Monday, April 23, 2018

GALINA SEDOVA. A CHAPTER ON BULGAKOV. DCLXXXIV



Varia.
Three Plays – Three Plays – Three Plays!
The Flight.
Posting #3.


This man is ailing. All ailing from his feet to his head. He winces, twitches, likes to change intonation, asks himself questions and likes to answer them. When he wishes to show a smile, he scowls. He instills fear. He is sick.”

M. Bulgakov. The Flight.


Now moving on to the character of General Khludov, Bulgakov gives the reader to understand who happens to be Khludov’s prototype  already from the 2nd sentence of the 2nd Dream – with the epigraph: “My dreams were becoming increasingly heavier.
We’ll be dwelling on these Dreams for a while. As for the 1st Dream, the epigraph “…I dreamt of a monastery…” – although anonymous, it reminds me of the wonderful poem Mtsyri by M. Yu. Lermontov:

…Still immersed in doubt,
I thought it was a horror dream…
Then a distant ringing of the bells
Sounded again amidst the silence,
And everything was clear to me,
Oh, I recognized it at once…

This Lermontov passage fits both the first and the second “dreams” of Bulgakov’s play The Flight. Like Mtsyri fleeing from the monastery only to return, after his dramatic wanderings, to that same monastery, so do the Cossacks, Serafima and Golubkov with them, come back to Russia. Different from Mtsyri, they are happy because Russia is their homeland. Mtsyri dies in a foreign land, overcome by anguish. So does General Khludov who cannot return to Russia because of his participation in atrocities there, which brand him as a criminal and condemn him to death.
If in Pushkin’s Monastery on Kazbek we read:

…Into the monastery cell beyond the clouds
To be God’s neighbor I wish to escape…

– then in Khludov’s case, that cannot be done. His sins are unforgivable. Another Pushkin line fits him so much better:

“...Oh dream of life, fly off, I won’t miss you,
Get lost in darkness!..

And Khludov shoots himself, for lack of better options. Also fitting here are the lines from a titleless poem by Pushkin:

“…Impaled on stakes, darkened
Stiffened corpses are silhouetted…
Blood recently from all sides
Was reddening the snow in a lean stream,
And moaning of torment was rising,
But death touched them like sleep,
And captured its prey…

Or this from Pushkin’s Bronze Horseman:

...Or does he see it in a dream?
Or else our life is nothing, like an empty dream,
Heaven’s mockery of the earth?

Marina Tsvetaeva’s memoirs contain Andrei Bely’s discourse about sleep:

With her I feel all at once quiet and at rest. Even now I am suddenly inclined to fall asleep. I could well fall asleep now. And this is the highest form of trust, gentlemen: to sleep in someone else’s presence. It’s even more than stripping naked. Because a person who is asleep is supremely naked, bare to enmity and judgment. A sleeping man is so easy to kill, so tempting to kill. (In oneself, in oneself, in oneself to kill, in oneself to destroy, to debunk, to expose, to catch in the act, to brand, to dispatch to Siberia!) Because on the sleeper’s forehead, like shadows of clouds, the most secret thoughts are passing. The one who is looking at the sleeper is reading the mystery. This is why it is so awful to be sleeping in the presence of another. I cannot sleep like that at all. But in her presence I can. She [Marina Tsvetaeva] induces my sleep. I’ll be sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. Please give me your hand, give me your hand, and do not take it back. I don’t care that they are here.

In the 2nd Dream of the play The Flight, Bulgakov focuses his attention on Khludov.

“The Front Headquarters is situated for the third day at a station somewhere in the northern part of Crimea… Separated from all by a cabinet, behind a desk, cringing on a tall taburet sits Roman Valerianovich Khludov, shaven like an actor; seeming younger than his entourage, yet his eyes are old. He is wearing a soldier’s topcoat, a khaki dirty peaked cap with faded cockade…”

Khludov’s coat is “girded in a woman’s kind of way.” It is obvious that the General had seen better times. Bulgakov writes:

“…This man is ailing from something. All ailing from his feet to his head. He winces, twitches, likes to change intonation, asks himself questions and likes to answer them. When he wishes to show a smile, he scowls. He instills fear. He is sick –Roman Valerianovich… Near Khludov, in front of the desk on which there are several telephones, sitting and writing is the prompt and adoring Khludov, Cossack Captain Golovan.”

As I already wrote, the General had known better times, which means that his prototype, too, had known better times. Who could that prototype be? Considering that Golubkov is the Russian poet Andrei Bely, while Serafima is the Russian poetess Marina Tsvetaeva, it is quite possible that the prototype of General Khludov is also a Russian poet, for if not in life,- then at least in his play, Bulgakov reconciled them on the strength of Marina Tsvetaeva’s memoirs.
Apparently, before the Revolution, this poet had been more successful in his professional field. I can even throw in an extra clue here, to help solve this Bulgakovian puzzle.
Already in the second sentence of the play, Bulgakov writes:

“In the hall’s background, windows of unusual sizes. Behind them one can feel a black night with blue electric moons.”

I am instantly reminded of N. S. Gumilev’s article where he contrasts the “lunar femininity of Bryusov” to the sunniness and masculine strength of Vyacheslav Ivanov. Bryusov could be called a General of the Russian poetry of the time, but having got rid of Blok and Gumilev, the “vermin of poetry” after the Revolution made Bryusov their mark, and in 1924 he suddenly died.

M. A. Bulgakov makes an extensive use of V. Ya. Bryusov both in his last novel Master and Margarita and in his other works. That’s why he has given General Roman Valerianovich Khludov such a peculiar name. His patronymic comes from Latin “strong and healthy,” which epithet characterizes Mars, the god of war. And of course the first name “Roman” has the flattering meaning of being a citizen of Rome.
And of course the name of Captain Golovan (“golova” = “head”) may tangentially point to the fact that V. Ya. Bryusov happens to be the prototype of M. A. Berlioz, whose head has gained such prominence in the novel Master and Margarita.

To be continued…

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