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Parodic male docieties in Russian culture: from the late Medieval period to the late Soviet era

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Parodic male docieties in Russian culture: from the late Medieval period to the late Soviet era

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Content PARODIC SOCIETIES IN RUSSIAN CULTURE: FROM THE LATE MEDIEVAL ERA TO THE LATE SOVIET PERIOD by Zlatina G. Sandalska A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (SLAVIC LANGUAGES AND LITERATURES) August 2012 Copyright 2012 Zlatina G. Sandalska ii ii Dedication To my family. iii iii Acknowledgements I am deeply grateful to my dissertation advisor, Professor Thomas Seifrid, for his mentoring, guidance and support. His comments and suggestions were crucial to improving the quality of my academic research and this dissertation. I am also very thankful to the other members of my committee, Professor Sarah Pratt and Professor Heather James, for their suggestions and encouragement. I am grateful to Professor Marcus Levitt for reading drafts of chapters and providing good references. Susan Kechekian deserves special thanks for everything else. I am also extremely thankful to Caterina Crisci for being my dearest sister and picking me up every time I fell down and to Hamid Karimi for his love and support and for always being just a phone call away when I needed strength. My friends Nadia K. Marinova, Tom Cirillo, Killian O’Brien and Mark Kilian and my brother, Stou G. Sandalski, deserve special thanks for the encouragement they gave me and for their strong belief in me. I thank my family, especially my mother, father, and Anatol Shliapnikoff, for instilling in me curiosity and love of learning. My colleagues Jessica Sanders and Anna Krivorouchko talked things out with me and read drafts, and I thank them for that. iv iv Table of Contents Dedication ii Acknowledgements iii Abstract v Introduction 1 Chapter 1: Early Precedents 22 Chapter 2: Arzamas 63 Chapter 3: Koz’ma Prutkov 102 Chapter 4: The Serapion Brothers 137 Chapter 6: Dovlatov and His Sobotyl’niki 172 Conclusion 220 Bibliography 225 v v Abstract This dissertation aims to show that parodic male societies in Russian culture have shared a set of themes and behaviors across history and argues that this phenomenon extends back to the late medieval period of Russian culture. The study begins with Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod (1689-1725) and includes Arzamas (1820s), Koz’ma Prutkov (1850s), the Serapion Brotherhood (1920s) and Sergei Dovlatov’s circle of the late 1960s and 1970s. These seemingly Westernizing societies engage in a return to “Russian” values by incorporating into their works elements of late medieval Russian satire, especially theatrical interludes, as a means of protesting the literary cultures and social realities of their times. Ultimately, this study examines an important aspect of Russian counterculture by showing that the ostensibly occasional and peripheral phenomenon of marginalized writers parodying aspects of the larger culture and especially the dominant institutions of literature was, in fact, a recurring and even a productive part of Russian literary culture. 1 1 Introduction Russian literature is often perceived as a literature of ideas and, as such, it is thought of as predominantly serious, especially as its best known writers examine the struggles and problems of the human soul. In the nineteenth-century, Russian literature set out to solve the “cursed questions” and discover the meaning of history, art and life itself. These questions often emerged (and keep emerging) at times of severe political and economic crises, thus accompanying Russia’s search for more equitable relations between man and state and for a more dignified, more moral and more honorable life. But in those moments something else happens as well: parodic men’s societies that poke fun at institutions of power and literature and that stage public spectacles (sometimes subdued and at other times ostentatious and even scandalous) emerge and play an important function in Russian literary culture. Some examples include Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas, and Koz’ma Prutkov. The way humor grapples with the big ideas and challenges important notions of authority and literary institutions should also be studied. Humor indeed has always been a way Russians across the centuries have coped with authoritative governments, repressive regimes and economic hardships. Furthermore, because humor creates and requires a group of co-conspirators who know the code of laughter, another interesting question emerges, namely, the one between humor and dissent. And this is the focus of this dissertation, which provides a literary history of parodic male societies in Russian culture and shows the ways in 2 2 which humor and merriment in Russian culture become a subversive alternative to “official” formality and seriousness. Ultimately, this study examines an important aspect of Russian counterculture by showing that the ostensibly occasional and peripheral phenomenon of marginalized writers parodying aspects of the larger culture and especially the dominant institutions of literature was, in fact, a recurring and even a productive part of Russian literary culture. The study aims to show that Russian male literary societies across history have shared a set of themes and behaviors and argues that this phenomenon extends back to the late medieval period of Russian culture. It begins with Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod (1689-1725) and includes Arzamas (1820s), Koz’ma Prutkov (1850s), the Serapion Brotherhood (1920s) and Sergei Dovlatov’s circle of the late 1960s and 1970s. 1 These seemingly Westernizing societies engage in a return to “Russian” values by incorporating into their works elements of late medieval Russian satire, especially theatrical interludes, as a means of protesting the literary cultures and social realities of their times. Each society responds to something specific of the time by incorporating and often replicating elements of the previous society or societies, which is why they can be viewed as part of the same history. The seemingly disparate groups mentioned above have several themes and behaviors in common and whereas not all themes are present in all groups, there is a 1 There are many translations for Peter’s Vseshuteishii, Vsep’ianeishii i Sumasbrodneishii Sobor. Earnest Zitser calls it “Most Comical and All-Drunken Council.” I will use the standard translation, “All-Joking, All-Drunken and Wild Synod,” or All-Drunken Synod for short. 3 3 significant overlap, pointing to a cultural phenomenon. First, the groups resemble monastic communities. The male friends separate themselves from the larger society and form their own small, semi-secret world with its own behavioral codes, morality, discourses, rituals and so forth. Together, they aspire to “higher” goals, i.e., the creation of a new literature or a new aesthetic culture. This aspiration is usually combined with monastic values such as asceticism, humility, and pity as well as certain hagiographic motifs, e.g., discourse of being misunderstood and frequently even persecuted by society, as well as assertions of one’s suffering for the pursuit of his aesthetic goals. This separation from the larger society, the ritualized way in which the men socialize and the aspiration to higher goals bears many similarities to monastic communities, further emphasized by the fact that in all the groups, albeit to different degrees, the men practice a monastic rhetoric, e.g., call themselves a “brethren” or refer to individual members as “Brother.” Furthermore, the protagonists produced in the works of the groups are “little people” and even “nobodies” (in the case of Dovlatov’s circle), thus linking them to the Gogolian/ Dostoevskian theme of the little man as well as to the Orthodox ideas of humility, compassion and mercy. Second, in their works, the members take issue with the dominant literary culture. They produce parodic works that poke fun at the contemporary institutions of literature and certain aspects of contemporary society, usually conservative or nationalistic ideas. In very basic terms, All-Drunken Synod parodies the Church but also Peter’s own power; Arzamas parodies the Besedians’ rigid uses of language as well as their “stuffiness” and nationalistic tendencies; Koz’ma Prutkov parodies didacticism and romantic bygones; the 4 4 Serapions, petit bourgeois culture and the official Soviet ideology; Dovlatov and his friends, parody the positive hero and the Soviet idea of aktivnost’. Third, all the groups exhibit elements of theatrical behavior, which is difficult to define as it manifests itself in different ways in the different groups. But they all have in common a prankishness that causes public spectacles. For example, the men dress up in ostentatious and sometimes even shocking outfits, performa a kind of physical comedy, and play practical jokes on one another, the reading community and often the public. In some of the groups (e.g., the All-Drunken Synod and Arzamas) the members take on stage names and following certain behavioral script. In other societies (e.g., Serapions and Dovlatov), the members’ interaction with each other is theatrical in a different manner; for example, the men brag in front of their friends or enhance the stories they tell. In a way, the entire interaction of the members with each other and with the public is a “performance,” sometimes scripted, sometimes improvised. Fifth, the members of the societies thematize and revel in excessive drinking. This theme is frequently coupled with the extolment of indolence; for example, the authors describe how they sleep all day, or sit around and do not do any work. Several of the Arzamasians include these sentiments in their writings and letters to each other, yet we know they were quite active in public and civic life at the same time: they tried to get published, formed societies, and often even tried to be healthy, exercise, and even exhibit a high level of asceticism and discipline. Writers from the Dovlatov circle do something similar when they write poems about being lazy while everyone else is doing work. The aestheticiziation of indolence may be viewed as part of the performance ritual—in 5 5 essence, these men are feigning indolence. At the same time, it is also related to sometimes distorted Orthodox idea of humility, wherein the more ostentatious one is about one’s sins, the more humble one becomes. This aspect is also tied to the performances of the holy fools and to satiric texts of the 16th century such as “Sluzhba kabaku” and “Kaliazinskaia chelobitnaia,” which parody the lax and debaucherous life of monks, as we shall see in Chapter One. The groups’ embrace of these seemingly frivolous behaviors and values— drinking, pranks, ostentatious clothing, and so on—may be viewed as a kind of resistance to the authority of powerful institutions such as the state, the Church, or the Academy of Sciences, perceived by the groups as stern and “stuffy.” And indeed, the antagonism between clandestine male societies such as the ones studied here and the political order in a non-Russian context has been widely stressed by scholars such as Lionel Tiger, who, in Men in Groups, argues that secret or semi-secret male societies are the consequence of an effort of individual men to create the social conditions for exercising their “gregarious propensities,” the expression of which may be inhibited, or may be seen to be inhibited, by their community. And certainly, there is something in the historical context of each group described here that their countercultural, parodic behavior is responding to. Arzamas, for example, undercuts the demands for tendentious or laudatory literature that promoted nationalistic ideoas associated with the instiatution of literature at the time; Koz’ma Prutkov responds to the growing tsarist bureaucracy and increasing didacticism; the Serapion Brothers react to the newly created socialist state and its ideology; the Dovlatov circle subverts the state ideology of aktivnost’ and the stagnation period. 6 6 Furthermore, this “dissent” may be viewed in terms of their Westernizing efforts, i.e., their turning away from Russian culture and society. The groups were, at various levels, actively involved in what could be called Westernizing Russian culture. Peter the Great was a well-known proselytizer of Western—and especially Germanic—values. The Arzamasians were active promoters of the Western European literary cultures (mostly French and German) on which they were raised, and so were the authors behind the literary mystification of Koz’ma Prutkov. The Serapion Brothers borrowed their name from E.T.A. Hoffman and were admirers of his works. And Dovlatov and his group were also enamored with American authors, especially Hemingway, Cheever, Updike and the beatniks, including Ginsberg, with whom some of them communicated. This duality between Russian and Western values should not be a surprise. Venedikt Erofeev, who incorporates in his own fiction many of the themes seen in the All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas, and so on, names Rabelais and Sterne as his teachers and acknowledges their formative influence on his writing; at the same time, his self-identification as a Russian is very pronounced and he describes his masterpiece Moskva-Petushki as a “purely Russian work” (Ready 437). At the same time, the phenomenon of parodic male societies defined here cannot be understood simply as a form of resistance to authorities or authoritative symbols because the writings of the groups also betray a certain sympathy toward these very symbols of authority. For example, members of the circles that mock the Church—e.g., Peter’s All-Drunken Synod or Arzamas—exhibit a certain level of Orthodox Christian piety by practicing and frequently even promoting values such as asceticism, humility, 7 7 pity, self-deprecation, and protecting the less fortunate. Furthermore, many of the Arzamasians were sincerely religious and participated in the Biblical Translation Project. The authors of Koz’ma Prutkov also took an active part in civic life. The same may be said of the Soviet-era groups discussed; while Dovlatov and his friends were in many ways resistant to the totalitarian regime and its ideology, they also warmly embraced a number of its values. The Serapion Brothers had a similarly complicated relationship with the state and its ideology. This kind of duality is discussed by Mikhail Bakhtin, who has shown that during medieval Western European carnival, men who composed the most unrestrained parodies of sacred texts often sincerely accepted and served religion. Thus, my second claim is that the seeming contradiction of embracing the values of the object of parody on the one hand, and yet mocking them on the other, especially when coupled with monastic values, the thematization of asceticism, spectacle and performance, and bodily humor, can be viewed as a remnant of medieval Russian culture in general and theatrical interludes, or comedic short plays used as breaks or interruptions during the performance of mystery plays that expressed the political opinions and social sympathies of the people, in particular. Scholars such as Likhachev and Panchenko, basing their work on Bakhtin’s examination of medieval France, have shown that the laughting world (composed of the skomorokhi, iurodivyi and theatrical interludes) in medieval Russian culture served to create an “anti-world” that was opposed to and at the same time contingent upon the real world and had the function of destroying the sign system of the “real” world and 8 8 challenging its false exterior. By doing this, laughter laid bare the truth and showed that everything and everyone was equal even though etiquette, pomp, and ceremony attempted to conceal this fact. The parodic male societies discussed here replicate the logic of medieval Russian humor, quite frequently unconsciously through some kind of cultural memory. They appear at certain points in Russian history—usually during particularly repressive political times when the institution of literature is closely tied to the goals of the state— and puncture the regular authoritative world with the values of the “anti-world,” or shadow world as Likhachev and Panchenko call it. By doing this, the societies make it apparent that society is imperfect, that the system has problems and there are layers of society that do not agree with the monolithic discourse presented in official institutions such as the media, the Academy, or universities. The ultimate role of the parodic male societies, just like that of medieval humor, has a social ethical basis. It is not merely to provide catharsis but to remind the audience of “truth” and to imply a return toward “right” and away from the aberrations of contemporary reality. These societies implicitly also make an argument that the institution of literature should be freed from ideological goals and that censorship should be relaxed. 2 2 The parodic societies emerge during periods when the dominant literary and artistic movements were in transition as well. Arzamas, for example, was active during a time when literary aesthetics were changing from Classicism to Romanticism; Koz’ma Prutkov, from Romanticism to Realism. Serapion Brothers were active when the newly founded Soviet state was choosing the right aesthetic path to promote its ideology; Dovlatov’s circle was active in a time when Soviet literature was transitioning away from Socialist Realism. In a way, the parodic societies are responding to that change as well. 9 9 There are a few things to consider before we delve into analyzing the particular examples of the phenomenon. First, the term “parodic” is used in a general sense to mean to mock in a light-hearted manner, usually by imitating. Even though much of modern criticism often associates parody with mockery, ridicule and even contempt, scholars such as Tynianov, Zitser and Rose have shown that this need not be the case (Rose 20- 25). The All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas and Koz’ma Prutkov were indeed formed with the purpose of parodying aspects of the authoritative institutions of their times, such as the Church, the Academy or state bureaucracy. The later societies—e.g., Serapion Brothers and Dovlatov—did not necessarily have such a purpose in mind. In the case of the Serapions, the members gathered to create a new literature in the post-Revolutionary excitement; some of the texts they produced were parodic and even satiric and the members did parody each other in ways that were subtler than those of the Arzamasians. In Dovlatov’s case, the authors were friends interested in literature who socialized, drank and had a good time together (in a way similar to Koz’ma Prutkov’s Aleksei Tolstoi and his cousins who socialized in an informal manner, as we shall see). Dovlatov and his friends engaged in “reeling out jokes,” which often times mocked society or contemporary institutions of literature. I use the term “parodic” because the authors of the groups did produce parodic texts that mock fun—usually, in a gentle, good-hearted manner—the authorities or the literary canon. Each succeeding society picks up trends and themes form the earlier parodic ones. So even if the later societies are not created with the purpose of parody in mind, their works still contain remnants of parody. 10 10 It is also worth considering the definition and history of a literary society, because it would give us a better insight into the genealogy and significance of the phenomenon described here, especially since the societies grouped together vary in structure, membership and formality. Scholars such as William Mills Todd III and J. Peschio use the term “familiar literary societies” to describe Arzamas and similar groupings of the 18th and 19th centuries. Unlike official literary societies, which were usually formalized with bylaws, protocols and the like, “familiar literary societies” were not licensed or supported by the state, which is one of the main features of the groups studied here. And yet, unlike the more informal salons, familiar societies had clearly stated objectives—the presentation of literary works (usually poetry) and criticism—and their membership was fixed. We may not call the groups discussed in this study “familiar literary societies” (although this might be the closest definition), because, while it is true that they were not state-sponsored institutions, not all of them were as formalized as the prototype of the familiar literary society, Arzamas. Koz’ma Prutkov, for example, had no explicit literary objectives (besides lampooning bureaucrats and having a good time by doing it) nor a list of members—it was simply a few cousins socializing and creating a character, mostly for fun, and playing a prank on the public. Dovlatov and his friends were even less organized; they did not even produce a unified body of work as the Tolstoi cousins did (although a subset of them tried to publish an almanac under the name “Gorozhane”). Dovlatov’s circle consisted of a group of friends socializing together, “reeling out anecdotes” and discussing ideas, life, and creativity and creating literature. The Serapions 11 11 stray a little from this model because they were sponsored by the state—they were under the patronage of the House of Art and of Maksim Gor’kii personally; they did have an explicit list of members and stated goals and did publish an almanac under their official group name. It should be made clear, however, that in the 1920s, being supported by the state was not the same as being supported by the state in other periods, when the state had consolidated its power. In the 1920s, the state had not yet grown to its full power and there were many literary groups and discussions, perhaps until the unification of all of them into the Union of Soviet Writers in 1932. The intellectual circle was another phenomenon central to Russian intellectual life from the from the late 18th century well into Soviet history, as members of the Russian educated elite gathered into small groups dedicated to the pursuit of intellectual and educational development and high culture (Walker 3). A precise description of the intelligentsia circle can be difficult to pin down. Throughout Russian history, intelligentsia circles have varied widely in structure and purpose, from informal student gatherings to elite aristocratic salons and professional and scientific circles to many others, including the literary circles (3-4). But the intellectual circle is a serious institution dedicated to political and philosophical ideas and the groups studied here are the opposite in that they are seemingly frivolous and created with the purpose of entertainment and merry-making. In order to have a common denominator and be able to speak about all the groups, I use the terms “parodic male society” and “literary circle” because, just like in the groups studied here, people in a society or a circle have different personalities but they 12 12 exist within a community, but they don’t always have a common goal. A circle is a relatively informal, unofficial—i.e., not registered with the state or supported by the state—group of like-minded friends or acquaintances, each of whom maintains his particular personality, who gather together with a purpose or aesthetic goals in mind (Walker 4). The were individuals bound together by personal ties who had among them significant common ideas, themes, anxieties, yearnings, patterns of thought and behavior (4). Sometimes these common themes are in concert and sometimes they are disjointed but they link the men together as a social and historical phenomenon an aspect of which is studied here. It should be noted that even though the societies studied here exhibit certain similarities to salons, they are a distinct phenomenon and may not be considered part of the history of salon culture, which involved the gathering of people under one roof of an inspiring hostess, partly to amuse one another and partly to refine taste and increase the knowledge of the participants through conversation (Peschio 9). The men in the parodic male societieis were missing something in the salon, which is why they formed their own groups. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century salons were usually centered around a woman, and the aesthetics of the salon were focused on using graceful, “feminine” language (e.g., see Zhivov on Karamzinian language). At the close of the eighteenth century, in the course of debates about the character of the Russian literary language, the writer and historian Nikolai Karamzin (1766 - 1826) and his followers crystallized ideas and assumptions about women’s influence on literature and language that first appeared at the 13 13 beginning of the century (Vowles 35). The Karamzinists made women’s taste and women’s language the standard of literary and linguistic excellence. They accorded women such authority over Russian language and literature that later scholars have spoken of a “feminization” of Russian culture (e.g., see Zhivov). In its most general outline, it accompanied the rapid Westernization and secularization of Russian society that took place in the eighteenth century. Writers now found themselves writing for a society transformed by the presence of aristocratic women, who had formerly been sequestered in the terem. There was no clearly articulated argument or debate about women’s role, but it is possible to trace the underlying assumptions about women’s relation to language that leading writers incorporated into their texts as they set about creating a literary language and a national literature equal to those of Western Europe (Vowles 35). Furthermore, in the salon, male guests competed for the attention and approbation of the hostess and her female guests (Peschio 10). Although the men in the circles studied here do engage in praticiting their “masculine wit,” the spirit of the parodic circles was cooperative rather than competitive. Furthermore, salon writing relied on the institution of domestic albums, which had a very limited audience; the men in the parodic societies tried to get published in a wider sphere. Finally, salons originate from French culture whereas the argument here is the male circles are rooted in Old Russian culture. Finally, the participants in the salon did not have clearly elaborated literary goals; rather, they participated for the sake of entertainment and passing time in a pleasant manner. 14 14 It is also interesting to examine, briefly, why the parodic societies turned out to be exclusively male. Whereas women hosted salons and contributed to the “feminization” of language, they were excluded from literary societies in order to free up the proceedings. For noblemen, the presence of ladies was the number one factor governing levels of behavioral constraint, and decorum took entirely different forms depending on the gender composition of a gathering (Peschio 9-10). A further testament to this is that that commissions investigating secret societies in the 1820s did not investigate heterosexual groups—it was presumed that nothing unseemly would be undertaken in the presence of ladies (9-10). At the time, even a mild literary polemic in mixed company was considered exceedingly uncouth, which is why the Arzamasians were so upset by Shakhkovskoi’s “Raskhishchennye shuby”—because they were ridiculed in front of women (10). Finally, humorous wit and pranks, which are central to this study, are rooted in the ideology of friendship, but in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, friendship and cross-gender fraternizing were mutually exclusive patterns of social interaction (10-11). As women became more emancipated in the 19th century, they did become socially engaged in a more open and radical way; e.g., a number of women were active in the narodniki movement and many actively participated in the Bolshevik Revolution. And yet, for some reason, few of them produced humor or got involved in parodic or humorous societies of the type studied here. Perhaps because of the former and current historical hardships that made women’s lives more difficult, they chose to become activists rather than humorists. Nancy Ries suggests that whereas Russian men used jokes to relieve their frustration with the political and social system, Russian women 15 15 modeled their “rebellion” and unhappiness on religious laments and this could be another explanation for why women did not actively participate in the parodic male societies. During the Soviet era, things did change for women, at least initially. In the 1920s, women were active in the Futurist and other avant-garde movements; communist ideology, with its ideas of egalitarianism, freed women in many ways from their previously oppressive positions. This period contains the only society studied here with a woman member, the Serapion Brothers. But despite the prominent rhetoric of women’s emancipation and the Soviet claim that the Revolution had “resolved the woman question,” the system created by the Russian Revolution, especially as epitomized by the institution of Socialist Realism, did not promote equality among the sexes but instead put forward a male heroic worldview (Borenstein 3). In other words, the culture and literature of the 1920s constructed a myth of a new, masculinized society. Domesticity and traditional femininity had no place in a world of factories and battlefields, which at least partly explains why women in these novels are under the ever-present threat of transformation into bodiless abstractions, as Borenstein has shown (3). In other words, during this period, female becomes essentially erased. Some of the societies examined had occasional female associates, women who gathered around or dated the men involved, but more often than not, these women did not participate in literary endeavors, except in the case of The Serapion Brothers, who had one female member, Polonskaia. Polonskaia does not seem to have engaged in the behaviors described in this study. The brotherhood’s mentor and strongest supporter, Gor’kii, excluded women from his previous Sreda circle, even though women often 16 16 attended literary evenings and social events. Since Gor’kii believed that a writer must be like a warrior and possess characteristics he associated with men, he believed that it was impossible for a female to be a good writer (Loe 58). He was none too pleased when the writers began marrying, since he believed that marriage would distract them from their work (Loe 58). Throughout the Stalin period, there were few parodic societies, male or mixed male and female. In the post-Stalin period, in the mid-1950s and 1960s, a growing number of literary associations and clubs arose and these werere open to both women and men. But these were usually attached to official institutions sponsored by the state and, as such, they could not produce the kind of parodies and pranks this dissertation studies. A big part of the parodic dissident culture in the post-Stalin era involves what the anthropologist A. Yurchak has termed “reeling out jokes,” i.e., people sitting around telling one joke (“anekdot”) after another. But, again, this was a male-centered activity (and Dovlatov’s friends engage in it). One could argue that in Russian culture there is a link between humor and maleness, perhaps rooted in the sacrilegious humor discussed in Chapter One. Interestingly, despite the lack of women, the parodic male societies thematize domesticity, which is traditionally linked with women’s writings. All the groups studied here gather in a domestic setting. Moreover, they frequently thematize domesticity and intimacy between friends (though the latter topic is common among men, going back to Greek culture). Arzamas met at Viazemskii’s house; Koz’ma Prukov met at the family estates of the creators; although in Leningrad, Dovlatov and his friends were part of the 17 17 famous “Moscow kitchens”. (The Serapions were the only ones who had an official place for meetings, the House of Arts, but some of the members also lived in that house and the meetings, at least initially, took place in Kaverin’s small, crowded room). Yet, at the same time, the men do engage in showy public stunts—they come out of their domestic settings to play pranks on the public. It is possible to argue that in Russia, where public life was frequently frustrated by authoritarian regimes, writers turned away from the public sphere, retreating into a domestic setting. The writings I examine are written as if for “sobutyl’niki,” i.e., co-drinkers, because the form is still intimate, and yet they are published for a wider audience. My methodology is comprised of close textual analysis of an isolated body of works with a strong literary anthropological stress. Besides the literary texts of the groups, I examine memoirs, letters, diary entries and other “historical” documents. Some scholars (e.g., Walker) have expressed concern that the contemporaries’ memoir tradition is at times untrustworthy as a historical source, arguing that it has a tendency toward exaggeration and relies on an oral intelligentsia tradition of gossip and storytelling. For my purposes, it does not matter that the sources might not be completely historically accurate or might be exaggerated. What matters here is how the participants chose to present themselves and those around them. Furthermore, I treat memoir as part of the fabric of which literary culture is composed and, as such, I do not feel it is necessary to distinguish between memoir and “primary text,” or “real” and “fictional.” 