The Garden.
Aphranius.
Posting #3.
“She has eyes of the
color of the sea.
She has a soul that cannot be
trusted.”
K. D. Balmont.
I
came to the unexpected thought discussed in the previous posting seeing that
the portraits and photographs of Balmont are totally at variance with
Bulgakov’s portrait of Aphranius. And then I remembered that while I was
working on my chapter A Swallow’s Nest of
Luminaries: Mr. Lastochkin, I was reading, in particular, the memoirs of
Mme. Nevedomskaya with her description of Gumilev’s appearance. Comparing that
description with the description of Aphranius in Bulgakov I could not miss the
resemblance.
I
am writing this to demonstrate on yet another occasion how “sly” Bulgakov is.
Indeed, he gives Gumilev’s features to different characters of the novel Master and Margarita, even including
Woland among them, in chapter 12: Black
Magic and its Unmasking. –
“The arriving celebrity stunned everybody by his tuxedo, unseen in its
length and of an amazing design, as well as by the fact that he was wearing a
black half-mask.”
Among all possible candidates
this description can only fit Gumilev. Here is an excerpt from the memoirs of
Mme. Nevedomskaya:
“…Gumilev himself as the circus director
was performing in a great-grandfather’s tuxedo and top hat, extracted from a
trunk in the attic.”
As
for the personage of Aphranius, Balmont becomes his prototype mostly due to
Marina Tsvetaeva’s memoirs:
“...Balmont, Bryusov, they were both reigning then. As you see, in
other worlds, contrary to ours, diarchy is possible.”
In
her 1919 poem To Balmont, Marina
Tsvetaeva also writes:
“In
the turned inside out Mantle
Of the Enemies of the People,
Established by the whole
posture:
The Lukovitsa– and Freedom…”
[The
Lukovitsa “onion-bulb” here refers to the onion-shaped dome of the Russian
churches, symbolizing Russian Orthodox Christianity.]
This
poem by Marina Tsvetaeva supports my assertion that Bulgakov knew her poetry
very well, and used it for his creative purposes.
The
sly Bulgakov makes Balmont the prototype for Aphranius, Chief of Roman Secret
Police, as Balmont was a subject of Russian Secret Police surveillance both in
Russia and abroad, due to his well-established revolutionary activity. This is
why it can well be imagined that the strange conversation about Varravan in
Bulgakov alludes to Balmont’s departure from Russia in 1920 before the arrest
and execution of Gumilev in 1921.
This
thought is supported by the even stranger idea, expressed by Marina Tsvetaeva,
to the effect that both Balmont and Gumilev were foreigners. For not only is
Balmont the prototype of two Bulgakovian personages: Aphranius and Varravan,
but also the personage of Aphranius is shared by Balmont and Gumilev.
***
But
I am now focusing my attention on another Russian poet, a candidate for the
role of Varravan – namely, Andrei Bely, who left Russia amidst a huge scandal
after the death of Blok and the execution of Gumilev.
Once
again, using the materials provided by Marina Tsvetaeva, I am entertaining the
idea of Bely, whose features are scattered by Bulgakov among several personages
of Master and Margarita, in
accordance with the erratic character of Andrei Bely himself.
Like
Balmont, Andrei Bely saw himself as a revolutionary. Addressing a conference of
literary professionals, where he was invited to deliver a speech on Blok, Bely
managed to create a scandal according to one of the organizers of this event –
P. S. Kogan [see earlier in this chapter Posting #CCCCXLVII]:
“P. S. Kogan understood neither poets nor poetry, but loved and
honored both, and did for them what he could.
And they call him a writer, a
big man, this is a scandal!
Who? What?
[I’m talking about] Bely.
Thought he would be talking about Blok… But suddenly: From hunger! From hunger!
