KRASNOFF TO UNDERSTAND IS TO FORGIVE HE FORGIVE HIS ENEMIES BEFORE BEING SHUT DOWN IN 1947

  KRASNOFF TO UNDERSTAND IS TO FORGIVE

 

Twenty years later he returned to the pages of General Krasnoff and his great novel of the 1917 revolution, seven days that shook the world. "To understand is to forgive" and its second part "Soviet Russia" constitute one of the best books written in the 20th century and its author, now out of print and almost forgotten, should be included in the list of honors among the excellent artists of storytelling in language. Russian: Tolstoy, Chekhov, Andreyev, Turgenev, Gorki, Pyshkin, Pasternak. Dr. Zhivago is a pale copy of this enormous novel, a psychologically mighty river due to the study of the characters, the inner look of the souls of the protagonists in the midst of the debacle: the tsarist general Kuskov and his misadventures alongside the White Guard of Warangel who goes over to the Reds, the Marquesas of Petersburg seduced and raped who die of syphilis, hunger, murder, torture by the Cheka, the destruction of cathedrals and the desecration of monasteries, Lenin victim of venereal trepanoma that madness gave him; Trotsky's death that put the five-pointed star as the watchword of the red army, a cabalistic monogram that represents the devil, the imperial family shot by Abraham Yurovsky, Jewish commissar.

The fall of the Romanovs was the catastrophe.

Krasnoff (a Dreyfuss affair in reverse, I accuse and blame the Jews as inducers and instigators of that bloodbath) is why hic et nunc is a cursed author. He told the truth. The Soviet not only wanted the extermination of the empire, but also tried to put an end to the Cross. The two great obsessions of the synagogue are Russia and Spain. This fixed idea led to the unleashing of the two civil wars in both countries. The Second World War had such commitment as a corollary.

  The orthodox religion is its purest and most primitive manifestation of evangelical teachings without the excrescences of Roman paganism.

   This book changed my life. It was the first milestone in a painful path of misunderstanding, disaffected persecution and uprooting that made me feel like an exile in my own country.

Spain has fallen under the clutches of marranería.

  The prophetic voice of this great white soldier who accuses the Jews of being responsible for the great catastrophe: Sverdlok and Yurovsky, murderers of the Tsar and his entire family in the Ipatiev bakery, the rich merchant in Yekateringrad, Kerensky, a Jew by race and nation, was the straw man of the Menshevik synagogue, Lenin brought to power by the hand of the Jewish bankers of Frankfurt and Geneva.

  Trotsky founder of the red army under the auspices of international Jewry. The other, that of the Bolsheviks, was under the control of a certain Berenstein Trotsky, a pig of German origin. Lenin entered Russia in a cargo. He paid for the trip to the Cajal from Frankfurt and Berlin.

Krasnoff's voice resonates in my memory when I observe that the chaos of the Kommintern repeats itself in the Spain of 2018. a cripple and a guy with a nasty face and pigtails controls the opposition. A "putzshista" sits in the government with a ministerial cabinet that includes an anti-militarist judge Margarita Robles, the girl with the fallen papos, and in justice a gentleman/lady governs who in the oath of office "sends kisses to her husband" and waves the rainbow flag of homo power.

  Isn't this the strategy of collusion? Are they things of the extreme right and of the fachas? In the loyal opposition they want to elect a girl who supported the Catalan boom, the Sáenz de Santamaría, just over half a meter tall who sticks around the square with Loli la Manchega. The laughter of Israel resounds throughout the chamber as once a hundred years ago it resounded in the duma and in the roadstead.

The Jews in their way of proceeding seek disorder, confusion and paradox. His motto is the worse, the better, fishermen gain troubled rivers. The disorder of the asylum prevails. They thrive on jackets turned inside out. They go around the world with crooked boots and this iconoclastic pride makes them grow.

  The only logic is that of the madmen who clamor and listen to their tautologies from the gatherings and pun on us with catchphrases like saying this and reams of punctual and sustainable adjectives with which they earn a living and suck the camera, they make cameras in front of all of us the very dirty and indulge in conventional excesses.

You have to make a bald head of the listener, the viewer and the poor reader, these desecrators of the Spanish language. They laugh at us, their thing is mockery.

Krasnoff confined me to my cell and from there I roared like a lion but for my enemies the ferocious calls for attention turned into bleating and everyone laughed at me. I hanged the habits, I burned the phylacteries, I gave up for the love of truth a brilliant career as a propagandist and writer. Everyone thought what