on...

III
Imao je uvek puno narudžbina. I kada je, posle godinu dana, odazivajući se na besne poslanice novogradskog ksjondza, stigla komisija od episkopa žitomirskog, našla je po najbednijim i najsmrdljivijim kolibama te čudovišne porodične portrete, svetotatske, naivne i živopisne kao cveće u tropskoj bašti. Smeđokosi Josifi, očešljani na razdeljak, napomađeni Isusi, seoske Marije raskrečenih nogu, koje su mnogo rađale - te ikone su visile u za njih određenim uglovima, okružene vencima cveća od hartije.

[Tyler · Rating 2 out of 5]

Red Cavalry consists of around 100 pages of Isaac Babel's Red Cavalry stories, plus another 90 pages of field notes Babel took during the Polish campaign and a few other odds and ends.

The stories come in the form of a stream of consciousness that oppresses me by its closed perspective and traps readers in a permanent present. The loosely connected tales have no beginnings and no ends, no character development, nor even any plot to speak of. Lacking any explanations, the stories in no way enlighten readers as to what the Russo-Polish war was about or what actually happened.

So the keys to these stories are action and description. Babel goes for pure effect. Each story is richly descriptive, and liking the book is a matter of liking this descriptive approach. They remind me of And Quiet Flows the Don, a book that's stylistically very like this collection. The descriptions are well done, though in places I thought they were over-rich, perhaps to substitute for the lack of normal narrative devices.

As with And Quiet Flows the Don, the narrative voice is super masculine, to the point of caricature. This is the third author I've read who has written about Cossacks, a subject of endless fascination to Russians. Of the three, only Tolstoy's The Cossacks has really given me any clear picture of what these people are like.

Babel's field notes and the other filler add nothing to the stories. As a demonstration of creative prose this book is fine. Otherwise, readers can safely pass it by.

[Mehmet B · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lehlere karşı, daha çok Kazaklardan oluşan kızıl süvari birliklerinde savaşan, ama kimseyi öldürmemek için silahına mermi bile koymayan bir Ukrayna Yahudisinin anlatımıyla, birbirleriyle bağlantılı, savaşın insanlıktan çıkaran, karanlık yüzünü gösteren öykülerin savaş karşıtlığı, anlatımdaki incelikle yoğrulmuş. Yoğun bir plazma içinden dört boyutlu bir zamanda ve mekanda yolculuk yapmanızı sağlayan hikayeler başka türlü anlatılamayacağını düşündüren betimlemeleriyle gerçeğe sadık görünen nesir-şiirler, aynı zamanda.
"Her yanımızda erguvani haşhaş tarlaları ışıl ışıldı, sararmaya yüz tutmuş çavdar başakları arasında oynuyordu gün ortası rüzgar, yeni boy atmış karabuğdaylar ufukta uzanan bir manastırın duvarı gibi yükseliyordu. Sakin Volın Irmağı kıvrılarak uzaklaşıyordu bizden, bir akağaç koruluğunun gümüş rengi sisine dalıyordu; koru, boy atmış şerbetçiotlarına zayıflayan elleriyle tutunarak, rengarenk yamaçlara doğru tırmanıyordu. Portakal rengi güneş gökyüzünde kesik bir baş gibi süzülüyor, ince ışığı sis vadilerinde tutuşuyor, günbatımının sancağı başlarımızın üzerinde dalglanıyordu. Dünkü kanın ve ölen atların kokusu akşam serinliğine damlıyordu. Zbruç'un kararmış suyu çağlayarak akıyor, eşiklerinde köpükten kıvrım kıvrım dizginler oluşturuyordu. Köprüler yıkılmıştı, ırmağı sığ yerinden geçiyorduk."

[راضي النماصي · Rating 4 out of 5]

عمل ذو كتابة رائعة وتفاصيل مريعة.

[Zeb Kantrowitz · Rating 5 out of 5]

During the Polish-Soviet War of 1920-1921, Isaac Babel was attached to the Red Army Cavalry that fought in Southern Poland. Most of this area had been part of the Russian Empire for centuries and was well known to him. This was also part of the ‘infamous’ Pale of Russia.