18 18 Chapter 1. Early Precedents: Sacrilegious Humor, Theatrical Interludes, and Peter the Great’s “Vseshuteishii, vsep’ianeishii i sumasbrodneishii sobor” (1690s – 1720s) This chapter discusses several aspects of medieval Russian literary culture that are later taken up by Russian parodic male societies, whether consciously or through some kind of unconscious cultural memory. Among those are the themes of sacrilegious satire and drinking and can be found in 16th-century works such as “Sluzhba kabaku,” “Kaliazinskaia chelobitnaia,” “Prazdnik kabatskikh iaryzhek,” and “Skazanie o brazhnike.” Theatrical interludes are another aspect of medieval Russian culture from which the later male societies borrow; especially important here are the social satire, the performative aspect (i.e. play-acting) and communal creativity (the interludes were performed by a group of student friends). Finally, we can view Ivan the Terrible’s oprichniki and Peter the Great’s All Drunken All-Drunken Synod as a unification of all these aspects of the laughing world of Old Russian culture. The elements to which this study pays close attention and which, as we shall see, are presented in sacred terms and repeated in later male societies include satirizing official culture, the themes of drinking and love for one’s friends, and theatrical performance both in front of the other members of the group and in front of the wider public (this is expressed by behaviors such as dressing up in costume, playing pranks on one another and the public, and making speeches simply for shock value or for the sake of drawing attention to oneself). Peter the Great’s society is not a literary one but Peter did try to establish a new aesthetic culture, so we may view the society as part of the same trend. 19 19 Chapter 2: Arzamasskoe obshchestvo bezvestnykh liudei (1815 – 1818) This chapter establishes the first “modern” and literary example of the phenomenon defined in this study. “Arzamasskoe obshchestvo bezvestnykh liudei,” or The Arzamas Society of Obscure People (Arzamas for short), aestheticizes the themes of indolence, overeating and overdrinking and engage in theatrical behaviors. The members mock official culture and institutions, most significantly the Beseda Society, the Russian and French Academies and the Masons. Each meeting is a kind of bacchanal, similar to the meetings staged by the All-Drunken Synod. The Arzamasians praise drunken revelry and laziness in their writings, and each of their feasts ends in a feast of goose, thematized in their literary writings. By taking on stage names, wearing strange clothes for shock value and engaging in public pranks, they stage performances in front of their peers and the wider public. At times, we even see that they write out “stage directions” to each other. At the same time, these themes are wrapped in a rhetoric of piety and holiness, showing that they, too, like Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod present their aesthetic goals in sacred terms. Considering that they wrote during a period when the state expected strong nationalistic or laudatory literature that praised the tsar and his court, we can view the Arzamasian carnivalesqu rebellion as a way of arguing that the institution of literature should be freed from the control of the state and that it should become more democratized. 20 20 Chapter 3. Koz’ma Prutkov and His Creators (1850s – 1860s) Like the Arzamasians, the Koz’ma Prutkovians create an atmosphere of witty exchanges and friendly discussions and pranks. They continue the Arzamasian themes of parodying official culture (especially bureaucracy and didacticism, which were the main target of their parodies) and behaviors such as public pranks. The theme of drunken revelry is missing, but the domestic setting is emphasized even more because the members were all relatives and socialized at one another’s estates on a very intimate level. There is a direct link between the two societies in the face of A. A. Perovsky, pen name Antonii Pogorel’skii, Aleksei Tolstoi’s uncle, who was closely connected to Arzamas. Koz’ma Prutkov was active during Nicholas I, when censorsip was tightened. Koz’ma Prutkov’s literary themes and real-life behaviors, like those of Arzamas, argue for a freer institution of literature. Chapter 4: Serapion Brothers (1921 – 1925) The Serapion Brothers as a whole continues a trend established in Arzamas and the All-Drunken Synod, including theatricality, especially in the form of wearing ostentatious or even shocking clothes, and performing in front of one another and the public (e.g., rehearsing their speeches and later acting like these speeches were impromptu). Just as Arzamas and the All-Drunken Synod, the group also presents its aesthetic project in sacred terms and exhibits a number of hagiographic motifs, e.g., the members view themselves as martyrs; they stress the poverty in which they live and in which they have to create art, thus giving their letters and works a lament-like quality; 21 21 they emphasize the sacrifices they make and the suffering they endure in order to do what they believe in, i.e., creation of a new literature in unison with the newly created socialist state. Chater 5: Dovlatov and his Sobutyl’niki (1960s-1970s). The manifestation of these values and behaviors halts during the Stalin era but re- emerges in the 1960s, with Dovlatov and his circle. Drinking and debauchery is a central theme picked up from Arzamas and Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod. Just as the Arzamasians, members of this group and their protagonists engage in a performance by play-acting in front of one another and in front of the “outside world” and by wearing ostentatious clothes, drawing attention to themselves and playing pranks on the public. The hagiographic motifs are prevalent here as well, as the protagonists frequently describe their “martyrdom”: giving up everything in “this world”—money, jobs, respect, interactions with their loved ones, and even their country—for the sake of pursuit of their writings. Again, the authors of the Dovlatov circle argue for the freeing of literature from the ideological demands of the state. 22 22 Chapter 1: Early Precedents !"#$%&' ($#)%*+', ,%(+-" & ($./)0+', 1"2+/"#), -3+*4+/5("#) 6$ 3 7*"35, + 0*'#" 3 ./+8. (6$-*+9"3, !"#$ %& '$() *)+, -"."/") Ivan the Terrible is known to have had a strange humor that often involved cruelly pranking those around him. In popular tales, for example, the tsar is portrayed ordering a book on a lectern in church to be turned upside-down and the choir to be made drunk so that they sleep through the service (Veselovskii 322). In his games, Ivan the Terrible placed the Tatar prince Simeon Bekbulatovich on his own throne and wrote “petitions” to him as if to the real tsar, signing them simply “Ivanets Vasilev” (Ivanov, Byzantium 287). Ivan also made his cohorts dance in masks at banquets and masquerade as monks while Ivan styled himself as Father Superior. A century and a half later, Peter the Great’s “Vseshuteishii, vsep’ianeishii i sumasbrodneishii sobor,” or “All-Joking, All-Drunken and Wild Synod” invented rules intentionally created to parody religious rites and ceremonies. The members created a charter that prescribed carnivalesque vestments to be worn and travesty “roles” for each member. Several of these stand out. The first commandment was that members were to 23 23 get drunk every day and may never go sober to bed. And just as a baptismal candidate was asked, “Do you believe?” so a candidate for this institution was to be asked, “Do you drink?” Those who lapsed into sobriety after initiation were to be barred from all the inns of the Empire and a “heretic” was to be banned from the society. In the same vein, a wooden receptacle for vodka was used in place of the Holy Bible and two tobacco-pipes were placed at right angles to mimic a cross during their ceremonies (Klyuchevsky 49; Anderson 121). The Charter also prescribed the vestments to be worn and prescribed “roles” for each member. Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great not only parodied the Church and its rituals but made a mockery of their own personal power. Ivan, for example, took the name Parfenii Urodivyi—playing on the phonetic resemblance of urodivyi (i.e., “monstrous”) and iurodivyi (“holy fool”) (Birnbaum 498). Peter the Great appointed Prince Theodore Romadonovsky King-Emperor and called him “your Imperial Illustrious Majesty” while Peter took the role of a simple servant and called himself “your bondsman and eternal slave Peter” or simply “Petrushka Alexeev” (Klyuchevsky 48). Scholars such as Uspenskij have pointed out that by mocking their own power, the two rulers imitate the performances of the medieval holy fool and, in such a way, who feigns insanity, pretends to be silly or provokes shock or outrage for didactic purposes and often to convince of his humility and holiness. Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great single out certain medieval themes, the most important of which are the feigned humility of the iurodivyi, the playful masquerades of the skomorokh and the sacrilegious humor of texts such as “Sluzhba kabaku” and 24 24 “Kalizianskaia chelobytnaia,” and collect them to create their inverted and debauched societies. The two societies replicate the very logic of medieval humor and especially of theatrical interludes. Theatrical interludes, comedic scenes of everyday life that were used as a break or an interruption during the performance of mystery plays and which expressed the political opinions and social sympathies of the people, are another important aspect of late medieval laughing culture. As we shall see, the structure and function of the theatrical interludes is isomorphic to those of parodic male societies such as Ivan’s oprichniki, Peter’s All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas in the early 19th century, Koz’ma Prutkov in the mid 19th century, and so on. The societies emerge during times of particularly difficult literary and historical moments and bring out a shadow world of “anti-values” that serves the function of destroying the causal relationship between rules and behavior that gives meaning to the regular, constricted and rigid world. We should note that both Ivan and Peter were perceived as performing some kind of theater by their contemporaries. In the eyes of his contemporaries, Peter transformed his entourage into mummers by forcing the members to wear “German,” i.e., European clothes, just as Ivan’s oprichniki had appeared in their time as mummers too (Uspenskij 273). Ivan’s and Peter’s games were not created just for the rulers’ entertainment; rather, were meaningful institutions that served a function. By bringing the carnivalesque, theatrical and sacriligeous together in a single society, the two leaders respond to something particular of their respective eras. During both Ivan the Terrible’s and Peter the Great’s rules, Russian society underwent a significant restructuring. In the 16th century, Ivan the Terrible managed many changes in the progression from a medieval 25 25 state to an empire and established Russia as an emerging regional power, after the Mongol invasion had dispersed the state into small principalities. In the late 17th century, Peter the Great imposed fundamental changes on his country by leading a cultural revolution that replaced the traditionalist and medieval social and political system with a modern, scientific, Europe-oriented and rationalist system (e.g., see James Cracraft). The parodic, debauched societies the leaders founded were a way for them to legitimize this restructuring and assert their own authority. Scholars such as Uspenskij and Zitser have argued that by giving up their thrones and making fun of their own power, they reasserted their god-given right to it. The Laughing World: Iurodivye, Skomorokhi, Theatrical Interludes Some historical and cultural context will aid in better understanding the issues. The rules governing everyday behavior in Medieval Russian were rigid. In the Muscovite era, laughter was frowned upon, even forbidden, and from the 14th to the end of the 17th century, it was heresy to write down folk songs and tales. As late as the middle of the 17th century, it was strictly prohibited by the Tsar’s decree “to dance, play games or watch them; at wedding feasts either to sing or play on instruments; or to give over one’s soul to perdition in such pernicious and lawless practices as word-play, farces and magic. To wear masks or skomorokhi clothes, to be skomorokhi or to play on gusli, bubni, gudki” (qtd. in Malnick 203). Offenders under the first and second laws were to be beaten with rods and under the third and fourth, they were to be banished to the border towns (Malnick 203). The skomorokhi, entertainers and primitive actors of medieval Russia, 26 26 were mercilessly hounded by the Church (Malnick 203). Many literary works mention these persecutions, Avvakum’s autobiography being the most prominent. This attitude toward laughter is not surprising considering the claim of St. John Chrysostom, an important Eastern Church father, that Christ never laughed (Birnbaum 505). John Chrysostom also declared that Jesus was often sorrowful, that no one ever saw him laugh or even smile a little, and that play is the work of the devil (505). Despite this, various elements existed that satisfied, at least in part, people’s need for spectacle and laughter. There were ceremonies inherited from antiquity that had lost much of their original character and become primitive forms of entertainment. Some of these include skomorokhi, iurodivye, carnival, mummery, and celebrations of Yuletide and Shrovetide. In this category, Malnick notes, is a complex dramatic performance in the form of the famous “hunting” ceremony called the Siberian Bear Feast, which survived in certain remote regions until after the October Revolution (205). The marriage ceremony was another spectacular performance, as marriage was not celebrated but “played” (205). Ceremonies at Christmastide provided the same function, when, as Patriarch Joachim described in 1684, “from the oldest to the youngest put on idolatrous and satanic masks and with devilish cunning tempt Orthodox Christians with dances and craftiness” (qtd. in Malnick 205). These values, which become central in later parodic male societies such as Arzamas, should be examined because they provide a clue into the ways in which merriment become subversive alternatives to official formality. At the core of the medieval world of laughter were skomorokh, or the street actor, the iurodivye, or holy fools, and theatrical interludes. In the Middle Ages and even 27 27 as late as the 17th century, i.e., the period of the Christian chronicles, skomorokhi took an active part in all ceremonies (Malnick 205). They are recorded as gusli players singing wonder tales and epics to their own accompaniment, acrobats, tightrope walkers, jugglers, conjurers and dancers (Taruskin 1240-1242). They entertained both high and low and catered to all tastes. In the royal court and the houses of the princes they played the gusli, sang songs and told tales; in the village marketplaces and on the streets, their humor was cruder and broader, their antics unrestrained, their songs often bawdy, and their dancing obscene (Warner 188). They were a perennial favorite at village festivities, taking on active role in all the available types of entertainment, training and leading bears and playing the music for their dances, showing puppets and, at Christmas and Shrovetide, leading the game dressed in the traditional animal masks (Warner 188). They also participated in domestic rituals like weddings, where they performed the roles of wedding jester and master of ceremonies (Zguta 199). Historians know them in particular to have entertained Ivan the Terrible with their singing and dancing (especially “historical songs” glorifying the Tsar’s own exploits) (Taruskin 1242). Lastly, the skomorokhi seem to have played the decisive role in preserving the ancient heroic epos of Kievan Rus’, the bylini, which survived into modern times only in the far north of Russia, where the skomorokhi had taken refuge when driven out of Muscovy by Tsar Aleksei Mikhailovich in 1648 (they were subsequently excommunicated from the Orthodox church in 1657) (Taruskin 1242). By the 18th century they were virtually extinct (Zguta 299). The role of the skomorokhi in thus propagating a wide variety of Russian folklore, verbal and musical, is so well well-established that a link between their activity 28 28 and the growth of actual theater in Russia seems implicit. Scholars have argued that they were the earliest representatives of Russian popular epos, theater, and music (Taruskin 1242). Hence, skomorokhi represent the origins of folk theater in Russia and Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great borrow elements from their performances, thus carrying certain of their themes and cultural meanings. These include dressing up, masquerading, engaging in crass humor and staging a kind of performances, however subtle. The iurodivyi also straddles several of the themes that become important to the parodic societies, the most important being his feigned foolishness (which is an aspect of the theatrical and laughing culture), his asceticism and his parody of self as a way of achieving humility. The holy fool, or iurodivyi, feigns insanity, pretends to be silly or provokes shock or outrage by his deliberate unruliness (Ivanov 1). In some ways, the holy fool’s behavior is no different from that of a madman or any other troublemaker or delinquent, yet he is accorded notably high status in society. The term does not apply to all such behavior, however. The scholars Ivanov, Likhachev and Uspenskij all see him as a righteous man who assumes a guise of irrationality for ascetic and didactic purposes. Pancheko draws on hagiographic and historical sources to delineate two main aspects of iurodstvo—spectacle and protest. Making references to St. Paul’s remarks about becoming a fool that one may be wise (1 Cor. 3:18) and being fools for Christ’s sake (1 Cor. 4:10), the holy fools of Byzantium and, subsequently, medieval Russia chose a radical form of asceticism and were akin to the Cynics of antiquity while inspired by Christ’s kenosis (Birnbaum 491- 2). Eager to bring out the irreconcilable conflict between the merely apparent rationality 29 29 of this world and Christian truth, the holy fool feigned insanity to scorn and deride the world. And by suppressing all human reason he attained a heightened state of consciousness allowing him to communicate directly with God, which was sometimes interpreted as the gift of clairvoyance and prophecy. In Byzantium, most fools in Christ were monks or former monks who, however, did not act as hermits but on the contrary, mingled with the masses, often without clothes and shelter, and lived in the porches and courtyards of churches and monasteries by the alms they would receive, not so much from the rich but from ordinary people or even poor folk (Birnbaum 492). Iurodstvo Khrista radi, or holy foolishness for the sake of Christ, peaked during the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries. Iurodivyi, or holy fool, is a term for a person who feigns insanity, pretends to be silly or who provokes shock or outrage by his deliberate unruliness (Ivanov 1). Holy fools were very common and could be seen on the street, at any public gathering, at the market, during holidays, sometimes wearing chains or naked. In some ways, the holy fool’s behavior is no different from that of a madman (or more broadly, that of any other trouble-maker or delinquent) yet he is accorded notably high status in society. For example, in the time of Ivan IV, they were famous for their nakedness. In the 19th century, most of them abandoned the custom of wearing no clothes at all and instead put on rags. Only in remote villages, where life went on in much the same way as in the 16th century, could one encounter naked iurodivye roaming the countryside (Thompson 2). Their nakedness was never considered a sign of sexual promiscuity, but rather of deep spirituality (2). 30 30 Scholars have shown that by engaging in such outrageous or scandalous practices, the holy fool stands in opposition to routine. The point of the iurodivy’s performance is to renew constant truths. The iurodivyi tries to arouse in the indifferent viewer a spectacle that is “strange and miraculous.” By its external signs his performance can be similar to the skomorokh show but its function is different—it is a laughing cover that hides its didactic purposes. The peculiarity and originality of the iurodivyi games, Panchenko argues, is in the special role of the viewer, a figure equal in significance to the actor- director-iurodivy himself in this spectacle. The emotional response of the observer- participant is mandatory, since the entire “spectacle” is called forth by the fulfillment of the purpose of a feat: public service (Moteiunaite 3). Panchenko argues that the holy fool’s protest does not have anything to do with revolt, radicalism or reform ideas. The iurodivy does not infringe upon social order; he exposes people, not circumstances. He is, in a way, a conservative moralist. Because of his rigor and strict, uncompromising morality, he does not distinguish between the objects of his reproach. He does not care whom he exposes—the homeless or the king. This theme will become important in some of the later societies as the male writers will use it to engage in social protest and to expose others but also themselves. We see something here in the behavior of Ivan the Terrible, who uses his entire court to stage a spectacle in order to show people and himself that he is the rightful tsar, as we shall see. By their eccentric behavior, the holy fools sought, above all, to convince themselves of their humility and holiness (Birnbaum 487). Thus the laughter-provoking spectacles of the holy fools are said to have been “theater for themselves.” Theater for the 31 31 participants themselves also included the Shrovetide—and, one might add, Yuletide— masquerades, having pre-Christian, pagan roots, as well as other “laughter customs,” as they had only participants and no spectators (487). When Peter the Great takes on the role of a simple servant, “Petrushka,” thus implying that he is a simple, perhaps even foolish, and servile man, he reenacts the behavior of the holy fool for secular purposes. Ivan does the same when he signs his letters to the travesty tsar “Ivanets” and takes the name Parfenii Urodivyi (Birnbaum 498). If the holy fools feigned their insanity, it seems that Ivan played at being a holy fool but without showing any virtue or holiness. Therefore this facet of his character attests to Ivan’s love of play and theatricality. As Uspenskij argues, just as laypeople had to accept the holiness of the iurodivye without being able to find a rational explanation for their eccentricity, so Ivan felt that his subjects simply had to submit to his divine authority regardless of the nature of his behavior (271-273). An important aspect of the “world of laughter” of the late medieval Russia are also theatrical interludes. 3 During the summer vacations, the needy pupils of the Kiev- Mohila College, the first Latin academy based on Western models and the first to perform mystery plays starting in the 1630s, formed companies and departed to different 3 Malnick argues that theater in Russia arose as a response to the Catholic threat coming from Poland, which makes us think that the issues might not be necessarily Russia versus the West but Orthodox versus Catholic. Similarly, historians have argued that the main feature of Peter the Great’s Synod was the parodying of the rites and ceremonies of the Catholic Church. I think it began as a parody of the Russian Church and was later reframed either by historians or by Peter himself as a mockery of the Catholic Church only. 32 32 provinces and suburban encampments for the collection of alms and the performance of mystery plays (Malnick 205-207; Varneke 15-16). The plays had comic interludes, which enlivened the texts of the school plays. Even though it might seem that the so-called intermedii and interludyi are of Catholic and Western origin, this is not quite the case. Scholars such as Berkov have shown that these are closely linked to the Russian igrishcha. Igrishcha were short, entertaining scenes of everyday life, first performed only during intermissions between acts of larger plays at the school theaters in the scholastic institutions in Moscow, Kiev and others. They were performed in front of a lowered curtain and were, essentially adaptations of folk anecdotes, jokes and so forth. They were called “mezhdorechiia” or “mezhduvbroshennaia zabavnaia igralishcha” by playwrights of the 17th century (Berkov 16). Unlike the folk igrishcha, whose formal features were mainly irregular, rhymed tonal meter, the interludes were written mainly in syllabic 13- foot verse (16). Evidence of the performance of the interludes was preserved from the first steps of Russian theater, i.e., the last quarter of the 18th century. A small number of 17th-century interludes have survived; more interludes are known from the 18th century (Berkov 16-17). Since some of these interludes were written in rhymed tonal verse and not in syllabic verse, Berkov conjectures that, along with the “scholastic” interludes, there existed also folk interludes (Berkov 17). A large quantity of these was printed in the form of lubok pictures with corresponding texts (Berkov 16-17). The interludes depicted everyday life, selecting character types familiar in the South, such as a gypsy, a Jew, a Cossack, and a Polish gentleman (Malnick 207; Varneke 16). These local types were reproduced with peculiarities of dialect and costume 33 33 and reflected the political opinions and social sympathies of the people (Malnick 208). Sometimes the interludes were monologues but more often they were dialogues. Like the igrishcha, the majority had a sharp satiric character. Often the object of laughter in the interludes was the same as in the igrishcha: the naked barin of the igrishcha became the Polish gentleman (“shliakhtich”); judges, secretaries, minor officials, doctors, sextons and monks were mocked in the interludes with more sharpness and acrimoniousness than in the igrishcha (Berkov 17). (Tsars were not portrayed in the interludes, since they were performed at schools [17].) The similarities between igrishcha and interludes in the second half of the 18th century grew so much that it is difficult to distinguish them in the repertoire of that period, especially since at that time, interludes separated from the scholastic plays and from the professional repertoire and became independent. Their popularity was so great that each organizer of “Russian comedies” indicated in his application to the police that he was going to perform comedies and “some interludes” (Berkov 17). But both igrishcha and interludes, along with the satiric tendencies, also included simply comedic elements. That is why we find in them, just like in folktales, funny scenes (Berkov 17). As a result, at the end of the 18th century, the word “intermediia” started to mean “comic incident” or “amusing adventure” (Berkov 17). Even though the interlude skits were sometimes monologues and other times had three participants, their typical form was a kind of conversation: the most representative ones include “Povest’ o Fome i Ereme” (“Tale about Erema and Foma”) and “Razgovor Farnosa i Pigas’i s tseloval’nikom Ermakom” (“The Conversation of Farnos and Pigasia 34 34 with the Tavern-Keeper Ermak”). These texts are typically in the syllabic verse and the activities, nonsense and mayhem of the principals are structured only in that Foma and Erema perform as a pair and whatever Foma does, Erema somehow counterbalances or mirrors in the next line (Farrell 555). This kind of thing could be improvised, one line suggesting the next, especially since the rhymes often relied on parallel verb endings (Farrell 555). The themes of wit, being quick-witted, and masculine friendship are later picked up by Arzamas and the other societies, whose members engage in public sparring matches by employing the same type of back-and-forth witty exchanges. The adaptation of interludes carried with it the appearance of special, more or less constant heroes of this genre, the so-called “foolish persona”—at first, “jester” (shut), later buffoon/ “gaer” and finally, harlequin, which entered folk theater from the repertoire of the “high” theater (18). Some of the plays contained cynical, vulgar jokes and obscenities. Whenever the jester was present in the plays, he always kept characteristics that made him understandable and pleasant for the folk viewer; he always expressed the sympathies and antipathies of the folk (Berkov 18). In the best interludes, this jester, buffoon, or harlequin was a creation of Russian folk theater even though he had a foreign name. He is very similar to cheerful, happy-go-lucky and provocative Petrushka, filled with dislike and disrespect for official Russia, the Russia of nobility, minor officials, monks and priests. He also has a sharp tongue, speaks in rhymed prose and does not avoid strong words. A number of interludes and igrishcha were also performed—mostly likely in very changed form—in the puppet theater of Petrushka. 35 35 Petrushka wins over the doctor, the priest, the policeman, the devil and even death (Berkov 18). A comedy about Petrushka is composed of a series of scenes, internally connected by the presence of the protagonist and his worldview and externally seeming to be mechanically coherent. At a first glance, the sequence of the scenes is also accidental, but in reality this is not so. Such personages as the district manager, the corporal, doctor, priest, and so on, are well-known to the folk viewer from everyday life (byt), and did not need a detailed psychological development for their acts or motivations. They entered the play already completed, and what was interesting to the viewer was not their development but rather their overcoming, their shaming (19). 4 In the latter 18th century, interludes acquired a serious social content. In the post- Petrine epoch, when plays with “serious” repertoire started to loose their progressive character and started began to express more and more obviously the ideology of the governing class, which was opposed to the interests of the democratic masses. The festive persona in such “conversations” was replaced. A learned person was now paired with a simple but wise person (e.g., as in “The Conversation between the Bibliophile and the 4 The “raek,” or the lubok “panorama,” consisting not of actors or puppets but of pictures whose showing was accompanied by rhymed explanations of sharp satiric character, also belong to folk art and were common to both folk art and folk theater (Berkov 19-20). The raek was a small box of 0.71m—or one “arshin”—on all sides with two magnifying glasses in the front. The viewers looked at the magnifying glass as the machine showed pictures and told stories for each new number (Berkov 20). Berkov writes that the success of the raek among the folk viewers can be explained by the fact that illiteracy was common and the sharp satiric notes were easy to remember because they were in verse closely resembling the principles of folk aesthetics (Berkov 20). 