115 years ago, the famous Czechoslovak journalist Julius Fucik was born - the author of the book “Report with a Noose Around the Neck”, which was famous in his time throughout the socialist camp, which he wrote while in the Prague prison “Pankrác” during the Second World War. This was the revelation of the author, who was awaiting his sentence, presumably death. This work is recognized as one of the best examples of socialist realism in the literature of Czechoslovakia and beyond.

Julius Fucik: biography

The future journalist and writer was born in 1903 at the very end of winter in the capital of the Czech Republic, Prague. At that time, this country was still part of Austria-Hungary. The boy was named after his famous composer uncle - Julius. It was from him that he inherited his love for art. The most popular work, which belonged to Julius Fucik Sr., is the march “Enter the Gladiators”. Everyone who has ever been to the circus has heard this melody. The boy’s father, although he was a turner by profession, was very fond of theater; along with his work, he played in an amateur theater troupe. Then he was noticed and invited as an actor to the Schwand Theater. So Julius Fucik's family was quite creative.

For some time, young Julek also tried to follow his father’s example and perform on the theater stage in various productions, but he did not feel any particular craving for this type of art, so he soon gave up everything and took up literature and journalism.

Patriotism

Young Julius’s parents were great patriots, and he definitely inherited this gene from them. He learned from the examples of Jan Hus and Karel Havlíček. Already at the age of 15, he enrolled in a youth social democratic organization, and at the age of 18 he joined the ranks of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia.

Study and work

After school, Julius Fucik entered the University of Prague, the Faculty of Philosophy, although his father dreamed that his son would become a highly qualified engineer. Already in his first year, he became the editor of the newspaper “Rude Pravo”, the printed publication of the Communist Party. During this work, he had the opportunity to meet famous Czech writers and other political and artistic figures. At the age of 20, Julius was already considered one of the most talented journalists of the Communist Party. In parallel with “Rude Pravo”, he also began working in the magazine “Tvorba” (“Creativity”), and after some time he himself founded the newspaper “Halo Noviny”.

Visit to the USSR

In the early 1930s, Julius Fucik visited the USSR. The main purpose of his trip was to learn more about the first country of socialism and tell the Czech people about it. The young man did not even imagine that this trip would last for two years. He was not only in Moscow, but also in Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan. While traveling around Central Asia, I also became acquainted with Tajik literature.

Some will be surprised why the Czech journalist was so attracted to Central Asia. It turns out that not far from the city of Frunze, his compatriots founded a cooperative, and Julius was interested in watching their successes. Returning to his homeland, Fuchik wrote a book based on his impressions and called it “The Country in which tomorrow is already yesterday.”

One more trip

In 1934, Fucik went to Germany, to the Bavarian lands. Here he first became acquainted with the idea of ​​fascism, was shocked by what he saw and called it mass movement the worst kind of imperialism. He wrote many essays about this, but in the Czech Republic they called the journalist a rebel, a troublemaker, and even wanted to arrest him.

To avoid prison and persecution, Julius fled to the USSR. Despite the fact that the Soviet Union of the 30s was in terrible conditions - expropriation, hunger and devastation, for some reason the Czech journalist did not notice or did not want to see all this. For him, the Soviets were an example of an ideal state. In addition to the first book about the USSR, he wrote a number of essays about the country of his dreams.

In the mid-30s, the news of Stalin's mass repressions opened the eyes of Czech communists to the real situation that reigned in the first country of socialism, but Julius Fucik remained among the “true believers” and did not doubt the correctness of Soviet power. Disappointment only came in 1939, when the Nazis occupied the Czech lands.

Family

In 1938, returning from Soviet Union, Julius decided not to risk it and settled in the village. Here he invited his long-time lover Augusta Kodechireva and married her. However, the happiness of family life did not last long: with the outbreak of the First World War, he, like other anti-fascists, had to go underground. The family - wife and parents - remained in the village, but he moved to Prague.

The fight against fascism

The Czech journalist described in this article was a staunch anti-fascist, so from the beginning of World War II he joined the ranks of the Resistance Movement. Julius continued to engage in journalistic activities even when the country was completely under the control of the German invaders. Of course, he did this underground, risking his own life.

Arrest

In 1942, Fučík was arrested by the Nazi Gestapo and sent to prison in Prague's Pankrac prison. It was here that he wrote the book “Reporting with a Noose Around His Neck.”

Julius Fucik ends his work with the words: “People, I loved you. Be vigilant!” Subsequently, they were used by the famous French writer Remarque. After the war, this book was translated into more than 70 languages. The literary work has become a symbol of the anti-Nazi movement, belongs to the existential genre, contains discussions about the meaning of life and the fact that each person must be responsible not only for his own, but also for the fate of the whole world. For “Reporting...” in 1950, Fucik was awarded (posthumously) the International Peace Prize.

Execution

While imprisoned, Fuchik really hoped for a Russian victory and dreamed that he would be able to get out of prison. However, he was transferred from France to the capital of Germany, to the Berlin prison Plötzensee. It was here that the death sentence was read to him, which was accepted by the People's Court of Justice Roland Freisler. The word spoken by the Czech journalist before the execution shocked everyone present.

Cult of personality

After the end of World War II, the personality became a cult, a kind of ideological symbol not only in Czechoslovakia, but throughout the entire Soviet bloc. His famous book was included in the required reading list in secondary schools. However, his cult waned after the fall of socialism. Every year the memory of Julius Fucik is pushed out of public consciousness. The metro station in Prague that was once named after him has today been renamed Nadrazy Holešovice.

Memory in the USSR

On the territory of the Soviet Union, streets, schools and other objects were named in honor of Fucik. By the way, the day when the Czech anti-fascist was executed - September 8 - began to be considered the Day of Solidarity of Journalists. In 1951, a postage stamp with his photograph was issued. In Gorky (now Nizhny Novgorod) a memorial plaque was erected on Molodezhny Prospekt, and in the city of Pervouralsk - a monument. Memorial plaques were placed in the places he visited during his visit to the USSR. In Moscow, Nizhny Novgorod, St. Petersburg, Yerevan, Sverdlovsk (Ekaterinburg), Frunze, Dushanbe, Tashkent, Kazan, Kyiv and many other cities there are streets named after Fuchik. By the way, some of them continue to bear his name today, while others were renamed after the fall of the Socialist Bloc. The Julius Fucik Museum was also created in the capital of Uzbekistan, and a recreation park was created in the western part of the Tajik capital. The Soviet Danube Shipping Company had a lighter carrier "Julius Fucik".

The name Fucik in modern reality

She made adjustments to the assessment of Yu. Fuchik’s personality, and from a negative side. Suggestions began to emerge that he collaborated with the fascist Gestapo. The reliability of many of his essays has been questioned. However, in 1991, in the Czech capital, some ideological individuals under the leadership of journalist J. Jelinek created the “Society for the Memory of Julius Fucik.”

Their goal is to preserve historical memory and not allow the name of a hero who laid down his life in the name of ideals to be discredited. Three years later, the opportunity arose to study the Gestapo archives. No documents were found indicating that Fuchik was a traitor, and confirmation of the authorship of the “Report” was also found. The good name of the anti-fascist journalist was restored. In 2013, in Prague, thanks to activists of the J. Fučík Memorial Society, the monument to the journalist, writer and anti-fascist, erected in 1970 and dismantled in 1989, was returned to the city. However, now the monument is located in a different place, namely near where the Red Army soldiers who died from the fascist invaders are buried.

Movies and books

Feature films and films were also made about the famous journalist, writer and anti-fascist. documentaries, and the most significant of them was the film about his childhood - “Julik”, which was shot by the Czech director Ota Koval in 1980. Publicist writers Ladislav Fuks and Nezval Vitezslav dedicated their books to Fucik.

Sitting tensely, with your hands on your knees and your fixed gaze fixed on the yellowed wall of the prison room in the Pechen Palace, is far from the most comfortable position for reflection. But is it possible to force a thought to sit at attention?

Someone once - now, perhaps, it’s impossible to find out when and who - called the room for prisoners in the Pechen Palace a cinema. Great comparison! A vast room, six rows of long benches, on the benches there are motionless people, in front of them is a bare wall, like a screen. All the film studios in the world did not produce so many films; the eyes of those awaiting a new interrogation, new torment, and death were projected onto this wall. Entire biographies and the smallest episodes, films about a mother, a wife, children, a ruined hearth, a lost life, films about a courageous comrade and betrayal, about the one you handed over the last leaflet, about the blood that will be shed again, about a strong handshake , which obliges, are films full of horror and determination, hatred and love, doubt and hope. Leaving life behind, everyone here dies every day before their eyes, but not everyone is born again.

Hundreds of times I have seen a film about myself here, thousands of its details. I'll try to tell you about it. If the executioner tightens the noose before I finish the story, there will be millions of people left who will write the happy ending.

