both times, almost certainly at theinstigation of Stalin himself. Grossman evidently understood the need for Stalin’s explicit approval, and in December 1950 he sent him a letter which ends, “The number of pages of reviews, stenograms, conclusions, and responses is already approaching the number of pages taken up by the novel itself, and although all are in favor of publication, there has not yet been a final decision. I passionately ask you to help me by deciding the fate of the book I consider more important thananything else I have written.”
Stalin, it seems, did not reply. Nor did Molotov, to whom Grossman wrotein October 1951. Nevertheless, after a last flurry ofnew suggestions for the title, the novel was finally published in 1952, in the July through October issues of
Novy mir.
In a letter to Fadeyev, Grossman wrote, “Dear Aleksandr Aleksandrovich [...] Even after being published and republished for so many years, I felt more deeply and intensely moved, on seeing the July issue of the journal, than when I saw my very first story [‘In the Town of Berdichev’]in
Literaturnaya gazeta
.”
Initial reviews were enthusiastic and on October 13 the Prose Section of the Union of Soviet Writers nominated the novelfor a Stalin Prize. On January 13, 1953, however, an article appeared in
Pravda
titled “Vicious Spies and Killers Passing Themselves off as Doctors and Professors.” A group of the country’s most eminent doctors—all of them Jewish—had allegedly been plotting to poison Stalin and other members of the political and military leadership. These accusations were intended to serve as a prelude to a vast purge of Soviet Jews.
A month after this, on February 13, Mikhail Bubyonnov, who in 1948 had won a State Prize for
The White Birch
—a novel, like Grossman’s
The People Immortal
, about the first year of the war—published a denunciatory review of
For a Just Cause.
A new campaign against Grossman quickly gathered momentum. Major newspapers printed articles with such titles as “A Novel That Distorts the Image of Soviet People,” “On a False Path,” and “In a Distorting Mirror.” In response, Tvardovsky and the editorial board of
Novy mir
duly acknowledged that publication of the novel had been a grave mistake. What seems to have hurt Grossman most was being betrayed by Tvardovsky; Tvardovsky was a true writer, not merely a literary functionary, and he probably genuinely liked and admired Grossman. When Grossman called in at
Novy mir
and—it would seem—spoke his mind, Tvardovsky retorted, “What, do you think I should have returned my Party membership card?” “Yes, I do,” said Grossman. Still more angrily, Tvardovsky said, “I know where you’re going now. Go on then, get going. There’s obviously a lot you haven’t understood yet. It’ll be explained to you there.”
Earlier that day Grossman had received a telephone call asking him to go to the head office of
Pravda
; he had called in at
Novy mir
on his way there. Grossman probably did not know the exact reason for his summons to
Pravda
; he had been told only that it was “in connection with the fate of the Jewish people.” Tvardovsky, however, evidently knew that Grossman was among the Jewish writers and journalists who were being asked to sign a letter calling for the execution of the “Killer Doctors.”
Not long before this, Grossman had stood firm when Fadeyev begged him to renounce his novel and make a show of public repentance. Uncharacteristically, however, Grossman agreed to sign the letter about the “Killer Doctors.” He was, no doubt, feeling lost and confused after quarreling with Tvardovsky. He may have thought—reasonably enough—that the doctors were certain to be executed anyway and that the letter was worth signing because it affirmed that the Jewish people
as a whole
was innocent. Whatever his reasons, Grossman at once regretted what he had done. He drank vodka on the street and, by the time he got