36 36 Boy” or “The Conversation between the Philosopher and the Peasant”) (Farrell 556). The popular aspect was gone. The themes and, in fact, the very logic of the interludes, however, are brought back occasionally by parodic male societies such as Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, or societies that engage in parodic and theatrical behavior that expresses the views of the people such as Serapion Brothers and Dovlatov’s Circle. All of these societies take up the theme of the stupidity and vulgarity of officialdom but they parody form and not content. In such a way, one may argue that they lightly parody but do not intend to bring for change; rather they intend to maintain the status quo. The popular saying “6$ 2&45$, + #+9/$(&:+” explains a lot about the festive life of medieval Russian people: it provided an alternative view and way of life that was the opposite of the regular, constricted and defined life people lived. As we have seen, it meant a feast as opposed to scarcity, social equality as opposed to strict social hierarchy and carousing with no thought for the morrow and it gave sexual license (Farrell 552- 553). Likhachev and Panchenko, basing their work on Bakhtin’s examination of Medieval France, argue that medieval laughter (which is composed of the skomorokhi, iurodivyi and theatrical interludes) functioned as an incomplete and open-ended operating system, thus serving to create an “anti-world” that was opposed to and at the same time contingent upon the real world. Because it could not construct a self-contained, internally balanced system, it was in fact a “shadow world” (Likhachev 35). Likhachev writes that laughter contains both a destructive and a constructive force. It disturbs the existent links and meanings we find in life. It shows the 37 37 senselessness and absurdity of the world of causal relationships that gives meaning to our world, the conventions of man’s behavior and life of the society (3). Laugher makes one silly; it unmasks and undresses. In a way, it brings the world back to its original chaos. It rejects the inequality of social relationships by rejecting social laws that lead to that inequality and showing their unfairness and randomness (3). Laughter also has a constructive function, even if it is in imagination only. By destroying the regular world, it builds its own world of absurdities, illogic and freedom from conventions. Psychologically, laughter removes the duty to behave according to conventions and societal norms, even if just temporarily and it removes psychological traumas and alleviates man’s difficult life, it calms him and cures him. Laughter restores the disturbed in another sphere contacts between people because those who laugh become conspirators who see and understand something that they did not see before or that others do not see (3-4). One of the main features of medieval laughter is that it is directed against the very person laughing. The laughing person more often than not laughs at himself, at his own bad deeds and his own bad luck. By laughing, he portrays himself as an unlucky person and a fool. He plays the fool by wearing his clothes upside down or putting on his hat the wrong way and in this behavior, there is implicit criticism of the existing world. This is why the fool is intelligent: he knows the world more than his contemporaries (Likhachev 5). For Likhachev and Panchenko the Old Rus’ world of laughter—the other, inside- out, topsy-turvy “shadow” word world (mir kromeshnyi) is actually an anti-world with a sign system and an anti-culture all its own, in which poverty, hunger, drunkenness, and 38 38 confusion or lack of system hold sway instead of wealth, satiety, sobriety, and order, which predominate in the “real” world. The function of the nonsense, laughter, and foolery of this patently absurd and unreal anti-world is to destroy the sign system of the “real” world and to challenge and peel away its false exterior. By doing this, it lays bare the truth and shows that everything and everyone is equal even though etiquette, pomp, and ceremony attempt to conceal this fact (Pope 476). The role of medieval laughter is to provide “some kind of deliverance from the unpleasant,” the unpleasant in Rus’ being the sober world of the Old Russian establishment. The ultimate role of old Russian laughter has a social ethical basis; it is not merely to provide catharsis but to remind one of “truth” and to imply a return toward “right” and away from the aberrations of contemporary reality (476). Thus, by engaging in these behaviors, Ivan and Peter are not only entertaining themselves; nor are they simply using entertainment as a valve to release pressure from the rigid structures of medieval Russian culture. They are, in a way, legitimizing their power. They say, even if I give up the throne, it is still mine because I have a divine right to it. A turning point occurred in the 17th century, when the “other” world starts to become the real world, where poverty, taverns, and homeless wanderers in rags threaten to become social norms (Pope 477). In seventeenth-century satirical literature, the “other” world no longer simply serves as a foil for praising the real world as it did in such pre- satirical works as the “Molenie Daniila Zatochnika,” but now serves as a vehicle for ridiculing the real world, exposing the disorder of the ordered world and showing that the world of nakedness and poverty is no longer unreal. The world of anti-culture exposes 39 39 the falseness of the world of culture and “democratic” authors go over to the side of the anti-world. The whole medieval system of world and anti-world finally comes to an end when the two worlds coalesce and satire stops being funny. “Povest’ o gore i zlochastii,” in which the world of nakedness, hunger and taverns is real, at least for the masses, is no longer funny but tragic (Pope 477). Later groups such as the All-Drunken Synod bring out this element of the anti- world during particularly difficult political or historical times when there is no world and anti-world, when humor is impossible, when there is too much negativity, repression, hunger or war, too much instability. This medieval system of world and anti-world is brought back occasionally through societies such as Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, and so on. The societies create a “shadow world” of the type created by the various elements in the medieval era in order to cope with repressive or authoritative regimes or just with unstable political and social situations. Satirical Texts There are no identifiable “parodic male societies” during the medieval or late medieval period, i.e., up to the seventeenth century. This could be either because we do not have enough information about the period or because they did not exist. We know there were texts parodying church services as well as social and political life. But these works are usually anonymous, most likely because of the sensitive nature of the material or because of censorship (Adrianova-Peretts 170). Although the author’s names could have been lost early on, the anonymity could also be due to the fact that authorship had a 40 40 different meaning than the one we have today. In the medieval era, many texts and spoken stories made the rounds without attribution; furthermore, the authors were almost certainly monks (because it was mostly monks who were literate at the time), who often did not sign their work. But in either case, we can conjecture that their authors, because of their literacy and familiarity with canonical and Biblical texts, were monks and, hence, most likely part of a monastic community as this was the most common form of monasticism in Russia—hermits were few. But these are just guesses and the fact remains that there is no evidence of a “parodic community” similar to the oprichniki or the All- Drunken Synod, 150 years later. However, there are texts that very clearly exhibit the themes of drunkenness and mocking the clergy. In the second half of 17th century, literary satire attacking both governmental institutions and everyday social phenomena began to develop in Russia with higher intensity. Satire was directed at legal procedures (e.g., “Povest’ o Shemiakinom sude” is about Ersha Ershov, about drunkenness and the lack of discipline) and the self-interest of the clergy (e.g., “Kaliazinskaia chelobitnaia,” “Povest’ o pope Savve and others”) (Adrianova-Peretts 171). After the Time of Trouble, class fighting was widespread and people from the ruling class to the serfs were unhappy with the administration. But these people were often with no rights or were powerless and could not really enter real, active protests, which is why satire became an appropriate weapon for them (Adrianova-Peretts 171-172). On the one hand, there was discord inside the ruling class, which forced some noblemen to unite with representatives from other classes; the tension between noblemen and the lower classes rose; groups criticizing 41 41 certain governmental elements emerged fast. Along with this, there was also the nonstop fermentation of the peasants and the tradesmen class. There were numerous petitions in Moscow, in attempts to gain or return their rights (171). “Sluzhba kabaku” and “Prazdnik kabatskikh iaryzhek” are pamphlet-parodies posing the question of the harm of the “tsareva kabaka” (172). The theme of criticizing official culture, government and bureaucratese is one that the parodic societies take up. One such work, “Sluzhba kabaku,” is the story of a drunkard who is robbed in a tavern. Compositionally, the story resembles dedication service to a holy martyr (“khramovaia sluzhba”) and, by bringing together two incongruous images—the drunkard and the servant of god—it transgressed the accepted associations of the time (Adrianova-Peretts 175). The work is anonymous but from the text it is quite clear that the author knew the canonical church services, as well as all there was to know about everyday tavern life. This is why scholars conjecture that the author was most likely a priest or deacon who became a drunkard (Adrianova-Peretts 176). The work is extant in three versions, the oldest of which is from 1666. There is evidence that this parody was known in the 18th century in Moscow and Nizhnii Tagil and in Siberia this work was popular right up to the 20th century, which means that many of the writers discussed in this study probably knew it well (especially Ivanov, who was from Siberia) (Kuskov 186). The same themes are present also in “Kaliazinaskaia chelobitnaia” (in the manuscripts of the 17th and 18th centuries, it is called “;0&9"- 9 <$/"7&4(=$, -+-"3+ 0"%+(+ 3 185 (1677) ."%) !+/'8&(+ #+(+94=*' "4 -*=/">+( (+ +*?&#+(%*&4+ 42 42 @+3*&&/+ 3 $." ($&90*+3("# 2&4&& 9/"3" 3 9/"3" 0*$"93'A$(("#) ;&#$"() +*?&$0&9-"0) B3$*9-"#) & !+>&(9-"#)”). It was written around 1677 in the form of a parody of a petition. The text describes the life of the monks of the Troitskii Makar’ev monastery, close to Kaliazin, who spent their time in idleness (“v bezdel’e”) and drunkenness (“v p’ianstve”), two issues that would become central in Peter’s All- Drunken Synod, Arzamas, and Dovlatov’s Circle (Kuskov 186-187). The document exposes the everyday life and customs of monastic life. The monks separated themselves from worldly vanity not to give themselves to prayer and penitence but rather to lead a life of debauchery. In the form of a humble petition, the monks complain to Simeon of Tversk and Kashinskii about their new archpriest—the supervisor of the monastery, Gavriil. Using the form of an official document, the tale shows the incongruity between the actual life of the monks and the demands of the monastic regulations. The norm of living in the monastery has become drinking, gluttony and lechery, not fasting and prayer. This is why the monks are indignant at the new archpriest, who attempts to bring back the rules and wants them to follow the regulations. They complain that he does not leave them in peace but wants them to attend church and pray and does not allow them to sleep. They are also indignant at the fact that Gavriil tries to strictly guard their morality (Kuskov 186-187). The text points out that the main income of the monastery comes from making beer and wine and exposes the formal piety of the monks, who are unhappy that they are made to go to church and pray. They complain that the archpriest “-+8(= ($ 7$*$2$4, /+%+() & 93$< #("." 22$4, & 4$#, "(, +*?&#+(%*&4, :$*-"35 8+0=/&/, -+%&/= 43 43 8+-"04&/, + (+#, 7"."#"/5:+# 43"&#, 3=$/" "<&, 8+9+%&/" ."*/=” (Kuskov 187). The monks themselves are ready not to go to church at all: “...*&8= & -(&.& 3 9)>&/" 3=($9$#, :$*-"35 8+#-($#, + 0$<+45 3 /)7"- 8+.($#” (Kuskov 187). The satirist also exposes the social discord that was typical for monastery brethren: on the one hand the lower clergy and on the other the upper strata of the leadership and the archpriest. The cruel, greedy and self-interested archpriest becomes the object of satirical exposition as well. He introduces into the monastery a system of bodily punishments, sadistically making the monks shout Biblical canons by whipping them (“shelepami kanony orat’”) and starving them, among other cruelties. The humorous petition demands that the archpriest be quickly replaced by a man who is good at “/$2+ 3&(" %+ 0&3" 0&45, + 3 :$*-"35 ($ ?"%&45.” Aphorisms are typical for this style and here the irony is communicated in humorous folk catchphrases: “C (+#... & 4+- ($ 9=4(": *$0+ %+ ?*$(, %+ <$*(=D <+>(&- EF*$#”; “G=>& 9 ?/$7+ "0)?/&, + #= 9 ."/"%) #*$#” and so on (Kuskov 187). The language is close to spoken language, with rhymed expletives and humorous catchphrases (e.g., “!+- 7= -+8($ 0*&7=/5 )<&(&45, + 9$7$ 3 #">() ($ -"0&45 & *)7+>-& 7 9 9$7' 0*"0&45, 0"4"#) <4" /$.<$ 7)%$4 ?"%&45”) (Kuskov 187). Formal piety is also parodied in “Skazanie o brazhnike,” another anonymous work mostly likely written at the end of the 16th century and extant in 10 variations. In the Russian version, he is a “brazhnik,” or a drunkard, who, finding himself at the gates of heaven, sequentially negotiates with the apostles Peter and Paul, Kings David and Solomon, and Sts. Nicholas and John the Theologian (the number of personages can vary) who are all on the other side of the gates and who argue that drunkards should not 44 44 be accepted into heaven. Defending his right to be in heaven, the drunkard proves to his opponents that they were no less sinful than he was in his life on earth. He uses arguments from the Old and New Testaments, the vita of Stefan Pervomuchenik, and others. The decision to let the drunkard into Heaven is made by God and, in some versions, by John the Theologian. In some versions, there is an episode about the drunkard’s right to be in Heaven and he has one argument: “;3'4&& "4:=! 6$ )#$$4$ 3= ."3"*&45 9 7*+2(&-"#, ($ 4"-#" <4" 9 4*$83=#!” (Kuskov 188). This work gently parodies formal piety and polemicizes with the religious- didactic literature against drinking. The excellent knowledge of the Biblical canon and apocryphal literature, the ease with which the knowledge is presented and the very selection of the material points to the high literary culture of the author. But what is most striking is its positive humanistic content commenting on man’s dignity and on the right of everyone, independent of his social status, to God’s mercy. 5 The humanistic aspect becomes very important in the parodic male societies, as does the interpretation of Orthodox values and morality without judging or punishing but engaging with the world with kindness, mercy, understanding and humility. This issue becomes central in the groups studied here. 6 5 According to L. M. Lotman, Dostoevsky noticed the humanistic pathos of the work and the story was among the sources of Crime and Punishment (302). Cheredinkova shows that the tale is one of the indirect sources of Leskov’s Ocharovannyi strannik (361-369). 6 This idea stands in opposition to the often promoted image of Russian culture as self- flagellating; e.g., see The Slave Soul of Russia: Moral Masochism and the Cult of Suffering, in which Daniel Rancour-Laferriere argues that Russian is a culture of self- flagellation and self-punishment that revels in suffering. 45 45 Another main issue was drinking and much of the satire is directed against the very institution and the economic and social discrepancies it caused but it is also aimed at rules against drinking. Drinking, and especially Russian drinking, is a theme present in all kinds of genres of old Russian literature, beginning with the 11th century and continuing to the 18th century, including songs and sermons, chronicles, tales, parables, syllabic verses, parodies. Drinking described from different points of view but it is always viewed as a phenomenon as deeply rooted in the Russian byt, or everyday life (Adrianova-Peretts 175-6). This should not be surprising considering the Primary Chronicles’ description of Vladimir’s well-known refusal to take on Islam, a religion to which he was allegedly quite attracted, because it did not allow drinking. According to the Primary Chronicles, Vladimir himself liked debauchery and was drawn to Islam’s promise of women in Heaven but decided that the Russian people could not do without drink: “H/+%&#&* 2$ 9/)>+/ &?, 4+- -+- & 9+# /I7&/ 2$( & 39'-&D 7/)%; 0"4"#) & 9/)>+/ &? 39/+945. 6" 3"4 <4" 7=/" $#) ($/I7": "7*$8+(&$ & 3"8%$*2+(&$ "4 93&("." #'9+, + " 0&45$, (+0*"4&3, 9-+8+/ "(: “J)9& $945 3$9$/&$ 0&45: ($ #"2$# 7$8 4"." 7=45” (“Povest’ o vremennykh let” par. 94). Adrianova-Peretts suggest the typicality of the theme throughout the old period of Russian literature is rooted not only in the Christian ideology but also in local conditions, which partly solidified and partly revised this ideology. These local conditions made it so that, beginning from the Byzantine model, where drinking was judged to be a sin, Russian writers under the influence of everyday culture began to detect the economic harm of drinking for certain classes of the population (176). In such a way, the Church 46 46 denunciations of drinking were replaced by a social satire of drinking. Warning words against drinking, composed by the Russian scribe who repeated the argument of the Byzantine Church Fathers, were replaced by pamphlet-parody such as “Prazdnik kabatskikh iaryzhek” (176). The satires present a picture of the drinking clergy. Virtually all foreigners who visited Rus’ during 16th and 17th centuries write about the extensiveness of Russian drinking. The only exception is Mikhail Litvin, who writes that in Moscow and Tatar regions drinking was forbidden and that the people there refrained from drinking. He adds that Ivan IV worries about the sobriety of his people and built for the drunken Lithuanian solders the Nalevki settlement in Moscow (Adrianova-Peretts 177). But all other observers report the opposite. They describe the limitations on drinking imposed by Ivan IV but they saw that people did not cease drinking; rather, people (both men and women) drank all of their money in the tsar’s taverns (kabaki) (177-8). The 17th-century German traveler Adam Olearius describes open taverns in Moscow where anyone could enter, pay money and drink; he writes that often poor people would exchange their clothes for drinks often times going home naked, “the way they were born” (qtd. in Adrianova-Peretts 180-181). He also points out that in every town instead of small taverns, there were “Kruzhechnye dvory,” where small amounts of vodka were not sold but he adds that everyday drinking did not decrease from such a law because several neighbors would get together, buy themselves a shtoff of vodka (~12 liters) and would not leave until they finished it, and frequently got so drunk that they simply lay down side by side. Some bought large quantities of vodka and sold it by the 47 47 glass secretly. Many would fall down and roll around on the streets (“valyatsia po ulitsam”); women also got drunk a lot and were not embarrassed by it—even noble women (Adrianova-Peretts 184). Feudal Russian society allowed the brewing of beer and mead at home under the conditions that one paid the taxes on malt and hops. There were also public drinking houses where food and drinks were served. In the prince towns, these taverns were kept by the princes themselves while in other places, anyone could be a tavern holder (185). Starting with the 15th century limitations were imposed on the rights to prepare drinks and eventually this right was left only for the state and the privilege was kept only for the high classes. In the 15th and first half of 16th centuries the taverns were kept in their previous appearances and only the free taverns were persecuted. Taverns were given to boyars as a way of making money. At the same time, beginning with 1552, it was forbidden for tradespeople as well as for peasants to sell alcoholic beverages (185). This way of running the taverns encouraged the lower classes to spend their money on drinking and, at the same time, made more money for the ruling classes, thus increasing the financial discrepancy between the two (185). Members of the clergy were not unfamiliar with the vice of drinking. Even though wine, vodka, mead and strong beer were not kept in monasteries as a rule —only kvas was used—monks used the freedom when they went outside the monastery and visited friends and did not limit themselves when drinking. Moreover, priests did not discourage people from drinking but rather joined them (184-5). There are numerous accounts of priests being very drunk: “The monks, during the fast, exhaust their bodies to such an 48 48 extent that it is considered sin even to give medicine to the ill; but after the fast, they give themselves to all kinds of debauchery and, looking more like revelers than monks, they roamed around drunk on the plazas. Often one can see them, having gotten rid of all shyness, they give themselves to lechery on the passersby at the plazas” (qtd. in Adrianova-Peretts, “Satire” 191-192). They got drunk at weddings and people had to support the priest from both sides. So, the images of the drunk clergy in “Sluzhba kabaku,” fully correspond to historical witness accounts. Perhaps this is why simple people thought it was ok to get drunk during a holiday, thought it was a religious practice, in a way (Adrianova-Peretts, “Satire” 185). Drinking in the mind of medieval Russian people and later writers is deeply tied to Russian culture and is viewed as a “national” trait; furthermore, they believe it is closely linked to the Orthodox religion. This theme will re-emerge again in later societies such as All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas and Dovlatov’s circle, which take it up and incorporate it for their own purposes. Ivan the Terrible’s Oprichnina Ivan the Terrible isolated these particular strands of the popular culture—the parody of the Church, masquerading and skomorokh playfulness—and put them all together in his games with the oprichniki. Ivan the Terrible’s irreverent jokes, masquerades, debauchery and theater embody medieval Russian culture’s most important aspects, theater and holy foolishness. Ivan the Terrible (1533 – 1584) had a tendency 49 49 for theatrics, buffoonery and holy foolishness. Likhachev writes that Ivan the Terrible was an original representative of the element of laughter of Old Rus’. By dividing the entire Moscow government into two worlds—oprichnina, his special elite with the lands assigned to its members, and the zemshchina, the remaining domains retained by the boyars—Ivan realized the medieval scheme of world and anti- world (Likhachev 25-28). This is further emphasized by the very terms themselves, as zhemshchina (from zemlia, i.e., land or earth) is correlated with the original land, while the word oprichnina signifies that which is separate, unconnected, or on the outside. This logic of the world and the shadow world is later transferred to societies such as Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod and gets transmitted in more literary societies such as Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, and so on. The oprichnina organized by Ivan the Terrible had a playful, foolish character. As the name itself shows (“oprichnyi,” or “oprishnyi” means strange, separate, not belonging to something fundamental), oprichnina is an inverted kingdom. In the Aleksandovskaia sloboda, the Tsar’s residence and oprichnina capital, the oprichniki danced in masks at banquets and masqueraded as monks while Ivan styled himself as Father Superior. They organized “service orgies” (orgii-sluzhby). Scholars have argued that the oprichnina was organized as its own type of “anti monastery,” with the monastic clothes of the oprichniki as anti-clothes; with drunkenness as anti-fast, with humorous (“smekhovoi”) divine service, with humorous reading of the Church Fathers by Ivan himself about restrain and fast during times of feasting orgies, with humorous conversations about law and lawfulness in times of torture, and so on (Likhachev 30). The oprichnina court is 50 50 reminiscent of a foolish monastery and its customs, of the “sluzhba kabaku.” All ranks of the government were present but they were peculiar: the oprichnina had its own boyars, treasurers, butlers, all kinds of departmental clerks, gentry, children of boyars, stolniki, scriveners, prince’s scribes, strange lodgers, stewards, cooks and so on. By its very idea, the oprichnina was intended to stand in opposition to the zemshchina (Uspenskij 271). Ivan engaged in behaviors resembling those of the holy fools. He directed the laughter at himself, he acted like an exile or as if he was offended, he renounced the throne, he dressed in poor man’s clothes, which was almost the equivalent of baring himself, he danced during church singing, he surrounded himself with a foolish, inverted and “oprishnii” court. Likhachev writes that Ivan’s behavior in life, which extends into his literary style, was characterized by feigned humility and self-humiliation sometimes coupled with masking and disguise (26). In his epistles, which are actually “hidden dialogues” (in which Ivan imagines the position of his opponent and then annihilates it) showing traces of oral thinking as Ivan may have dictated his epistles, Ivan the Terrible was prone to masking (34). He constantly changes the tone of his letters—from pompous and bombastic to servile and humble (27-28). The most characteristic feature of his style is exactly this feigning of meek, submissive tone and simple expressions closely linked to pompous and proud formulas, Church Slavonicisms, and scholarly citations from the Church Fathers (Likhachev 27-28). Ivan the Terible was preparing—or pretended to prepare—to become a monk at the Kirillo-Belozerskii monastery. In his letter to the head monk Kozma he parodies monastic humility: “& #($ #(&49' "-+'(("#), '-" &90"/) $9#5 <$*($:” (qtd. in 51 51 Likhachev 29). The letter begins “K3= #($ .*$>("#)! ."*$ #($ "-+'(("#)! ,? #($ 9-3$*("#)! !4" $9#5 +8 (+ 4+-"3)I 3=9"4) %$*8+4&?” He calls himself “okaiannyi,” “pes smerdiashchii,” “greshnyi i skvernyi,” “nechistyi i skvernyi i dushegub,” and “ubogii dukhom i nishchii” (29). He calls his episle “sueslovie,” or “idle talk.” Repenting and humble tone is mixed with violent, haughty and grand attacks on monastic morals and manners (Likhachev 29-30). Irony in different forms was typical for Ivan’s behavior. For example, when Nikita Kazarinov Golokhvastov became a monk and then took vows of schema, i.e., became ascetic, Grozny said, “,( ... +(.$/: 0"%"7+$4 $#) (+ ($7" 38/$4$4&” (32). For Ivan the Terrible, to laugh meant to annihilate spiritually his opponent (32). And yet, scholars have argued that Ivan’s literary style and his behavior owe more to the tradition of skomorokhi than to the tradition of literature, again, linking Ivan’s aesthetics to theater. Likhachev, for example, suggests that when he divided all of Russia into the oprichnina and the zemshchina, Ivan turned everybody into participants in a grandiose spectacle (34). In 1597, Ivan the Terrible forced his equerry, the boyar Ivan Petrovich Fedorov, who was suspected of conspiracy, to be dressed up in the Tsar’s clothes, given the scepter and other insignia of royalty and be seated on the throne. After this, having bowed down to the ground before him and paid him all the honors befitting a Tsar, Ivan killed the travesty Tsar with his own hand (Uspenskij 268). This is how an eyewitness describes the incident: When he [I. P. Fedorov] arrived at the palace, the tyrant caught sight of him and immediately commanded that he be given the raiment which he 52 52 [Ivan] was wearing himself and that he should be arrayed therein, that he be given the scepter which sovereigns are wont to hold, and then ordered him to mount the royal throne and take his seat in the place where the Grand Prince himself always sat. As soon as Ioann [Fedorov] had done this, albeit with vain protestation (there is after all no sense in trying to justify oneself before a tyrant) and had seated himself on the royal throne in the princely raiment, the tyrant himself rose, stood before him and, baring his head and bowing, knelt before him, saying: “Now you have what you sought, what you aspired to—to be Grand Prince of Muscovy and to occupy my place. So now you are the Grand Prince; rejoice now and enjoy the power after which you thirsted.” Then after a short pause he began again, thus: “However, as it lies in my power to seat you upon this throne, so does it also lie in my power to unseat you.” Thereupon, seizing a knife he thrust it into his chest several times and made all the soldiers there at the time stab him with their daggers. (qtd. in Uspenskij 269) Uspenskij argues that such behavior is fairly typical of Ivan in general and is by no means necessarily linked with the desire to rid himself of an unworthy man or quench his thirst for revenge. Rather, the scholar argues, it is connected with the masquerading and dressing up typical of Ivan and his entourage; in fact, with the game which outwardly might remind one of playing the holy fool but which is in reality radically different from it (Uspenskij 269). 