I’m in a hurry, as much as possible for the venerable, limping gentleman I’m portraying - I’m in a hurry to get to the Jelineks before they lock the entrance for the night. My “adjutant” Mirek is waiting for me there. I know that this time he won’t tell me anything important, I also have nothing to tell him, but not coming to the agreed date means causing a commotion, and most importantly, I don’t want to cause unnecessary concern to two kind souls, the owners of the apartment.

They cordially offer me a cup of tea. Mirek came a long time ago, and with him the Frieds. Carelessness again.

- Comrades, I’m glad to see you, but not like that, not all at once. This is a direct road to prison and death. Either follow the rules of secrecy, or quit your job, otherwise you are endangering yourself and others. Got it?

- Got it.

-What did you bring me?

– May issue of “Rude Pravo”.

- Great. What's wrong with you, Mirek?

- Nothing new. Work is going well...

- OK. All. See you after May Day. I'll let you know. And goodbye!

– Another cup of tea?

- No, no, Mrs. Yelinkova, there are too many of us here.

- Well, one cup, please!

Steam rises from a cup of hot tea.

Someone is calling.

Now, at night? Who could it be?

Guests are not the kind to be patient. They knock on the door:

- Open it! Police!

- To the windows, quickly! Save yourself! I have a revolver, I will cover your escape.

Late! There are Gestapo men under the windows, they are aiming their revolvers at the rooms. Through the torn from its hinges front door Gestapo men burst into the kitchen, then into the room. One, two, three... nine people. They don’t see me, I’m standing in the corner behind the open door, behind them. I can shoot from here without hindrance. But nine revolvers were pointed at two women and three unarmed men. If I shoot, they will die first. If you shoot yourself, they will still become a victim of the rising gunfire. If I don’t shoot, they will sit for six months or a year until the uprising that will free them. Only Mirek and I will not be saved, we will be tortured... They won’t get anything from me, but from Mirek? A man who fought in Spain, spent two years in a concentration camp in France and during the war illegally made his way from there to Prague - no, he won’t let you down. I have two seconds to think. Or maybe three?

My shot will not help anything, I will only get rid of torture, but in vain I will sacrifice the lives of four comrades. So? Yes. It's decided.

I come out of hiding. - Ahh, another one!

Punch to the face. With this blow you can knock him out on the spot.

- Hande auf! Second strike. Third. That's how I imagined it.

An exemplarily tidy apartment turns into a pile of overturned furniture and fragments. They punch again.

They push me into the car. Revolvers are pointed at me all the time. Dear, the interrogation begins:

- Who are you?

- Teacher Gorak.

I shrug.

- Sit still or I'll shoot you!

- Shoot!

Instead of a shot - a blow with a fist.

We pass by a tram. It seems to me that the carriage is decorated with white garlands. Wedding tram now, at night? I must be going delirious.

Pechek Palace. I thought that I would never go there alive. And then we almost run to the fourth floor. Yeah, the famous department 11-A-1 for the fight against communism. Perhaps this is even interesting.

The lanky, skinny Gestapo man in charge of the raid puts the revolver in his pocket and leads me into his office. Treats you to a cigarette.

- Who are you?

- Teacher Gorak.

The watch on his wrist shows eleven.

- Search!

The search begins. My clothes are being torn off.

- He has an ID.

- In whose name?

- Teachers of Gorak.

- Check! Phone call.

- Well, of course, it’s not registered! The ID is fake. Who gave it to you?

- Police Department.

Hit with a stick. Another. Third... Keep score? It is unlikely that you, my friend, will ever need these statistics.

Surname? Speak! Address? Speak. Who did you meet? Speak! Turnouts? Speak! Speak! Speak! Let's grind it into powder!

Approximately how many blows can a healthy person withstand?

The radio signal is midnight. Cafes close, the last customers go home, lovers hesitate at the gate and cannot part. A lanky, skinny Gestapo man, smiling cheerfully, enters the room.

– Is everything okay... Mr. Editor?

Who told them? Jelineki? Frida? But they don’t even know my last name.

– See, we know everything. Speak! Be reasonable. Original dictionary. To be prudent is to betray. I'm unreasonable.

- Tie him up! And show him!

Hour. The last trams are trundling along, the streets are empty, the radio Good night to my most diligent listeners.

– Who else besides you is on the Central Committee? Where are your radio transmitters? Printing houses? Speak! Speak! Speak!

- Take his shoes off!

The pain in my feet has not yet dulled. This is what I feel. Five, six, seven... It seems that the stick penetrates all the way to the brain. Two hours. Prague sleeps, unless somewhere in a dream a child cries and a husband caresses his wife.

- Speak! Speak!

Three hours, three o'clock. Morning creeps into the city from the outskirts. Greengrocers flock to the markets, street cleaners come out to sweep the streets. Apparently I'm destined to live another day.

They bring my wife.

- Do you know him?

I swallow the blood so that she doesn’t see... Actually, it’s useless, because the blood is everywhere, flowing down my face, dripping even from my fingertips.

Biography

Julius Fucik was born on February 23, 1903 in Prague. He studied at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Prague. Already at the age of 18 he became a member communist party Czechoslovakia, and soon - one of the editors of the printed organs of the Communist Party - the newspaper "Rude Pravo" and the magazine "Tvorba".

Fucek's reports and essays were outstanding examples of party journalism of those years. The center of the journalist’s literary and critical interests is the development of the concept of socialist art, to which he paid a lot of attention.

In the first half of the 1930s, Fucik visited the USSR several times as a journalist. And based on the impressions he received, he created the book “In a country where our tomorrow is already yesterday,” which he dedicated to the Soviet Union, and then a significant series of artistic essays.

Fuček’s varied activities in the second half of the 1930s were imbued with the spirit of the anti-fascist struggle. On instructions from the party, he wrote combat articles and notes in which he called on the people to repel the fascist invaders and fight the occupiers. And during the Second World War, Julius, as a convinced anti-fascist, was an active figure in the Resistance Movement.

During the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, he published a series of patriotic articles and essays under a pseudonym. And being a member of the illegal Central Committee of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia, Fucik led the underground publications of the party, which published his appeals to the Czech people.

In April 1942, Julius was arrested by the Gestapo. While in Prague's Pankratz prison, he wrote his most famous book, “Report with a Noose Around His Neck,” in which the famous line appeared, which later became a quote: “People, I loved you! Be carefull!". This book was published after the writer’s death in 1945, and was later translated into 70 languages ​​of the world.

It is a documentary and artistic evidence of the heroic struggle of the anti-fascist underground movement of Czechoslovakia during the Second World War. This is one of the significant works of socialist realism in Czech literature, which also summarizes Fucik’s thoughts on the meaning of life, on the extent of each person’s responsibility for the fate of the world. For this book in 1950, the author was awarded the International Peace Prize posthumously.

In the summer of 1943, Fucik was transferred to a concentration camp in Germany, tortured, and then sentenced to death by decision of a Berlin court. Julius Fucik was executed in Berlin on September 8, 1943.

In memory of the leader of the Czechoslovak communist movement, the Union of Journalists of the Czech SSR established the Julius Fucik Prize, and in the Soviet Union, in some cities of the country streets were named after him.

From the Great Soviet Encyclopedia

Biography

Fucik Julius (23.2.1903, Prague, - 8.9.1943, Berlin), leader of the Czechoslovak communist movement, writer, critic, journalist. National hero of Czechoslovakia. Member of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia since 1921. Studied at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Prague. Since the 20s one of the editors of the printed organs of the Communist Party of Human Rights - the newspaper "Rude pravo" and the magazine "Tvorba". F.'s reports and essays were outstanding examples of party journalism of those years. The center of F.'s literary critical interests is the development of the concept of socialist art. In 1930 and 1934-1936 he was in the USSR, to which he dedicated the book “In a country where our tomorrow is already yesterday” (1932) and an extensive series of artistic essays. The diverse activities of F. 2nd half of the 30s. imbued with the spirit of anti-fascist struggle. On instructions from the party, he wrote combat articles in which he called on the people to repel the fascist invaders (included in the collection “We Love Our People,” 1948). During the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, he published under a pseudonym a series of patriotic articles and essays about the best representatives of democratic culture (B. Nemcova, K. Havlíček-Borovský, J. Neruda, etc.). Since 1941, F., as a member of the illegal Central Committee of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia, led the underground publications of the party, in which his appeals to the Czech people were published. In April 1942 he was arrested by the Gestapo, in the summer of 1943 he was taken to Germany and executed.

While in the dungeons of the Prague prison, Pankratz created the book “Report with a Noose Around the Neck” (published in 1945; Russian translation under the title “The Word before the Execution”, 1950, translated into 70 more languages) - documentary and artistic evidence of the heroism of the anti-fascist fighters Resistance, one of the significant works of socialist realism in Czech literature. The book summarizes F.'s thoughts about the meaning of life, about the extent of each person's responsibility for the fate of the world. International Peace Prize (1950, posthumously). In Czechoslovakia, the Union of Journalists established the Prize named after. F.

