Magic Of The Sorcerer Molière.
Posting #4.
“The water was still playing its intricate and pleasant song
in the fountain…”
M. Bulgakov. Master
and Margarita.
(Continued
from the previous posting.)
So
what fits the French King Louis XIV here? It is the old French expression
stating that with the death of a preceding monarch the next in line immediately
becomes king. On the one hand, there is a pragmatic statement of continuity of
power here. On the other hand, each king in the chain of succession becomes a
carrier of the mystical gene of royal immortality, and thus becomes immortal in
that figurative sense.
But
no matter what, nobody can ever dethrone the sly and charming comedian and
playwright… Molière was the trailblazer, the subsequent generations learned
from him, imitated him, staged his works. The future generations will
undoubtedly be doing the same.
Describing
the monument to Molière in Paris, “where [three streets] meet at a sharp angle:
Rue Richelieu, Rue Therese, and Rue Molière,” Bulgakov focuses his attention on
the “dried-up bowl of the fountain.”
This
fountain bowl is present already in Bulgakov’s first novel White Guard.
On
the day when Petlura’s troops entered Kiev, there was a gathering of people on
the city’s main square to listen to and to see Petlura.
“Above the buzzing crowd, onto the frozen slippery bowl of the
fountain, people’s hands raised a man… The
raised man glanced inspiredly over
the thousands-strong thicket of heads, somewhere where ever more clearly the
sun disk was climbing up, gilding the crosses with thick red gold. He waved up
his hand and in a weak voice shouted: ‘To
the people—glory!’ … ‘Glory to the
people!’ repeated the man, and
instantly a strand of blond hair jumped and fell on his forehead... The voice
of the radiant man grew strong and
could be heard clearly through the roar and the crackle of feet … through
distant drums. The radiant man pointed
to the sun with a certain terrible anguish, yet at the same time with a determination…’Like the Cossacks sang: The Sergeants are
with us, with us, like with brothers. With us! With us they are!’ [He was
speaking to the crowd in Ukrainian.] With his hat, the man struck his chest, which was flaming with an enormous wave of a
red bow. ‘With us because these sergeants
are with the people, they were born with them and will die with them.’”
M.
Bulgakov calls this man “radiant,” which means a man of the future. The words
describing the bowl of the mountain as “frozen” and “slippery” indicate that
the road of this man and of all those who would follow him, was hard and
dangerous.
As
for the bowl of Molière’s Fountain, it is “dried-up,” which means that Molière
has long been dead and is no longer creating new plays. Bulgakov here compares
Molière’s dried-up fountain of creativity to a dried-up inkstand.
In
the novel Master and Margarita the
word “fountain” appears 5 times already in the 2nd chapter Pontius Pilate, but the “fountain bowl”
comes up only once:
“The wings of the swallow sniffled right over the head of the
igemon; the bird rushed toward the bowl of the fountain and flew out, to
freedom. The procurator raised his eyes to the prisoner and saw a burning
pillar of dust near him.”
Only
in Master and Margarita do we find a
“bowl of the fountain” and a “burning pillar of dust.” As I already
explained in an earlier chapter, Bulgakov is using M. Yu. Lermontov here. And
thus, the fountain bowl also represents immortality. Considering that the
reader already knows that the prototype of Yeshua is the Russian poet N. S.
Gumilev, the fountain bowl belongs to him, which is indicated by Bulgakov’s use
of the word “swallow” [“Lastochka” as in “Mr. Lastochkin”].
In
the 17th chapter of Master and
Margarita: A Troublesome Day Bulgakov introduces a new personage who
appears just once in his novel and is also missing from the Epilogue, where we
learn the outcomes of Woland-related adventures for most of the novel’s
dramatis personarum.
His
name is Vasili Stepanovich Lastochkin. Bulgakov keeps only the patronymic of
his prototype who is of course Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev.
As
for the Epilogue, Gumilev comes up only indirectly there through the use of the
word “hypnotizers,” which Gumilev used to describe poets. [See my chapter Mr. Lastochkin.] Bulgakov takes it from
Gumilev’s articles of literary criticism.
Bulgakov
writes about immortality in the 2nd chapter of Master and Margarita: Pontius Pilate.
“...The same inexplicable anguish that had already visited him on
the balcony had now pierced all his being. It seemed to the procurator that he
had left something unsaid with the condemned man, and, perhaps, even something
unlistened to. Pilate chased this thought away and it flew away instantly, like
it had flown in to him. It flew away, but the anguish remained
unexplained, for it could not be explained by some kind of another short
thought that flashed like lightning and went out right away: ‘Immortality, Immortality has come,
immortality…’ Whose immortality has come? This is what the procurator
didn’t understand, but the thought of this mysterious immortality made him
freeze in the scorching sun.”
As
the researcher and the reader already know, the story splits onto a dual track.
Alongside a historical (or rather, quasihistorical) story of Pontius Pilate and
Christ, another allegorical-historical story is developing at the same time. It
is a story of the Russian poet Valery Bryusov, as Pontius Pilate, and the
Russian poet Nikolai Gumilev, as the prototype of Yeshua. Apparently, Bryusov
was unsuccessful in his effort to help Gumilev, in spite of an apparent effort
to seek help through Maxim Gorky, the reigning Prince of Russian literature,
who hurried to see Lenin in Moscow, but was too late to save the poet from
execution. In the following passage from Master
and Margarita, observe the reference to Caesar’s residence in Capraea,
reminding us of Gorky’s erstwhile residence on the Italian Island of Capri.
“Oh no! – exclaimed Pilate. – It
wasn’t necessary to choose words. It is only too obvious that you were complaining
to Caesar about me. But now my time has come, Caiaphas! Now will my message fly
– and not to the Viceroy in Antiochia, and not to Rome, but straight to Capraea
– to the Emperor himself. Message about how you are releasing from capital
punishment known rebels in Yershalaim...”
It
is amazing how Bulgakov has thought everything out, combining two stories into
one of Christ and Gumilev. A master indeed, and of the highest order!
And
so, immortality in Bulgakov passes on from Molière to Gumilev, and not only for
Gumilev’s creative work, which by the time of his death included collections of
poetry, prosaic fiction, and plays, plus for his priceless non-fiction work,
including his diaries of actual experiences and articles of literary criticism,
but also for his personal bravery and steadfastness during the last hours and
minutes of his life. Like Bulgakov’s Yeshua, Gumilev was fearless, truthful,
and “childlike,” according to the people who knew him. In a word, he radiated
innocence and was alien to falsehood both in his thinking and in his conduct.
As
for Gumilev’s “fountain bowl,” Bulgakov puts it this way:
“The water was still playing its intricate and pleasant song in the
fountain…”
The
word “intricate” is used by Bulgakov to indicate that the Pontius Pilate story
is far too complex for a straightforward reading. Hidden inside it is the
tragic story of the great Russian poet executed in 1921.
It
is also not only a story of N. Gumilev’s immortality, but of the immortality of
the man writing about it – M. A. Bulgakov.
To
be continued…
***
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