53 53 Even more indicative of Ivan’s theatrics is the well-recorded incident of 1575, when Ivan crowned Simeon Bekbulatovich Tsar, handed over to him all his royal ceremonial and all the royal insignia, himself assuming the name of Ivan of Moscow and playing the role of a simple boyar. The chronicler writes: Ivan Vasil’evich was pleased to make Simeon Bekbulatovich Tsar of Moscow… and crowned him Tsar, and himself assumed the name of Ivan of Moscow, left town and went to live in Petrovka; he handed over all his royal ceremonial to Simeon, while he himself traveled simply, like a boyar, in a cart and when he came into Simeon’s presence he would seat himself far away from the royal throne, together with the boyars. (qtd. in Uspenskij 269) According to some sources, Simeon Bekbulatovich even underwent the sacred rite of coronation, but even this could not make of him a genuine, authentic Tsar. The enthronement of Simeon Bekbulatovich was directly bound up with the reinstatement of the institution of the oprichnina, which also had many features of the masquerade to a marked degree: while Ivan entrusted the zemshchina to Bekbulatovich, he himself controlled the oprichnina. We should point out that I. P. Fedorov was the head of the zhemshchina government, so that in both cases the person at the head of the zemshchina plays the part of the travesty Tsar (269-270). This is no mere coincidence An important twist is that Simeon Bekbulatovich was a direct descendant of the Khans of the Golden Hord, i.e., of those who in their time wielded the real power over the territory of Russia and who called themselves Tsars. (Tsarevich Bekbulata, father of 54 54 Simeon Bekbulatovich, was the grandson of Akhmat, the last Khan of the Golden Horde. So it was that Ivan placed the Tatar Khan on the throne of Russia [270]). Uspenskij argues that in each case, both in that of I.P. Fedorov and in that of Simeon Bekbulatovich, the “game of Tsar” had a symbolic character for Ivan the Terrible and served the function of political “unmasking”: in the first case an actual person (Fedorov, accused of laying claim to royal power) was unmasked, and in the second, a state principle (the rule of the Tatar Khans). In both cases it was the head of the zemshchina who was subjected to being unmasked (Uspenskij 270-271). Part of this behavior replicates that of the skomorokh. Shchmidt, who discusses the influence of folklore on Ivan the Terrible’s language, writes that there is evidence of his participation in folk ritual igrishcha and for his love of folk tales and songs and of the existence of folk genres in his court (260-261). Shchmidt also writes that it is possible Ivan the Terrible developed the typical for him tendency for theatrical effect that under the influence of folk theatrical performances and religious celebrations (261). Peter the Great’s All-Joking, All-Drunken and Wild Synod of Fools and Jesters Just like Ivan the Terrible, Peter the Great was very fond of practical jokes and drinking and liked to engage in debaucheries. He tried to give his debaucheries an official form by turning them into a permanent institution by creating the “All-Drunken and All- Joking and All-Drunken Synod” (“Vseshuteishii, vsep’ianeishii i sumasbrodneishii sobor”) (Klyuchevsky 45-46). The Synod, which he created when was a teenager, lasted until his death, i.e., for almost 30 years. This was not a literary society, like the 55 55 other two circles discussed here, but we cannot ignore the obvious similarities. Furthermore, as Ernest A. Zitser has argued, the Drunken Synod was not an institution at all, parodic or otherwise, but rather a discourse (9). This discourse is picked up by later societies such as Arzamas. The structure of the Synod is as follows. The leading members adopted titles taken from those of the church hierarchy, intending to mock it. A chief buffoon called the “Prince-Pope,” or the “Noisiest, all-Jesting Patriarch of all Moscow, Kokua and Yauza” was the president, a position occupied at various times by Matvei Filimonovich, N. M. Zotov, and B. I. Buturlin (Anderson 121). A college of 12 “cardinals”—all tipplers and gluttons—who were attended by a large suite of bishops, archimandrites, and other dignitaries, advised the Prince-Pope (Klyuchevsky 46-47). These mock-cardinals were carefully chosen from among the most physically deformed stutterers that could be found anywhere and they were outfitted in the traditional garb of their ecclesiastical office, including the red hat (Zguta 22). Peter himself was a deacon of this Order, for which he drew up a Charter that minutely defined the method of electing and installing the “Prince- Pope” and the ritual required for the consecration of the rest of this hierarchy of drunkards (Klyuchevsky 46-47). A number of women were admitted into the organization, notably Daria Gavrilovna Rzhevskaia who was known as the “Arch- Abbess” and who was usually accompanied at all official Synodal functions by a retinue of her “nuns.” Some foreigners were also accorded membership, although Patrick Gordon, one of Peter’s closest associates and also a devout Catholic, is nowhere mentioned as an active member (Zguta 21). 56 56 The commandments and rules were intentionally created to parody religious rites and ceremonial. The first commandment was that members were to get drunk every day and may never go sober to bed. The Synod’s most important tasks were to offer excessive libations to the glory of Bacchus and to lay down a suitable procedure to ensure that “Bacchus be worshipped with strong and honorable drinking and receive his just duties” (Klyuchevsky 45-46). The Charter also prescribed the vestments to be worn, drew up a Psalter and Liturgy, and even created an “All-jesting Mother Superior” with “Lady Abbots.” It even went so far as to imitate the Catechism and decreed that, just as a baptismal candidate was asked “Do you believe?” so a candidate for this institution was to be asked “Do you drink?” Those who lapsed into sobriety after initiation were to be debarred from all the inns of the Empire and a heretic was to be banned from the society. In similar fashion, a wooden receptacle for vodka was used in place of the Holy Bible at a licentious travesty of the marriage services during the festivities celebrating the Peace of Nystadt, in which Peter made the Prince-Pope marry Zotov’s widow in the Troitsa Monastery (Klyuchevsky 49). The members also used in their ceremonies two tobacco- pipes placed at right angles to mimic a cross (Anderson 121). One of the main public activities of the group was carousing during the Christmas holidays, when about two hundred men would descend on Moscow and St. Petersburg in sleighs and spend the night “celebrating” (Klyuchevsky 46-47). The procession was led by the mock patriarch wearing his regalia and carrying his miter, followed by a retinue who jigged along in their overcrowded sleighs, singing and whistling (Klyuchevsky 47- 48). The first week of Lent was celebrated in a similar fashion, with a procession of 57 57 penitents organized by the Prince-Pope and his Council for the edification of the faithful. The revelers, wearing their coats inside out, parodied Christ’s entry into Jerusalem by riding on the backs of donkeys and bullocks, or sitting in sleighs drawn by swine, goats, or bears (Klyuchevsky 47-48). But Peter not only ridiculed the Church hierarchy and ceremonial, he also made a mockery of his own personal power by appointing Prince Theodore Romadonovsky King-Emperor and calling him “your Imperial Illustrious Majesty,” while Peter called himself “your bondsman and eternal slave Peter” or simply “Petrushka Alexeev” (Klyuchevsky 48). The men made fun of everything, ignoring tradition, popular feeling, and their own positions. In his congratulations to his royal favorite, A. D. Menshikov, on yet another military victory, Peter made a veiled allusion to a deeper, almost mystical meaning of these drinking fellowships, in which he would “bring a generous offer of wine to Bacchus, [while] singing the praises of God with [my] soul” (qtd in Zitser 78). Here, in the tradition of the trope of sober drunkenness, Peter’s letter acknowledged the divine origins of the wine that “banishes sorrow and gladdens the heart” (78). By juxtaposing the Spirit of God Made Flesh with the spirits of alcohol made divine this letter serves as a perfect illustration of the way the tsar and the members of his company used the idea of sober drunkenness to transform royal festivities into symbols of the coming of a new Transfigured Kingdom (Zitser 78). We will see the Arzamsians do something quite similar in the early 19th century. In spite of all this, Peter was himself quite religious. His education included a considerable element of piety, from which he derived an extensive knowledge of the 58 58 Bible (Anderson 120). He knew the liturgy by heart, for example, and enjoyed singing in the choir (Klyuchevsky 49). And even though, as scholars have pointed out, his faith lacked both psychological depth and intellectual subtlety, he believed in the divine origin of the power he wielded and in his duty to protect the Orthodox faith and those who professed it (Anderson 120-121). During the years of the war with Sweden, the only diversion that Peter allowed himself was the slavlene, a practice somewhat analogous to the tradition of Christmas caroling in the West (and which, according to Zguta, ultimately gave rise to the Synod). From Christmas Day to the Epiphany members of the clergy, ranged in a procession of sleighs and led by the Patriarch himself or an archimandrite, would visit the homes of wealthy and distinguished Muscovites singing hymns in honor of the New Year. Although it was not customary for members of the Tsar’s family to engage in slavlene, Peter had from his early boyhood taken an active part in this seasonal observance (Zguta 19). The young Tsar felt that by his involvement he showed special favor to those whose homes were visited by carolers. The gifts of money collected on these occasions were distributed by Peter to hospitals and other charitable institutions (Zguta 19). Zguta argues that this was, in a way, the origin of the Synod, citing an eyewitness report that in 1721 Peter was able to collect nothing because he had allowed the Prince- Pope together with his entourage of twelve cardinal-drunks to participate in the procession, whereby it was transformed from a religious rite into a farce (19). At first, the Synod was bound to the winter season and to the annual Christmas slavelene but gradually it became so institutionalized that its activities ceased by be bound by any 59 59 particular season (Zguta 27). The inversion of status and reversal of normal procedure, the Petrine Synod of Fools was perhaps even more dedicated to the principle of burlesque of ecclesiastical authority and church ritual than the celebrants of the Feast of Fools, or the Western European carnival celebrations of the 15th and 16th centuries. While the Synod engaged much more frequently and spectacularly in mock-religious activities these were seldom as shocking or sacrilegious as those which came to characterize some of the clerical Feasts of Fools, especially in fifteenth-century France. There were, for example, no clergy in its ranks and the Mass or Divine Liturgy, the focal point of both Catholic and Orthodox Christianity, was never violated by the Synod of Fools (Zguta 26-27). This shows that the Russian tradition is much more reverent and more humble. Perhaps Zguta is partially correct and there were some elements borrowed from the Feast of Fools (which would make a certain amount of sense, considering that Peter the Great spent a lot of time in the German quarter). However, even if Zguta is correct that the Synod’s rituals grew out of the slavlene, it was still an organic process and not a borrowed one. Furthermore, considering the other aspects of the society at the time—the skomorokh behavior (which reversed and mocked as well), for example, it seems this is quite a Russian phenomenon. And Ivan the Terrible did this before Peter. The two societies are linked. Uspenski writes that for both Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great, this masquerade, i.e., their dressing up as lower than their status and forcing others to dress up as tsars, is intimately bound up with the notion of royal imposture and can be seen as simply another aspect of the same phenomenon. Uspenskij argues that both societies have 60 60 aspects related to the Russian game of acting like a king. Its basis is the opposition between genuine and pretenders: in all these cases the true Tsar, by shedding the external signs of his status as Tsar and forcing another to play what is to all intents and purposes the role of pretender, is, in fact, emphasizing as it were his own authentic right to the royal throne, independent of any form attributes of kingship (271). Ivan and Peter clearly shared the conception of royal power which we discussed above and indeed their behavior derives from that conception. By renouncing the throne several times in the course of his reign, Ivan is, in a way, emphasizing the authenticity of his title (Uspenskij 271-2). It is also significant that both Ivan and Peter should have named another man not only Tsar but saint; their contemporaries saw overt blasphemy in that. Bearing in mind the sacred nature of the title tsar, we can say that we have essentially the same type of behavior in both cases (272). Zitser suggests that the Peter the Great and his advisers continually returned to the alternatively sacred and sacrilegious male bonding rituals associated with the All- Drunken Synod precisely because these royal spectacles comprise an integral part of the society’s attempt to articulate and enact its reformist political vision (5). The political sacraments associated with Peter’s All-Drunken Synod sought to elevate the tsar’s persona above internal court factions and clan politics, to guarantee his prerogatives over ecclesiastical affairs, and to bind his entourage into an ecumenical community of true believers (Zitser 5). By implicating courtiers in taboo-breaking bacchanalian mysteries, the tsar and his advisers also attempted to induct selected members of the Muscovite elite into a new order of distinctions between nobility and baseness, sacrality and 61 61 profanity, tradition and modernity, thereby challenging them to confront, internalize, and implement Peter’s charismatic scenario of power (Zitser 5). Similarly, by creating the oprichnina and zemshchina, Ivan creates a grand theatrical spectacle and reverses the political and social hierarchy thus parodying the power structure, including his own authority. Furthermore, by doing this, Ivan the Terrible reenacts a kind of holy foolish performance. Part of the reason for this is to legitimize his own authority and power. The themes of drunkenness, physical comedy, theatrical behavior, carnivalesque aesthetics, piety and asceticism come together in parodic male society, the prototypes of which were Ivan the Terrible’s oprichnina and Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod. Besides entertaining themselves, these men were legitimizing their own power and also starting a new phenomenon in Russian culture. These two societies are not isolated examples of rulers incorporating these values for their own purposes. Rather, they set off a phenomenon that became an important part of Russian (literary) culture. It is difficult to answer at what point this phenomenon crosses from the political sphere to the literary one, especially as Peter the Great aspired not simply to a new political structure but to a whole aesthetic paradigm shift. We can see this in the texts of later societies such as Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, the Serapion Brothers and Dovlatov’s circle. The themes and behaviors we find here are taken up by the other parodic male societies either intentionally or through some kind of unrecognized cultural legacy or unconscious cultural memory. By doing that, each group responds to or undercuts something specific of the period. Popular medieval humor, which provided relief from 62 62 rigid hierarchical structure, constricted lives and economic scarcity, returns through the later parodic male societies in difficult political and economic eras, thus providing an unofficial culture of counterculture that permitted exceptional license. For a moment, the societies recreate the medieval “shadow world” in order to release the pressures of their contemporary times. They do this perhaps unconsciously and the legacy of the older societies is transferred through some unrecognized cultural memory. But, at the same time, by aestheticizing these themes into literary endeavors they respond to the contemporary institutions of literature; they do not wish to take it down but it is their way of reaffirming their aesthetic projects. We shall see this in the Arzamas Society for Obscure People, whose parody is externally responding to the stuffy Beseda circle and the Russian Academy but has an ulterior interior purpose, namely to legitimize its own aesthetic reforms. 63 63 Chapter 2: Arzamas as a Model for Male Writers’ Circles: Origin, Ideas, Sources [Your] life has been a very funny epigram, bu it should be a lofty epic. --From a letter by Zhukovskii to A. S. Pushkin, 9 August 1825 (qtd in Todd 95) At their first official meeting on October 14, 1815, members of the newly formed Arzamas society wrote: L+9&# (+<&(+/"95 9"3$*>$(&$ 4+&(943+ "7("3/$(&': >$945 0*&9)943"3+3>&? 7*+4&D 4"*2$943$((" "4*$-&/95 "4 &#$( 93"&?, %+7= "8(+<&45 4$# 0*$"7*+8"3+(&$ 93"$ &8 3$4?&? +*8+#+9:$3, "9-3$*($((=? 9""7A$943"# 9 ?+/%$'#& M$9$%= & C-+%$#&&, 3 ("3=?, "<&94&3>&?9' <*$8 0"4"0 N&0$:-&D. O 39$ 0*&('/& (+ 9$7' &#$(+ #)<$(&<$9-&? 7+//+%, "8(+<+' 4$# 93"I ."4"3("945: 1-$, 0"4$*0$45 39'-"$ 94*+%+(&$ 8+ <$945 C*8+#+9+, & 2-e, 7=45 0).+/+#& %/' 39$? 0*"4&3(&-"3 $." 0" "7*+8) & 0"n 0"%"7&I 4$? 7$9"3 & #$*43$:"3, -"4"*=$ 4+- )2+9(=? 3 7+//+%+?. (Vatsuro 266) This passage records the historical founding of the society while simultaneously providing the main themes that run through the Arzamasian literary works, correspondences, minutes, and memoirs. We are presented with a world turned upside down. Just like the members of Peter’s All-Drunken Synod, the Arzamasians go through 64 64 a transformation as they enter the special space of their society, especially by renouncing their regular names and taking on new ones. They also claim the basic rules of their society: to defend the honor of their society and to scare away the “enemies” of the society, namely the Beseda circle and “stuffy” scholarly institutions such as the Russian Academy. The passage is complex rhetorically. The language is solemn, using stately and Biblical syntax and lexicon. The tone is parodic, which, coupled with the talk of secrecy, renewal, death, horrors and monsters, gives the passage a mystical and even Gothic dimension. Furthermore, the jesting tone and self-irony establish a performative element. The Arzamasians do not of course actually “suffer”; they simply play the role of the offended. Furthermore, by mockingly pledging their readiness to defend the Arzamasian honor no matter how much suffering that would cause them and to scare away any enemies in imitation of the characters whose names they take on, the men reveal a willingness to engage in self-parody. The passage is permeated with Christian discourse: words such as brethren (“bratii”), the members’ renunciation of their worldly names and the taking on of new names, the allusions to Chaldeans, martyrs, “the flood” that cleansed everyone, as well as the transformation from an old into new “Arzamas” give the document the feel of Christian discourse or a sermon. B. Gasparov has also noted this and argues that by calling themselves “bezvestnye liudi” the Arzamasians further emphasize their association with the apostolic brotherhood (23). Furthermore, the idea of renewal and entering the sacred spaces with a new identity is reminiscent of a monastic cloister. In 65 65 many ways, by using this Christian discourse and incorporating the form of Christian discourse but not the content, the Arzamasians do what we saw in Peter the Great’s All- Drunken Synod, namely, they present their aesthetic platform in sacred terms. Arzamas transforms the world of its enemies by allegoric fantasy, parody, satire, and travesty—techniques that copy, in many ways, those of 16th and 17th century authors. By imitating the works of democratic satire and the structure of the theatrical interludes, the Arzamasians want to reform the institution of literature. One of their projects, whether it was conscious or not, was to unhinge the institution of literature from political institutions. By replicating medieval humor, the Arzamasians implicitly critique the existing literary alliances, groups, and societies; in such a way, one of their main functions becomes the assertion of the autonomy of literature from Society and State (Todd 58). Literature played a prominent role in the social rituals of the age, and Arzamas applied literary techniques—parody and travesty—not only to the works but also to the organizing rituals of other groups. Todd 57 Later groups such as Koz’ma Prutkov, Serapion Brothers and Dovlatov’s circle copy this model of behavior and the aesthetic platform, consciously or not. In such a way, Arzamas becomes the pre-eminent example within modern Russian culture of a male society that, by replicating medieval carnivalesque models of behavior brings forth a critique of contemporary society. By the fact that Pushkin was a member and he is such a seminal figure in Russian letters. 66 66 The Society Arzamas, whose official title was “Arzamas obshchestvo bezvestnykh liudei,” or “Arzamas Society of Obscure People,” was formed as a response to the 1800-1810 literary debates between the culturally conservative “Shishkovites” and the promoters of Romanticism, the “Karamzinians,” which were central in the development of Russian literary language and culture and in which the Arzamasians sided with the latter. Members of the society included V. A. Zhukovskii, K. N. Batiushkov, V. L. Pushkin, P. A. Viazemskii, A. S. Pushkin, F. F. Vigel’, D. V. Davydov, as well as some figures better known for their civic activities such as the brothers A. I. and N. I. Turgenev, S. S. Uvarov, D. N. Bludov, D. P. Severin and others. Karamzin’s language reforms, which aimed at streamlining the written language so as to approximate the oral speech of well- bred society, suggested the exclusion of Slavonic forms no longer used in educated speech, i.e., all chancery items, scholasticisms and other professional jargon and vulgar expressions of the street or of folk dialects (R. Anderson 168). Since the educated class was heavily influenced by Western sentimentalism, which was in fashion at the time, Karamzin included in his reforms a large number of foreign words and phrases; he encouraged, for example, calques such as “nervy” or “melankholiia” that conveyed concepts and feelings for which Russian had no equivalents (168). Karamzin also relied on Western models when it came to syntax; e.g., his sentences are much shorter than those of Lomonosov (who last reformed the Russian language) and much less prone to inversions than those of any Russian predecessor (168). 67 67 Karamzin’s main opponent was Admiral A. S. Shishkov, who saw Karamzin’s introduction of Gallicisms into Russian as an impoverishment of the Russian language and a fatal break with the historical tradition of old Russian (Hollingsworth 310). 7 In 1803, he published “Rassuzhdenie o starom i novom sloge rossiiskogo iazyka,” in which he asserted that Old Church Slavonic was the root of Russian and urged the preservation of the three stylistic levels established by Lomonosov, arguing also against foreign borrowings and periphrasis (Terras 406). Upon Karamzin’s assertion that language should sound the way Russian ladies with taste spoke, Shishkov argued the opposite: that good language should be simple and clear and similar to the way in which an ordinary person speaks: “1"*">&D 9/". %"/2$( 7=45 0*"94 & '9$(, 0"%"7$( "7=-("3$(("#) *+8."3"*) <$/"3$-+, )#$IA$." 9-/+%(" & 0*&'4(" ."3"*&45” (qtd. in Terras 406). The fact that the Arzamasians supported Karamzin’s progressive reforms, does not prevent them from later borrowing a number of elements of old Russian culture, as we shall see, especially since the reforms of the Shishkovites were more scholastic, which is precisely what they argue against. The Arzamasians argued for more fluid and democratic way of speaking, as they understood it. The two sides quickly started to attack each other. The future Arzamasians defended Karamzin. In 1811, Dashkov published “, /$.<+D>$# 90"9"7$ 3"8*+2+45 (+ 7 It is often wrongly stated that Shishkov’s main demand was for a complete restoration in the contemporary Russian language of the archaic style of the Russian chronicles and sacred books but scholars have argued that this is not quite the case. The defense of old Russian led to a defense of the spoken language of the masses of the population and in this Shishkov gained the support of Katenin, Kuchelbecker and others (Hollingsworth 310). 68 68 -*&4&-)” (“The Easiest Way to Refute Criticism”), in which he criticized Shishkov’s literary theories by showing that many of his favorite “Slavonicisms” were actually literal translations from the Greek. This had a large impact even though in his “Discourse,” Shishkov had admitted the debt of Church Slavonic to Greek (Hollingsworth 311). In 1810, in a letter in verse to Zhukovskii, V. L. Pushkin, the uncle of the famous poet, insulted the Besedians by calling them “Barbarians”: “,4$<$943" /I7/I, '8=- ' *)99-&D 8(+I,/ 6" B*$%5'-"39-"." 9 J+9&("# ($ *+3('I…/ H 9/+3'(9-"# '8=-$ & 9+# ' 0"/58) 3&2),/ 6" 3-)9 ' 3+*3+*9-&D ."(I & ($(+3&2)” (Vatsuro 204). The Besedians attacked in turn: Shishkov accused V. L. Pushkin of learning his “good behavior” in the backstreets of Paris. 8 The Arzamasians waged more personal attacks, and the polemics continued. These polemics allowed the authors, who were well acquainted with one another, to sharpen their own intellectual positions since there was no real system of intellectual exchanges apart from the formal and informal literary circles popular at the time. The tension between the two sides grew for years until, in 1811, Shishkov and his supporters formed a separate society, “Beseda liubitelei russkogo slova,” or simply Beseda. (Hollingsworth 310). The patriotic and nationalist orientation of the society, later 8 Shakhovskoi had achieved some fame as a satirist in his attack on sentimentalism in “The New Sterne” (1805), which some admirers of Karamzin thought it was a personal attack on their hero. According to critics, however, the play was directed rather against Izmailov and Shalikov and Karamzin himself was not perturbed by it. Dashkov even welcomed it and in 1812 rejoiced that the play was having a success in the provinces. He believed that getting rid of sentimentality was a step on the road to good taste in literature (Hollingsworth 313). 69 69 described as “Archaists” by the Formalist scholar Yurii Tynianov, attracted prominent members such as S. A. Shirinsky-Shikhmatov, D. I. Khvostov, A. A. Shakhovskoi, G. P. Derzhavin, I. A. Krylov, and N. I. Gnedich. 9 As soon as Beseda was formed, Karamzin’s supporters began to mobilize their wit and literary faculties in order to be able to respond at any moment to any attacks of their leader. With the end of the war against Napoleon, the strength of the Beseda began to decline because there was no longer the imminent need for nationalism. In 1815, when the Beseda life as a society was virtually at an end, Shakhovskoi rekindled the public sniping with his play Lipetskie vody, ili Urok koketkam (The Lipetsk Spa, or a Lesson to Coquettes). Dashkov, Alexander Turgenev, Bludov and Zhukovskii went to the first performance of the play together, which occurred on September 23, 1815. The young men were outraged when they recognized in the character of Fialkin an obvious parody of Zhukovskii (Vatsuro 35). They rapidly counterattacked: Dashkov published in The Son of the Fatherland “Pis’mo k noveishemu Aristofanu” (“Letter to the Newest Aristophanes”) accusing Shakhovskoi of jealousy, slander and intrigue; Prince Viazemskii wrote “Lipetskie vody,” in which he stated that if the main virtue of water is its lack of taste, the waters of Lipetsk could claim to be the best in the world. Viazemskii also wrote that the characters of the play are “soulless creations” and was the first one to call Shakhovskoi “Shutovskoi,” i.e. a fool, and later called Bulgarin (who was writing 9 Critics have suggested that the Beseda was a kind of “aristocratic bloc” based on discontent with Russian Gallophilia among the aristocracy because the height of the Beseda’s activity and influence coincided with the growth of a militant anti-French feeling in St. Petersburg and war with Napoleon (Shebunin 28, Hollingsworth 311). 70 70 against them in journals and newspapers) “Figliarin” and “Fliugarin,” i.e., a buffoon (Vatsuro 104). The boldest attack came from the future Arzamasian D. N. Bludov in the form of a poem entitled “Videnie v Arzamase” (313-314). The plot was simple: a local learned society is in the habit of gathering on certain days at an inn in Arzamas and, during one such meeting, the innkeeper points out a strange traveler, who was easily recognized as Shakhovskoi. The members of the society observe him through a crack in the door and overhear his description of a vision during an attack of lunacy. Bludov read this joke- poem to his friends, who were so amused that they decided to call the society they were about to form “Arzamas” (1815) (314). This society was to mimic and parody Shishkov’s stiff Beseda society, its members and rituals. The Russian Academy and the fashionable at the time Masonic societies were also to be targets of the parody, especially for their “stiff,” conservative tendencies and brazen nationalism. The youg men took the humorous society quite seriously and devised an entire system of parodic rules and rituals for their society. In mockery of secret societies, their first step was to renounce their “worldly names” and to take on names from Zhukovskii’s ballads. Zhukovskii was Svetlana; V. L. Pushkin, Vot; Uvarov, Starushka; Bludov, Kassandra; A. I. Turgenev, Eolova Arfa, Dashkov, Chu; Zhikharev, Gromovoy; Vigel’, Ivikov Zhuravl’; Severin, Rezvyi Kot; Vyazemskii, Asmodey, V. L. Pushkin, Vot or Votrushka; D. A. Kaelin, Pustynnik; N. I. Turgenev, Varvik; Orlov, Reyn, Murav’yov, Adel’stan; Batiushkov, Akhill; and A.S. Pushkin Sverchok (Hollingsworth 315). The Arzamasians’ speeches translated the fantastic, folkloric elements of Zhukovskii’s ballads 71 71 into a tradition of the supernatural that was acceptable to Neoclassicism: the allegorical apparatus of mock epics (Todd 59). The supernatural creatures of the protocols enter comic situations or possess petty, unattractive human features. Thus Zhukovskii’s ballad monsters become petulant Besedists. The Arzamasians stripped Zhukovskii’s supernatural of its terrors and rendered it harmless by stylistic exaggeration, which accentuated its literary, rather than its existential, nature. Arzamasian speeches follow typical details and events of the ballads (demons, moonlight magic, corpses rising form the dead), they are parodic (Todd 59). The Arzamasians loved Zhukovskii as a friend and considered him a master stylist but antagonistic parody served them as a means of differentiating their poetic system from his. Statements by the Arzamasians about Zhukovskii’s ballads support this hypothesis. From 1812-18 Batiushkov and Karamzin constantly urged him to write a long narrative poem on a subject from Russian history or something more worthy of his talents than ballads, which Batiushkov placed on a level with chapbooks, the pulp literature of that time (Todd 59). This shows the playfulness of the society and their willingness to engage in self-parody as well as their desire to hold each other to the principles of the moral brotherhood they founded. The ballad names also bring a magical and comical world, a world of playfulness to the world of the otherwise serious literary debates. In a way, the fate of Russian language and literature was at stake. The invented rituals of the Arzamasians did not stop with the taking on of new names. They also kept detailed minutes of the meetings. Zhukovskii was the permanent secretary, and a chairman was elected by lot at each meeting. Following the example of 72 72 other contemporary societies (such as the French Academy), every newly accepted member of the New Arzamas was to read a eulogy for his deceased predecessor. But all members of the New Arzamas were considered “immortal.” Therefore, for lack of their own deceased, the new Arzamasians (as proof of both their noble impartiality and that their hatred did not extend beyond the grave) proposed that the deceased be borrowed from among the members of Beseda and the Academy in order to reward them according to their deeds without waiting for posterity to do so (Reyfman 145). This ritual was jokingly called the murder and burial of Archaists. During Arzamas meetings, at least 12 Besedists and Academy members were “buried” (145). The men also devised rules for accepting new members to the society as well as for expelling members who broke the rules. In other words, they took this humorous society quite seriously. In the romantic tradition, much of the Arzamasian writings, both literary and historical, are concerned with expressing the love the friends have for each other. Batiushkov writes to Zhukovskii, for example, “; 0$*3=# ' 0"8(+-"#&/9' "<$(5 -"*"4-",--& ($ #)%*$(": "( 4$7' /I7&4, -+- 7*+4+, -+- /I7"3(&:), + 4=, #"D /I7$8(=D <)%+-, (+."3"*&/ #("." %"7*"." "7" #($, & P#&4*&D 6&-"/+$3&< )2 ."4"3 7=/ #$(' 0"/I7&45” (Vatsuro 190). Their writings are inundated wish such expressions and there are many such examples. The epistles they addressed to each other are further testament of their cohesion. Pushkin, for one, wrote at least one epistle for each of the others (Bristol 21). Zhukovskii’s epistles recorded the enthusiastic friendships he made at the Moscow University Gentry Pension and, in general, the young men had 73 73 an obsession with their feelings with each other, which has been called the period of the “cult of friendship.” This is not surprising considering that the theme of friendship captivated Russian thought and literature of the time. Friendship was a common theme to both the Classical and the Sentimental traditions, in which this generation was trained, and by the end of 18th century, the thematic focus of poetry shifted from court life to country estates and circles of friends, i.e., from the public sphere to quieter “domestic” settings and themes (Bristol 22; Todd 38). The two most popular genres of the time became druzheskiye pis’ma (familiar letters) and druzheskiye stikhotvornye poslaniya (familiar verse epistles) (Todd 41-42). Verse was written in personal and domestic albums and was not usually seen by the wider public, i.e., ordinarily, only family members and friends or those attending parties and salons at a particular home could read them (Eikhenbaum 3). Writers did not work alone but rather side by side with their friends and like-minded comrades; they organized meetings, seminars, or just suppers (“vecherinki”) (Eikhenbaum 3). Friendship was further turned into a serious intellectual concern with the help of the institution of Freemasonry, which was very strong in second half of the 18th century (Todd 41). The Masons sought truth and self-perfection collectively in closely knit groups of friends, whose secret discussions featured vigorous mutual criticism; for the Sentimentalists, friendship was furnished proof they could feel. Even though Catherine the Great had disbanded the Masonic movement because she feared the revolutionary potential of secret societies, the principle of learning in groups continued to dominate the 74 74 schools in which the Masons retained their influence, such as the Nobles’ Pension at Moscow University, which educated the future Arzamasians Zhukovskii, Dashkov, Kavelin, Voeikov, Zhikharev, A. Turgenev and N. Turgenev; several of these students formed “Druzheskoe literaturnoe obshchestvo” (Todd 41). The thematization of friendship was so prominent that even the future Tsar, who earlier in the century would have expected to be celebrated as a demigod, now acknowledged its allure, e.g., Zhukvoskii’s “Pevets vo stane russkikh voinov” (1812) praises not only the Tsar and his generals but also extols the friendship among soldiers. As Todd observes, a line in this poem, “For friendship all there is in the world,” echoes through the correspondence of Arzamas (42). In the Arzamasian writings, the theme of friendship becomes connected to Christian themes. The Arzamasians were friends with similar aesthetic sensibilities who reveled in each other’s friendship, took comfort in each other and, eventually, metaphorically retreated from the larger world, took on secret names and formed a small world apart from the larger society. This monastic separation did not require a separate geographical location; rather it was a spiritual and aesthetic bond that tied the brethren together. This smaller world was to be more honest both aesthetically and morally. The idea of the society as a kind of metaphoric cloister is further supported by the Arzamasians own use of the term “bratii,” i.e., brethren or fraternity. Viazemskii, for example, writes to A. Turgenev, “Q4" 9/=>(" " C*8+#+99-"D 7*+4&&: R)-"39-"#, M+4I>-"3$, M/)%"3$, P+>-"3$? L&#"I 3"85#&4$ %&/&2+(9 %+ 0*&$82+D4$ - 0)94=((&-) 93'4"." ,94+F5$3+” (Vatsuro 386). Viazemskii referes to Arzamas as a 75 75 brethren, which is an image we see over and over. After he fell into disgrace with the police for incendiary political statements (because he actively promoted emancipation of the serfs), Viazemskii was practically under house arrest in his estate in Ostaf’evo for nine years. In this letter, he presents himself as a hermit monk. But Viazemskii himself is not a monk in the cloister, but rather a hermit. He wants the brethren to come to him, perhaps on a spiritual or aesthetic quest. We will see this idea of the aesthetic quest for which one must sacrifice in the later societies as well, especially in the Serapion Brothers and in Dovlatov’s circle. The members see themselves as orphans whose friendship serves as a surrogate family. The beginning of the last stanza of one of the most famous Arzamasian poems, written by Viazemskii in 1816 reads, “6+9 %*)27+ 39$? )9=("3&/+,/ G= 39$ 93"&, #= 39$ *"%(',/ N)<& #= "%("." 