Works: Dilo, sv. 1-12, , Praha, 1945-63; in Russian lane - Favorites. Preface N. Nikolaeva, M., 1973; About theater and literature. Sat. articles, M. - L., 1964.
- Lit.: Vanovskaya T.V., Julius Fuchik, Essay on Life and Creativity, L., 1960; Bogdanov Yu. V., Julius Fuchik, in the book: Essays on the history of Czech literature of the 19th-20th centuries, M., 1963; Fuchikova G., Memoirs of Yu. Fuchik, 3rd ed., M., 1973; Fucikova G., Zivot s Juliem Fucikem, ; DostaI V., Smer Wolker Iiterarniho kritika Julia Fucika..., Prague, 1975.

Yu. V. Bogdanov.

"JULIUS FUCHIK ABOUT CENTRAL ASIA"

Translation from Czech. - Tashkent: State Publishing House of Fiction of the UzSSR, 1960. 260 pp.

The book was published in a very limited edition. Currently, it is a bibliographic rarity, which is almost impossible to find at bookstores and even in libraries. The book by Julius Fucik is a collection of his articles, essays, and notes dedicated to Soviet Central Asia. All of them are written with the famous Fuchikovsky polemic, fervor and liveliness.

Julius Fucik "REPORT WITH A NOOPLE AROUND YOUR NECK"

Translation from Czech by T. Axel, V. Cheshikhina. - Moscow: "Children's Literature", 1977

The famous "Report with a Noose Around the Neck" is the most significant work of Julius Fucik. It was written in a fascist prison, where Fucik was subjected to inhumane torture and awaiting a death sentence. His prison guard was A. Kolinsky, a Czech by nationality. He brought paper and pencil to Fuchik, and secretly took the scribbled sheets of paper out of prison. The writer's wife, Gusta Fucikova, who was imprisoned in a concentration camp, met Kolinsky after her release. She managed to collect her husband's prison notes, hidden from different people. She published them as a separate book in 1946. “Report with a Noose Around the Neck” is a wonderful work that introduces us to the anti-fascist struggle in occupied Czechoslovakia, revealing the enormous inner strength, resilience and fearlessness of the participants in this struggle.

en.wikipedia.org

Biography

Julius Fucik was born on February 23, 1903 in Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, which was then part of Austria-Hungary. He studied at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Prague. Since 1921 - a member of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia and since the 1920s one of the editors of the printed organs of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia - the newspaper "Rude pravo" and the magazine "Tvorba".

In 1930 and 1934-1936, Fuchik visited the USSR, in particular Tashkent, as a journalist. Based on the impressions he received from visiting the USSR, he wrote the book “In a country where our tomorrow is already yesterday” (1932) and a significant series of artistic essays.

Julius Fucik was a staunch anti-fascist, and during World War II he was a leader of the Resistance Movement. During the period of the German occupation of Czechoslovakia, he published a series of patriotic articles and essays under a pseudonym. Since 1941, Fucik was a member of the illegal Central Committee of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia and directed the underground publications of the Communist Party.

In April 1942 he was arrested by the Gestapo. While in the Prague prison Pankrats, he wrote his most famous book, “Report with a Noose Around the Neck” (Czech: Reportaz psana na opratce, in Russian translation also known as “The Word before the Execution”), in which the famous line appeared: “People, I loved you! Be carefull!". In 1945, this book was published and later translated into 70 languages. The book is a documentary and artistic evidence of the struggle of the anti-fascist underground Resistance movement in Czechoslovakia during the Second World War. This book is also a presentation of Fucik’s thoughts on the meaning of life and the degree of responsibility of each person for the fate of the world. For this book, Julius Fucik was posthumously awarded the International Peace Prize in 1950.

In the summer of 1943, Julius Fucik was imprisoned in a concentration camp in Germany, tortured and in 1943 executed in the notorious Berlin prison Plötzensee by guillotine (there are other versions of his death). Fucik was sentenced to execution by the People's Trial Chamber of Roland Freisler, who subsequently “tried” the participants in the conspiracy on July 20.

The image of Fucik and subsequent generations

During the existence of the Soviet bloc, the name Fučík was surrounded by a cult and turned into an ideological symbol; in Czechoslovakia, familiarity with his life and book became mandatory for schoolchildren, but after the fall of socialism he lost popularity and was even officially debunked (for example, the Prague metro station “Fúčíkova” was renamed "Nadrazi Holešovice"). After the Velvet Revolution, attempts appeared to revise the assessment of Fucik’s personality from a negative point of view: information appeared that he collaborated with the Gestapo, and the reliability of secret notes from Pankrátsky prison was called into question. In 1991, the Julius Fučík Memorial Society was founded in Prague. Journalist Jan Jelinek, the society's founder, said its goal was "to defend the historical truth, not only of Fučík, but also of other Czech patriots who fought to build a socialist society." According to him, Fucik’s innocence has been proven for a long time: back in 1994, a group of historians led by Associate Professor Frantisek Janacek, having examined Gestapo documents, discovered that the protocols contained no evidence of Fucik’s betrayal of any of the anti-fascists. The authorship of “Report with a Noose Around the Neck” was also confirmed by an examination of the manuscript at a forensic institute.

Memory

In the Soviet Union, in some cities, for example, in Moscow, in Frunze (now the city of Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan), in the capital of Uzbekistan, Tashkent, where Fuchik lived in the 30s of the 20th century, streets were named after him. There was also a Julius Fucik museum in Tashkent, and in Bishkek a park in the western part of the city was named after him. However, for example, soon after Uzbekistan gained independence and in connection with the change in state ideology, the street named after him in Tashkent was renamed.

There is Julius Fuchik Street in Kazan (Republic of Tatarstan), in the city of Izmail, in Kyiv (Solomensky district), in Yerevan, in St. Petersburg, Nizhny Novgorod, Tula, Irkutsk, Yekaterinburg, Cheboksary, Dnepropetrovsk, Pyatigorsk, Taganrog, Balashikha near Moscow.

International Day of Solidarity for Journalists

The International Day of Journalists' Solidarity was established in 1958 in Bucharest, at the 4th congress of the international organization of journalists. According to the congress deputies, on this day journalists from all countries and publications should demonstrate to the world their unity, especially in protecting their rights.

On September 8, 1943, Czechoslovakian journalist and anti-fascist writer Julius Fuchik was executed in Germany. He became interested in politics already in his youth and in 1921 became one of the founders of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia. In 1941 Fucik became a member of the second central underground government of the Communist Party. On April 24, 1942, he was arrested by the Gestapo along with six other members of the liberation movement.

Julius Fucik became known throughout the world for his book “Report with a Noose Around the Neck,” written by him in the dungeons of a Prague prison. After his death, the book was translated into 70 languages, and since 1958, the day of Julius Fucik’s death began to be celebrated as International Day of Solidarity for Journalists.

At the end of the 20th century, at the next UN conference, September 8 was named International Day of Solidarity for Journalists. Thus, this day is not just another professional holiday, but also a day when all journalists can feel their unity and solidarity.

On the International Day of Solidarity of Journalists, conferences and congresses are held all over the world, which bring together journalists from different countries. At these festive conferences, they not only share their experiences, but also receive awards for their sometimes very dangerous work

A memorial plaque in honor of the Czech war journalist Julius Fucik was unveiled in Kharkov

KHARKOV, May 5. /Vita Dubovik - UKRINFORM/. A memorial plaque was unveiled in Kharkov in honor of the Czech war journalist Julius Fucik. According to a UKRINFORM correspondent, memorial sign opened at 11 Sumskaya Street, where the RATAU branch was located in the 30s.

It was in this building that the Czech publicist, journalist and critic met with Kharkov journalists in 1930. “Julius Fucik was a man with a strong civic position. He went through terrible torture in fascist dungeons, but did not break. To describe him in one word, he was an anti-fascist. People who preach such a philosophy think, first of all, about the future of their country and the world as a whole. And it is no coincidence that the memory of this person was immortalized in Kharkov - a progressive, active city with an active civic position,” noted Svetlana Gorbunova-Ruban, director of the Department of Health and Social Affairs of the city council, at the opening of the memorial plaque.

Julius Fucik was born on February 23, 1903 in Prague. He studied at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Prague. At the age of 18, he became a member of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia, and soon became one of the editors of the printed organs of the Communist Party - the newspaper Rude Pravo and the magazine Tvorba.

In April 1942, Julius was arrested by the Gestapo. While in Prague's Pankratz prison, he wrote his most famous book, “Report with a Noose Around His Neck,” in which the famous line appeared, which later became a quote: “People, I loved you! Be vigilant!” This book was published after the writer’s death in 1945, and was later translated into 70 languages ​​of the world.

In the summer of 1943, Fucik was transferred to the Mauthausen concentration camp in Germany, tortured, and then sentenced to death by decision of a Berlin court. Julius Fucik was executed in Berlin on September 8, 1943.