The Pale of Russia was the eastern part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth before it was partitioned between Austria, Prussia and Russia at the end of the eighteenth century. This was the area that Jews were ghetto-ized into. Most of it was small towns (schtetls) that were little more than a handful of huts and dirt roads.

Babel wrote about the good and the bad of the Soviet Army as they tramped through this area fighting the Polish Army and the population. The effect of the war on both the armies and the people are what he wrote about in the diary, he kept during the war.

Babel can be both satiric and ironic in his depiction of the violence or war and can be blasé and matter of fact about murder and mayhem. He shows how was can make some men sinners and others saints, and how killing can become mundane.

More than anything else, Babel’s narrator deals with the change in status of the Russian-Jewish intelligentsia and how theory changes when confronted with reality. For most socialist intellectuals, the theory of ‘all power to the Soviets’, had been an idea had now become the norm. As Babel found out, effectuating an ideal is much harder than talking about it.

Written in a very Russian style of fiction mixed with fact Babel established himself as a new voice in the new Russia. He didn’t ‘clean’ up the language of the troops any more than the horrors they saw or committed. It could easily be American troops in Iraq.

Zeb Kantrowitz zworstblog.blogspot.com

[Peter · Rating 2 out of 5]

Series of short stories set in the Polish-Soviet War of 1920. Babel writes the most astoundingly inventive and beautiful descriptions of situations and landscapes, including some grotesque horror-of-war scenes. However, the collected short stories don’t really make up one unified and consistent whole. I read the Dralyuk translation, one of several English translations from the original Russian, probably not one of the better ones. Something of the atmosphere about the scenes described is missing. I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure the original Russian is much better. Unfortunately I have no Russian although I once tried to learn it. It took me ages just to memorise the Cyrillic alphabet and I gave up pretty soon. It would be great though to read the many terrific Russian writers in the original!

[Marwan Shoqey · Rating 4 out of 5]

