The Bard. Genesis.
M. A. Berlioz.
Posting #17.
“For two days the
wizard is carrying the hero,
On the third day he pleads
for mercy…”
A. S. Pushkin. Ruslan
and Lyudmila.
M.
A. Bulgakov points to A. S. Pushkin’s “water of death” with the following words
said by master:
“...Ah, I understand, said
master, you’ve killed us, and now we are
dead. Ah, how clever it is! How timely! Now I understand it all.”
To
which Azazello replies:
“Ah, come off it! Is it you I
am hearing? Doesn’t your ladyfriend call you master? But you are thinking, how
can you be dead then? Must you, in order to consider yourself alive,
necessarily sit in a cellar?”
I
used to be always struck by this phrase, and only having reread Ruslan and Lyudmila in the course of my
preparation for the writing of this chapter The
Bard had I understood what it means. The keyword is “cellar.”
The
reader surely remembers what the evil dwarf told his brother the giant:
“...In
the black books I discovered
That beyond the eastern
mountains,
Upon a quiet seashore,
In a deep cellar under locks
A sword is hidden, and so
what?
Oh fear! In the magic
darkness
This is what I deciphered,
That by the will of hostile
fate
This sword will become known
to both of us,
That it will destroy both of
us:
It will cut off my beard and
your head…”
[In
the Russian language, “chernye knigi” (“black books”) meant books of black
magic, and “chernoknizhnik” was a practitioner of black magic.]
As
for the dwarf’s beard, Pushkin writes:
“...I
[the giant] was always somewhat simple, albeit tall;
And this miserable [dwarf],
Having that stupidest height,
Was clever like a devil – and
awfully evil.
Meanwhile do remember that to
my peril
His magic beard contains
fateful power;
And with disdain for
everything in the world,
As long as his beard is
intact,
The traitor need not fear any
harm to himself…”
And
so, “In a deep cellar under locks a sword
is kept.”
It
is from here that Bulgakov takes his basement/cellar and bars under locks (and
these locks need a bundle of keys) and even a sword, which appears as early as
in the second chapter of his novel, which is titled Pontius Pilate, where Bulgakov, in so far as I understand,
introduces none other than the warrior, knight, and hero Ruslan in the guise of
the Roman Legate of the Twelfth Lightning Legion.
Considering
that the number “twelve” in Bulgakov points to Blok’s poem The Twelve, while “Lightning”
points to the Russian poet Balmont, we can assume that Bulgakov is pointing at
Pushkin himself when he assigns to him the image of the Roman Legate in the Pontius Pilate sub-novel of Master and Margarita. And of course, the
name of the Russian poets is Legion, because there are many of them,
paraphrasing A. S. Pushkin. Here is the note Pushkin made in 1834 into the
album of the French performing artist Alexandre Vattemare:
“Votre nom est Legion car
vous etes plusieurs.”
Bulgakov
knew this very well, as he applies the word “Legion” to Pushkin himself. Indeed, unlike others, Pushkin has
“Legion” of names in Master and Margarita,
such as “the checkered one,” “regent,” “slicker regent,” “fagot [bassoon],”
“Koroviev,” and finally, “the Dark-Violet Knight.”
Also
proving it is the use of the word “ventriloquist,” which fully applies to Alexandre
Vattemare. In the Epilogue to Master and
Margarita Bulgakov writes:
“...Cultured people adopted the opinion of the investigating team:
It was the work of a gang of hypnotizers and ventriloquists brilliantly skilled
in those arts...”
Returning
to the personage of the Roman Legate in the 2nd chapter of the
sub-novel Pontius Pilate where I can
see Pushkin’s creation of the Russian warrior Ruslan, from the long poem Ruslan and Lyudmila, and very probably
of Pushkin himself, disguised like other Russian poets in Pontius Pilate.
And
here he is, in all his glory, in Bulgakov’s novel:
“Then before the Procurator appeared a handsome light-bearded man
with eagle feathers in the comb of his helmet [sic!] (this is who gets Blok’s
helmet in Bulgakov’s novel), with golden [sic!] lion faces sparkling on his
chest, with likewise golden badges on the belt of his sword, in boots on triple
soles, laced up to the knees, and in a crimson cloak thrown over his left
shoulder. He was the Legate in command of the Legion.”
And
here is how Pushkin describes his hero, single-handedly battling a horde of
Pechenegs attacking the city of Kiev:
“The
Kievans’ heart was confused;
They are running in orderless
crowds,
And they see: in the field
among the foes,
In shining armor, like in
fire,
A wondrous knight on a horse,
A rushing storm, he pierces,
cuts,
And, flying, blows his
roaring horn...
It was Ruslan. Like God’s
Thunder,
Our warrior fell upon the
infidels…
And in one moment, the battle
dale
Was covered with mounds of
bloodied bodies,
Still living, crushed,
decapitated…
The Pechenegs are seized by
dread,
Their throngs are punished by
a Russian sword.
Kiev is elated… The mighty
warrior flies across the city,
His victorious sword in his
right hand;
The spear is shining like a
star;
Blood streaming from his
brass mail,
A beard is streaming from the
helmet…”
It
is obviously the dwarf’s beard, not Ruslan’s. This is how that happened:
“...[Ruslan]
caught the [dwarf] by the beard…
And now the wizard flies
under the clouds,
The hero hanging from his
beard…
For two days the wizard is
carrying the hero,
On the third day he pleads
for mercy:
Oh knight [sic!], have mercy
on me!
I am barely breathing, I
cannot bear this any longer;
Spare my life! [sic!] I’m in
your power…
Aha, you’re trembling?
Submit and yield to Russian
might!
Carry me to my Lyudmila!
Chernomor, humbled, hears and
obeys
Setting off for his home,
with the hero,
And in a moment reaching his
terrible mountains.
[Then] Ruslan, having clutched the sword with
one hand
And grasping the [dwarf’s]
beard with the other,
Cut it off like a handful of
grass.
Here’s one for you, he said
cruelly,
How about that, predator?
Where’s your splendor?
Now, where’s your strength?
And he ties
The white hair to his tall
helmet…”
So,
this is how Ruslan got himself a bearded helmet. He has his own moustache
though, as is clear from these earlier lines:
“...The
lovesick Ruslan doesn’t eat or drink,
He gazes upon his dear friend
[Lyudmila];
He sighs, he’s angry, he is
burning,
And impatiently pulling at
his moustache,
Counting every moment…”
To
be continued…
***
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