It is symbolic that the memorial plaque was unveiled on May 5 - on the same day 65 years ago the assault and uprising of prisoners in the Mauthausen concentration camp began.

110 years ago, Julius Fučík, a Czechoslovakian journalist, oppositionist and author of the famous “Report with a Noose Around His Neck,” secretly written in Prague’s Pankrac prison, was born. The author's revelations were recognized as the best example of socialist realism in Czech literature. The book became a practical guide for participants in the anti-fascist resistance.

Julius Fucik was born on February 23, 1903 in Prague. After graduating from the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Prague, he became a member of the party and began to actively develop the concept of socialist realism. In the 20s, Fucik took the post of editor of the main printed publications of the Communist Party - the newspaper Rude Pravo, the magazine Tvorba, and began to actively engage in journalistic activities.

The prospect of giving people the opportunity to learn something new involved the young reporter in various adventures. His ability to vividly and clearly convey facts revealed enormous opportunities for him, so in the first half of the 30s, the young journalist was sent to the USSR.

The main purpose of his trip was the desire to see the country of the Soviets with his own eyes and tell his compatriots about the successes and achievements of their colleagues, who in 1925 founded their own cooperative near the city of Frunze. Leaving his native Czech Republic, Fucik did not suspect that his journey would last almost 2 years, and upon his return, in addition to rich, colorful essays, he would bring a sea of ​​impressions and his famous book “In a country where our tomorrow is already yesterday.”

Julius's next trip took place in 1934. This time his path lay in Bavaria, where the writer encountered the downside of mass political movements, the consequence of which was fascism. Returning to his homeland, Fucik reacted very emotionally to what he saw and in his next article he called on the people to fight the worst kind of imperialism. For which, as a troublemaker, he was almost arrested and he fled to Russia, where he lived until 1936.

Returning from the country of the Soviets, Julius moved to the village and married his longtime lover Augusta Kodericheva. But family happiness didn't last long. In 1939, the Czech Republic was occupied by Nazi Germany and Fucik and his like-minded people had to go underground. Fearing for the life of his family, the oppositionist journalist left his wife and parents, and he, along with the resistance, decided to move to the city to be closer to the people.

Anti-fascist essays were regularly published from the pens of underground workers. Julius Fucik and his colleagues tried their best to maintain the morale of their compatriots, urging them to fight the tyrants and dictators of the Third Reich.

The Gestapo, well aware of the threat posed by resistance activists, introduced an informant into the underground organization, who helped detain the top of the opposition. Fucik and six other accomplices were sent to Pankrac prison in Prague, where they kept mainly political criminals. It was there that Julius began to think about his latest report “with a noose around his neck,” which resulted in an autobiographical book, outlining the facts and details of the lives of freedom fighters.

It was impossible to find paper and pencil within the walls of the prison, so the idea of ​​​​showing the world his creation almost failed. The guard, who turned out to be a Czech patriot, helped the prisoner. Every day, early in the morning, he brought a sheet of paper and a stylus to the cell, and late in the evening he took the covered page and took it to the boundaries of Pankratz.

Work on the book lasted about a year. My last words: “I ask one thing to those who will survive this time: do not forget! Do not forget either the good or the evil. Patiently collect testimonies of those who fell for themselves and for you,” Julius Fucik wrote on June 9, 1943, exactly the day before transfer to Berlin. In August, the court sentenced the writer to death and on September 8 of the same year Fucik was executed.

"People, I loved you. Be carefull!"

His great work, written in Nazi dungeons, was published in 1945 and translated into 70 languages. Fucik was recognized as a genius, streets, metro stations and parks were named in his honor, and in Czechoslovakia, familiarization with his book and biography was included in the school curriculum. The cult of the journalist who fought for the theories of Marx and Engels flourished for several years until the “Velvet Revolution” came, which set itself the goal of erasing all remnants of memories of communism from the consciousness of citizens. Under the new government, there were even attempts to accuse Julius of collaborating with the Gestapo, but Fucik’s followers stood up for him, fighting for his legacy and calling September 8 (the day of Fucik’s death) International Day of Solidarity for Journalists in 1958.

However, neither the hard fate nor the hype around Fuchik’s feat saved his name from oblivion. Children who grew up reading his books are tired of the adulation imposed on them by the socialist regime, and modern society regarded his actions as a patriotic system of views of the rebels of that time, transferred to paper. Despite the debunking, Julius Fucik was, is and will undoubtedly remain a hero of his time - a man who, at the cost of his life, gave the people faith, hope and confidence in victory over Nazi Germany.

REPORTING WITH A NOOPLE AROUND YOUR NECK

Let the song be short -

It might not have been so long.

The love of people and their pain is great,

But a single line is enough for her.

Ian Neruda

On the evening of April 24, 1942, Commissar Wehm of the anti-communist department of the Prague Gestapo, who has the reputation of being the luckiest official in the establishment, felt like the most unfortunate man in the world. The professional honor of the Untersturmführer was seriously damaged: the nets that had been placed with such diligence in advance turned out to be empty. It all started when, in the fall of 1941, a spy at the Junker plant found an underground communist leaflet in one of the workshops and took it to the Gestapo. A paid agent, Vaclav Dvorak, was immediately sent there. He was given a job as a mechanic in the workshop where the leaflet was found. To disguise himself and gain the trust of the workers, the provocateur was allowed to engage in sabotage, scold the occupiers and feign ardent sympathy for the Soviet Union. The leaders of the factory party cell drew attention to him; they began giving him underground newspapers and leaflets to read, which he took to the Gestapo at night, where they were photographed. He gained the confidence of the head of the party cell, Josef Barton, who not only recommended Dvorak to the party, but also introduced him to Jelinek. So the Jelineks’ apartment came to the attention of the Gestapo, although not because of the main underground work that had been successfully carried out here for the past two years. Dvorak successfully pretended to be an underground worker, yearning for real combat work, and asked to introduce him to “a comrade from the party leadership.” Jelinek began to play the role of intermediary to introduce him to Jan Vyskólk. After numerous checks and delays, Jan agreed to meet with Dvorak. On this fateful day, the twenty-fourth of April, a meeting was to take place at the cinema in Michany. They waited ten minutes, twenty, half an hour - but he didn’t show up.

Boehm could not have known that Jan saw from the attic window where he was hiding a suspicious car that, by pure chance, stopped in front of the house. Got out of the car a tall man with a girl (it was Boehm with his secretary), but they did not ring the bell at the gate, but walked towards the cinema, where in a few minutes he was supposed to meet Dvorak. This aroused suspicion, and he decided to stay home and not take risks.

Is it really impossible to think of anything? - Boehm wondered. - And quickly, quickly! Yes, it cannot be that he did not come up with anything and was fooled. If Dvorak plays a double game, he will pay dearly. We need to teach him a lesson immediately, right now, this minute!

The frightened provocateur suggested arresting Edinen in his apartment, which, they say, would bring clarity to this confusing matter. The proposal was liked, and it was decided that same night to arrest all members of the party cell at the Junker plant. Within a few hours, Comrade Barton and other members of his group were arrested and taken for interrogation to the Pecek Palace.

The success inspired Boehm, and he immediately went to Pankratz for Josef Jelinek, whose arrest was scheduled for the next day.

Half an hour later, Boehm, pistol in hand, surrounded by eight armed thugs, stood at the door of Jelinek’s apartment. The Gestapo men burst into the apartment through the front door torn off its hinges. The gun barrels are aimed at two women and three unarmed men: Josef and Maria Jelinekov, the spouses of Frid and Mirek.

Suddenly, an elderly man with a black beard comes out from behind the door, limping. He stops in front of the surprised Gestapo men and slowly raises his hands up.

Boehm, who did not imagine at that moment that Julius Fucik was standing in front of him, greets him with a slap in the face.

Ahh, another one!

The search begins. Fear flashed in the owner’s eyes when she saw how the Gestapo turned her model apartment upside down in five minutes. She slowly turned her head to her husband and asked:

Pepik (Pepik is a diminutive of Joseph. - V.F.), what will happen now?

The husband had always been a man of few words, and now he answered calmly and briefly:

Let's go to our death, Manya.

Boehm, with his long legs spread, stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly from toe to heel, and looked with a grin at the two pistols that just a minute ago were lying in the pocket of Fuchik’s black demi-season coat. His mood improved. A failure at the cinema unexpectedly turned into such a success. They fished out one, but six were caught in the net at once. The man with the beard began to interest him more and more. Who is he? Why didn't he shoot? Did he consider it dishonorable to shoot in the back or was he afraid that his friends might get hurt during the shootout? Perhaps there are threads from him to the party leadership?

In the police car, Boehm bombards Fucik with questions:

Who are you?

Teacher Gorak.