تاريخ محارِقُ الكتب كبير على مر التاريخ. فمثلًا في الفترة الفرعونية أحرق أخناتون الكتب الدينية السابقة له لأنها كانت تزرع الظل على شعره. أفلاطون أيضا لم ينج من هذه الغواية البائسة فحاول حرق مؤلفات دمُقريط الذي رأى فيها منافسًا كبيرًا لمثاليته. حتى الأديان السماوية، مرت على هذا المسلك الصعب في بعض حقبها التاريخية بالخصوص المسيحية في القرون الوسطى حينما خرجت من صلبها محاكم التفتيش المقدس التي أوكلت لها مهمة حرق الكتب التي رأت فيها هرطقة أو مروقا عن الدين وأحكامه المقدسة. لم ترحم حتى البشر الذين ثبت عليهم هذا الخروج أو حتى شك فيهم أحدهم وأخبر عنهم المحاكم. وشهدت مدينة برلين الألمانية قبل 80 عامًا واحدة من أكبر عمليات حرق الكتب خلال حقبة النازية، تجمع حوالي 70 ألف شخص في أحد ميادين برلين وقامت مجموعة من الطلبة بنقل أكثر من 20 ألف كتاب لتحرق أمام عيون الجميع. لم تكن واقعة حرق الكتب في برلين هي الوحيدة من نوعها ففي نفس الليلة قام الطلبة في جميع المدن الألمانية التي بها جامعات، بحرق أعمال الأدباء الذين لا تتوافق أعمالهم مع أيديولوجيات هؤلاء الطلبة. وقبل عملية الحرق بأسابيع قام الطلبة بتجميع أعمال الكتاب والصحفيين من المكتبات العامة ومكتبات الجامعات مبررين ذلك بأن هذه الكتب تحتوي على أفكار "غير ألمانية" مما يجعل من كُتابها أ��داء للنازية. واختار الطلبة أعمالا لكتاب اشتراكيين ودعاة للسلام ويهود. في الأندلس لم يكونوا رحيمين. فقد فتشوا عن أي كتاب يمجد العقل فأبادوه. ولم يرحموا حتى مؤلفات ومكتبة ابن رشد، إذ أحرقوا جزءا كبيرا منها، عن جهالة وتسلط وجفاف في الفكر والعواطف. لماذا النار؟ ربما لأنها لا تترك أثرًا إلا خطوط الرماد التي تعقبها عملية التفتت والمحو النهائي.
إسحاق بابل كان أحد الكتاب التي حُرقت كتبه، لم تحرق في محرقة او هولوكوست، لكنها حُرقت بشكل خاص ومباشر.
بابل هو من أفضل كتاب القصة القصيرة الذين قرأتهم. في مجموعته القصصية او المتتالية "سلاح الفرسان" قصص غير منفصلة، فهي تعتبر نموذج مبكر فى الأدب الروسي للمتتالية القصصية، التى تضم قصصًا متنوعة تجمعها وحدة موضوع، وتتكرر الشخصيات فى أكثر من قصة. إنها تشكل شبكة مترابطة من الأحداث والشخصيات والوقائع.
قراءة بابل لأول مرة تثير الدهشة بكاتب فذ، وأسلوب مميز، يكتب أدب حديث بالنسبة لوقته ولا يشبه الأدب الروسي الكلاسيكي (أدب بوشكين وغوغول وتولستوي ودوستويفسكي وتشيخوف).
يقول المترجم في المقدمة: "تتناول المجموعة القصصية فترة الحرب السوفييتية البولندية التي اندلعت عقب الثورة البلشفية.
اتهمه البعض بالسادية من فرط وصفه للوقائع الدموية بحيادية ملفتة، وكأنه يسرد وقائع عادية ومألوفة إلى أقصى درجة، والبعض الآخر انبهر بالمجموعة، فهي تحوي نصوصًا كثيفة إلى أقصى حد.
تتنوع قصص المجموعة بين مشاهد حربية، ومشاهد مكثفة لعلاقات متنوعة بين الجنود وسكان المناطق التي يجوبونها، يكتب بوصف شعري فائق الجمال، وينزع ببصيرة نفسية إلى تحليل العنف بصورة عميقة".
يكتب الواقع السوفييتي على حقيقته ولم ينخدع بالدعاية الستالينية، ولا بأوهام الجنة الموعودة. كل شيء في قصص بابل غير عادي، ليس الأبطال ودوافعهم وسلوكهم فقط، بل الحالات غير المتوقعة وجوانب الحياة اليومية التي لا يراها الآخرون والبناء القصصي المحكم. كانت لديه قوة تصوير هائلة، الأبطال السلبيون كانوا سلبيين حقًا، يقفون أمامنا وكأنهم أحياء بطول قاماتهم كل ذلك بكلمات قليلة مقتضبة. وهو مثل موباسان، وتشيخوف، خلق القصة القصيرة خلقًا جديدًا، ولكن بابل يتميز عنهما بتكثيف النص الى أقصى درجة. وعندما تقرأ قصة قصيرة له لا تتجاوز بضع صفحات تشعر وكأنك قرأت رواية طويلة. قصصه مبتكرة. ولو فتشت في كل قصص بابل فلن تجد فيها كليشيه أو عبارة مستهلكة واحدة. قصصه تنبض بالحياة المتدفقة بكل مفارقاتها وتناقضاتها.
لست الوحيد المعجب بأدب بابل، فبعد نشره لمجموعته القصصية سلاح الفرسان لقى شهرة واسعة، ومدحًا من الكتاب والنقاد خاصة الأمريكيين، وكان مكسيم غوركي أحد المعجبين به ودعمه ونشر له قصصًا في مجلته. وقال ارنست همنجواي في رسالة مؤرخة 12 كانون الثاني 1936 الى مترجم أعماله الى اللغة الروسية ايفان كاشين: عرفت بابل منذ ان قرأت الترجمة الفرنسية لمجموعته القصصية سلاح الفرسان. تعجبني أعماله جدا. عنده مادة قصصية مدهشة، ويصوغها على نحو ممتاز. قصص بابل مضغوطة اكثر من قصصي ومضامينها ثرية. وهذا دليل على قدراته الفنية.
عندما القي القبض على بابل عام 1939 صادرت المخابرات السوفيتية كل أعماله الأدبية المخطوطة وأحرقتها. وبعد اعتقاله احرق معظم أصدقائه والمقربون منه أعمال بابل التي بحوزتهم، بإستثناء البعض منهم. فقد منع النظام البلشفي الإحتفاظ بالأعمال الأدبية أو الفكرية لـ(أعداء الشعب) وأمر بحرقها، وكان المخالف يعرض نفسه لعقوبات صارمة عند اكتشاف (فعلته). وكان الوشاة في كل مكان، ولم يكن أحد يثق بأحد ولو كان من أقرب المقربين اليه. لذا فإن الإحتفاظ بعمل أدبي لكاتب من (أعداء الشعب) يمكن إعتباره بطولة حقيقية في ذلك العهد المرعب.
تعرض بابل في السجن الى تعذيب وحشي، وحكم عليه بالإعدام بعد محاكمة صورية استغرقت أقل من عشرين دقيقة، واعدم رميًا بالرصاص في فجر اليوم التالي. وتبين لاحقًا من خلال الوثائق التي نشرت في فترة (البريسترويكا) زيف وبطلان كل التهم المفبركة الموجهة اليه. وتشير تلك الوثائق الى أن ستالين قد وقع على أمر اعدام بابل قبل عدة اسابيع من انعقاد المحكمة.
وطبعًا أشكر المترجم الرائع يوسف نبيل على الترجمة الدقيقة والرائعة للرواية. ولولا الترجمة السلسة والجميلة ما كنت لأعجب بالكاتب وأقرأ عن حياته وأكتب عنه.