93$4&/+,/ G= &9-*= "%("." ".('” (321-322). Just like in the opening stanza, when the friends are seen as a feasting family—“;$#5' 0&*)IA&? %*)8$D”—here, the friends envision themselves as orphans and their friendship becomes their adoptive parent. Christian Themes Arzamasians are known for their secularism (even atheism) and their “Westernizing” efforts, especially because they were all supporters of Karamzin’s linguistic reforms, which extended into national politics. Several scholars cite the parodying of Christian rituals and discourse as evidence for their lack of religious beliefs. V. Zhivov, for one, argues that in the Arzamasian texts the expression “radi 76 76 Feba,” i.e., “for the sake of Pheobe, which he detects at least 10 times in the Arzamasian texts, serves as a sacrilegious parody of the Christian god—i.e., not just a parody of Apollo but a blasphemous parody of the Christian deity (676). There are numerous other such utterances. Even upon a first look, the very formation of the society seems to parody the formation of Christian communes (Zhivov 672). Vigel’ confesses, “To cut ourselves further off from the world, we renounced the names we bore in it and took new titles from Zhukovski’s ballads” (qtd. in Todd 56). The taking on of new names when coupled with rejection of the regular world, does imply a kind of monastic tonsuring. Furthermore, the Arzamasians write that their society was formed “after the Lipetskii flood,” thus evoking the story of Noah’s ark. And they date their minutes beginning from the flood; for example, on October 29, 1815, they write: “G$9':+ S+8%$*(&-+ 3 22 %$(5 0" "7=-("3$(("#) /$4"9<&9/$(&I 1815-." ."%+, "4 N&0$:-"." 0"4"0+ 3 /$4" 0$*3"$, "4 H&%$(&' 3 #$9': 0$*3=D” (Vatsuro 271). Similarly, in his speech upon V. L. Pushkin’s acceptance, Dashkov remembers the times when 9"7*+459' “9""4*)%&/&… -"3<$. C*8+#+99+, %+7= 90+94&95 3 ($# "4 0"4"0+ N&0$:-"."” (336). Just like a monastic community, the “brothers” actually did uphold each other to high moral standards. Viazemskii, one of the founding members, insists that the jokes were only secondary and that what really mattered to them was their “moral brotherhood”: G= /I7&/& & )3+2+/& %*). %*).+ (0"4"#), <4" 7$8 )3+2$(&' ($ #"2$4 7=45 (+94"'A$D, &94&(("D %*)27=), (" #= & 9)%&/& %*). 77 77 %*).+ 7$90*&94*+94(" & 94*".", ($ 0" "%("D /&4$*+4)*("D %$'4$/5("94&, (" & 3""7A$. H T4"D ($/&:$0*&'4("D, ($8+3&9&#"D %*)27$ & 7=/+ 9&/+ & 0*$/$945 (+>$D 93'8&. G= )2$ 7=/& +*8+#+9:+#& #$2%) 9"7"I, -".%+ C*8+#+9+ $A$ & ($ 7=/". C*8+#+99-"$ "7A$943" 9/)2&/" 4"/5-" "7"/"<-"D (+>$." (*+3943$(("." 7*+4943+. U)4"<(=$ "7*'%= $.", 4"*2$943$((=$ 8+9$%+(&'—39$ T4" /$2+/" (+ 34"*"# 0/+($ (107). Viazemskii tries to establish that for them this is a moral brotherhood. The moral brotherhood was the core, the heart of the society, or that great “togetherness” which was woven through all historical and individual destinies. Viazemskii writes that they held each other in high esteem and upheld each other to high standards, thus they judged each other harshly. This social and literary community, he writes, existed even when the brothers were geographically separated (Vatsuro 5). The high moral standard yet avoidance of judgment or moralizing is indeed reminiscent of monastic sensibilities. Oleg Proskurin has interpreted these facts as a manifestation of the church essence of Arzamas. He argues that since in the Christian tradition, Noah is a prototype for man saved by Christ, the very flood is a prototype of baptism and the ark—a prototype of the Church floating though the stormy abyss of sin and saving those thirsty for salvation. Zhivov also sees this particular episode in Arzamasian history as a parody of the Christian ritual of baptism and writes that it signifies a carnivalesque inversion (674). The concept of the transformation of the old Arzamasians into the new ones through the washing in the Lipetskii flood is also significant. Zhivov also argues that the name “New 78 78 Arzamas” parodies “New Jerusalem” (673). Similarly, Proskurin writes that, by adopting the idea of the New Arzamas, the participants transform it into the New Jerusalem thus realizing the main project the Arzamasians envisioned for themselves (81). In imitating and parodying the gravity of learned societies, Arzamas cultivated an intricate and highly refined symbolic system, in which the New Arzamas was the New Jerusalem—the center of a new religion of taste and reason (81-82). In other words, the Arzamasians formed a kind of religion bowing to the God of Taste, Karamzin. In this system, the figure of the litterateur—and especially of the poet—takes on features of a specific sacralization and the friendly circle of like-minded literary man can be understood as a type of “sacred brotherhood” called forth to fulfill a sacred mission (49). Proskurin argues that Arzamasian structure does not reproduce Beseda structure in a parodic way; rather, the parody is directed at the church (30). Gasparov argues similarly when he writes that the result of the collective creative efforts of Arzamas was an artistic model of literary “messianism” which depicted the war of literary factions as an apocalyptic battle of sacred and infernal forces (12). The Arzamasians frequently portrayed their enemies in Biblical terms. Although they were quite creative in making nicknames and in parodying their enemies, they limited themselves to only three type of imagery when it came to portraying the Besedians. Firstly, the Beseda members are called “sinners,” “heretics,” “non-believers.” As Proskurin notes, this implies they have fallen away from the literary “true belief” or never knew it; in any case, the Beseda does not accept the laws of the God of Taste, i.e. the Besedians are schismatics (15-16). We should note that this replicates Avvakumian 79 79 discourse; Avvakum uses the exact same words to describe his persecutors in the same self-ironizing style. We know Avvakum was in the minds of these writers because they make several references to him, as in, for example, Batiushkov’s August 1817 letter to Dashkov (Vatsuro 362). If that is the case, then the Arzamasians become metaphorical Old Believers who are persecuted for their “religion.” This discourse is repeated in Dovlatov’s circle, as we shall see in Chapter Five. The Arzamasians continuously call the Beseda Chaldeans (“khaldei”), i.e., members of the ancient Semitic people that became dominant in Babylon and who were thought to be well-versed in occult arts. Thus, the Arzamasians implicitly claim that their “enemies” are wizards, sorcerers, practitioners of black magic, witches, and so on, i.e., suggesting they profess an “anti-faith” and obey the rules of “anti-behavior.” Hence, according to the Arzamasians, the object of the Besedians’ veneration is not a real divinity but its infernal enemy (Proskurin 16). This theme is well-developed in many places but it comes out most clearly in Bludov’s speech of December 16, 1815 (Vatsuro 316-321). Finally, we also see the Besedians as Varyags, which is a parody of their focus on national and linguistic roots; it also portrayed them as barbarians. The Chaldean theme is connected to the idea of Babylon and there are other evident allusions to the Old Testament—in particular, parody of the books dedicated to the Babylonian capture. Proskurin argues that the Babylonian theme prepares for the theme of literary Antichrist. According to the traditional understanding, Antichrist is supposed to be born in Babylon with the participation of the devil. In the Arzamasian eschatology, Shakhovskoi is such a literary Antichrist, coming out of the literary Babylon 80 80 and inspired by Satan-Shishkov. He is a false messiah who tries to impose in the literary world the laws of “Meshkov” under the guise of the true law (Proskurin 19). Aspects of Shakhovskoi’s false messianism are presented in the Arzamasian texts, e.g., at the performance of Lipetskie vody, probably said by Zhukovskii: “, <)%" &8 <)%$9 0*&*"%=:/ ,( 9"43"*&/ 9)?&$ 3"%=!” (This phrase became an idiom and it is used until today in the form “3=>$/ 9)?&# &8 3"%=” to signify getting out of a bad situation untouched.) Enthusiasm captured the united Arzamsians and Zhukovski expresses it by the paraphrased citation from the famous 136 psalm: “CA$ 8+7)%) 4$7$, O$*)9+/&#$, 8+73$(+ 7)%& %$9(&:+ #"'” (Proskurin 4). The reading of the Arzamasian pledge was a parodic equivalent of the confession of faith (“ispovedanie very”) certifying the readiness of the catechumen to accept the holy baptism (Proskurin 11). Furthermore, in Proskurin’s scheme, since Arzamasian meetings usually finished with eating of goose, which was the symbol of the town of Arzamas, the goose becomes a parodic analog of the Eucharist, simultaneous tasting of the body of god (i.e. the God of Taste, Karamzin) in which the tasty roasted goose transubstantiates: “01$/&2 .)9', +*8+#+9:= 0*&<+'I49' &94&(("#) 01$($” (Proskurin 11-12). In other words, the goose tastes good so it is the very embodiment of the god of taste. They taste simultaneously a spiritual and material substance: “@)95 3"0/"A+$4 7"2$943" 01$(&, 0"4"#) <4" $." 34"+, 51$(%&”; this pun becomes one of the components of the Arzamasian “theology” (9). While they parody the Church rituals, the Aramasians do not reject its values completely. These texts and behaviors parody certain Christian aspects but they also demonstrate that the Arzamasians were well versed in the Bible (an important fact 81 81 considering the often repeated descriptions of them as irreligious or as secularizers) and it also shows the large degree to which Biblical and liturgical references were taken for granted in the shared discourse of the in-group. The fact that in their speeches, the Arzamasians paraphrase 67 psalms is further evidence for this (Proskurin 23). The Christian themes continue through the rest of the Arzamasian correspondences and literary works, as we shall see. Furthermore, the Arzamasians show much respect for Orthodox Christian culture and are pious in many ways. They practice the Christian values of virtue (“dobrodetel’stvo”), restraint, love for one’s brother without preaching or moralizing. Their writings are full of reference to Christian virtues such as good- heartedness, doing good, and being non-judgmental. There are a few behavioral peculiarities, which can be viewed as traces of Christian Orthodox values, that is, restraint and non-judgement. Todd has noticed that, avoiding the tradition of abstract moral epistles, the Arzamasians elected to convey the necessary intimacy by keeping the content of their letters close to their immediate surroundings, interests and occupations and not engaging in judging each other or their contemporaries (Todd 77). They selected news, gossip, erotic themes, obscenity, and concrete detail (77). And whereas their images and settings are indeed particular, physical aspects of life—e.g., V. L. Pushkin’s poem “Opasnyi sosed,” 1811, is set in a brothel whose customers read the works of the Beseda—the writers do not preach or moralize. Similarly, V. L. Pushkin asks his friend in a letter to help take care of his pregnant teenage mistress; the friend responds without judgment and helps the girl. The familiar letters of the Arzamasians allowed considerably more freedom than other genres in 82 82 eroticism and obscenity. And yet, except for V. L. Pushkin, the Arzamasians exercised this freedom in moderation (81). As Todd writes, they also indulged in little gossip on the immorality of their contemporaries, although their “tolerant age” could have provided many anecdotes (79). They do not mention in their letters, for example, the scandalous and prolonged affair of the Emperor with Mme Naryshhkina (79). The Arzamasians related gossip and scandalous events swiftly and in tantalizing hints (e.g., as in Pushkin’s letter to the homosexual Vigel’) (79). This restraint, especially in light of the Christian symbols and manner of discourse, contains elements of religious asceticism in the tradition of Orthodox Christianity. The religious aspects of Arzamas are supported by the fact that practically all founders and active members of Arzamas were not simply somewhat religious but active promoters of the "Christian renaissance" of the 1810s (Proskurin 28). Dashkov, for example, went on expeditions to Greek monasteries in search of "ancient, sacred texts" and traveled in the sacred land. C. I. Turgenev was a permanent secretary of the Biblical Society and the closest helper of A. N. Golitsyn (Prokurin 28). Furthermore, starting in the early 1840s, he did research in at the Vatican archives and also examined notes, statements and letters of the Pope about and to Russia. For Uvarov, who was also a secretary of the Biblical society, Christianity was the highest good, which had solved the unsolvable controversies of antiquity. He writes, "1*&94&'(943" $945 )*"- #"*+/5("." *+3$(943+, M".) #&*"# 0*$0"%+((=D... $3+(.$/&$, 8+/". 93"7"%= & 0*"93$A$(&', 0*&#&*&/" 3 "7*+8$ 1*&94&+(&(+ <$/"3$-+ 9 .*+2%+(&("#" (qtd. in Proskurin 28). Zhikharev was immersed in an atmosphere of the Christian Orthodox Church since 83 83 childhood (28). Several of them were involved in a Biblical translation project and, in their meetings, they frequently criticize Shishkov’s translation of the Bible. Also, almost one half of the journal they were planning on putting together was to be dedicated to religious issues (28). Another interesting religious connection was the Arzamasians admiration for the monk Filaret, later Metropolitan of Moscow, who was extremely influential among the members of this generation. The young monk Filaret appeared on the public scene and wrote a contentious piece on the reasons for the events of 1812, it influenced the young generation very much (Vatsuro 50). Furthermore, Filaret was very influential for Alexander Pushkin and served at least twice as a source of inspiration for the poet: at the beginning of the 1830s, Pushkin wrote “Stansy” in answer to the poetic epistle by Filaret; in the fall of the same year, he wrote “Geroi,” which was a response to the sermon Filaret gave at the arrival of Nicholas I in the cholera-infested Moscow (Morov, “Geroi Pushkina”). This sacred presentation of rituals and the imitation of the form of Church rituals replicates what the behaviors of the All-Drunken Synod. As we saw in Chapter One, Peter also presents his society in sacred terms and he does this in order to legitimize his own power and his own aesthetic projects. Arzamas replicates the behavior of Peter and his friends for a different reason, which is to unhinge the institution of literature from the state. By replicating the logic of the medieval world of laughter, Arzamas, creates a shadow world of the larger, authoritative and constrictive institution of literature. 84 84 Aspects of Medieval Humor Several scholars have advanced the idea that Arzamas based itself on 18th- century French salon models. Boris Gasparov, for example, argues that Arzamas inherited the distinctive literary mantle of the Karamzin school, more specifically its orientation toward the salon and toward the culture of unconstrained witty chatter (“boltovnia”) in which levity and apparent aimlessness were artfully linked with displays of enlightened refinement (11). These traits, characteristic of “innovators,” in turn, had their roots in the cultural tradition of 18th-century France (11). The Arzamasians took the very idea of a humorous society focused around parodic rituals from the rich heritage of the French literary salon of the preceding century (11). Similarly, in an essay on the semiotics of oral speech, Lotman argues since the Arzamasians were ultimately concerned with reviving French salon culture; he writes that it is unlikely that medieval laughter, which is crude, served as a model for Arzamasian speech. Lotman cites as evidence the Arzamasian negative reaction to V. L. Pushkin’s buffoonery poems (about which he wrote, “94*"., ($90*+3$%/&3 )<$(=D C*8+#+9” [qtd. in Lotman “Funktsii” par. 24]). For this reason, Lotman looks for temporally closer models and settles on French salon culture of the 18th century. Arzamas was indeed influenced by and even perhaps based on French salon culture in many ways. We should not forget that the Russian nobility at the time was educated in French and frequently spoke French to each other. And the members were indeed concerned with refined language and presentation. But whereas these scholars’ ideas certainly have strong resonance, there are some aspects of the society’s aesthetics 85 85 and behavior that are indeed rooted in medieval culture. Some of the medieval elements include bodily decadence and revelry in the form of banquet feasting and scatological humor. In their letters, the Arzamasians frequently describe the banquets, dinners and parties they attend. Their literary works, too, are filled with banquet imagery, especially of gluttony and drunken bouts. One prominent example occurs around 1816-1817 (the editor of the modern edition, Vatsuro has trouble identifying the precise date), when Viazemskii wrote “Zastol’naia pesnia” about the feasts organized by the Karamzinians starting at the beginning of the 1810s in his home. The opening stanza reveals the high level of merriment and excitement: H$9$/=D >)#, 0$(5V & 9#$?&, ,7#$( 7)4=/"- & *$<$D: B+- 0*+8%()$4 93"& 0"4$?& ;$#5' 0&*)IA&? %*)8$D. H9$ &9-*&49', 3&(" & >)4-&! @/+8+ ."*'4, 93$4/$$4 /"7, O 8+<+94)I, 3 0*"#$2)4-&, L+ 0*"7-"D 0*"7-+ ?/"0 %+ ?/"0! (Vatsuro 320) The poem has seven stanzas, with interruptions by the “choir,” which repeats seven times. The feeling and tone are of merriment and excitement: images of sparks, laughter, singing and light communicate that. And, whenever there is a pause in the merry exchange of speeches, jokes and songs, one can hear the corks from the wine bottles 86 86 making popping noises, one after another, resembling a military parade or a battle. The refrain/chorus repeats: “S"%"7(" %*$3/$ @+(&#$%),/ H"85#$#9' %*)2(" 8+ "%("./ O (+/&3+D 9"9$% 9"9$%):/ ;"9$% 3$%5 /I7&4 0&45 3&("!” (Vatsuro 320). There is a stanza devoted to each of several important Arzamasians—Davydov, F. Tolstoi, Zhukovskii, V. L. Pushkin and Batiushkov—and each is urged to do something in the feast. Considering the mention of Ganymedes, the virile Trojan prince abducted by Zeus for his beauty and later forced to become his lover, and the fact that the writers were raised on the Neo-Classical tradition, at first glance it might seem that the Arzamasian feasting is modeled on Greek sources. Indeed, Anacreonic themes were common. However, there are factors that point to this feasting being a reference to medieval sources. M. Bakhtin explains the difference between the bourgeois banquet and the medieval banquet. The former differs sharply from the images of private eating or private gluttony and drunkenness in early bourgeois literature because the latter express the contentment and satiety of the selfish individual, his personal enjoyment, and not the triumph of the people as a whole (301-302). In this poem, the phrase “Sem’ia piruiushchikh druzei” is repeated and resonates strongly, reminding us that the friends are part of a bigger whole, a family, a community. Of course, this is not true here since the members do not work the fields, the way the medieval working man did. But it does have the same core aesthetic because in Arzamas, we do not have the individual revelry (the way we do in the Enlightenment ideas, for example) but rather the extolment of communal spirit. 87 87 Furthermore, in the medieval banquets, eating is revealed to be joyous and tied to work. Banquets happen at the end of a work cycle: Bakhtin writes, “human labor’s encounter with the world and the struggle against it ended in food, in the swallowing of that which had been wrested from the world” (281). He stresses that labor and work in the medieval context are collective (281). In just such a manner, the Arzamasians jestingly extol laziness instead of work. Karamzin paints an unheroic portrait of himself in his letter to Dmitriev of 22 October 1825, in which he says that he lounges around all day, eating with his family, taking walks and compares himself to the lazy Khvostov, a member of Beseda, while at the same he was quite productive (96-97). Batiushkov is even more extreme in his self-depreciation and extolment of laziness, as well as the fascination with bodily processes. In a letter to Gnedich, he writes: Idleness and inaction is [sic] the mother of everything, including illness.” This is what you write me, industrious bee! But here there are multitude of grammatical mistakes… The sense of it sins against truth, first of al because I am not idle: In a day there are 24 hours. Of these, I pass 10 or 12 in bed, occupied with sleep and dreams. … 1 hour I smoke tobacco. 3 hours I practice the art, called il dolce far niente, of killing time. 1—I eat dinner 1- my stomach digests the food. 88 88 W hour I look at the sunset. This time, you will say, is lost. Not true! Ozerov always followed the sun beyond the horizon, and he writes better verses than min, and he is more active than both you and me. X of an hour each day must be deducted for certain natural needs, by which Mistress Nature, as if in punishment for excessive activity and for the good of mankind, condemned heroes, enemies of mankind, idlers, judges, and bad writers to spend in walking up and down the stairs, in the cloakroom, etc., etc., etc. Oh, Humanité! 1 hour I use for remembering friends, of which I think of you for half-hour. 1 hour I occupy with the dogs, and they are live, practical friendship, and, by the grace of heaven, I haven three of them: two white ones, one black. P. S. The ears of one are sore, and the poor thing tosses her head a great deal. Y hour I read Tasso Y--I repent that I translated him. 3 hours I yawn in expectation of night. Notice, oh my friend, that all people wait for night like a blessing, all in general and I am a human being! In all, 24 hours. From this it follows that I am not idle; that you consider distraction activity, for you in the city of Saint Peter have no time to think about what 89 89 you are doing every day; that for me and for you and for all equally time comes and passes equally… (qtd in Todd 97-98). Even though Batiushkov was pretending not to write any poetry, this period (the year 1810) was actually one of the most productive of his life (Todd 98). We should note that Bakhtin discusses a poem called “Magister Golias About a Certain Abbot” which is among the “Latin Poems Commonly Attributed to Walter Mapes.” This is the description of one day in the life of an abbot, a day filled exclusively with activities of a material bodily order and first of with excessive eating and drinking (Bakhtin 293). All these pictures of material life (the abbot knows no other existence) have a grotesque character: everything is grossly exaggerated, with many enumerations of the various dishes consumed by the abbot (Bakhtin 293). We can argue that the ironic self-representation acts as a medieval agent, thus turning the “regular world” on its head as a kind of carnivalesque gesture; on the other hand and especially given the Christian thematics discussed earlier, we can argue the extolment of laziness is similar to Orthodox Christian aesthetic of lowering oneself before others and the utter rejection of feeling pride or righteousness. The Arzamasians are aware of the medieval origins of their society, though they refer to the Western European sources. This poem was published with the following preamble: “6$#:= & F*+(:)8= &#$I4 :$/)I /&4$*+4)*) 8+94"/5(=? 0$9$(. C #=, "?"4(" 0"IA&$ & "?"4(" 05IA&$, (&<$." 4+-"." ($ &#$$#. H 94+*=? #"9-"39-&? 7)#+.+? "4=9-+/+95 0"%"7(+' &9-/I<&4$/5(+' 8+94"/5(+' 0$9(5” (545). This poem is evidence for both the themes of feasting and for the fact that the Arzamasians were 90 90 well-aware playful themes and behaviors such as drinking, feasting and signing in old sources; furthermore, it becomes apparent that they read old Russian documents. Furthermore, Arzamasians are well aware that they are performing the medieval ritual of buffoonery; Zhukovskii writes to Von Müller, M)FF"(+%+ '3&/+95 0*&<&("D *"2%$(&' C*8+#+9+, & 9 T4"." #"#$(4+ 7)FF"(943" "0*$%$/&/" $." ?+*+-4$*. G= "7Z$%&(&/&95, <4"7= ?"?"4+45 3" 39$ ."*/", -+- 9)#+9>$%>&$; & ', &87*+((=D 9$-*$4+*$# "7A$943+, 9%$/+/ ($#+/=D 3-/+%, <4"7= %"94&.()45 T4"D ./+3("D :$/&, 4. $. 9#$?+; ' 8+0"/('/ 0*"4"-"/= .+/&#+45$D, - -"4"*"D 3($8+0(" "7(+*)2&/ -"/"99+/5("$ 3/$<$(&$. P" 4$? 0"* 0"-+ #= "94+3+/&95 4"/5-" 7)FF"(+#&, (+>$ "7A$943" "94+3+/"95 %$'4$/5(=# & 0"/(=# 2&8(&; -+- 4"/5-" 7=/" 0*&('4" *$>$(&$ 94+45 9$*5$8(=#&, "(" )#$*/" 3($8+0("D 9#$*45I (Vatsuro 134). The aesthetic moves away from Karamzinian gentlemanly gracefulness and laughs out loud, with one’s entire throat. Karamzinian aesthetics focused on grace and not exposing extremes in emotions or language (i.e., they wanted language and behavior to resemble that of well-bred ladies). We should also note that concept of buffoonery comes from Italian public art of the plaza that used mimes and harlequins and is defined by emphasis and exaggeration of physical characteristic of the personage. The kind of laughter Zhukovskii describes—loud and with an open mouth, from one’s stomach and with one’s entire throat seems unbecoming for this kind of aesthetics and it is reminiscent of the 91 91 uncouth drunkards or working-class people in medieval taverns, especially as described in Chapter One. Moreover, Zhukovskii was indeed a kind of medieval buffoon: he created comedic situations, frequently turning to the forms of the traditional culture of laughter that used the symbolism of physiology and lower parts of the body. He describes at length, for example, “nekoe nepristoinoe burchanie” in the belly of Aeolian Lyre and the moving of that part of the body which “is especially needed for sitting and which sticks out from the shoulders of the Beseda’s Chaldeans in the form of a head” (qtd in Todd 82). Even Vyazemskii writes that was amazed at Zhukovskii’s inexaustibility in creating these different galimatias (Vatsuro 22). Similarly, Batiushkov’s willingness to talk about bodily functions extensively (as we have seen in the above quote, i.e., when he mockingly writes down how many hours per day he spends for “natural needs”, is also reminiscent of medieval satire, as discussed by Bakhtin. Despite the Karamzinian appeal for graceful behavior and speech, the Arzamasians show a willingness to engage in scatological humor. This type of humor is reminiscent of medieval Rus’ and characters and situations that laugh at bodily functions, for example, holy fools or perhaps even skomorokhi, who publicly performed (sometimes in masks) mock songs, dramatic and satirical sketches (“glumy”) accompanied by folk instruments and who often represented the character of a carefree brash muzhik. We are reminded of the film Andrei Rublev, where the skoromorkhi moon the audience or where they make masks in which instead of a face there are human butt cheeks. Scholars have shown that in the medieval era, wherever men laugh and curse, particularly in a familiar 92 92 environment, their speech is filled with bodily images of the lower parts: copulation, defecation, overeating, genitals, bellies, urine, and so on (Bakhtin 319). They wanted to laugh at human foolishness, which also links them to Likchachev’s idea about medieval culture, as outlined in Chapter One. Vigel’ writes: “,(" 9"94+3&/"95 ($38(+<+D, 9 4$#, <4"7= 0*"3"%&45 3*$#' 0*&'4(=# "7*+8"# & 0*" 9$7' 9#$'459' ./)0"94'# <$/"3$<$9-&#” (Vatsuro 67). In other words, their society was formed in order to laugh at human foolishness. In a way, the humble acceptance of human foolishness as natural is another medieval aspect; furthermore, it contradicts and is contrary to Enlightenment ideas. This can also be viewed as an Orthodox element because pious Russians in their sermons, prayers and writings use as a common trope the phrase of their own ignorance and human foolishness. The principles of the Enlightenment and medieval Russia seem to coexist and intermingle in the culture of Arzamas. There are several ways in which medieval themes and behaviors could have made their way to Arzamas. At the time, the Middle Ages were part of a fashionable romantic cult, which often idealized them as embodying spiritual values lost during the Age of Reason (Peace 9). This is certainly true of the Slavophiles’ interpretation of Pre-Petrine Russia. Likhachev argues that the artificial acceleration of cultural development in the reign of Peter I allowed many characteristic traits of ancient Russia to preserve their significance for the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, humor being the most apparent. We should note also that scholars have shown that the writings of the 19th-century writer Nikolai Gogol reveal many facets of medieval Russian humor (e.g., see Peace). 