Fuchik silently shrugs. Again questions, threats, blows. Fuchik's temples begin to pound. Soon the car enters the passage of the Pechek Palace. The huge building, which previously belonged to a manufacturer and mine owner, instilled superstitious fear in people. This is the calvary of the Czech people, the seat of the Gestapo, a gray stone building that looks like an ugly fortress in the center of Prague. A labyrinth of dark corridors, wrought-iron bars on the windows, dim light, wooden panels, strings of cream-colored doors. Boehm drives Fuchik to the fifth floor. The long, bony commissar's watch showed eleven as they entered the office of the head of the anti-communist department, Laimer. The longest night in Fuchik’s life began. Bloody interrogation. The Gestapo quickly established that the identity card was false, and an hour later the lanky Boehm, smiling cheerfully, entered the office.

Is everything okay... Mr. Editor?

Who would have thought that the first hour of interrogation, the first beatings would break Mirek, this brave and fighting guy, scorched by the fire of war?

At the confrontation, Fucik looked at Klepan with contempt. He gave his name and said that the bearded man was Fuchik, a member of the Central Committee, and he, Kletsan, acted only on his orders. He was unrecognizable. A cowardly wandering, half-mad look, limply drooping shoulders, shaking knees. At what moment did he fall? Or is it just a desire to save your young life, to get out of the quagmire by any means? But this is no less scary. If he had a core in his soul, it was not iron, but rubber.

I swear, Yula, they told me that you are no longer there... I didn’t look for salvation, I wanted only one thing - to be left alone as soon as possible... so that they would be killed as soon as possible.

Hiding pain and disgust, Fuchik took a proud pose.

Well, since you now know that I am Fuchik - please!

The interrogation continued, but now they were interrogating not the dubious teacher Horak, but the editor of the hated Ruda Pravo, a man from the leading underground center of the party. The card index handed over to the Nazis by the Czech police contained thirty-three pages of information about him. It stated that during the time of the bourgeois republic, Fucik was the editor of Rude Pravo and Tvorba, and twice illegally traveled to the Soviet Union, for which he was repeatedly sentenced to prison.

Interrogated by Laimer, Friedrich, Zander, Dumichen, Dr. Hans and Callus. Friedrich and Sander especially distinguished themselves, who were known in the Gestapo as particularly merciless enemies of the communists and wore black, white and red ribbons “For services in the fight against the internal enemy.”

Friedrich said that he had already beaten eight people to death with his own hands - he would break even the bearded one. He was a lean, dark-skinned man with evil eyes and a wicked grin. He came to Czechoslovakia back in 1937 as a Gestapo agent and participated in the murders of German anti-fascist emigrants.

Gusta, who was arrested that same night, witnessed a terrible scene:

“Suddenly the door swung open again, and I saw... Julek! Behind him walked a tall Gestapo man with a pale, bony face. He urged Julek with a stick. Julek was barefoot, his feet left bloody footprints on the floor slabs, blood came from his nose, from his mouth, blood flowed down his temples. The Gestapo man tried to place Yulek away from the rest of the prisoners, in a corner, facing the wall. But Julek, as if not feeling the blows, walked slowly, with his head held high, and he did not stand facing the wall, but turned to us and looked at us. We looked at him in surprise - and involuntarily raised our heads ourselves. The Gestapo men were dumbfounded with surprise: the prisoner did not submit to their will! There was no expression of submission in his eyes! He looked at the Gestapo men proudly, with contempt, at all of us - with love, as if he was trying to convey to us his indestructible will. Among armed enemies, he stood not as defeated and helpless, but as a winner. His eyes told me: yes, they could kill him, but there is no force that can kill the idea for which he fought and suffered, our cause is just, victory will be for the great immortal idea of ​​socialism, for the Soviet Union and all those who fight against shoulder to shoulder."

The night is already ending, five o’clock, six, seven, ten, noon, everything happens as in a dream, a heavy, feverish dream. Blows rain down, water pours, then blows again and again:

Who else is on the Central Committee?

Where are the turnouts, where are the printing houses?

Speak! Speak! Speak!

I'm ready for a painful death. Ask me about the Soviet Union, about how the world will be structured in the future, and I will talk to you about it as much as you want.

More than once, before losing consciousness again and again, Fuchik felt: one more blow, a sigh - and the end. “But I still hoped,” it flashed through his head, “that I would still live a free life, work a lot, love a lot, sing a lot and wander around the world. After all, I have only just reached maturity. But since I am dying, let my name not cause sadness in anyone. I lived for joy, I die for it, and it would be unfair to place an angel of sorrow on my grave.”

But the savior death did not hear his call. And suddenly, from afar, from some endless distance, he hears a quiet voice:

I'm ready now!

The silence of the night had long reigned in the Pankratsky prison when a closed car stopped in front of the main gate. The sentry at the entrance, dressed in a black uniform, opened the creaking doors.

“One more,” says the man in the car indifferently. - They say that they have been working since yesterday...

A broad-shouldered warden runs up with two bellhops. They open the back door of the car and in the light of the lantern they see the silhouette of a stretcher and the figure of a man lying motionless on it.

Warden Kolinsky reads the direction: “Fuchik - Gorak. Cell No. 267." Then his gaze stops at the prisoner, whom the soldiers are slowly carrying along a dark corridor.

“They did a great job on him,” he thinks, looking at his swollen face, like a mask of frozen wax, framed by a black beard, matted with blood and dirt. Left hand the prisoner hangs lifelessly from the stretcher. He is wearing only a shirt, the dirty rags of which reveal a body covered with fresh, bleeding wounds. The man is covered with a jacket, with a round hat on top. The procession ascends to the second floor. The stretcher sways, a lifeless hand hits the steps. “Is there any point in dragging him here? Is he alive? - the warden thinks and watches how the black hat falls from the push and rolls down the stairs, bouncing like a ball.

Prison paramedic Weisner looks attentively at the stretcher for a minute, and then turns to the warden:

He won't live until morning. Come back a little later and take him to the morgue. Don't wake me up. I will issue the death certificate now.

The next day, a rumor spread among the guards that some mysterious, disguised man, the leader of the Reds, had been brought in at night.

Two days pass. All this time the prisoner did not come to his senses. He tossed about in delirium on a skinny, sweat-soaked straw bed, groaning in pain...

Only on Monday evening did I lift my swollen eyelids for a second and ask for water.

As if in a fog, he sees two people above him.

One of them bends down, lifts his head with a gentle hand, and flows into his broken mouth. cold water. But the weak consciousness fades away again, and the prisoner again plunges into darkness.

Boy, you should eat something. For two days now you have been just drinking and drinking.

This is the work of fellow sufferers, cell neighbors: Karel Malec, an underground driver, and Josef Peszek, a sixty-year-old teacher, “dad,” thrown into prison for “conspiracy against the German Empire.” It turns out that he was drafting a free Czech school.

In the evening of the third day, the prisoner wakes up and sees a shepherd dog running in at his head, and three Gestapo men next to her.

The interrogator does not shout, he patiently asks questions:

How long did you live with the Bucks?

Do not you understand? Everything is over. You lose. All of you.

I was the only one who lost.

Do you still believe in the victory of the commune?

Certainly.

Does he still believe? - Lainer asks in German. And the lanky Gestapo man translates:

He still believes in Russia's victory.

Undoubtedly. There can be no other ending.

The prisoner loses consciousness and the interrogation ends. The seasoned guards look at each other: who is this Fuchik - Gorak, if the head of the prison, Soppa, Laimer and Boehm, came to his cell, barely regaining consciousness? Kolinsky asks the prison warden about this, and he either announces or orders in a deliberately loud voice:

This is the leader of the underground communist party. Now we can breathe, there will be no more leaflets and sabotage.

In Pankratz, people often died who should not have died, but it rarely happened that they rose from the dead. With this, Fuchik attracted the attention of the jailers for the second time. A man with a “horse body”, a “red devil” who had escaped death, involuntarily aroused their curiosity, and even guards from other floors came to look at him. They silently lifted the blanket and examined the wounds with the air of experts, either making cynical jokes or sighing sympathetically.

Fuchik was weak, he could hardly move, but the Gestapo authorities were impatient. The paramedic writes a conclusion “not capable of movement,” so they send a car for him, into which he is taken on a stretcher. Each shock caused me to faint. But Julius did not lose heart, did not feel defeated. “They carry me along a long corridor further to the exit. The corridor is full of people - today is Thursday, the day when relatives are allowed to come for the underwear of those arrested. Everyone turns around to see the joyless procession with a stretcher, in all their glances there is pity and compassion. I do not like it. I place my hand above my head and form a fist. Maybe the people in the hallway will see and understand that I am greeting them. This is, of course, a naive attempt. But I’m not yet capable of more, I don’t have enough strength.”