[Noel Brey · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una suerte de novela fragmentaria donde, lejos de cualquier heroísmo, se nos muestran las aberraciones de la guerra y lo lejos que está cualquier contienda de los grandes ideales por los que supuestamente se lucha.

[Realini Ionescu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Red Cavalry by Isaac Babel is a collection of short stories placed on the 522nd spot by the algorithm of The Greatest Books of All Time site, since it takes new data in, changes in the public and critics taste (perhaps), this place could and will change, as for the taste of the hoi polloi, well, they know of The Da Vinci Code, but many fewer have heard of Nineteen Eighty Four – which is sixth on the same GOAT site -by the way, you find more than five thousand reviews of books from the aforementioned site and others, plus notes on films from The New York Times’ Best 1,000 Movies Ever Made and other places on my blog and YouTube https://realinibarzoi.blogspot.com/20... a visit would be welcome



9 out of 10

The stories from Red Cavalry https://realinibarzoi.blogspot.com/20... are compelling, the issue is though that the tragedies are so overwhelming, and even worse, this sort of thing keeps happening now, in the ‘civilized’ world, just as we live in the era of progress, science and advancement

People and animals are murdered in these stories, although we have a number of quotes on war, one was saying something like ‘it is striking that during war killing is heroic, encouraged admired, and in peace time, that means jail’, I did not find this on the internet, I am clearly far from what the original luminary said on this

"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his." — George S. Patton, here is another one that reminds me of that crazy event taking place in America (the land of the Orange Woland aka Monkey now) a few days back, when they called all the top generals and admirals, and placed them in one room
‘A first-rate person chooses first rate people, a second rate being will opt for third rate, and so on’ – the result is that this Orange Weirdo has around him a collection of fools, the one in charge of war (no longer defense) kept on about beards, fat, as if the commander in chief would be an athlete, he is close to, if not already obese

All Quiet on The Western Front https://realinibarzoi.blogspot.com/20... is the ultimate magnum opus by Erich Maria Remarque, one which makes clear what war is like, mass killing, suffering, and we can see this in Red Cavalry, although the Polish characters appear quite negative
Indeed, this proves that abominations are not the monopoly of one side, nevertheless, I must insist that we must see the difference between good and bad, something that is hard for many these days, when they confuse Putin with Macron say, and evade conclusions with stupid talk like ‘they are all the same, no difference there’