93 93 We also know that Gogol was a member of a Ukrainian “bratsva” which parodied Church rituals (Ilchuk, conversations). Considering that the aristocratic Russian class was very much influenced by Western European literature and culture, it is quite likely that the Arzamas members were familiar with the Western medieval anti-clerical literature, such as the ones described by Bakhtin. They were certainly influenced by Rabelais, whom they mention in their writings numerous times. Furthermore, the texts of Carmina Burana, which were discovered in 1803 in Southern Germany, must have been known to them especially considering many of the Arzamasians were Germanophiles and spent much time in Germany (e.g., Turgenev); even though Carmina Burana might have been known as a predominantly “Western” text, it still has the anti-clerical and sacrilegious elements we see in the Arzamasian writings. Theatricalization Arzamas manifests aspects of prankishness and theatricality similar to the ones we saw in the All-Drunken Synod. This makes sense considering the society was formed in response to a theatrical performance, Shakhovskoi’s Lipetskie vody, ili Urok koketkam, which mocked Zhukovskii and his ballads. As we saw, the Arzamasians took on names from Zhukovskii’s ballads and their speeches parodically follow typical details and events of the ballads (demons, moonlight magic, corpses rising form the dead, and so on), implying they tried to mask their identities and take on the roles of characters. Furthermore, many of the Arzamasian poems and epigrams have theatrical settings. For example, Bludov’s “Videnie v Arzamas,” which was the catalyst for the foundation of the 94 94 society, is dramatic for the voyeurism (i.e., peeping through a keyhole) and for the lunacy of the protagonist (reminiscent of Macbeth). This could also be viewed as a parody of a religious vision, or a “videnie.” Furthermore, the very nature of writing epistles to each other is somewhat affected because, just like when two characters interact on a stage, there are two audiences: the immediate, i.e., addressee, and the wider reading public. But there are also more direct theatrical aspects. In the protocol of the meeting of October 22, 1815, the Arzamasians describe what a member who has been kicked out of the society has to do in order to get back in. After going through a series of obstacles and begging to be let back in, the former member has to sit in a white cap “looking guilty” and with “downcast eyes,” cough quietly into his fist, blow his nose and hide his head under the table for the entire duration of the meeting: After he walks in on all fours, he has to do the following: B&?", 7$8 39'-"." >)#+, 0"%=#+$49' "( (+ 8+%(&$ (".& & 4+-&# "7*+8"# #+/"-0"#+/) %"?"%&4 %" <$/"3$<$9-"." "7*+8+; 9+%&49' 0""%+/5 "4 %*).&?, (+ 9+#=D -*+D 94)/+, & ($ 0"83"/'$4 9$7$ ./'%$45 (& (+ -"4"*"." &8 0*&9)943)IA&?. Q/$(= #$2%) 4$# 39$ 9&%'4 - ($#) 8+%"#, 0"-+8=3+I4 3$/&<$943$(()I ."*%"945 "9-"*7/$((=? 9$*%$:, ?"/"%("$ ($3(&#+(&$, <+94" -+>/'I4 & 9#"*-+I49', %+7= 8+./)>&45 ."/"9 "*+4"*+. H" 39$ 3*$#' 8+9$%+(&' 3&("3(=D 9&%&4 3 7$/"# -"/0+-$, #"/<+, 9 95 95 0"4)0/$((=# 38"*"#; -+>/'$4 4&?" 3 -)/+-, 9#"*-+$49', 90*'4+3 ."/"3) 0"% 94"/… S" "-"(<+(&& )2&(+ 0*$8&%$(4 7/+."9/"3/'$4 $." /+0-"I .)9', (+*"<(" "<&A$(("I %/' 9$.", & %*+&4 $." 9$I /+0-"I. (Vatsuro 274- 275) The detailed descriptions of the members’ behavior read like stage directions. This feeling of performing a theatrical play permeates the rest of the Arzamasian works and behaviors. We should note that the blessing of the member with the foot of the goose (on which they will feast later) uses the same logic as Peter’s behavior of placing two pipes at right angles as a cross. Perhaps the most obviously theatrical aspects of the society is the story of the acceptance into the society of V. L. Pushkin. V. L. Pushkin arrived at Uvarov’s place, where the meeting was taking place; the rest sat him on a couch and covered him with the fur coats of all the present members. This was supposed to be a mocking reenactment of Shakhovskoi’s long humorous poem “Raskhishchennye shuby” (1811) and meant that the new candidate had to endure his first hazing, coat rotting (“shubnoe prenie”) (Vatsuro 118-119). The second test was to listen to a whole French tragedy read by the author while lying underneath the coats. After that, the Arzamsians tied the eyes of the new candidate, led him down the stairs to a room, where they untied his eyes and showed him the “monster of bad taste” (made of a clothes hanger and a sheet), gave him a bow and arrow and asked him to strike the “monster”; a boy hidden behind the monster shot blank bullets at the same time (118-119). After this, V. L. Pushkin was given the 96 96 Arzamsian emblem, a frozen goose, which he had to hold in his hand while he listened to a long welcoming speech. Then, he was given a washtub, invited to wash himself and was told that this ritual transforms (“preobrazuet”) Shakhovskoi’s Lipetskie vody (119). V. L. Pushkin, who was a Mason and was used to such hazing rituals, endured these abuses, believing that all Arzamasian members had to go through these rituals (105). But the ritual was performed only once—for him—because everyone else refused to participate (105, 119). All of this shows that the Arzamasians indeed engaged in a kind of theater that served as the basis for much of the rest of their writings and behaviors. Besides the theatrical setting, there is a frequent use of theatrical props. Painting a portrait of the Arzamasian, Pushkin writes that he is: “...3 7$90$<("# -"/0+-$,/ ; .*$#)>-"D, /+3*+#& & 9 *"8.+#& 3 *)-$” (Vatsuro 318). This image of the Arzamasian with a carefree cap and a rattle, laurels, and birch sticks in his hands is reminiscent of skomorkhi and fools who were quite adorned and frequently entertained by the use of props. Of course, the laurel is a classical symbol alluding to the closeness between male friends and here, it is perhaps a homage to ancient Greek culture; the birch tree—a traditional Russian symbol and the rattle, of playfulness and childhood. But there are other “props” that support this hypothesis; e.g., at the society’s meetings, the red Jacobian cap was given to the chairman and, besides lampooning Masonic rituals, it also figured as a symbol of the principles of “freedom, equality, fraternity”—not so much political but spiritual (Peschio 75; Vatsuro 14). But whereas individually all these physical objects might have had particular meanings, when taken together, they form a kind of theatrical 97 97 setting, especially when combined with the previously mentioned “stage directions” and the overall scripted nature of the society’s meetings. In his memoirs, Vigel’ describes how important theater, the most common form of entertainment at the time, was to him and his friends. The tsar expelled the French theatrical troupes in 1812 and, as a result, the Russian nobility, which was used to French theater, was confused and had actually to study the subtleties of domestic theater, which they could not understand because they were not used to it. The fashion for tragedy was gone; there was not much comedy either. There was almost no opera either because it also came from France. This is why Shakhovskoi’s works, which were light in character, picked up. A chain of light works, three or four per day, came to the stages. Considering their strong interest in national theater, it is quite possible that the Arzamasians looked into the history of national theater and perhaps were intrigued by Medieval theater and its interludes, whose structure they seem to take on. Whereas I have not seen any direct references to Medieval theater or even to Peter the Great’s Wild Synod, there are a number of parallels and it is not unreasonable that they knew of these, especially considering Karamzin was the court historian. One of the favorite pastimes of many of the Arzamasians was not only to attend plays but also to write and perform them in a private setting. In a letter of October 1811 to Viazemski, Zhukovskii writes: “[ "<$(5 3&%+I95 9 S/$A$$3=#&, 9 -"4"*=#& <+9 "4 <+9) #($ 94+("3&49' 0*&'4($$; ' ) (&? -+- %"#+—3#$94$ 9 C. C. 0&>$# -"#$%&&, &.*+$# &?, *+8)#$$49' #$2%) 9"7"I, 0"$#, 9/)>+$# #)8=-)” (173). The next month, he writes something quite similar: “G= 9 S/$A$$3=# 0&>$# -"#$%&&, -+-&? 98 98 (&-4" (&-"%+ ($ 0&9=3+/—0"/"3&(+ 0"-*)99-&, 0"/"3&(+ 0"-F*+(:)8-& & 39$ 3 94&?+?. 6" T4"." 38%"*) ' ($ (+#$*$( - 4$7$ 0"9=/+45. P&3&95 4"/5-" 4"#), <4" ' &.*+I (+ 4$+4*$, 0"I & 4+(:)I 3 7+/$4$ -"94I#$ 6$1&!” (174). What Viazemskii describes is supported by what theorists of Russian culture have tried to show. Yurii Lotman, for example, argues that theater played a special role in the culture of the early 19th century on a pan-European scale. The epoch as a whole was theatricalized. Russians were surprised to see Napoleon’s court; Alexander I had a very simple court (which was contributed to his miserliness) (147). The fundamental area where the aesthetic and theatrical elements penetrated into extra-artistic life was warfare rather than court etiquette (and most of the Arzamasians did participate in wars and in general their society was consumed by the Napoleonic wars) (Lotman 148). Another indication of the theatricalization of everyday life are the amateur theatricals and domestic theaters (of the kind Zhukovskii describes) that were widespread in the life of the gentry at the beginning of the 19th century; like participation in professional theater, they were regarded as departure from the world of the conventional and insincere life of the beau-monde into a world of genuine feelings and directness (152). Lotman contends that the day-to-day life of the aristocrat was “plot-less” and the view of life as performance offered people new possibilities for behavior because theatrical life differed from everyday existence. Theatrical life appeared as a chain of events; a man was not a passive participant in the impersonally flowing course of time because, liberated from everyday life, he existed as a historical person, making an 99 99 active impact on the world around him, and either going under or winning through (Lotman 160). Arzamas kept the form—secrecy, protocols, speeches, initiation rite, and oath— but discarded the solemn content of the Academy and Masonic societies. By doing this and essentially presenting its aesthetic project in sacred terms, Arzamas replicates the parodic mechanism of the All-Drunken Synod. In such a way, it implicitly borrows elements from medieval carnivalesque activities such as the skomorokh, the holy fool and theatrical interludes. Arzamas was active during a period when literature was transitioning from Classicism to Romanticism and when the institutions of literature were changing but not fast enough. Even though Alexander I was reform-minded and during his reign there was a flourishing of cultural institutions (e.g., new universities and secondary schools opened; scientific, literary, and scholarly societies flourished; and journals reflected the diversity of cultural and intellectual interests of the literate public), the institution of literature remained closely tied to the authority of the state and the patronage system. For a long time the laudatory ode was the main literary model. The system of patronage remained the dominant mode of literary institutionalization throughout the 18th century. Westward-looking, “enlightened” despots, the Academy of Sciences and highly placed aristocrats protected (not always consistently or fairly) a number of writers. Under this system, the protégé’s primary audience was his protector, whom he might address orally (at court fetes, in the drama), in manuscripts (letters), and occasionally in print (with the appropriate epistle dedicatory) 100 100 (Todd, Fiction and Society 52). Patronage placed particular value on the lofty genres of Neoclassicism (e.g., odes, tragedies, epics) and upon informative texts (histories and scientific texts). In other words, the patronage system placed value on those modes of writing which served to magnify the protector and the state. The dominant linguistic code remained the liturgical language, Church Slavonic, transformed into a signifier of loftiness. (Todd, Fiction and Society 52) [The Arzamasians—especially Viazemskii, Pushkin and Batiushkov—often use Church Slavonicisms to blasphemous, humorous ends in their letters (Todd, Familiar Letter 137). The practice was a means of punctuating the darkness and pomposity that often surrounded them (137).]. The patronage system allowed writers the opportunity to work on lengthy projects such as histories, and to produce the dictionaries, grammars, rhetorical manuals, and disquisitions on poetry that in turn helped to develop the linguistic and literary codes necessary for the flowering of a national literature (53). The war with Napoleon made the independence of the institution of literature even more difficult as it made the production of nationalistic works urgent again. Beseda produced just such a literature. The Napoleonic invasion made things difficult as little of the nation’s energies could be directed toward literature. And the still existing system of patronage encouraged a kind of linguistic and literary servitude. The Arzamasians replicate medieval carnivalesque models because they ultimately want independence for the institution of literature. During moments of laughter, especially during theatrical interludes and in the performance of the skomorkh, people felt free from the rigid societal norms and rules of medieval Russian society, as 101 101 we saw in Chapter One; they could laugh at their masters and officials, express their frustration with the rigidity of their society without punishment or consequences. The medieval actor and the theatrical interludes, at least for a moment, allowed for the feeling of equality and thus independence of creativity, even at a simple level. The Arzamasians reverts to those models, unself-consciously, because they want that same kind of freedom for their own times. Ultimately, they want independence for their creativity. 102 102 Chapter 3: Koz’ma Prutkov and His Creators NI7/I ' 0+*+%"-9= 3+>& O ?+-?+-?+, & ?&-?&-?&, ;#&*("3"D >4)<-), F+*9) ;+>& O O>-& G'4/$3+ 94&?&. --G. \. N$*#"(4"3 Just as Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod and Arzamas did in their times, Aleksei Tolstoi and his cousins, the Zhemchuzhnikov brothers, created a buzz, if not a kind of social scandal, in mid-19th century Russian literary culture. They created the literary mystification Koz’ma Prutkov, a Russian bureaucrat and an aspiring writer who produced a diverse body of works including aphorisms, fables, poems and plays. In keeping with the pretense that Prutkov’s works were the creation of a single author, the number of participants and their identities was kept secret for a long time. His name remained a mystery even in literary circles of the 1850s. At various times, it was rumored that Panaev, Nekrasov, Dobroliubov, Ammosov, the literary historian Longinov and others in the Sovremennik circle took part in the Prutkovian writings (Monter 23). Occasionally, they were ascribed to only one of the Zhemchuzhnikov brothers, all of whom, along with Aleksei Tolstoi, were, in fact, creators. The creators, like the rest of the 103 103 groups studied in this dissertation, essentially played a prank on the reading public, thus continuing the tradition of parodic male societies delineated in this study. The literary mystification Koz’ma Prutkov arose from the individual and collective reactions of the young aristocrats to bureaucratic life and to art. Even though Tolstoi and the Zhemchuzhnikovs say they did this purely for fun, we shall see that the young men created this character in order to cope with the discrepancy between the civil service for which they were all trained and in which they worked and its futility. A further impetus was the constricted society during the “epoch of censorship” commencing with the European revolutions of 1848 and continuing through Russia’s losing involvement in the Crimean war of 1853-56 (Peace 189). This gloomy period of 1848-1855, called “mrachnoe semiletie,” was a bleak time for Russian literature and culture. In 1849 members of the political Petrashevsky circle, which included Dostoevsky, were arrested and many writers were persecuted (including Saltykov- Shchedrin, Dahl, Turgenev and Ostovsky) (Peace 193). Furthermore, the official values of the regime, formulated by the Minister of Education, Sergey Uvarov, as “Autocracy, Orthodoxy and Orthodoxy” also impinged on cultural life. When this restrictive cultural and literary situation is considered, the parody of Koz’ma Prutkov, which is aimed at Slavophiles, bureaucrats and didacticism, makes sense. Even though Tolstoi and the Zhemchuzhnikovs maintain they create Pruktov just for fun, the mere fact that they tried to get published shows they had literary intentions and these were directed against the regime. Furthermore, besides parodying stuffy official culture and the Romantic epigones, the literary phenomenon Koz’ma Prutkov 104 104 arose as a way of imitating or replicating Arzamas and other earlier Russian literary circles (or at least recreating many of the aspects of old Russian culture described in this study), whether consciously or not. The playful aesthetics of Arzamas were transmitted to Koz’ma Prutkov partially through cultural memory and partially through the young men’s uncle, the writer Perovskii, pen name Antonii Pogorel’skii. At the very least, there are a number of themes and behaviors that overlap with those of previous humorous societies in Russian culture, especially the All-Drunken Synod and Arzamas. All three societies, for example, expound anti-clerical as well as anti-Slavophile sentiments (which should not be surprising considering that all three societies were somewhat oriented toward Western culture, or at least were educated in that manner, if not actively involved in promoting the “Westernization” and “modernization” of Russian culture). The Group The way the society was formed is similar to the manner in which the other societies examined in this dissertation came into being: a playful atmosphere among friends gradually developed into a literary game with fixed rules that parodied the established literary culture and the official institutions of the time. In letter to Pypin of February 6, 1883, Vladimir related how Prutkov came into existence: /$4"# 1851 &/& 1852 [actually 1851], 3" 3*$#' 0*$7=3+(&' (+>$D 9$#5& (7$8 .*. B"/94".") 3 ,*/"39-"D .)7. 3 %$*$3($, 7*+4 #"D C/$-9+(%* 9"<&(&/, #$2%) 0*"<&#, &9-/I<&4$/5(" *+%& >)4-&, 7+9(I “6$8+7)%-& & 8+0'4-&”; T4+ F"*#+ 94&?"43"*("D >+/"94& 105 105 0*&>/+95 (+# 0" 3-)9), & 4".%+ 2$ 7=/& 9"94+3/$(= 7+9(&, 4$# 2$ 7*+4"# C/$-9+(%*"# 0*& 9"%$D943&& 7*. C/$-9$' (Vatsuro 65). Similarly, Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov, remembers the playful emergence of their invention in a letter; he writes that at the beginning they were nourished by merriment and had no concern to preserve any kind of line apart from merriment and mockery: “;(+<+/" 0*"94" 0&4+/"95 "4 3$9$/"94& & 7$8 8+7"4= " 9"?*+($(&D 3 (+0&9+(("# -+-"D-/&7" <$*4=, -*"#$ 3$9$/"94& & (+9#$>-&” (qtd in Schahadat 276). Just as we saw in the All-Drunken Synod and in Arzams and as we shall see in the Dovlatov’s circle, the creators of Koz’ma Prutkov assert that they write parodies merely “for fun,” to entertain themselves. They do not assign any deeper meaning and do not insist that they are replicating a behavior or aesthetic seen somewhere else. But my assertion is that they are indeed part of a larger historical phenomenon that goes back to the theatrical interludes of the old medieval era in Russia. (Shalosti is another element that connects Koz’ma Prutkov to Arzamas, see Peschio) We should note that even though Koz’ma Prutkov was not a formalized society. Unlike the All-Drunken Synod or Arzamas, it did not have a membership roster or fixed rules, with known consequences if one broke these rule and so on, it did have a consistent group of contributors. The collective authorship of Koz’ma Prutkov consisted of four main persons: Aleksei Konstantinovich Tolstoi (1817-185) and his cousins, the brothers Aleksei Mikhailovich Zhemchuzhnikov (1821-1908), Vladimir Mikhailovich Zhemchuzhnikov (1830-1884), and Aleksandr Mikhailovich Zhemchuzhnikov (1826- 1896). Some scholars have argued that while Aleksandr played a significant role in 106 106 Prutkov’s early fables and in certain of his dramatic work, he failed to cooperate in the joint creation and publication of Prutkov’s works as did the other three members and, therefore, A. Tolstoi and Aleksei and Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov should be considered to occupy the primary position in the collective creation (Ingram 2). These scholars, as well as the editor, Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov, himself state that Prutkov’s founders were a “triumvirate.” While it is true the three men wrote the largest part of Prutkov’s works, a third Zhemchuzhnikov brother, Aleksandr (1826-1896), made enthusiastic if limited contributions of his own, collaborating in the writings of three fables and two plays for Purtkov as well as some shorter works (Monter 11, 14). Aleksandr loved to recite any kind of poetic nonsense in front of his acquaintances, which was, in many ways, instrumental for the creation of Koz’ma Prutkov. Plus, he gave the impetus for Prutkov’s creation and possibly his “death,” as we shall see later, and was the driving force behind many practical jokes played on the public, which are described and implemented at least in spirit of Koz’ma Prutkov. There are others who contributed to the phenomenon. We know that A. N. Ammosov and P. P. Ershov, the Siberian poet, author of the popular “Konek Gorbunok,” contributed to some of the fables (]i^evskij 127). Ammosov contributed the shortest fable, “Pastukh, moloko, i chitatel’” (Monter 69). But one cannot distinguish the works of the separate authors and here I will study the works as the creative legacy of one phenomenon. Furthermore, it does not matter how much each individual member was involved. What matters is that Koz’ma Prutkov is a collective creation that replicates aspects of an earlier phenomenon that can be traced back to Arzamas and the All- 107 107 Drunken Synod. At the same time, an analysis of the individual members’ behaviors, aesthetic sensibilities and ideologies is necessary because it informs the collective aesthetic of the whole group. Several works predate the origin of Prutkov but were later attributed to him. The vaudeville parody “Fantaziia,” written by A. K. Tolstoi and Aleksandr Zhemchuzhnikov in 1850 and played at the Aleksandriinskii Theater in January 1851, was issued over the pseudonym “Y i Z.” The public appearance of Prutkov is also predated by three fables written by Aleksandr and Aleksei, which were published anonymously in the November issue of Sovremennik in I. I. Panaev’s feuilleton “Zametki novogo poeta o russkoi zhurnalistike” in the November issue of Sovremennik (Bukhshtab 171). Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov explains in the letter to A. N. Pypin (6 February 1883) that these were published anonymously because at that time they had not yet created the image of Koz’ma Prutkov. Later, however, these works were attributed to Koz’ma Prutkov and included in the first edition of his collected works. When they were writing these three fables, the brothers, joked that they made Krylov obsolete because their fables were not any worse than his (Bukhshtab 172). This joke was repeated even upon their return to St. Petersburg, which soon led Vladimir, Aleksei and Tolstoi (Aleksandr at that time was serving in Orenburg) toward the thoughts of writing under the name of one personage, capable of writing in many genres. This thought seemed to have lured them and they created Koz’ma Prutkov. Tolstoi and Aleksei and Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov took up the idea of publishing humorous works in several genres over a single pseudonym in 1853 and by the summer of that year, when 108 108 they stayed together in the village of Eletskaia again, they had assembled a substantial amount of such material. During the summer, they added the comedy “Blondy,” written by Aleksei, Aleksandr, and Vladimir. In the fall, in accordance with an agreement with Tolstoi and Aleksei, Vladimir started to put together and edit everything (Bukhshtab 171- 172). The original intention was to produce Prutkov’s works as a collection in book form. This tells us that the authors, despite their claims that they were just “entertaining themselves” with this literary mystification, had serious literary intentions. Another Zhemchuzhnikov brother, Lev Mikhailovich, and two of his fellow students from the Academy of Art, Aleksandr Egorovich Beideman and Lev Feliksovich Lagorio, drew and lithographed a “portrait” of Koz’ma Prutkov for the purpose of including it in the book (Ingram 2-3; Monter 24). The censor, however, refused to sanction the portrait, suspecting it to be a caricature of a real government official. As a result, the collection was abandoned for the moment and Prutkov’s works were published in 1854 in a specific section, “Literaturnyi eralash,” of the journal Sovremennik (Ingram 3). Aleksei Tolstoi and the Zhemchuzhnikovs were friends with the publishers of Sovremennik circle, already known for its light verse and parody (Bukhshtab 171). This shows the extent to which a network of literary associations and friendships worked to one’s advantage in the era. When the editors Nekrasov and I. I. Panaev, received Prutkov’s “Literaturnye dosugi,” they decided to create a special section in the journal called “Literaturnyi eralash,” which was to be entirely devoted to parody and humor (Monter 21). Well over half of Prutkov’s works appeared in 1854 in the five issues of 109 109 “Literaturnyi eralash” under the general title, “Dosugi Kuz’my Prutkova,” namely 3 prefaces, 2 dramas, 22 poems, 3 epigrams, 2 fables, 115 aphorisms, 15 historical anecdotes, 1 feuilleton, to be precise (Ingram 3). All of this gives us an insight into the collective creative process of the young men. Even though they insist in their memoirs and diaries that they created the character of Koz’ma Purtkov just for fun and to entertain themselves, it is quite clear they had serious literary intentions. Furthermore, these intentions are even more elevated than those of the Wild Synod and Arzamas. Once the character was established, the young men fabricated a biography for the famous bureaucrat-turned-poet. The first “biographical” sketch of Koz’ma Prutkov occurred in the first edition of his Collected Works and was reprinted in all subsequent editions. The main information is as follows. Koz’ma Petrovich Prutkov was born on April 11, 1803. In 1820 he was accepted in one of the most prestigious hussar regiments but served there for only two years. He entered military service “only for the uniform” (“tol’ko dlia mundira”) and, in 1823, resigned, upon which he entered the civil service at the Ministery of Finance—in the assay office. He served there for 40 years (160). 10 10 What we know of Koz’ma Prutkov’s “life” is largely provided in three prose sketches: 1) Kratkii nekrolog I dva posmertnye proizvedeniya Kuz’my Petrovicha Prutkova” appeared in Sovremennik No. 4, 1863, in the section Svistok , No. 9; “Nekotorye materially dlya biografii K. P. Prutkova” in Sankt-Peterburgskie vedomosti of 22 and 29 April 1876; “Biograficheskie svedeniya o Koz’me Prutkove” is the editor’s unsigned introduction to Prutkov’s Polnoe sobranie sochineniya, Petersburg 1884. The second of these essays was most likely written by Aleksandr and lacks the authority of works approved by Koz’ma Prutkov’s principal members. The “final authorized version” of his life is the introductory essay to his collected works and the one I use here. This final “biography” recognizes the 1863 “Kratkii nekrolog…” as a source, but completely rejects the authenticity of the 1876 essay in a footnote (Ingram 12-13). 110 110 According to the biographical notes, Koz’ma Prutkov became a writer as a mature adult—at the end of his fifties. He debuted in 1850 with the comedy “Fantaziya”, performed at the Aleksandriiski theater, and the following year, he anonymously published his first poems. After that, his talent flourished quite fast: in 1854, Prutkov began to publish under his own name. In that year and later in the 1860s, all of his main works, ranging in genre from poetry to aphorisms to historical anecdotes to dramatic works, were printed in the journal Sovremennik. He “died” on January 13, 1863. The entire “biography” is written with the parodic tone typical to the creators. The creators continued to play a joke on the public even after Prutkov’s “death.” Prutkov’s “death” was announced in the article “Kratkii nekrolog i dva posmertnye proizvedeniia Kuz’my Petrovicha Prutkova” in the last number of Svistok in 1863 (Ingram 4). Thirteen years later, in 1876, two feuilletons of Aleksandr Zhemchuzhnikov purporting to communicate with Prutkov “s tovo sveta” and to give biographical material about Prutkov (“Nekotorye materiyaly dlya biografii K. P. Prutkova”) appeared in the newspaper Sankt-Peterburgskie vedomosti (Ingram 4-5). In creating this personage and lying to the public about who he was and who was involved, the group of young men, essentially, played a prank on the public, thus continuing the tradition of joking and pranking we have seen in the All-Drunk Synod and Arzamas and which we shall see in the later societies. 