Soon he began to walk, albeit on crutches, leaning heavily on one leg, but this was no longer the feigned lameness that had simulated the elderly teacher in the past. It was especially difficult in the first days, in the first weeks and months, until prison life subjugated him, until he got used to life in a cell. Seven steps in the cell, from the door, heavy oak, bound with iron, to the window, seven steps from the window to the door. There are two steps across the cell, from wall to wall, against one wall there is a folding bed, on the other there is a dull brown shelf with pottery. The outer wall of the chamber faces north, and there is almost never sun. Here he was to spend four hundred and eleven days. A few weeks later he was taken in for interrogations every day. The ambitious Boehm, with particular passion, began to unravel the tangle of the “Fuchik case.” Miren's testimony was the source material that formed the basis of the investigation, and later for the prosecution, and, as it were, gave rise to a chain, the further links of which were in the hands of Fucik. Miren named dozens of people, gave out appearances, helped the Gestapo arrest a number of prominent representatives of the Czech intelligentsia - writer Vladislav Vachura, critic Bedrich Vaclavek, art critic Pavel Kropacek, professor Felber, sculptor Dvorak, actors Bozhena Pulpanova, Jindrich Elbla - everyone who entered or should was to join the National Revolutionary Committee of the Czech intelligentsia. He also betrayed doctors who were part of Milos Nedved's group. Falling into the abyss, he carried dozens of others with him. He even betrayed Lida, a girl who sincerely and dearly loved him, confirming that she knew about the secret work of him and Fuchik and helped them.

Boehm obtained permission from the boss to conduct the investigation into the Fucik case himself, although at first it was supposed to entrust this to Commissioner Friedrich. He understood that this was his biggest case, and convinced Lymer that only he could unravel the complex tangle:

This guy is stubborn as hell. “You can’t do without psychological means,” Boehm said.

Yes,” Laimer agreed, “we pressed all the pedals, but he was dumb as a fish.” When do you think he will speak to you?

Unfortunately, I cannot say this. So far I have always achieved results, but, however, there are exceptions.

In Fuchik, the commissioner immediately recognized a strong personality and therefore considered it prudent to play it safe.

In the Pechek Palace there was a semi-basement room for persons under investigation, nicknamed by the prisoners the “cinema”. A large room, six rows of long benches, and on the benches there are motionless people, in front of them is a bare wall, like a screen. “All the film studios in the world have not produced as many films as they were projected onto this wall by the eyes of those awaiting new interrogation, new torment, death,” noted Fucik. - Entire biographies and the smallest episodes, films about a mother, about a wife, about children, about a ruined hearth, about a lost life, films about a courageous comrade and about betrayal, about who you gave the last leaflet to, about the blood that will be shed again, about the strong a handshake that obliges - films full of horror and determination, hatred and love, doubt and hope."

Fuchik, like all communists, was given a red armband here and kept here for a long time, an hour, an hour and a half, then they were taken by elevator to the fourth floor, led into a spacious room with the number 400 on the door. Those arrested had to be constantly at hand by the investigator - such was the purpose of this room.

Fucik’s plan was to divert the Gestapo’s attention from certain circumstances that could have been fatal for other comrades by falsely testifying that he was not a member of the Central Committee, but one of the underground members with connections with leading party officials. He jokingly told Lida, who dreamed of the stage, that here, in the Gestapo, she would go through a good acting school. Sometimes two or three words were enough for her to understand what she needed to talk about. One day before interrogation, Fuchik whispered to her:

Talk about an old lady.

Boehm tried for a long time to find out what kind of elderly lady came to Fuchik, believing that she was a liaison officer of the Central Committee.

Mirek's betrayal deeply shocked Fucik, but he did not give vent to bitterness and anger and persistently sought an opportunity to talk with him. Kolinsky helped him with this. Of all the guards, he immediately attracted attention: lonely, calm, cautious. It was clear from everything that he was not like everyone else. He was distinguished not only by the fact that he bore a Czech surname, but also by the fact that he spoke only Czech with the prisoners. He always treated them correctly, like human beings, never beat anyone, never shouted at anyone. One day, when the prisoners were returning from a morning walk, Kolinsky allegedly mistakenly brought Mirek into Fucik’s cell. Thus a dramatic conversation took place, the content of which is unknown, and one can only assume that Fucik was not so much branding his interlocutor for treason as he was appealing to the Mirek of earlier years. In a short conversation, he found the only true, only necessary words. At the very first interrogation, Kletsan renounced all his previous testimony. Laimer and Boehm were losing their temper. The word is not a sparrow, and the people he handed over earlier have already been arrested, some have been shot. But how did a man, broken on the first night, carrying a terribly heavy load on his shoulders, suddenly find the strength to straighten up? They took revenge on him, hated him even more than those who stood firm from the very beginning - he often returned from interrogations with a bloody face.

Boehm understood that in Fuchik he held a man who held the key to many secrets, but he did not yet know how to find the keys to Fuchik himself, although he had already tried many master keys. He was irritated by the superiority of this man, which he felt and against which he was powerless. Boehm was born and lived in Prague, worked for many years as a senior waiter, first at the Flora cafe in Vinohrady, then at the expensive Prague restaurant Napoleon. Business people of high society, prominent politicians, ministers, generals and journalists regularly gathered there in the evenings. The man in black silently, like a water beetle, swam between the tables, handed over the bill, listened attentively and noticed and compared a lot. Secret meetings of Rudolf Beran took place here, and what Beran himself did not report to Hitler was reported to Berlin by Boehm. His regular reports were highly valued, and immediately after the invasion he was appointed one of the Gestapo commissars. It was believed that he knew the environment, language, customs, and most importantly, the soul of the local residents well.

His favorite method was called “training hunting dogs” - the creation of a wide network of paid agents provocateurs. Every morning he began by looking at the reports of secret agents, generously scattered throughout all corners of Prague. There was enough flexibility to figure out where the main blow was aimed. He had a bestial sense of smell for such things. He did not consider the stick and shackles the only means of influence. The recipe for controlling base passions is not that complicated. A long, stultifying fear of death, a methodically induced alternation of attacks of complete despair and animal bursts of hope have an unfailing effect on the human soul, more effectively than torture. The anticipation of death is more terrible and painful than death itself.

Fuchik wrote about him: “Nature endowed him with intelligence, and he differed favorably from the rest of the Gestapo in that he understood people. He could undoubtedly make a career in the criminal police. Petty swindlers and murderers, declassed loners, would probably not hesitate to open up to him: they have one concern - to save their skin. But the political police rarely have to deal with selfish people. In the Gestapo, the cunning of the policeman clashes not only with the cunning of the prisoner. It is opposed by an incomparably greater force: the conviction of the prisoner, the wisdom of the collective to which he belongs. And you can’t do much against this with just cunning or beatings.”

Successfully playing on the weak strings of Boehm, Julius skillfully mystified, composed dizzying fables that corresponded to the commissar’s ideas about the significance of the “case” he had taken on. Fucik stated that he regularly met twice a month in the evening in a summer restaurant in Branik with Jan Šwerma. Although the Gestapo had information that Schwerma was in Moscow, Böhm nevertheless decided to check Fucik’s testimony and go with him to the meeting place.

“The June evening was fragrant with linden trees and blooming acacias,” Fucik recalled. - It was Sunday. The highway leading to the tram's final stop could not accommodate the rush of people returning to the city from a walk. They were noisy, cheerful, blissfully tired of the sun, water, and the embrace of their lovers. I did not see death alone, which lay in wait for them every minute, choosing more and more new victims, on their faces. They scurried about like rabbits, frivolous and cute. Like rabbits! Grab and pull out one of them - the rest will hide in a corner, and a minute later, you look, they have already started their fuss again, they are busy again and rejoicing, full of life.”

It did not escape Boehm that Fuchik was looking through the window with greed and sadness at the streets, shop windows, flower stalls, and the seething stream of people. He spoke in an insinuating voice, full of warm sympathy:

Now you’re arrested, but look, has anything changed around you? People walk as before, laugh, fuss, and everything goes on as usual, as if you were not there. Among these passers-by are your readers. Don't you think that because of you they have added at least one wrinkle?

Boehm hit the nail on the head. Of course, nothing has changed and will not change in the lives of people, in the smooth passage of the luminaries. In love with life, with Prague, Julius more than once noticed some kind of discrepancy between this wonderful city and the often everyday, prosaic aspirations of its inhabitants. Yes, Prague residents loved to talk about food and drink. Of course, now you can’t talk out loud on the street about what was broadcast by Moscow or London radio and how things are going with the Red Army. But even in peacetime, the conversations of Prague residents now and then boiled down to a chop with cabbage and a glass of beer. Is it not because our hardworking people lived from hand to mouth for many years in their rich country, working under the Austro-Hungarian monarchy for the “Alpine countries”, under the First Republic - for the Czech masters, and in the protectorate - for the German masters? But no matter how busy the Prague residents were with everyday worries about their daily bread, they - and Fuchik knew this for sure - did not strive for anything else, did not dream of anything other than the expulsion of foreigners.