That is an aberration: these belong to two worlds, Putin is a diabolical monster, Macron, Merz and the others in the latter camp are flawed, but human beings, a decent human cannot make a mistake and put them together, unless he is a fascist, villain, stupid, or a combination of those and other repulsive traits of character
Geroge Orwell https://realinibarzoi.blogspot.com/20... has written some stupendous Essays, which I am reading now, and as he argues, everything (or almost all) is political and he writes about the pacifists, most of them hiding their admiration for Hitler, under the disguise of pretending they love peace

While people suffer in Ukraine, Gaza (hopefully not for much longer, now that there is a plan to end the war) some of those I meet at the club downtown are bastards and support Putin, they regret Ceausescu – a few lines down, you have the link to an article in which I am mentioned, with my small contribution to the 1989 Revolution
And then there is that woman, a math teacher, that I saw again yesterday, on my God, what we have in front of students, or pupils, she is ludicrous, pompous, the epitome of preposterous, and this is so evident to me, and invisible to others

Now for my standard closing of the note with a question, and invitation – I am on Goodreads as Realini Ionescu, at least for the moment, if I keep on expressing my views on Orange Woland aka TACO, it may be a short-lived presence
Also, maybe you have a good idea on how we could make more than a million dollars with this https://realinibarzoi.blogspot.com/20... – as it is, this is a unique technique, which we could promote, sell, open the Oscars show with or something and then make lots of money together, if you have the how, I have the product, I just do not know how to get the benefits from it, other than the exercise per se

There is also the small matter of working for AT&T – this huge company asked me to be its Representative for Romania and Bulgaria, on the Calling Card side, which meant sailing into the Black Sea wo meet the US Navy ships, travelling to Sofia, a lot of activity, using my mother’s two bedrooms flat as office and warehouse, all for the grand total of $250, raised after a lot of persuasion to the staggering $400…with retirement ahead, there are no benefits, nothing…it is a longer story, but if you can help get the mastodont to pay some dues, or have an idea how it can happen, let me know

As for my role in the Revolution that killed Ceausescu, a smaller Mao, there it is http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/03/r...

Some favorite quotes from To The Hermitage and other works

‘Fiction is infinitely preferable to real life...As long as you avoid the books of Kafka or Beckett, the everlasting plot of fiction has fewer futile experiences than the careless plot of reality...Fiction's people are fuller, deeper, cleverer, more moving than those in real life…Its actions are more intricate, illuminating, noble, profound…There are many more dramas, climaxes, romantic fulfillment, twists, turns, gratified resolutions…Unlike reality, all of this you can experience without leaving the house or even getting out of bed…What's more, books are a form of intelligent human greatness, as stories are a higher order of sense…As random life is to destiny, so stories are to great authors, who provided us with some of the highest pleasures and the most wonderful mystifications we can find…Few stories are greater than Anna Karenina, that wise epic by an often foolish author…’

[Derek · Rating 5 out of 5]

Babel is great. This series of linked stories has an immediacy about it. The reader feels as if he’s in the midst of the Russian-Polish war following the Revolution and World War I. It’s also got a journalistic quality which seems to anticipate Capote, etc. I preferred the magic of Babel’s Odessa stories but Red Cavalry is powerful insofar as it forces the reader to have some sympathy for both military men and their victims.

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Such a powerful read. I know Russia has many great writers, like Gogol and Dostoevsky to name a couple, but it's writers like Babel and Grossman I appreciate more for their documentin of history.

[Fábio · Rating 5 out of 5]

“[…] A tarde alçou voo para o céu, como um bando de pássaros, e a escuridão cingiu-me com sua coroa úmida. Eu estava exausto e, curvado sob a funérea coroa, segui adiante, implorando ao destino a mais simples das faculdades: matar um ser humano.”