From hunger! Gout from hunger like there’s gout from satiety! Asthma of the
soul! But this is not all. Suddenly – from Blok – to himself. I have no room! I
am a writer of the Russian land (yes, that’s what he said!), and I haven’t got
a stone to repose my head upon, that is, a stone, a stone there is, but we are
not in the stony Galilee, we are in the revolutionary Moscow, where a writer
must be helped. I wrote [the novel] Peterburg! I foresaw the collapse of the
Tsarist Russia, I had a dream in my sleep back in 1905 about the end of the
Tsar!.. I cannot write! This is disgraceful! I have earned help! I’ve been
working since childhood! In this hall I see idlers, parasites (yes, that’s what
he said!), they write nothing, they only put their signatures down [sic!]…
Profiteers! Vermin! And I am the proletariat! Lumpenproletariat! Because I am
dressed in rags. Because they killed Blok and now they want to kill me. But I’m
not giving in! I will be yelling until I’m heard! A-a-a-a!!! Pale,
red-faced, sweat pouring down, frightening eyes, even more frightening than
ever, one can see that they cannot see a thing. And they call him an
Intelligent, a man of culture, a serious writer. That’s how he honored Blok’s
memory by standing up!”
What
P. S. Kogan is saying reminds of Caiaphas’ argument. Kogan goes on telling
Tsvetaeva that Andrei Bely is a writer. “And
most importantly, not a writer hostile to us.”
This
sentence gives a creepy feeling to the skin. Does it follow that Gumilev and
Blok had been “hostiles”? And what about Bryusov, Yesenin, and Mayakovsky? Were
they also “hostiles,” according to somebody?
Marina
Tsvetaeva’s memoir raises a lot of questions about the times she is writing
about, her own times. It turns out that Bulgakov may also have been a “hostile”
writer, knowing that he was not published. His fate could well have been
problematic, had he not married Elena Sergeevna… But returning to Andrei Bely,
there is another, even more compelling reason for him to fit the role of
Varravan. The following conversation between Pontius Pilate and Aphranius
testifies to it:
“To begin with, this cursed
Varravan does not worry you?
Here the guest sent his special glance into the procurator’s cheek.
– I would think that Varravan has become
as harmless as a lamb. – As the guest was speaking, his round face became
creased with little wrinkles. – Rioting
is inconvenient for him now.
[And
here it comes!]
He has become too famous? – asked Pilate with a sneer.
As always, the procurator has
a delicate understanding of the issue.
[Here
Pilate clearly points to Andrei Bely’s celebrated novel Peterburg.]
But in any case – the procurator observed worriedly, and
his long finger with the black stone of the signet went up. – We’ll have to…
Oh, Procurator, you may be
certain that for as long as I am in Judea, Varravan will not make a single move
without being closely followed.
Well, now I am relieved, as I
am always relieved when you are here.”
It
must be said that even here Bulgakov confounds the researcher, as he takes part
of this surveillance from Marina Tsvetaeva’s memoir, based on the words of
Andrei Bely himself. Part II of her memoirs starts with this surveillance, for
which she supplies the epigraph:
“(Geister
auf dem Gange)
Drinnen gefange ist Einer.”
[“(Ghosts
in the inner porch)
One of us is in a trap.”]
Having
left Russia, Andrei Bely came to Berlin. Accidentally meeting Marina Tsvetaeva
in a restaurant, he starts a conversation:
“You? You? (He never knew
my name.) Here? How happy I am! How long
since you came? Are you here to stay? On
your way were you watched? Was there some kind of… (he looks askance) brunet? Someone trailing you? A brunet in
the train-car gorge, over the railway station stalactite spaces?.. The tap of a
walking stick… are you sure there wasn’t? Peeping into the compartment: Sorry,
my mistake! And an hour later: Sorry! And a third time, now you are saying it
to him: You are sorry, your mistake. No? Didn’t happen? Are you sure you
remember well that it wasn’t so? I am very shortsighted. And he wears glasses.
Yes. The point is that you who can’t see are without glasses [sic!], and he who
can see is with glasses. Get it? It means that he cannot see, either. For, the
lenses are not for seeing but for altering the image – for the appearances.
Plain glass, or even empty [eyeglasses]. You understand this horror: empty
glasses! You accidentally poke him in the eye – and the warm eye, like some
cleaned just-peeled, quivering hard-boiled egg. And with such eyes – hard-boiled
– he dares to look into yours: clear, bright, with living pupils; their color
of amazing purity. Where have I ever seen such eyes? When?”
It
is precisely this part that supports my thought that no matter how tempting it
may be to see K. D. Balmont in the characters of both Aphranius and Varravan, I
am leaning toward Andrei Bely.
The
key words here are:
He has become too famous? – asked Pilate with a sneer.
I
am suggesting that the reader try to solve this Bulgakovian puzzle. As for me,
I will be offering my solution in my last chapter The Bard.
To
be continued…
***
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