111 111 Origins and Inspirations Scholars have not reached an agreement as to the inspiration behind the name of Koz’ma Prutkov. Blium asserts that it is quite likely the origin is one Koz’ma Timoshurin, who, in 1847 submitted a manuscript to the Kaluga censorship committee asking the members to issue a permit and to print the book. The book came out the following year and, Blium argues, the style as well as the entire pathos of the poems in the book are strikingly similar to those of Koz’ma Prutkov (146). The Zhemchuzhnikovs had land in the Kaluga province and Aleksei spend some time there (147). Scholars such as Blium conjecture that it is quite likely that Tolstoi, who lived in Kaluga for a few months in 1851, met Timoshurin, who was well-known in some of the literary salons in the region (e.g., the salon of Aleksandra Osipovna Smirnova, the wife of the mayor and an author of another literary mystification, her diaries). This information gives is insight into the inspiration and creative process of Koz’ma Prutkov’s creators. Another possible origin for the name is Koz’ma Folov, Koz’ma Folov, who worked as a valet for the Zhemchuzhnikovs and whom they loved very much. The young men tried to attribute the writing to the “wonderful old man” (“prekrasnyi starik”) but when he found out the book was silly (“glupaia”), he proudly rejected the offer (Blium 145). The name Kuz’ma sounds more Russian than Koz’ma, which is closer to the Greek Kosmas and thus more high-flown. We should note Prutkov’s first name was initially printed in Sovremennik as “Kuz’ma,” was later occasionally spelled “Kos’ma” and finally took the form “Koz’ma” in his collected works. But neither Tolstoi, nor the Zhemchuzhnikovs, nor any of the other tangential participants, nor subsequent scholars 112 112 have succeeded in convincingly explaining why they chose the name Prutkov. There are several conjectures, however. “Prut” in Russian means a switch (made from a single twig) and suggest the same whiplashing quality as the name Khlestakov, the main character of Gogol’’s play Revizor, also a civil servant (Blium 145). There are other probable sources for the name Prutkov, one of which is French. Monter, Terras and other scholars tell us that the name and concept of Prutkov goes back to a French mystification created some years earlier by Henri Bonaventure Monnier (1805-1877), one Joseph Prudhomme. The names Prudhomme and Prutkov have a similar sound and the characters also resemble one another, as scholars have pointed out, in that the main trait of each is philistine banality with a tendency toward pretentious rhetoric and petty emphasis (Terras 355). Joseph Prudhomme, whose name in French suggests bourgeois prudence, is a caricature of the Parisian bourgeois of the 1830s; to this day, he is as well-known to the French-speaking world as Koz’ma Prutkov is to the Russian (Monter 16). But the resemblance goes deeper than the mere sound of the name. Monnier was also a mystificateur who played practical jokes (Monter 16). He was even better known as an artist and made his debut in 1830 with his Scenes populaires dessinees a la plume, including a portrait and signature facsimile of Joseph Prudhomme (Prutkov’s portrait also became famous) (Monter 16-17). Monnier also wrote vaudevilles, the most famous of which was the Grandeur et decadence de M. Joseph Prudhomme, in which he himself played the lead. It was first shown in Paris in 1852, exactly the same year Prutkov was named. Scholars have suggested that perhaps Tolstoi or one of the 113 113 Zhemchuzhnikov brothers followed the Parisian theatrical season in review and thus created Koz’ma Prutkov as the Russian version of Prudhomme (Monter 17). Bukhshtab, who edited the modern editions of Koz’ma Prutkov’s work and is the most authoritative Prutkov scholar to date, mentions that another precedent is doubtlessly “Madam Kurdiukovaia,” the creation of Ishaka Miatlev, a salon entertainer of the era (166-167). This is especially convincing considering that Prutkov’s fables partially originate from some of Miatlev’s works (e.g., “Medved’ i koza”; “Brachnaia delikatnost’“) (167). Prutkov’s aphorisms continue the tradition of the oral salon poetry developed by Sergei Neelov and later by Ivan Miatlev and Sergei Sobolevskii. The couplets, aphorisms and occasional verse were created in the playful atmosphere of the literary salons marked by an “intimate salon character” so that these improvised comic verses frequently could only be understood by the enlightened circle of visitors, the participants of this literary game (Schahadat 276). Often the texts made up in the literary salons were never written down and the fact that Koz’ma Prutkov’s comical, sometimes nonsensical poetry was published in prominent literary journals suggests a crossing of the border between the oral and the written text (Schahadat 277). This is especially important for this study, which examines the links between oral and public behaviors and written texts and aims to link them to medieval precedents. There is more evidence that these type of salon entertainers, popular at the time, were influential for the creators of Koz’ma Prutkov, especially for the young Tolstoi. In 1831, he traveled to Italy with his uncle A. A. Perovskii, where they met and spent significant amounts of time with Sergei Aleksandrovich Sobolevskii, another sharp- 114 114 tongued acquaintance of Aleksei Perovskii and a friend of Pushkin, a follower of Miatlev’s “non-normative” poetry and the “unknown writer of all well-known epigrams” (Tourian 43). Sobolevskii joined the Perovskiis on a subsequent trip to Naples and Pompei; it is important to note that the young man spent significant amounts of time in the intimate company of Sobolevskii (43). Tourian argues that this well-known meeting, which was most certainly not the only one, should undoubtedly rank among those impressions that later resonated in Tolstoi’s artistic conscious. Several years later, in this very same (like Sobolevskii’s) “joking” style, unmistakably assimilated from his uncle and his mileau, Tolstoi would begin to write letters himself. His messages to N. V. Adlerberg 1837-1838, similar to those of the Arzamas circle, interspersed with humorous and parodying verses and intermedias, can be viewed as obvious precursors of Koz’ma Prutkov who was “born” just over ten years later (Tourian 43-44). Miatlev and Sobolovsky have an aesthetic similar to that of skomorokhi in that they seem to be the contemporary version of traveling oral entertainers; e.g., they went from one salon to the next and produced witty humor, sometimes perhaps even performed acts. We have seen themes and elements overlapping with those of the skomorokhi in the other societies studied here. It should be noted that literary jokes of the young friends were not something unusual at the time. Wealthy aristocrats had much leasure time, and entertaining themselves was a constant concern (Bukhshtab 166). Talents serving for entertainment and good passing of time in society were carefully cultivated. Wisecrackers and fun and entertaining people were highly valued. Caricatures, epigramms, merry epistles, slapstick 115 115 comedy in verse (“stikhotvornye buffonady”) and all kinds of domestic galimatias flourished alongside life painting, home theater, and petits jeaux (166). Connection to Arzamas Besides the aforementioned indirect connections to Arzamas, there are direct personal links to the earlier parodic society as well. Tolstoi’s uncle, the writer Aleksei Alekseevich Perovskii, pen name Antonii Pogorol’skii, was a close friend of the Arzamasians and a man who engaged in the same type of witty humor, pranks, merry- making, and shalosti. Koz’ma Prutkov was conceived in the same atmosphere of unity between life and literary practice as had once been the case with Arzamas. Arzamas was programmatically directed at travestying the conservatively inclined “Beseda” and had its beginnings in its Moscow prelude and the artistic pieces of the Neelov circle, of which Perovskii was a member, analogous tricks of the “Prutkovian circle” have been repeatedly described in literature (Tourian 46). Tourian suggests, Perovskii’s literary position and artistic practice were formed directly through friendly and artistic links with those literary circles from which Prutkov’s genealogy arises. These are the traditions of “domestic” satirical poetry originating from the well-known Moscow poet-dilettante S. A. Neelov through to I. P. Miatlev and S. A. Sobolevskii and the comic poetics that formed among the Arzamas group (Tourian 38). In 1810 Perovskii entered the circle of his idol Karamzin around whom the new literary generation, relatively independent in aesthetic terms and 116 116 unpuritanical in their lifestyle, were grouping (Tourian 38). Among Perovskii’s close friends at that time—and to the end of his days—were the future members of Arzamas, V. A. Zhukovskii and P. A. Viazemskii, both of them already well-known as epigram writers (Tourian 38-39). For all their obvious respect for Karamzin, his self-willed “fledglings” in their own literary practice formulated a poetics of “absurdity” and “nonsense” with its own innovations in the field of semantics and style, doing this on the periphery of strict Karamzinian aesthetics. However, it was not just the product of “pure” literary work but also a reflection of a specific way of life, of a specific form of everyday behavior among the young Moscow aristocracy (39). In 1820 Perovskii fiercely defended in print the innovative metaphoric style of Pushkin’s “Ruslan and Liudmila” against attacks from the classicists, not only giving voice to the position of the founder-member of Arzamas but also widely deploying “Arzamasian language” with its playfulness and parodying elements, subtle puns and comically paradoxical oxymorons and periphrastic combinations (Tourian 41). The two writers retained a feeling of literary kinship (each had defended the other’s satirical work), which later turned into friendly affection when they became personally acquainted (41-42). This camaraderie certainly must have impacted the young Tolstoi, who was very close to his uncle. Wit and mischief-making were important to the writers who produced Prutkov and they inherited part of it from Arzamas through the person of Tolstoi’s uncle Perovskii, which enveloped the young men in the playful aesthetics of the earlier generation. Perovskii had the reputation as a striking wit and “lovable mischief-maker” 117 117 and belonged to the circle of Sergei Alekseevich Neelov, Moscow’s first wit and author of epigrams and frivolous, satirical verses about any aspects of Moscow life and society events that were being spread by word of mouth around both capitals (Tourian 39). Fruthermore, Perovskii was utterly absorbed in the sphere of the Arzamas society. He was, in a way, an Arzamas member in spirit and cast of mind and the Arzamasian environment was congenial and harmonious. In a letter dating from the time, A. I. Turgenev confirming to Viazemsky that Zhukovsky “destroys” his “drunken evenings,” added “This notwithstanding, we sometimes got drunk on the merry atmosphere alone and on Perovskii’s jokes, which are, incidentally, very decent and proper” (qtd in Tourian 41). We can sense these in Perovskii’s amphigories, some of which have anti-clerical motifs. For example: “Let the monk/ In the monastery/ Conduct mass,/ Let the archbishop/ Collect all the caviar/ From the sturgeon for himself” (qtd. in Tourian 40). In another such poem, Napoleon invites the pope to play cards, “But the Pope’s son/ Taking an orange,/ hurls it in papa’s face./ And a whale in the sea/ Looks at them all/ And picks his nose” (qtd. in Tourian 39-40). Perovskii, whose father was the Minister of Education at the time, recited these poems before the vice-chancellor of Moscow University and the chairman of the Beseda society (the enemies of Arzamas) (40). As we can see both poems are distinguished by a free anti-clerical element, anticipating the widespread parodying of Biblical texts in the works of the Arzamas members, in the spirit of the enlightenment tradition. Echoes of this parodying method manifest themselves in Koz’ma Prutkov’s satirical works (40-41). 118 118 The “pranks” and taste for mystification turned out to be very useful: both organically entered the literary method of Perovskii, which was developed to the full extent in his subsequent works, “The Double or My Evenings in Malorussia” and the novel “The Convent Girl” with their playful element and the ease with which they address the reading audience. N. Penskaia observes that the parodying manner of Kozma Prutkov’s interaction with the reader and the “playful reproduction of the contemporary literary world” was prompted specifically by Perovskii-Pogorelskii’s “The Double” (36). In light of all this, it is not difficult to sense the obvious features of similarity between the satirical and humorous writing of Pogorelsky and those of Koz’ma Prutkov. Tolstoy inherited the behavioral and literary traditions of the older generation and especially of the salon entertainers. He imbibed this heritage directly through his uncle and guardian. Perovskii’s considerable influence on his nephew has been long recognized by Prutkov scholars such as Tourian and Ingram. Aleksei Tolstoi’s parents separated soon after his birth and his father was to play no further role in his life (Tourian 38). When he was six weeks old his mother took him to Krasnyi Rog, the Ukrainian estate of her brother, Aleksei Alekseevich Perovskii. Tolstoi’s mother and the Zhemchuzhnikov brothers’ mother were sisters (Ingram 72). Upon his death, Perovskii left the estate Krasnyi Rog to his nephew. Tolstoi lived on the farmstead “Pustyn’ka” on the shores of the Tosna river close to St. Petersburg or in Krasnyi Rog, even farther away from the capital. At age 13, he accompanied his uncle on a tour of Italian cities, where he befriended and spent significant amount of time with the salon entertainer Sobolevskii (72). Perovskii introduced his nephew to a series of salon entertainers, from whom the 119 119 young Tolstoi learned about the parody, wit and humor he later incorporated into the works of Koz’ma Prutkov. Tolstoi admitted that “he began to waste paper by writing poems” from the age of six and it is clear from Perovskii’s letters to his nephew that these first literary experiences—among them, fables—were sent immediately and trustfully to his uncle for judgment (Tourian 42). It is only from these letters that we know of an early plan of Tolstoi’s first published work: the fantastic tale “The Vampire.” Incidentally, we must also mention Tolstoi’s attraction to the genre of the fantastic as being a direct artistic “legacy” from the writer Pogorelsky. 42-43. (This theme also resembles Zhukovskii’s ballads, which are also fantastical; Zhukovskii is another Arzamas member.) In other words, Arzamas was essential in the formation of Koz’ma Prutkov. There exists one more intriguing connection to Arzamas. Tolstoi and Pushkin met in person in 1836, also in Perovskii’s house and Pushkin gave his seal of approval to Tolstoi’s first modest poetic undertakings. The legacy of the great poet was preserved in Tolstoi’s artistic conscious throughout his life and this interest left its mark upon his work, including his attempt, unique in its own way, to write a humorous commentary on Pushkin’s poetry. According to several scholars, Tolstoi’s Prutkovian” poem “My Portrait” which opens the poetic “legacy” of the director of the assay office, is also linked to Pushkin and is a parody of his poem “Poet” (Tourian 45). Furthermore, Tolstoi wrote epigraphs in verse to Pushkin’s poems, sometimes expressing admiration but more often poking fun at his great predecessor. Some of these verses parody Pushkin’s style; e.g., in the margins of the poem “Zhelanie,” Tolstoi 120 120 could not resist mocking Pushkin’s overuse of figures and props from antiquity with concomitant notions of idleness and careless bliss (Tourian 10). This shows that Tolstoi, one of the founding members of Koz’ma Prutkov, was influenced by a connection to Arzamasian members, language and wit. Koz’ma Prutkov’s Parody The groups we have seen so far parody the literary institutions and the official culture of their time. Peter the Great’s Synod created a society mirroring the structure of the Church but its content and intention was the opposite: revelry, entertainment, and drinking as opposite to piety and restraint; e.g, instead of being asked “Do you believe?” members are asked “Do you drink?” Similarly, Arzamas members created “official” documents and rules for their society in the vein of the Russian Academy but, again, with incongruous content. And we shall see this in the later groups as well. Dovlatov and his circle, for example, wrote letters in “official” Soviet language but with the “wrong” content; e.g., writing an invitation for a house party on official Komsomol paper and with the language of the young communist organization, thus creating a mockery of bureaucratese by creating a discrepancy between form and content. Similary, one of the main features of Koz’ma Prutkov’s writings is parody of bureaucrats. Scholars and commentators agree that the model for Koz’ma Prutkov’s biographical image, especially the combination of the “zealous bureaucrat” and the “romantic poet,” is V. G. Benediktov. Bukhshtab, Ingram and D. S. Mirskii, among others, all assert this. In a way, Benediktov was the perfect prototype for the “bureaucrat- 121 121 poet”—at age 19 he entered the Izmailovski guard regiment as a lieutenant and retired six years later; two years later he was appointed a section chief and later a senior secretary in the Ministry of Finance; in 1850 he was promoted to Actual State Councilor and four years later, a Councilor of the Board of Directors of the State Loan Bank. He retired in 1858 and died 15 years later (Ingram 25). The mockery of bureaucracy and government service has a personal basis. This is how Tolstoi characterizes the circle in a letter of February 13, 1883 to Vladimir: H9$ #= 4".%" 7=/& #"/"%=, & “(+94*"$(&$ -*)2-+”, 0*& -"4"*"# 3"8(&-/& 43"*$(&' S*)4-"3+, 7=/" 3$9$/"$, (" 9 0*&#$95I 9+4&*&<$9-&--*&4&<$9-"." "4(">$(&' - 9"3*$#$((=# /&4$*+4)*(=# '3/$(&'# & - '3/$(&'# 9"3*$#$(("D 2&8(&. 1"4' -+2%=D &8 (+9 &#$/ 93"D "9"7=D 0"/&4&<$9-&D ?+*+-4$*, (" 39$? (+9 9"$%&(&/+ 0/"4(" "%(+ "7A+' (+# <$*4+: 0"/("$ "49)943&$ “-+8$(("94&” 3 (+9 9+#&? &, 39/$%93&$ T4".", 7"/5>+' <)4-"945 -" 39$#) “-+8$(("#).” (qtd. in Bukhshtab 168) The creators are resistant to government service and to the growing state bureaucracy, which is not surprising considering that they all were raised with the idea of government service in mind. The Zemchuzhnikov’s father devoted his life to government service—he was a captain of the artillery in 1806, an adjutant to Count Arakcheev, fought in the Napoleonic wars and later worked in the civil service as governor of the province of Kostroma and later of Petersburg; later, he was promoted to Privy Councilor and made a member of senate; he was renowned as one of the leading liberals in his government 122 122 (Ingram 52). In view of their father’s career, it is not surprising that the Zhemchuzhnikov brothers were educated for government service and throughout their lives were intimately concerned with the national, political, and social affairs of their times and all had extensive experience with government service (52). Tolstoi’s conviction about the incompatibility of government service and art gave birth to Prutkov, whose credo was the opposite and who believed that service in the bureaucracy came first and that art followed naturally (Monter 5). Monter argues that Tolstoi’s preoccupation with historical events and Zhemchuzhnikov’s with “civic” themes coexisted with a natural tendency to withdraw into the self-contained world of the perfectly-polished love or nature lyrics (2). Somewhere amidst this artistic duality there arose “at first independently of our will and completely unpremeditatedly” a character who would incarnate a humorous solution to dilemmas that were not theirs alone, a personage whose views were consistent where a liberal but uncommitted man saw little opportunity for consistency (2). Monter further argues that Tolstoi “expelled the demon” that had haunted his own life by giving it a name, a personality and a literary activity that assumed the name of art; he could then proceed to mock all the literary schools of the present and previous age to which he felt no kinship whatsoever (5). While this very well might be true, Tolstoi also relies on an earlier tradition of mocking official culture, one that started with the Arzamasian’s mockery of the Beseda and goes back to Peter the Great and his All-Drunken Synod’s mockery of the Church. Besides bureaucracy, Koz’ma Prutkov mocks didacticism, also related to official, stuffy discourse. His “Alphabet for Children,” Alexander’s contribution, was 123 123 intended with just that purpose (Tourian 55). The alphabet has no rhyme or reason and obstructs any logical learning process and may be seen as a parody of a serious ABC book with lofty moral-religious aims, such as the one by D. N. Sharapov, which seems to be the source (Sukiasova and Schahadat). Sharapov’s Novaia i polnaia russkaia azbuka written in 1854 has absurd choice of examples for learning the ABCs: “zh – zhivaia ryba”; “z—zlobnye krendeli.” In an attempt to mock Sharapov’s work, Prutkov, too, uses the adjective rather than the noun to illustrate the alphabet letters. And, as Monter points out, often the noun is lexically as well as grammatically more memorable than the adjective (55). Prutkov has other original touches: “Zh—Zhiteiskoe more” is a reference to own his 1883 poem “Pered morem zhiteiskim”; “T—Tatarin, prodayushii mylo ili khalaty” is a reference to a character in his own play Fantaziya but also humorous because of its relative length and incongruity; “U—uchitel’ tantsevaniya i logiki” comedic also for the incongruous juxtaposition; “D—Diunkirkhen gorod,” in which a foreign city illustrates the Russian alphabet. The overall order of the alphabet itself has no logical continuity: “A – Anton kozu vedet,” B—Bolnaia Yuliya. Thus not just the separate units but the entire alphabet works against any instructive purpose (Monter 55). This mockery of didacticism reminds us of the Arzamasian mockery of Beseda and the Russian Academy, both of whom were engaged in instructive moralizing. Koz’ma Prutkov does the same with his aphorisms. Aphorisms of the type “moral thoughts” or “rules of life” could be found in any journal or almanach of the 1810s and 1820s. This tradition, formed in at the end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th century in imitation of the French tradition “maksim i razmyshleniya,” was experiencing a period 124 124 of flourishing (Kulishkina 156). Russians replaced the moralistic and misanthropic pathos of the 17th- and 18th-century European aphorist writers with didacticism (Kulishkina 156). This is what Koz’ma Prutkov does with them turning them into pseudo- philosophical banalities or just plain nonsense, as for example, “E9/& ?"<$>5 7=45 9<+94/&3=#, 7)%5 &#” (Prutkov 88). Like the parody of the other groups studied here, Koz’ma Prutkov’s parody is light-hearted, in the sense that it is not malicious or vindictive nor was it used to belittle the poets it mocked. In that sense, Prutkov differs from earlier parodists like Trediakovskii, Lomonosov and Sumarokov in the 18th century, whose humor was often caustic. Schahadat argues that Koz’ma Prutkov’s parody is similar to Dostoevski’s in relation to Gogol in the sense that it used parodic mis-readings of earlier texts as a defense mechanism rather than as a weapon in a literary or political or cultural polemic (Schahadat 280-81). Part of this light-hearted parody is that Koz’ma Prutkov’s creators employ all manner of means to maintain Prutkov’s ambiguous position of sincere imitation. Koz’ma Prutkov strives not to offend. He outwardly bears no malice toward “those writers who have already gained a measure of success” whom he has selected as his models. Certain of Prutkov’s parodies carry a polemical bite, such as those directed at Moskvityanin’s critics (e.g. Blondy and the prologue to Oprometchivyi Turka, ili: Priiatno li byt’ vnukom?). But, as Ingram writes, when compared with the general climate of Russian journalism of the 1860s, especially with the vicious parody practiced by some members of the Iskra circle, like D. D. Minaev, Prutkov’s parody exhibits very little malice (128). The light-hearted parody follows that of Arzamas. It is a good-hearted 125 125 parody that reminds of medieval humor as we saw it in Chapter One, good hearted and humanist with the intention to bring out man’s foolishness without judging it. Parody of Romantic “Epigones” Benediktov serves as a springboard for another type of parody in Koz’ma Prutkov, namely, parody of literary “epigones.” This is something Arzamasians, who, as we have seen, parodied the Archaists, engaged in this as well. Pruktov has a number of poems in imitation of the popular trend in Russian literature to imitate Heine. The most famous parody of this trend is the famous poem is “Iunker Shmidt”: H'($4 /&94. S*"?"%&4 /$4". O($D 9$*$7*&49'... \(-$* U#&%4 &8 0&94"/$4+ 1"<$4 8+94*$/&459'. S"."%&, 7$8)#(=D, 9("3+ L$/$(5 "2&3&49'! \(-$* U#&%4! <$94("$ 9/"3", N$4" 3"83*+4&49'! (Sochineniia Koz’my Prutkova 29) “Cadet Schmidt” seems to parody a specific poem, although critics have not yet definitively agreed on its source. The author, Aleksei Tolstoi, often refers to Cadet Schmidt in his letters, and he has become the archetypal Prutkovian romantic hero but his exact predecessor remains unknown. “Cadet Schmidt” was first printed under the title “Iz Geine” and in the 1884 edition Vladimir Zhemchuzhnikov subtitled it “Kak budto iz 126 126 Geine” (80-81). Most critics conclude that the poem would not have been typical of Heine but more probably of his Russian imitators. Berkov suggests a similarity to a poem by E. Rostopchina but Bukhshtab abandons all specific comparison. Ingram has noticed that the poem has a strong resemblance to a quatrain in a poem by Karamzin called “Osen’” (1789). Tolstoi and the Zhemchuzhnikovs parody Khomiakov and others for specific trends or peculiarities of their writings but they found in Benediktov their main target (Bukhshtab 205). They saw a wholeness in Benediktov, i.e., the main features of his own poetry (205-206). Benediktov is characterized by “sbornyi” romanticism, as explained by L. Ginzburg, and is the most characteristic representative of the romantic illusionism in Russian literature of the 1830s and 1840s. He romanticizes every worldly situation. For example, “Proshchanie s sablei” is dedicated to the exiting of the poet from military service; the poet leaves the sword and returns to the woman. Bukhshtab notes that this is a typical for Benediktov game of interchanging the two; in «K druz’iam posle zhenit’by» there is no longer a maiden waiting for the soldier but a lawful wife; things are even more banal and replaced by everyday objects, e.g., the dagger is replaced with an everyday knife (208). Koz’ma Prutkov imitates the simplicity with which the poet mixes the “lofty” with the ordinary; he is more vulgar precisely where he tries to be most elevated and this is what makes him funny and enjoyable to read (208). One of the most famous parodies of Benediktov’s “romanticism” was of his poem “Kudry,” which begins “!)%*& %$3= - <+*"%$D-&,/ !)%*& - 7/$9- & +*"#+4,/ !)%*& - -"/5:+, 94*)D-&, 8#$D-&,/ !)%*& - >$/-"3=D -+9-+%!/ H$D4$95, /$D4$95, 9=054$95 127 127 %*)2(",/ S=>(", &9-*&94", 2$#<)2("!/ H+# ($ (+%"7$( +/#+8:/ H+> &83&3 ($)/"3&#=D/ M/$A$4 -*+>$ 7$8 0*&-*+9..” This is what Koz’ma Prutkov does with the poem while, at the same time, as ]i^evskij points out, he manages to parody Benediktov’s entire ouvre and style in what the poem he calls “Sheia” with the dedication “Moemu sosluzhivtsu IA. Benediktovu” (124). The poem reads: U$' %$3= - (+9/+2%$(5$; U$' - 9($., 8#$', (+*:&99; U$' - 33=95 0"*"D 94*$#/$(5$; U$' - 9-/"( 0"*"I 3(&8. U$' - /$7$%5, >$' - 0+3+, U$' - ($2(=D 94$7$/$-; U$' - *+%"945, ."*%"945, 9/+3+; U$' - #*+#"*+ -)9"-!.. !4" 4$7', %*+.+' >$', G"A("D %/+(5I "7"D#$4? !4" 4$7', %=?+(5$# .*$', S":$/)$# 0*"0$<$4? !4" 4$7', -*)4+' 3=', P" -"9= "4 9+#=? 0/$<, H %(& &I/' ".($3=$ M)%$4 9 8"*-"945I 7$*$<5: Q4"7 "4 9"/(:+, 3 8("D 0+/'A&D, 128 128 6$ 0"-*=/ 4$7' 8+.+*; Q4"7 0"3$*?("945I 7/$94'A$D- 6$ 0/$(&/9' 8/"D -"#+*; Q4"7 <$*(+ "4 <$*("D 0=/& B= ($ 9%$/+/+95 9+#+; Q4"7 4$7' ($ &99)>&/& @*)945, & 3$4*=, & 8&#+?! (Sochineniia Koz’my Prutkova 41-42) Koz’ma Prutkov wrote two parodies specifically of Shcherbina (who was Greek on his mother’s side), who wrote poems about ancient and modern Greece in the 1850s and then in the 1860s wrote mainly satirical verse. Koz’ma Prutkov ‘s “Pis’mo iz Korinfa” parodies Shcherbina’s “Pis’mo” (102). “Filosof v bane” parodies a poem Shcherbina wrote in which the poet, after being massaged, begins to philosophize about the soul’s immortality. Koz’ma Prutkov tells the girl to stop massaging him and to tickle his bald head instead. That he is a philosopher is clear only from the title. The use of Greek décor to exploit a sexual theme is parodied in his glimpse of ancient Greeks at their toilette (103). Aleksei Zhemchuzhnikov contributed two “Latin” poems to the collection of Prutkovian antiquity. “Drevnei grecheskoi starukhe,” which continues the parody of the scornful persona, is called an “imitation of Catullus,” but it really preserves the spirit of his poems about Mamurra, especially, we believe one in which the poet attacks him indirectly by describing the unlovely traits of a girl of his, in what might be described as an elegy in reverse (105). “Katerina”—the other Latin poem—has an epigraph by 129 129 Cicero, the beginning of his famous speech against Catiline... the poem takes the form of a dialogue between the persona and a certain Katerina who abuses his patience by giving mundane replies to his declarations of love, taking his metapohrs literally. The chief charm of the poem lies in the racy meter, the rhymes in “ina” in every second line and inner rhymes such as “tye kartina, Katerina,” and most of all the utter nonsense of the Katerina-Catilina sound-simile. Koz’ma Prutkov is like Stephen Colbert’s character, who pretends to be a conservative Christian. To critics who accuse Prutkov of parody or satire, he continuously responds that his writings are written in total earnestness, with no parody intended: “L%$95 )3$*'I4, <"4 ' 0&>) 0+*"%&&; "4(I%5! [ 9"3$9$# ($ 0&A) 0+*"%&D! [ (&-".%+ ($ 0&9+/ 0+*"%&D! ,4-)%+ 38'/ .. F$/5$4"(&94, <4" ' 0&>) 0+*"%&&?” (qtd. in Ingram, “Alive” 5). His poetry, which pretends to imitate Slavophile poets, is actually a parody of those poets, as scholars have pointed out. “Sovremennaia russkaia pesn’,” for example, mocks the central tenet of the Slavophile creed, a belief in the great worth of the Russian people and the use of dactylic endings, participial forms in “chi” and syntactical parallels, makes it clear that it attempts to parody folk poetry (Tourian 98). The content of the poem consists of a series of left-handed praises for Russian food and Russian customs (“B"/5-" 05$#-$%&#, 0"?3+/'$#9'”), followed by explanations for Russian laziness: “G= *+7"4+/& 7, %+ ?"4$(5' ($4;/ G= & *+%= 7=, %+ ($ ?"<$49'” (Sochineniia Koz’my Prutkova 62). The theme of laziness, which we saw in Arzamas, emerges again in Dovlatov’s circle. 130 130 Several of Koz’ma Prutkov’s poems are wholly devoted to the Slavophiles and their associates—especially Khomiakov, Ivan Aksakov and Apollon Grigor’ev. In “V al’bom krasivoi chuzhdestranke,” Prutkov gently pokes fun at Khomiakov’s “Inostranke,” in which the poet states he cannot love a woman because she is a foreigner and not born in Russia (Bukhshtab 197). But Prutkov not only parodies particular poems but he creates a mockery of entire ouvres. Bukhshtab argues that “Moi son” is a synthetic parody of three Khomiakov poems, mostly the ones inspired by his participation in the Liubomudry (Bukshtab 197). Scholars have noted that the poetry parodied by Prutkov had a personal, “romantic” tinge to it; Prutkov isolates certain features of this romanticism, exaggerates them and contrasts them to a more “realistic” view of life. While the creators of Koz’ma Prutkov poke fun at the Slavophiles, some of them were, in fact, sympathetic to many of the ideas of the Slavophiles. For several years, Tolstoi worked with old Russian documents in the Moscow archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Ingram 73). At the beginning of 1860s he published “Don Zhuan” and Kniaz’ Serebrianyi and from 1862-1869 wrote the dramatic trilogy “Smert’ Ioanna Groznogo” (published separately in 1866), “Tsar’ Fedor Ioannovich” (published separately in 1868) and “Tsar’ Boris” (published separately in 1870) (76). He felt that the Mongol period brought to Russia the rule of physical terror which was later adopted by the Moscovite rulers to tyrannize their people. Muscovite Russia stifled all that had been noble in Russia’s Nogvorod-Kievan natinal beginning. Most of A. K. Tolstoi’s major works (such as the novel Kniaz’ Serebrianyi and the dramatic trilogy) deal with the Moscovite period and the effect of Ivan the Terrible, who personified all that tyrannized 131 131 Russia, all that denied individualism (76-77). Still, he had a romanticized conception of Russian history in which an idealized Kievan era was viewed as the true Russia, when the individual was free and his inherent dignity respected (76-77). This shows that Tolstoi was interested in early Russian history; one could even argue that he was in a way a Russophile. At the same time, critics have argued, Tolstoi’s respect for European humanism (he saw Ivan the Terrible, not Peter the Great, as the despot behind Russia’s woes) prevented his adhering completely to the Slavophile’s romantic interpretation of Russia’s past (77). In his criticism of the authoritarian Russian regime, as represented in his popular satires “Istoriia gosudarstva rossiiskogo…” and “Son Popova” it perhaps seems that Tolstoi was in step with the radicals. But, as Ingram shows, his satire was directed not at “the system” but rather at what he considered to be despotism within the system (80). His dramatic trilogy is not so much a condemnation of the system of autocracy as it is a portrayal of three kinds of autocrats: 1. Ivan the terrible, the cruel, frenzied despot; 2. Fedor, the tsar possessing high moral qualities but depreived of wisdom and willpower and 3. Boris, the tsar with willpower and enlightened views but deprived of moral sanction (80-81). It seems that, politically, Tolstoi was an enlightened romantic who saw individual freedom as the only issue (81). In this respect, he is quite similar to his predecessors, the Arzamasians. He looked at political questions from a distance. He maintained close friendships and corresponded regularly with ardent liberals like Stasiulevich and staunch conservatives such as Markevich and disagreed with both. Tolstoi did not like joining groups. He thought it was impossible to find “the truth” in any 132 132 partisan grouping (Ingram 78). Make more of this because, again, we can see why he reatreated into this. He agreed with Katkov’s ideas of the classics as the basic ingredient for the educational system and at the same time was vigorously opposed to Katkov’s extreme nationalism and his schemes or the Russification of minorities (Ingram 81). What all of this shows is that he aspired to gentle parody, like his predecessors, the Arzamasians. It should not be surprising that the creators of Koz’ma Prutkov engaged in such parody, considering the literary debates of the time. In the 1850s, the Russian writing public was divided into those writers who did not want to give in to literary change but strove to continue the Romantic aesthetic tradition (the guardians of “pure art”) and those writers and critics who proclaimed a program of realism and aimed at a radical break with Romanticism (Schahadat 271). The latter pronounced life to be superior to art thus reversing the romantic relationship between life and text (Schahadat 271). The poets of late romanticism like Afanasii Fet, Apollon Maikov, A. K. Tolstoi, Jakov Polonskii, F. Tiutchev, Apollon Grigor’ev and others were perceived as anachronistic by their opponents (e.g., Nikolai Dobroliubov, N. Chernyshevskii, and D. Pisarev), who saw art as an instrument for changing life (271). Parody became a preferred genre in this controversy between the two literary factions. When Koz’ma Prutkov’s parodies were published under the title “Dosugi Koz’my Prutkova” in 1854, his contemporaries of the radical camp greeted them enthusiastically and, of course, adherents of Romanticism often reacted negatively (271). 