“O Exército de Cavalaria” é um livro de contos de Isaac Bábel, baseado em suas próprias experiências enquanto oficial (e judeu) servindo ao Exército Vermelho durante a guerra civil russa. Em suas páginas podemos enxergar, à luz da posteridade, vislumbres do que seria o século XX: violência misturada com mudança, violência sendo vendida como esperança, violência que confunde (e se confunde entre) as noções de ficção e não-ficção — seria a não-ficção, realidade?

“[…] Durante todos aqueles dias o velho viveu entregue a uma turva esperança, confusa e súbita, e para que nada anuviasse sua felicidade ele se esforçava por não notar qualquer exagero na simplicidade faceira e sanguinária com a qual nós decidíamos então todos os problemas do mundo.”

Bábel, declaradamente partidários dos ideias revolucionários mas que, posteriormente, seria calado pelo regime stalinista, não nos poupa da realidade que vivera. Lírico mas, ao mesmo tempo, seco, o autor subsume a tradição do conto russo iniciada em Gógol (e da novela de cavalaria “Tarás Bulba”), passando por Tchékhov, caminhando a um realismo histórico iniciado por Tolstói, apresentando personagens duros tirados de Dostoiévski.

“Sinto pena das abelhas. Elas foram exterminadas pelos exércitos em guerra. Na Volynia não existem mais abelhas.
“Nós profanamos as colmeias. Nós as envenenamos com enxofre e as destruímos com pólvora. Os trapos chamuscados exalavam mau cheiro nas sacrossantas repúblicas das abelhas. Ao morrer, elas voavam lentamente, e seu zumbido era quase imperceptível. Por falta de pão, extraíamos o mel com nossos sabres. Na Volynia não há mais abelhas.”

Sendo judeu e tendo sobrevivido a pogroms desde a infância (vale ler seu conto “História do meu pombal”, não constante deste livro), Bábel analisa sua realidade de revolucionário bolchevique com um certo afastamento, posto que nunca inteiramente incluído. Por isso, “O Exército de Cavalaria”, dotado de uma aura presciente, é plenamente consciente de seu tempo e crítico da prática cega de qualquer ideologia.

“— A Revolução? Nós diremos sim a ela. Mas e ao sabá, por acaso teremos que dizer não ao sabá? […] ‘Sim’, grito eu para a revolução, eu grito ‘sim’ para ela, mas ela se esconde de Guedáli, e manda para a frente apenas a fuzilaria… […] Mas o polonês estava atirando, meu caro [senhor], porque ele era a contrarrevolução. E vocês atiram porque são a Revolução. Mas a Revolução é alegria. E a alegria não gosta de ter órfãos pela casa. O homem bom faz boas obras. A Revolução é uma boa obra de homens bons. Mas os homens bons não matam. Então, quer dizer que quem faz a Revolução são os homens maus. Mas os poloneses também são homens maus. Quem dirá a Guedáli de que lado está a Revolução e de que lado está a contrarrevolução? […] Nós não somos ignorantes. A Internacional… nós sabemos o que é a Internacional. E eu quero uma Internacional de homens bons.”

[Mickdemaria · Rating 4 out of 5]

La raccolta è travolgente, piena di umori, piena di morte e quindi di vita.
Babel ha l'animo del poeta e la forza dell'inviato dal fronte. Scrive come dall'occhio del ciclone, come scrive chi è in bilico sull'orlo della vita che si sta strappando, come chi è abituato a dormire abbracciato alla morte, ad averla negli occhi, la morte, ogni volta che li apre, come chi alla morte urla in faccia la propria vita. Donne, animali, alcool e sangue mescolati a voce alta, legami sacri che si creano e si strappano, e non so perché ma tutta questa vita sporca e disperata sembra avere sempre un sorriso dietro, nella violenza, nel dolore, nel pianto, è sempre presente il sorriso di chi ha troppo sofferto per poter ancora avere paura. Una cavalcata per la Russia per raccontare l'uomo. Poetico e potente.
Voto: 8