Sunday, September 24, 2017

GALINA SEDOVA. A CHAPTER ON BULGAKOV. CCCCXXXI



Veiled Guests at Satan’s Great Ball.
Posting #1.


...I will somehow draw my life to an end,
As for a future life, You [Lord] think about it:
I have already ruined one.

N. S. Gumilev. I Have Not Lived, I Languished…


Closing my chapter Mr. Lastochkin and moving on to The Garden, I am running ahead of this order, borrowing a character from my chapter Veiled Guests at Satan’s Great Ball. He is the traitor who slandered N. S. Gumilev.
I made this discovery with the help of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Memoirs, and also of M. Bulgakov’s chapters #18: The Hapless Visitors and #23: Guests at Satan’s Great Ball.

Reading Marina Tsvetaeva’s reminiscences of the Russian poet-symbolist Valery Yakovlevich Bryusov (1873-1924), I was stunned to find there her first-ever mention of Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev. Listing her “meetings” with Russian poets, she puts Gumilev’s name last in the list and emphasizes his name by the descriptive word: “Never.” –

“So, here is the whole credible report of my meetings with Bryusov. – Is that it? – Yes, generally speaking, life has not been overly generous with me on such credibles. Blok – 2 times. Kuzmin – once. Sologub – once. Pasternak – many times – five, same with Mayakovsky, Akhmatova – never, Gumilev – Never.” (Emphasized by Marina Tsvetaeva.)

Considering that, two pages prior to this, Tsvetaeva writes about three poets, all of them, for some reason, foreigners, whose lives ended in very strange ways, having come across Gumilev’s name, and due to the paucity of facts about the others, I decided to check out why those particular three had been chosen by M. Tsvetaeva. Here is what she says. –

“Under Louis XIV, the poet Gilbert lost his mind because of lyrical poetry, and swallowed the key to his manuscripts. In the XVIII century, the Englishman Chatterton – I don’t remember what, – but it was also because of it [that is, lyrical poetry] that Andre Chenier dropped his head.”

Of these three I knew only Chenier, who was an innocent man and a poet, who had his head cut off during the French Revolution. Many Russian poets wrote poetic tributes to him. The Italian composer Umberto Giordano composed an opera about him, Andrea Chenier, first staged by La Scala in 1896.
As for the English poet Chatterton (1752-1770 [sic!]), he was so profusely talented that at the age of 15 he was able to fool the literary world by passing off his own pastiches as genuine work of a certain medieval poet whose name he invented out of nothing, making the literary critics discuss and admire the previously “undiscovered” genius of the Middle Ages.
Even though Chatterton’s talent had subsequently been recognized, the young poet was living in misery, literally having nothing to eat, and committed suicide by taking poison at the age of 18, to escape from his plight.
In 1835, the French poet Alfred de Vigny wrote a three-act drama about Chatterton. Then in 1876 the Italian composer Ruggero Leoncavallo, the future acclaimed composer of Pagliacci, composed his first opera Chatterton, based on the de Vigny drama.
It is understandable therefore why Marina Tsvetaeva includes Chatterton among her three foreigners. The impresario of a poetry evening taking place at the Polytechnic Museum with the participation of Marina Tsvetaeva, complained about the money intake.
What happened to Leoncavallo, in this connection, was a terrible story. Having taken the money for the production of the young composer’s opera Chatterton, the promoter of the opera absconded with all the money and there was no opera after that. Poor Leoncavallo had to wait for another twenty years, when his most famous opera Pagliacci would make him rich and famous, after which, in 1896, Il Teatro Dramatico Nazionale in Rome would finally stage his Chatterton.
The most famous tenor aria in Leoncavallo’s first opera has these words: “You are the only one remaining true to me, Oh, Muse of Poetry!
As a matter of fact, Tsvetaeva observes that the impresario producing the poetry event at the Polytechnic Museum paid the participating nine poetesses (Muses) three times less money that had been promised.
Little did Marina Tsvetaeva know in 1925, that is, one year after she had written her reminiscences of V. Ya. Bryusov, a relative of one of these Muses would end his life just like Chatterton, unless her memoirs, or this particular part of them were written in the 1930’s.
The story I will be reconstructing was written by Tsvetaeva in bits and pieces in the course of ten pages in the third part of her reminiscences of Bryusov, which she has titled An Evening of Poetesses.
According to Tsvetaeva’s story, there were nine “poetesses on the poster,” and, as she writes, “only now have I figured it out – the nine Muses!” Valery Bryusov was supposed to introduce them to the audience.
Of the nine poetesses, whose evening had been announced in the Great Hall of the Polytechnic Museum, Tsvetaeva remembered just four: “Adalys, Benar, Malvina, and Poplavskaya.”
Of the other four (that excludes Tsvetaeva proper) she remembered the “raspberry-colored beret,” which is by itself suspicious, considering that everybody knows Tatiana’s “raspberry-colored beret” from A. S. Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin.
Out of the same group of four, Marina Tsvetaeva recalls that one was dressed in “closed dark” (apparently a closed dark dress). And one more of them is particularly singled out:

“…I see one tall, feverish, the whole of her dancing – with her slipper, fingers, rings, sable tails, pearls, teeth, cocaine in the pupils of her eyes. She was frightful and charming with that tenth-rate sort of charm which cannot but charm, feeling guilty of being charmed, and by which I am shamelessly, publicly – charmed.”

What becomes evident from this portrait is that the nameless poetess in question is a drug addict. I also want to draw attention to the words “slipper” and “sable tails.” They will become useful later on.
Meanwhile, I must note that on the very same page, the “raspberry-colored beret” of another poetess loses its Pushkin connection in Tsvetaeva’s account, turning into a “red beret.”
And also the 1920’s (the year 1921) are magically transformed into the 1930’s, confirming my suspicions that Tsvetaeva’s memoirs were written not in the 1920’s as claimed, but in the 1930’s. on that same page as before, Marina Tsvetaeva continues her “depiction,” if we may call it that, of yet another poetess of the remaining two:

“Of the visual impressions, apart from the red beret [sic!] and the consumptive furs [apparently, the so-called ‘charming’ poetess, who, for some reason, has received so much attention from Marina Tsvetaeva, was quite thin, cocaine and all], what also remained was the gaminesque sketch of the poetess Benar [that is, of the third one, whom Marina Tsvetaeva has not described yet] – a little head of Gavroche on the free trunk of the neck [and that’s it, take it or leave it!] – and of the 1930’s [sic!], markedly – out-of-place – intolerably-innocent apparition of the poetess Malvina, stylish down to blue glass beads [sic! No pearls in this picture!] under the cloudless hemisphere of the forehead.”

On the basis of this depiction I am making the conclusion that “one tall, feverish, dancing poetess” is in fact the fourth in Tsvetaeva’s story, namely, Poplavskaya.
On the next page Tsvetaeva calls her P-skaya, praising this apparently wealthy poetess in the following manner:

“That same P-skaya, as I am convinced, would have instantly taken her sables off her shoulders had I told her that my child is going hungry.”

And again, an emphasis on the 1930’s:

“…The beret, the sables. Parting of the hair a la 1930’s, Gavroche, my under-cassock… If Bryusov hasn’t shortchanged himself, neither has the audience.”

In other words, even if these memoirs had been written more or less from memory, they had to be written most likely in the 1930’s, which is very important.
Only six pages later does the reader find out that Marina Tsvetaeva had never had a chance to hear any of the poems of the “feverish furred beauty.”
But this is not true. Marina Tsvetaeva had known her poems very well, about which later.


To be continued…

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