“Now millions of people are fighting their last battle for freedom,” Fucik answered, “thousands are dying in this battle.” I am one of them. And you know what, commissar, being one of the warriors of the last battle is wonderful!

No need for big words, Fuchik. When we have to choose between life and death, we prefer to rush to the first aid. But you are incorrigible!

Later, Boehm took Fuchik to other places, hoping, firstly, that one of his acquaintances would talk to him, and secondly, that this should arouse in the prisoner a thirst for freedom and weaken his will.

One day they went to the City. We entered through the Matthias Gate, decorated with allegorical sculptures of fighting titans, and stopped in front of the portal of the Cathedral of St. Vitus. Fucik's every move was followed by the eyes of Boehm's detectives.

The ancient majestic temple inside was full of mysterious, heavy darkness. Twilight and cold. The strict lines of Gothic vaults went up into the heights, gilded altars, stone tombstones. It smelled of incense and that special cold smell ancient temple, which always reminds of death.

Here are the graves of Czech kings! - Boehm began to philosophize. - Glorious men of the Czech people! Glorious because they understood: a small people cannot exist in isolation, without protection, without connection with high German culture. A thousand-year tradition dating back to the time of Wenceslas, your national hero. Why are you rebelling against the eternal Czech-German alliance? The vital interests of your nation require something else!

You yourself know that you are lying! History cannot be rewritten, erased, reshaped like clothes, like a uniform.

You are a prisoner of your delusions. So much the worse for you! Let's leave history and move on to modern times. Don't you see how many senseless victims, how much unnecessary bloodshed your ridiculous confrontation is causing?

Do you mean Lidice?

Yes, we have already razed this village to the ground and, if we encounter further resistance, we will raze at least the entire protectorate to the ground! We can afford it. But you are a small people, proud, freedom-loving, but still small. You will bleed to death by intervening in the great battle of the giants. The Reich's dispute with Bolshevik Russia will be decided on the Russian plains, regardless of you.

Yes, our people are now making many sacrifices in the name of the struggle for their liberation. But you are mistaken if you think that the blood of those executed, shot and tortured can stop the people from further struggle, frighten them, break their will to freedom. Neither the crusader troops driven from all over Europe nor the executions on Old Town Square after the Battle of Belogorda broke him; neither centuries-old slavery nor the shameful Munich betrayal broke him; nothing will break him, no matter what trials the near future has in store for him. What the Habsburgs failed, you will not succeed either.

Do you still believe in Russian victory? No, no, Fuchik, you are a fanatic.

One day, after many hours of interrogation, Böhm put Fucik in a car in the evening and drove him across the whole of Prague, through the Old Town Square to Hradcany. In the square, crowds of Prague residents fed pigeons and, holding their breath, directed curious, anxious glances at the chimes of the Old Town Hall. Circle after circle the arrows walked around the zodiac disk, the faces of the apostles decorously replace each other, the Turk shakes his head, recalling the invasion of Europe in the 16th–17th centuries. And inside, gear wheels rotated, jumped off, and ingenious levers, made by a generation of watchmakers, were activated. And suddenly the skeleton - a symbol of death - begins to shake its incorruptible bell with its bony hand, and with the other hand to hold an hourglass, reminding of the inevitable, calling to think about the inevitable and hurry up to do good. Every hour everything repeats itself from the beginning, and for 500 years the bell has not stopped ringing, neither day nor night, neither winter nor summer. And no one, not even the great of this world, is able to find out for whom the bell prophetically rang, for whom it turned over the hourglass. Death does not share power with anyone, and the arbiters of destinies can control all destinies except their own. “What an amazing city,” thought Fuchik, “what an amazing city!”

Boehm was a skilled tempter.

I know you love Prague. Look, don't you really want to come back here? How good she is! And it will remain the same when you are no longer there...

And it will become even more beautiful when you are not here,” Fuchik interrupted him.

On May 27, 1942, at a sharp turn near Vykhovatelnaya Street, on the outskirts of Prague, three Czechoslovak captains, whose names are immortalized in the names of three neighboring streets - Kubisova, Gabchikova, Valchikova - did their job: a bomb hit the Mercedes and turned it into a pile of iron. The blast wave threw Obergruppenführer Heydrich onto the paving stones, and he, white as a ghost, still tried to pursue one of the daredevils, but these were the last actions of the now former protector. The unconscious body of the “third” person of the SS of the “Third Reich” was taken to the nearest hospital on Bulovka in a stopped car on boxes of shoe polish.

Hitler himself intervened in the matter. His cohort of generals had already thinned out, but they were Wehrmacht generals, and where? On Eastern Front. But to lose one of the best National Socialists in the rear, who sensed any danger a mile away, any machinations of the enemies, this is too much! Himmler hurriedly goes to Prague, accompanied by the chief of the V department (criminal police) Nebe, the chief of the IV department (Gestapo) Müller, the deputy head of the VI department (foreign intelligence service) Schellenberg, the future successor of Heydrich Kaltenbrunner.

A state of siege is again declared in the country. On the very first night, Prague experienced what in Germany was known as the “night of the long knives,” or “darkness and fog.” In police documents this action was called more prosaically - “big raid”. Thousands of employees of all types of security services, criminal police and Wehrmacht detachments took part in it. The city was tightly blocked, divided into squares, all houses, apartments, basements, attics, warehouses and other possible hiding places were searched all night. They were looking for paratroopers from London who committed the assassination attempt.

Every day at dawn and in the evening, before sunset, strings of trucks filled with people headed to the outskirts of Prague - Kobylisy - through Djablice. They were taken to be shot without trial or investigation. The shooting range area was surrounded by a stone wall, fenced with barbed wire and strictly guarded by sentries. But people, secretly looking through the holes in the roofs of their houses, still saw what was happening there. And the one who saw could no longer close his eyes, and for a long time after the state of siege went to neurologists.

“The piles of corpses are growing,” Fucik wrote. - They no longer count in tens or hundreds, but in thousands. The smell of continuously flowing blood tickles the nostrils of the two-legged animals. They “work” from morning until late at night, “work” on Sundays too. Now they all wear SS uniforms, this is their holiday, the celebration of destruction. They send workers, teachers, peasants, writers, officials to death; they exterminate men, women, children; Entire families are killed, entire villages are destroyed and burned. Lead death, like a plague, spreads throughout the country and spares no one.”

The terror had a heavy impact on the activities of the underground. Within a short time, hundreds of communists were behind bars. Fucik learned with pain in his heart that Jan Zika had fallen into the clutches of the Gestapo. As soon as the raid began, Zika, who was in one of his safe havens, tried to escape. The only way to escape was to climb down a rope from a third-floor window into the courtyard, from where it was likely possible to escape. But the rope treacherously broke, and in front of the confused Nazi appeared the figure of a man stretched out on the ground. He lay with a broken spine, then lost consciousness, then came to his senses again, only two weeks later the Gestapo learned who was in their hands.

Fucik met with Zika in the Pecek Palace in a confrontation. Gathering his last strength, he smiled his wide, kind smile and said:

Hello, Yula!

That was all they heard from him. He didn't say another word. After several blows, he lost consciousness and died a few hours later.

Yan Cherny also fell into the clutches of the Gestapo. Neither confrontations with Fuchik, nor bloody interrogations for nine months gave the Gestapo anything: they did not find out that he was a member of the Central Committee, although they guessed about it. He was finally sent to Terezin concentration camp and then to Germany, where he was executed in May 1944.

Rude Pravo continued to publish as before, and therefore the Nazis decided that the second Central Committee had not been destroyed. The Gestapo was extremely concerned about the work of the party among the intelligentsia and persistently continued the investigation into this case. By that time, the “case” had become overgrown with interrogation reports and all sorts of details entailing serious consequences. Boehm continued to test “psychological” methods of influence on Fuchik. The Gestapo hoped that Fucik would be influenced by his wife, who was in the same prison, just one floor below. To this end, Boehm organized several dates. A fragile woman with a keen imagination had to endure a lot from the first days of her imprisonment. She, afraid of the sight of blood, had to see her own husband, bloody after a terrible interrogation, hear from her cellmates that her husband, beaten during interrogation, died in the cell, and then new news - no, he was not beaten to death, but could not stand the torture and hanged himself. And now the Gestapo hopes that she will not stand it and will begin to persuade her husband to ease his and her fate by betrayal. Leimer told her this:

Influence him, let him come to his senses. If he doesn’t think about himself, let him at least think about you. I’ll give you an hour to think. If he doesn’t speak after that, you’ll be shot tonight. Both.

“Mr. Commissioner,” Gusta answered firmly, “this is not a threat to me.” This is my last request, if you execute him, execute me too!

