Diaboliada
Continues.
“A young Slavyanka sings this song…
And he has fallen, he is
dying
The bloody death of a
warrior.
His wife raises their infant
son
Over the pale head of his
father:
‘See how men are dying,
And learn revenge at a woman’s
breast!..’”
M. Yu. Lermontov. Ballad.
Apart
from the top hat, the one “very fat and pink” has sassy and impudent behavior,
in common with the Backenbarter. “Well, isn’t this lovely? Now I’m going to arrest you.” Like
the Backenbarter retreating only after receiving a rebuff from Margarita in Master and Margarita, this one persists
only until having received a rebuff from Korotkov, after which he starts
shaking, crossing himself, his face changes color, and he goes so far as to
help Korotkov into the elevator, addressing him as “Your Excellency.”
And
the final thing in this regard, which I wish to share with the reader, concerns
the “emeritorial money for the month of May.” A. S. Pushkin was born on May 26th,
1799 (Old Style Calendar). Bulgakov obviously knew this fact, and, having
written that the pale youth “stole the emeritorial fund for May,” he awards the
primacy in Russian literature to M. Yu. Lermontov.
By
the same token, Bulgakov must have read Pushkin’s diaries, reminiscences, and
letters. On 22 May, 1824, A. S. Pushkin (having been sent into his “Southern”
exile from St. Petersburg on May 6, 1820) received an assignment from Count M.
S. Vorontsov to depart on an official trip to inspect the situation with
locusts in Kherson, Elizavetgrad, and Alexandrov districts.
This
is where Bulgakov has the word “commandirovka”
[official trip] from. Korotkov is not sent on a business trip. In reality he is
being sent out of Moscow to a destination of his choice, with Irkutsk and
Poltava to choose from. The “blue blond man” does not even use the word “trip.”
Thus, already in Diaboliada, Bulgakov
gives us a clue that one of his fictional characters is a disguised A. S.
Pushkin, presented here as the “lustrine little old man.” Trying to lure
Korotkov with money allotted for official trips (“Kissing or no kissing, you won’t kiss
yourself an official trip!”), the “lustrine little old man” is at
the same trying to intimidate him. (“The voice of the
little old man became prophetically threatening and was imbued with the toll of
bells.—‘This satanic money isn’t
going to do well for you. Get stuck in your throat, it will!’”
In
other words, we may surmise that the “lustrine little old man” warns Korotkov not
to become a snitch.
It
is so unfortunate that Russian society today does not have a prophet like A. S.
Pushkin, who would have exposed certain opposition figures, unwilling to live
in “poverty,” for what they really are: snitches, despised in all societies,
and especially by those who pay them money for snitching.
And
so, to the aid of the Russian officer V. P. Korotkov, who did not wish to leave
Russia and go to Constantinople, come some really mysterious characters: the lustrine
little old man and the pale youth. I will agree that this help is
being offered in a very strange form, but it is the result that counts. It
makes Korotkov resolute in his determination: “Better death than dishonor!” Here Bulgakov makes reverse psychology
work.
…Well,
our hero is on the run for his life, on account of assault. He is accompanied
by the “lustrine little old man.”---
“Korotkov heard yells and shots; he was running to the eleven-story
tall building…” Obviously, it was the
lustrine little old man who was pushing him toward “the numbers,” where he was
already expected by “a boy in embroidered uniform with
gilded buttons” (does the description ring a bell?), that is, by an
accomplice of the lustrine little old man, the “pale youth.”
Bulgakov
is true to himself. In Master and
Margarita, both Koroviev and Begemot turn themselves into a rook-chauffeur;
Koroviev turns into the Backenbarter; and Begemot into a little boy:
“In a little bed… sat a boy of about four years of age, listening
[to the racket], frightened. There were no adults in the room. Apparently, all
of them ran out of the apartment…”
It
is impossible even to imagine that a little child would be left alone at a time
when someone was breaking glass windows in the building. It is also impossible
to believe that Azazello and Company, while testing Margarita for her
forthcoming role as the hostess of Satan’s Ball, would trust her in her hyper
condition of sheer madness to be dealing with a real little child. We know, of
course, that Margarita passes her big test with flying colors (as I already
wrote about this in the chapter Backenbarter:
Margarita’s Maiden Flight, segments XLIV, XLV, and XLVI), but still that
could not be a real boy, which Bulgakov clearly indicates by the following
phrase:
“The boy looked slyly somewhere to the side, and asked: ‘And where are you, Auntie?’”
I
already wrote elsewhere that Bulgakov painted the character of Kot Begemot with
great love, first of all for M. Yu. Lermontov being such an inspiration for him.
Secondly,
because their lives, Bulgakov’s and Lermontov’s, had certain similarities.
Bulgakov lost his father at the age of sixteen, and his life and the life of
his family (there were seven children in it) was never to be the same ever
since.
Thirdly,
M. Yu. Lermontov’s situation was even worse than being an orphan. There were
rumors aplenty that his father was guilty of his mother’s death, when Lermontov
was still an infant. Lermontov wrote several poems about it, suffering on
account of these rumors and refusing to believe them.
And
finally, M. Yu. Lermontov perished at such a young age that Bulgakov with his
own experience may have treated him, even in his short adulthood, as a mere
child…
…And
so, Korotkov “ran into the mirrored space of the
vestibule [of the eleven-storied building, where he was effectively
goaded by the lustrine little old man, alias the black cape, who, having
achieved his goal, disappeared]. A boy in embroidered
jacket with gilded buttons (compare this with the very famous portrait
of Lermontov in his Russian officer’s uniform!) jumped
away from the elevator and burst into crying. ‘Take it, uncle, take it!’ he bellowed, ‘only don’t beat an orphan!’”
The
word “uncle” is loaded, and it gives away the store. What immediately comes to
mind is the well-known poem Borodino by
Lermontov, where a boy addresses his uncle:
“You tell me, uncle, that it wasn’t for
nothing
That Moscow, burned by a fire,
Was surrendered to the French?
Weren’t there some heavy battle
engagements,
They say, they were quite something;
For it isn’t for nothing that all Russia
remembers
The day of Borodino!..”
And
then, right after giving away such a telling clue, Bulgakov tries to confuse
the reader:
“You, uncle, best go to the
very top, where the billiard rooms are, suggested the boy. There you can hold on, on the roof, if you
got a Mauser to yourself.”
The
boy gives Korotkov good advice, but this time he does not use the regular word
“dyadya” (“uncle”), but the derivative “dyadenka”
(diminutive of “uncle”).
I
would like to note also that Bulgakov himself draws the reader’s attention to
the fact that having done his job, the lustrine little old man, alias the one
very fat and pink, the “fat man from the platform jumped into the cabin, closed
the shutters, and rocketed down,” that is, without waiting for Korotkov, he
left him there alone after the assault on Dyrkin-Palkin. In a very similar
manner, “the boy rushed into the elevator, shut himself in and dropped downward”
after taking him to the “top level.” One Russian officer helping out another in
the hour of trouble…
Leaving
his hero alone by himself, Bulgakov provides plenty of evidence that this is a
military man, a Russian officer.---
“Korotkov leaped out, looked around, and listened… With an eagle’s
eye he observed the position… With the battle cry Charge!.. Korotkov realized that the position could not be held… Encirclement…
It’s over… over. The battle was lost.
Ta-ta-ta, he sang the trumpet retreat
with his lips. The courage of death poured into his soul... Korotkov climbed up
to the post of the parapet... straightened up to his full height, and shouted: Better death than dishonor!.. With a
shrill cry of victory, he jumped and soared upwards…”
To
be continued…
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