Go away! - Laimer shouted angrily. Boehm's last "surprise", his last "trump card" - a date with Gusta on February 23, 1943, Julius's birthday. With his entire appearance - thin, fit, even elegant, in a perfectly fitting suit - the commissioner wanted to make it easier for Fuchik to make a choice - the choice between life and death. He took everything into account, but did not take into account one circumstance. On this day there was another “birthday” - the Red Army, which defeated Hitler’s army at Stalingrad. Fucik saw how, just recently in Pankrac, a mourning flag with a swastika danced and flapped for a long time in the February wind. The occupiers apparently had a really hard time if they closed the theaters and declared mourning. Previously, they still kept their military failures a secret.

Seeing that Fuchik could not be persuaded to betray, Boehm remembered the last evening conversation in Prague:

When we are gone... So you still don’t believe in our victory?

He asked this question because he did not believe himself. And he once listened carefully to what I was saying about the strength and invincibility of the Soviet Union. This was, by the way, one of my last interrogations.

By killing Czech communists, with each of them you are killing a piece of the German people’s hope for the future, I told Boehm more than once. -Only communists can save him.

He waved his hand.

You can't save us if we fail. - He pulled out a pistol. - Look, I’m saving the last three bullets for myself. (When trying to cross the border near the city of Cheb in the fall of 1945, Böhm was detained and brought before a Czechoslovak court. - V.F.)

In the spring of 1943, the Gestapo handed over Fucik's case to a forensic investigator. So, the end of martial arts? “For thirteen months I fought for the lives of my comrades and for my own. And courage and cunning. My enemies included “Nordic cunning” in their program. I think that I also understand something about cunning. I lose only because, in addition to cunning, they also have an ax in their hands.”

Now we just have to wait two or three weeks for the indictment to be drawn up.

The German investigator Kellerung immediately felt cold. He is neither kind nor angry, he does not laugh or frown, he simply summarizes the matter in paragraphs. He was not tormented by remorse. The law clearly prescribed that high treason, attempts to “forcibly seize part of the imperial territory”, and “assisting the enemies of the empire” were punishable by death, and Kellerung demanded such a sentence for all three: Fucik, Kletzan and Plakha.

On the day Fucik learned that his case had been transferred to a forensic investigator, he decided to ask Yolinsky for a pencil and paper. He remembered how one evening the warden silently escorted him from interrogation to his cell, and, pretending to search him, suddenly asked if he wanted to write something about his stay in prison. Kolinsky even brought paper and pencil, but Fuchik replied:

I will write about everything after the war. Then I can think about everything calmly.

Now the situation has changed. He is awaiting trial. Gusta is sent to the Ravensbrück concentration camp.

Mr. Kolinsky, I would like to talk to you,” Fuchik quietly told him during the evening search. - I made up my mind. About the notes, you know? I need a pencil and paper, but I don't want to force you. You should think carefully too. I do not care anymore. In two weeks, or maybe even in two days, I will be taken to trial. I know what awaits me. So if they get wind, the most they can do is beat me up. I have nothing left to lose, the rope is provided to me. But it's not about me. You're risking your head.

Don’t worry, no one should know about this and will not know,” Kolinsky answered firmly.

So Fuchik, in April 1943, began writing on small pieces of tissue paper - one hundred and eleven of them in total - “Report with a noose around his neck.”

“I came on duty, and, taking a moment, brought paper and a pencil into his cell,” Kolinsky later said, “several sheets each time. He hid all this in his straw mattress. After walking around each wing - and there were three of them, moving from peephole to peephole took about twenty minutes - I stopped at cell No. 267, in which Fuchik was sitting, knocked on the door and quietly said: “You can continue.” And he knew that he could write further. While Fuchik was writing, I walked near the camera and guarded him. If they called me from downstairs, from the corridor, I knocked on his door twice, and he had to hide everything. He often had to interrupt his work, hide it in a mattress, and then take it out again. He could write only during my daytime duties. It happened that he would write two pages and that’s it. And he knocks on my door: I can’t, I’m not in the mood. Sometimes - this happened on Sundays, when the prison was quieter, if you can even say that about a prison - he wrote seven pages. These days he knocked on the cell door and asked me to sharpen my pencil. And there were days when Fuchik could not write at all, he was sad. This means that he learned about the death of one of his friends. Having stopped writing, he knocked and gave me the covered sheets of paper and a pencil. I hid his work in the prison itself, in the toilet, behind the pipe of the water tank. During my duty, I never kept anything, no letters that some prisoners sent to their relatives through me, no other written materials. In the evening, when I went home, I hid the scribbled sheets of paper behind the lining of the briefcase lid in case they wanted to inspect the briefcase. Several times Fuchik gave the covered pages to the warden Yaroslav Gora.”

Kolinsky was helped to establish contact with Jiřina Zavadská, who came to the Pankratsky prison to visit her uncle Jaroslav Marshal, who was a lieutenant colonel in the Czechoslovak army before the occupation and did not have time to go abroad. After this, three times a month Kolinsky handed over thin pieces of paper to Jiřina, covered with thick, small, clear handwriting, and she, with the utmost precautions, took them to the small town of Humpolec in the Bohemian-Moravian Highlands. The old parents first hid them in the barn where coal was stored, and then, fearing that they would rot from moisture, they sealed them in jam jars and buried them in the ground.

Which of these people could have imagined then that these pages on thin tissue paper after the end of the war, the most terrible and destructive in the history of mankind, would be published in Czech, and then translated into Russian, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, Swedish... into more than 90 languages ​​of the world?

Looking ahead a little, we note that “Report with a Noose Around the Neck” became an outstanding event in the spiritual life of many peoples and had a significant influence on the creative development of a number of writers and poets. In 1950, speaking at the III World Peace Congress on the occasion of the awarding of the International Peace Prize to Yu. Fucik, Pablo Neruda said: “We live in an era that tomorrow in literature will be called the Fucik era, the era of simple heroism. History does not know a simpler or higher work than this book, just as there is no work written under more terrible circumstances. This is explained by the fact that Fucik himself was a man of that era, the majestic building of which is created from a gigantic creative development The Soviet Union, the organized consciousness of the working people of the whole world."

Fucik understood that in a short time he would not be able to make the report the way he wanted, and as the day of the trial approached and the danger of not finishing the work increased, he sought to be even more concise, to testify more about people than about events. He completed the last, eighth chapter, the last page, the last phrase on June 9, on the eve of his departure to Germany. Who does not remember the famous lines from the “Report”, the last words that were destined to become his testament to the new generation:

“And my play comes to an end. I didn't write the end. I don't know him. This is no longer a play. That's life.

But in life there are no spectators.

The curtain rises.

People, I loved you! Be carefull!"

In the “Report”, everything the author writes about makes us sad or happy for a long time. This work sounds like an optimistic tragedy, becomes an expression and a clot of what Fucik lived for, his revolutionary worldview, loyalty to proletarian ideals, view of the world and man, the past, present and future, a synthesis of his artistic, life, social and political experience.

On June 9, 1943, a belt was hung on the door of cell No. 267. When a prisoner in Pankratz prison was given back the belt that had been taken from him when he was placed in his cell, this meant that he was being sent away. Where? To be executed, to a concentration camp? Fucik knew that he was being sent to Germany, where he was awaiting trial.

At dawn on June 10, a truck drove out of the prison gates. It contained prisoners who were sent to the Reich. Among them were Fuchik and Lida Plakha. This was his last trip to Prague. Through the hole in the tarpaulin, he looked at the fleeing houses, gardens, courtyards, and memories associated with these so close and dear places came flooding back to him...

Here is the station. The SS forced the prisoners into “chicken coops” - special carriages divided into cramped cells. When the prisoners were led to the train, many people crowded on the platform who came to say goodbye - at least with an encouraging look, a wave of the hand, a raised fist.

Excellent material for “Rude Pravo,” Julius whispered with excitement and sadness to Lida walking next to him.

Even at such a moment, the born journalist in him began to speak.

A few hours later the train crossed the border of Czechoslovakia. Fuchik and Lida, pressed against a small window located right under the ceiling, mentally said goodbye to the fields and forests of the Motherland, with its high blue sky. The wheels were tapping: “Forever, forever, forever...”

In Dresden, prisoners were met at the station by a pack of police dogs and heavily armed Gestapo men. Here Fuchik and Lida had to part. Lida was sent to the city prison, Fuchik further, to Bautnen. He spent about three months in the pre-trial prison of a Saxon town. From here he sent three letters to his relatives, many things in them are deliberately simplified so as not to worry his loved ones, they are full of calm and bright courage.

“You seem to think that a person facing a death sentence thinks about it all the time and is tormented. This is wrong. I considered this possibility from the very beginning. Vera, it seems to me, knows this. But I don't think you've ever seen me lose heart. I don't think about all this at all. Death is always hard only for the living, for those who remain. So I should wish you to be strong and steadfast.”

Reich Prosecutor Nebel signed the text of the indictment on July 27, 1943. The next day it was printed, reproduced on a rotator, great amount copies of the investigative materials were sent for review to various authorities in Germany and the protectorate. The trial of Fucik was given great importance political significance, it was supposed to demonstrate the final defeat of the Resistance movement in the Czech lands.

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