133 133 Prankishness and Performance As we saw with Arzamas and the All-Drunken Synod, the core aspect of the groups described in this study is a kind of prankishness and a certain level of performance, which is sometimes obvious and scripted (as in the case of the Arzamasian directions of how one should act—e.g., with downcast eyes, no so forth—if he is expelled from the society) and at other times more subtle. Just like the other groups studied in this dissertation, Koz’ma Prutkov exhibits many theatrical and performative aspects, although they differ from those of the other groups in several respects. They create the literary mystification, effectively pranking the public. It should also be noted that Koz’ma Prutkov wrote a number of vaudeville-type performances that were indeed staged (some of them even in the Aleksandriiski theater). A number of these may also be considered a kind of pranks on the viewing community. Fantaziia, a play about a noblewoman who loses her dog and announces that whoever finds her dog can marry her foster daughter is a kind of prank because it appalled the audience and caused the tsar to walk out. Again, the scandal and attempts to shock the public or play a joke on it may be considered part of the earlier trends of Russian culture. The creators of Koz’ma Prutkov do not physically go out in public and “perform” as a group in front of the community, the way the All-Drunken Synod or Arzamas did. In Peter the Great’s Synod as well as in Arzamas we saw that the members used props, dressed up and performed a kind of physical comedy both in front of each other and by going out on the street and acting the fools. For example, Peter the Great’s cohorts dressed in carnival-wear with masks and furs and went out carousing on the streets. The 134 134 Arzamasians also wore ostentatious clothes (although more subtle than those of Peter’s friends) and engaged in a kind of theater amongst themselves, for example, by writing out a kind of stage directions of how a member should behave under certain circumstances. They also did engage in public acts of “performance” by going out in public and behaving in flamboyant ways as a way of calling attention to their cause. As we shall see, The Serapion Brothers engage in a similar kind of performance, both by wearing ostentatiously shocking clothes and haircuts and by the way in which they share stories. Dovlatov’s friends, too, do something similar: they tell exaggerated stories in front of each other, perhaps as a way of bragging, and some of them—Brodskii, for example— wear ostentatious clothes in order to call attention themselves. And many of them engage in shocking public behaviors in attempts to cause a ruckus and sometimes to shock. Individual members of the Koz’ma Prutkov cohort did engage in pranks and comedic behaviors similar to those we saw in Chapters One and Two. Aleksandr seems to have been the ringleader in the pranks and practical jokes for which Zhemchuzhnikov were remembered in various memoirs and which may be viewed as a type of performance. For example, he would deliberately step on the foot of an important bureaucrat and then come to him at every reception with profuse apologies (Monter 14). Another prank he performed was the following. The minister of finances, Vronchenko, used to walk along the Dvortsovaya embankment at 9 o’clock every morning. Zhemchuzhnikov, who did know personally know the minister, would pass by him every morning, take off is hat and greet him with the words, “Ministr finansov—pruzhina deiatel’nosti” (qtd. in Bukhshtab 164) At the end, Vronchenko complained to the 135 135 Petersburg chief of police, who ordered Zhemchuzhnikov to stop harassing the minister or he would be expelled from the capital (164). Another time, dressed in the uniform of an aide-de-camp, he visited to all architects of Petersburg with an order to appear in the palace in the morning because St. Isaac’s Cathedral has collapsed (164). Aleksandr’s brothers and other contemporaries testify to his insatiable attraction to any kind of practical joke or foolishness (Ingram 64). Aleksandr possessed a superb gift of mimicry, which must have whetted his appetite for pranks and made him a natural actor (Ingram 64). His brother Aleksei notes that Aleksandr was famous as an actor in domestic plays and that he created many different types of personages, which was very much valued and appreciated by his peers (Ingram 65). This talent was later incorporated into the character of Koz’ma Prutkov. The pranks and practical jokes were practiced not only in Petersburg, where the brothers remained together until 1851, but also in Orenburg during Aleksandr’s 16-year span of residence in that city (Ingram 64). Or course, the anecdotes involving Aleksandr and other members of Koz’ma Prutkov may have been exaggerated, especially as they were passed around town. But they all have as a leitmotif the persecution of a high-ranking personage. Prutkovian spirit in these pranks and jokes can be felt: everything formal, bureaucratic and official, everything recognized as lofty and respectable arises in the creators of Prutkov a playful irony. This kind of public behavior, certainly intended to provoke as much as to entertain oneself and one’s friends, is rooted in the behavior of the pranks we saw in Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod. 136 136 By following the Arzamasian example and creating a society of playful wit and light-hearted parody within powerful and all-enveloping institution of censorship and seriousness, Koz’ma Prutkov reenacts the late medieval themes we saw in Chapter One. Nicholas’s I reign was one of brutal and arbitrary police state which persecuted intellectuals, hampered literature and smothered thought, restrictive educational policies, the activities of the gendarmerie, stifling censorship as well as the time of the doctrine of official nationality (Riasonovsky 163). Koz’ma Prutkov, very much like his predecessors the Arzamasians, was responding to repressive regime and was arguing for the Perhaps KP’s was the only way to respond to that—it seems like everyone was involved? Also, Uvarov & nationalism. Seems very paternal; makes sense why they made fun of didacticism. 137 137 Chapter 4: The Serapion Brothers In his reminiscences of Maksim Gorky and the 1920s, Gor’kii sredi nas, Konstantin Fedin writes, H -"#(+4$ ;/"(&#9-".", 0"?"2$D (+ ("#$* +-4$*9-&? “#$7/&*+>$-,”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… G= 7=/& *+8(=$. U)4' & 0+*+%&*)' %*). %*).+, #= *+8%$/'/& “9$*+0&"("3” (+ 3$9$/=? “/$3=?,” 3" ./+3$ 9 N)(:$#, & 9$*5$8(=? “0*+3=?”--0"% )9#$>/&3=# 3"2%$(&$# H9$3"/"%+ O3+("3+. H 0"94"'((=? 9?3+4-+? (+A)0=3+/+95 :$/5 (+>$." 9"3#$94("." 138 138 0/+3+(&', & 3 -"(:$ -"(:"3 3()4*$(($ 39$ 0*&8(+/&, <4" "(+ ) (+9 "%(+: 9"8%+(&$ ("3"D /&4$*+4)*= T0"?& 3"D(= & *$3"/I:&&. (350). From this passage we immediately get a sense of the intimacy between the members of the Serapion Brothers, which included Nikolai Tikhonov, Veniamin Kaverin, Mikhail Zoshchenko, Vsevolod Ivanov, Elizaveta Polonskaia, Il’ia Gruzdev, Mikhail Slonimskiii, Lev Lunts, Vladimir Pozner, Nikolai Nikitin and Konstantin Fedin and first met under the mentorship of Evgenii Zamiatin and Viktor Shklovskii at the Petrograd House of Arts and later under the guidance of Kornei Chukovskii, Nikolai Gumilev and Boris Eikhenbaum at the Literary Studio in the first half of the 1920s. The brothers gathered in one small, crowded room where they read one another’s works until the wee hours of the morning. And just as Arzamas did, they created a jovial atmosphere of friendly parodies and witty exchanges. We should note that this society had one woman member, Polonskaia, but the paradigm is still pronouncedly that of a male society. As in the other societies studied here, there is an element of theater. We are placed right away in “actors’ quarters” and the collective is referred to as “sostav,” or a cast. The members read their works out loud, which becomes a kind of performance, especially when considering the status of writers at the time. Writers during the era were scrutinized and, until the effects of NEP allowed for state and private publishing ventures, they often found their initial audiences among those who gathered to hear them read aloud; therefore, one’s chief attribute was often one’s voice (Hickey 105). As we shall see, the men act in particular ways in attempts to fulfill the role of writers, 139 139 especially in a new social environment when their audience changed and these men cater to the audience and essentially perform in front of it. The themes of masking, literary mystification and the technique of skaz, which are prevalent in the works of the Serapions, can also be viewed as part of this performance. As we shall see, the men are not only passionate about the creation of a new literature but, like the All-Drunken Synod and Arzamas, they present their aesthetic projects in sacred and even hagiographic terms. The sense of martyrdom (reinforced in the above passage by the term “angelic character,” used to imply that the writers were patient and endured many difficulties, suffering and lived in poverty) replicates what we saw in the All-Drunken Synod and Arzamas. First, just like the other male circles studied here, they separate themselves from the larger society and have a strong belief in the creation of a new literature. The idea of men from different backgrounds and diverse views and aesthetic goals coming together and unifying behind one strong passion— creating a new literature—is central in the Serapion Brothers’ aesthetic platform. This, of course, is not surprising considering that the post-Revolutionary period was one of creative fervor as people thought they were building a new aesthetic culture, and the theme that occupied Soviet writers was the birth of a new world and of a new man (Shcheglov 219). Still, when coupled with the elements of martyrdom—in their memoirs, the men insistently try to show how much they suffered for the making of this new literature—and rhetoric of uniqueness and being chosen, a kind of monastic aura is created. This is further emphasized by the fact that the men name their society after a monk. The Serapions frequently feel misunderstood by their audience and the larger 140 140 society and yet they believe they have a secret knowledge that guides them. This idea is further emphasized by the monastic names the men take on; for example, Kaverin was Father Arkhimed and Vsevolod Ivanov was Father Aleut, as we shall see later. The themes of the little man and protecting those who are weaker stand out in the Serapion Brothers, just as they do in Arzamas, and are also part of this monastic/ Orthodox sentiment. All this amounts to a kind of monastic aesthetic that, in many ways, replicates the medieval and perhaps even Orthodox themes we saw in Chapter One. The next questions is one of intention. We saw the Arzamasians replicate the logic of medieval theatrical interludes in order to argue for the unhinging of the institution of literature from the state. Why would the Serapions do this, especially in a period that is usually perceived as a time of great cultural flourishing and of relative intellectual pluralism, closer to the “normal” Western intellectual life (e.g., private publishing houses were allowed to operate and writers were able to publish their works in Berlin; scholars and creative people were permitted to receive any materials published abroad they wished; Western and Soviet films, theatrical troupes, star performers, scholars and writers passed back and forth across the border with greater ease than at any other time) (Maguire 3-4; Clark 210). But this “intellectual flourishing,” was in fact not so pluralistic or free. There were indeed elements of “pluralism” in the intellectual life of the nation but they were not defining of the times. Katerina Clark has argued that it was during this period that Soviet intellectual life was “sovietized” and that the main question of the era was, who was to dominate Soviet culture (211). It was during this period that a series of changes occurred 141 141 at a fundamental structural and institutional level and those changes established many of the prevailing, enduring patterns of Soviet intellectual life (“Soviet Intellectual Life” 211). The “sovietization” of Russian intellectual life occurred in the sense that a broad- based change took place which was so fundamental that the intellectual scene was never the same again. Clark argues that even such momentous events as the abolition of all independent writers’ bodies in 1932 and the formation of a single association for each professional group can be seen not just as a case of state intervention but also as a continuation of the trend during NEP for intellectuals to band together in ever-larger organizations representing a cross-section of ideological or aesthetic positions (211-212). Therefore, in many ways, Russian intellectual life was no different than in the later repressive Soviet era and it was much more uniform than scholars lead us to believe. When the Serapion Brothers replicate medieval themes, they are, once again, trying to carve out a space for the institution of literature; they want it to be free of the heavy weight of ideology imposed on it by the state. They want the ties between the state and the institution of literature to be loosened or even disconnected. Other groups from this period might also be included in this history of parodic male societies. The Imaginists, the Gasifity, the Futurists and other avant-garde groups exhibit similar elements of theatrical performance, causing public spectacles, and trying to establish a new aesthetic culture and may be considered part of the cultural thread examined. But these groups do not combine elements of parody and monastic presentation and ideals with the same intensity. Furthermore, the Serapions are a cohesive part of this history of parodic societies for several reasons. The mentors of the 142 142 Serapions, the members of the society of OPOIAZ, composed of linguists and literary critics, for example, self-consciously styled themselves after Arazamas, and the Serapions were strongly influenced by that. They themselves looked up to Arzamas and, half a decade later, Dovlatov and his friends look up to the Serapions for inspiration. Arzamas and the other societies discussed here were semi-secret and yet they consisted of the cultural elite and of men involved in the civil service; in a way, they lived a double life. Unlike the other groups, which tried to undermine authoritative institutions, the Serapions were somewhat involved in the institutionalized creative process and their mentors, which had a very strong influence, and were very open to the changes in the political system; they looked up to their mentors, who were part of the established elite. Karamzin was such a force for the Arzamasians. In this way, this group is most similar to the All-Drunken Synod. While being partially financed by the state, the Serapion Brothers did not serve as a mouthpiece for the state and later developed many anti-state sentiments and some of the members were investigated and even persecuted. Therefore, this group can still be considered part of the phenomenon of parody male societies described in this dissertation. Even though the Serapion Brothers did not create a literary school the way they had hoped, each of them individually became an important influence on Soviet and Russian letters. Every one of the surviving Serapion brothers achieved literary distinction, ten in the USSR and the eleventh, Vladimir Pozner, in France. Gorky considered Lev Lunts to be the most promising dramatist in Russia (Edgerton 47). The members Konstantin Fedin, Mikhail Slonimskiii and Mikhail Zoshchenko became 143 143 famous later and held positions of prominence in the Soviet letters (47). Viktor Skhlovskii, the important Formalist critic, was a kind of elder brother to them. Il’ia Gruzdev was a Serapion critic and a Formalist and later became well known as a literary historian and biographer of Gorky (47). Elizaveta Polonskaia, the only Serapion “sister,” later became known particularly for her children’s stories and poems. Nikolai Nikitin, one of the first proletarian writers, was a recipient of the Stalin Prize (although in his 5- year plan novel Shpion (1930) his humanism is said to have made it hard for him to develop the theme of “wrecking” correctly) (47-48). Pozner was a Parisian by birth and the youngest of the Serapions—he was only 16 in 1921. He returned to France in his early 20s and did much to interpret contemporary Russian literature to the West. Coming Together The first meeting of the Serapions was held on February 1, 1921 in the House of Arts in Slonimskiii’s little room, which had formerly been the servants’ quarters (Edgerton 48). Beyond their own dozen members, only their teacher Zamiatin, the poetess Akhmatova, and Osip Mandel’shtam were allowed to attend (Edgerton 48). But the Serapion Brothers was not formed overnight. During the fall of 1918, Gorky organized Vsemirnaia Literatura, an ambitious project to translate classics of world literature into Russian. The enterprise was designed to provide work for the intelligentsia whose existence was threatened in the turmoil of the Revolution (Sheldon 2). The writers Kornei Chukovskii and Evgenii Zamiatin took charge of the section devoted to translations of Anglo-American literature. Soon, it 144 144 became apparent that there was a shortage of skilled translators and a studio was created to train young people for the task. The studio was supervised by Chukovskii, who was already well-known for his translation of Walt Whitman. In his memoirs, Chukovskii remembers how a great number of students rushed into the Translators’ Studio but it turned out that many of them had no intention of becoming translators; what they really wanted was to write their own stories, articles and poems (40). As a result, the Studio gradually broke away from World Literature and developed into a sort of club for young writers, thus surpassing its original purpose and becoming a kind of general literary salon. We should also note that, like the other societies discussed here, this one is Western oriented, especially when considering Lunts’s famous manifesto, “To the West” in which he argues that Russian literature should look to Western literature for plot development. In June 1919, the Studio was expanded to include “all working for the study and creation of literature,” thus officially recognizing the desire of the young to engage in aspects of the creative literary process other than translating (Sheldon 2). Zamiatin, Chukovskii, Gumilev and other well-known litterateurs of the time lectured the aspiring writers on their specialties. The students who showed noteworthy ability were put into a separate group for special attention; among them were Mikhail Zoshchenko, Lev Lunts, Nikolai Nikitin, Vladimir Pozner, Elizaveta Polonskaia, and Mikhail Slonimskiii, i.e., the core of what was soon to become the Serapion Brothers (Sheldon 2). The studio was initially housed in the mansion of a wealthy Greek merchant by the name of Muruzi (and the former home of Merezhkovskii) (Chukovskii 40). In autumn 145 145 1920, they moved to the House of Arts, a new institution organized by the state. The House, a huge mansion that extended on three streets, Moika, Bol’shaia Morskaia and Nevskii, provided writers and artists with board, lodging and a place to work, and became an important literary center during the early years of the new Soviet regime (Chukovskii 41). Lunts, Zoshchenko, and Slonimskii, already established writers, had already settled there. Pozner describes the House as a kind of museum containing artists instead of their works (Edgerton 48). Literary “evenings,” during which writers would read their latest works to audiences ranging from “young ladies enamored of poetry to old men looking for somewhere to get warm,” took place (Edgerton 48). This house played an important role in the mythologizing of the Serapion Brothers as a society, as we shall see below. The motivation of these writers to form a group was based on several considerations. First, they were anxious to end their apprenticeship and to become professional writers. They had also grown to enjoy each other’s company and their group discussions about literature in the studio. The young men did not come to the Studio in order to listen to the lectures of the older writers, for which the Studio was created; rather, they came to meet each other and read one another’s literary attempts, to share with one another their thoughts about the future of literature (Chukovskii 42). In their essays, manifestos and memoirs, the members used the same type of rhetoric as groups such as Arzamas and Dovlatov’s circle, i.e., that they enjoyed each others’ company and that they want to create a new literature. Finally, they wished to remain free from outside pressures and to preserve the non-political atmosphere of the studio and to be guided only by “intuition”: “J$>&/& 9"7&*+459' 3"/5(". M$8 )94+3+, & ("3=? </$("3 146 146 0*&(&#+45, *)-"3"%943)'95 4"/5-" &(4)&:&$D,” Slonimskiii reported (479). Their “Brotherhood” was not a literary school, held together by any real or fictitious tenets. As the scholar Gleb Struve writes, what united them was their youth, their zest for life, their eager interest in literature and their firm belief in the autonomy of art and in the freedom of the writer (Struve 45). In this way, the group was more or less an organic enterprise. At first glance, it might seem that the Serapion Brothers did not found the society with the purpose of parodying the Church or some aspect of official state culture or a “stuffy academy,” the way the All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas, or Koz’ma Prutkov did. In this way, this society is more similar to Dovlatov’s circle, which came together as a result of the love of literature and because the men enjoyed spending time together but did engage in prankish and parodic behaviors and did produce such texts that rely on the earlier precedents discussed in Chapter One. Similarly, the Serapions had an earnest desire to create new, serious literature. And this makes sense considering the gravity of the post-Revolutionary era, especially the effects of the civil war and the restructuring of the entire society. But in their everyday gatherings they did joke and parody each other and the larger public, as we shall see, and some of them, most notably Zoshchenko, did produce a large number of works that parodied and even satirized aspects of the larger society and its institutions. And the members did create a jovial atmosphere of friendly parodies and witty exchanges similar to that of Arzamas, as we saw in the opening quote. Friendly literary parodies were common among the members of the group, just as they were for Arzamas. Zoshchenko achieved fame with his first book, Rasskazy Nazara Il’icha, gospodina Sinebriukhova, a parody of their mentor Shklovskii’s book 147 147 Epilog: Konets knigi "Revoliutsiia i front (Sheldon 5). (In 1921, Fedin also published a parody of Shklovskii’s Khod Konia.) In 1924, Zoshchenko wrote another parody of Chukovskii (“Chukovskii o Pil’niake”), “tozhe umoritel’no smeshanaia,” as Chukovskii writes. Someone at the Studio gave a presentation about Gogol’ school, citing typical works produced under the auspices of Belinksii. A few days later, Zoshchenko brought to the Studio a story, stylized in the spirit of the works of that school, as if right out of Nekrasov’s almanac, Chukovskii writes (“Zoshchenko” par. 45). Chukovskii even likens Zoshcheno to the comic and well-know quipster Arkadii Averchenko (par. 47). In “Kruzhevnye travy”, Zoshchenko parodied Vsevolod Ivanov’s ornate style: “C?, 4*+3=, 4*+3=! @"*I<&D 0$9"-! 6$*+%"94(= 0*"?"2$#) ."/)7=$ 0$9-&, :3$4(=$ 3$4*+, -*)2$3(=$ 4*+3=” (Oulanoff 12). Pozner was also a scoffer and merry fellow (“nasmeshnik i khokhotun”) who wrote verses—epigrams, satires, humorous sketches, parodies (Chukovskii “Zoshchenko”). In those verses, he poked fun at the Studio, its procedures and customs, the Studio members and mocked Zamiatin, Shklovskii, Gumilev and Chukovskii (“Zoshchenko”). Other members were also quite merry and constantly looking for a good time and joking around. R. Gul’ writes that Nikitin was a bonvivant, loved fashionable clothing and “/I7&/ 3$9$/", ?"*">" 0"2&45, 3""7A$ 7=/ 8+ F&/"9"F&I ‘/$.-"D & &8'A("D’ 2&8(&… ; 6&-&4&(=# (&-+-"." 9$*5$8("." *+8."3"*+ ($ 0"#(I. H9$— +($-%"4=, 39'<$9-"$ /&4$*+4)*(" "94*")#&, 0)94'<-&…” (76). Nikitin most of all reminds us of the fashionable dandies that the Arzamasians were. Lunts, their spiritual leader had the name “Brat Skomorokh” further emphasizing his playful personality and 148 148 the playful atmosphere of the Society in general (31). They Serapions poked fun at Gruzdev in their jokes, verse odes and sketches (Frezinskii 56). This was continued even after the group fell apart. Gul’ remembers that in Berlin in 1928 Gruzdev was the target of the constant witticism and parodies of Fedin and Nikitin (Frezinskii 57). These are the type of communal jokes we see in the other societies. This Arzamas-like behavior should not be too surprising, considering that the Serapion Brothers were quite influenced by Arzamas via their mentors, the circle OPOIAZ. “Obshchestvo izucheniia Poeticheskogo Iazyka,” or OPOIAZ, was a prominent group of linguists and literary critics founded in 1916 and active until the early 1930s in St. Petersburg which included Viktor Shklovskii, Boris Eikhenbaum, Osip Brik and Yurii Tynianov. In Arzamas i Opoiaz, the scholar E. Kurganov has shown that OPOIAZ members patterned their society and much of their public and sometimes even private personas after Arzamas; in turn, these values got transferred to the Serapion Brothers. Just as the Arzamasians felt about their own society, Tynianov, Shklovskii, and Eikhenbaum looked at OPOIAZ not only as a model for an anti-academy and, at the same time, as a real academy but also as a moral brotherhood, which is preserved even in the destruction of the epochs, at the appearance of new historical generations (Kurganov 12). By addressing the verses “M=/ ) 3+9 / C*8+#+9 / M=/ ) (+9 / ,0"'8 / O /&4$*+4)*+” to Pushkin, Tynianov and his fellow OPOIAZians self-consciously model their society after Arzamas. Kurganov writes that the feeling of the Pushkin epoch as a real, genuine reality was characteristic for Tynianov, Shklovskii, and Eikhenbaum. And they saw their own contemporaries in the Arzamasians and they felt as if they were Arzamasians (Kurganov 149 149 9). Kurganov shows that the correspondences between Tynianov, Shklovskii, and Eikhenbaum demonstrate that they considered their relationship a brotherhood, similar to that of the Arzamasians (13). Kurganov argues that the Opoiazians built not only their aesthetic but their new cultural identity in Soviet Russia on that of the Arzamasians’. Tynianov’s contemporaries constantly compared him with Pushkin. They said the two looked alike and also found similarities in their personalities. The OPOIAZ members even started calling Tynianov “arapechkom” (14). Kurganov also argues that the byt of OPOIAZ was literally permeated with the Pushkin era. At the same time, Shklovskii did not play Vyazemskii and Tynianov Pushkin (Kurganov 15). Things were more deep and organic. There was probably some stylization in the behavior of Tynianov and Shklovskii but the OPOIAZ circle recognized above all not this construction but rather the natural relationship of the temperament of Pushkin and Viazemski and most of all, the cultural-functional orientation of these temperaments (17). They were both understood through the prism of Pushkin’s time and partially through the prism of Arzamas (17). We know that OPOIAZ members were a very strong influence on the Serapion Brothers. Tynianov was a mentor to some of them, to Kaverin most notably, and they had personal connections as he was married to Kavern’s sister and Kaverin was married to Tynianov’s. Shklovskii, who was so close to the Serapions that in criticism he is often considered one of their members, transmitted to the impressionable young students all the esthetic values which he had elaborated in OPOIAZ (Sheldon 5). Not only their 150 150 statements of principle and their impudent autobiographies but also their creative work showed marked traces of his influence. Esaulov agrees with Kurganov and further adds that the Arzamasian fight with Slavianshchina” of the Archaists is metamorphosed into OPOIAZian fight with tradition (166). He writes that after the radical schism with the “foreign” cultural past—in our case, above all, the Orthodox cultural tradition; the authors, creating their “own” artistic culture, as a rule, aspire to build their own “line” of support on the authority of precedents. For OPOIAZ, such support was Arzamas (170). Monastic Brotherhood Just like Arzamas, the Serapion brothers present their aesthetic goals in sacred terms and embrace a kind of monastic aesthetic. The most obvious argument for that is their name, which the young men borrowed from a character in E.T.A. Hoffmann’s 1819- 1821 work, Die Serapionsbrüder (Frezinskii 508). In the cycle of stories, Hoffman describes the meeting of old friends who, bored and irritated by the ridiculous ceremony of most clubs, decide to dispense with all forms of charters and simply to read one another their works. At one of their first meetings, a story is read about a man who called himself “the hermit Serapion” and lived in a world of fantasies. This inspires the group: they decide to name themselves the Serapion Brothers and to strive in their writings to attain the clarity of the hermit’s visions, which they call “the Serapionic principle.” (xiii). The Soviet Serapions Brothers do likewise. At an early meeting, probably the “official” first meeting of February 1, 1921, Lunts proposed the name of the group, which was 151 151 immediately accepted (Kern xiii). Kern presumes that most of the members were familiar with Hoffmann’s book, as it had been translated twice into Russian and sometimes read aloud in the House of Arts (Kern xiii) Slonimskiii doest not attribute much meaning to the name. In Zhizn’ iskusstva, he writes that the name “Serapions” stuck to the group spontaneously, the way that the group arose spontaneously: he and his friends just saw Hoffmann’s book lying close by and decided to name their own group after its hero. Kaverin and Shklovskii also go out of their way to assert that their literary aesthetic has nothing to do with Hoffmann (Frezinskii 508; 534). Despite all these assertions, the name must have spoken to them since they chose it. And while the external reference makes sense—Hoffman’s characters are storytellers who get together regularly in order to listen to one another’s stories, which is what the Serapion Brothers do in their society, the name is significant for several other reasons. First, it makes a link between the Serapion Brothers and monasticism since the men are named after a hermit monk. Second, it links them to the romantic tradition via Hoffmann and especially to the romantic idea of friendship and Slonimskiii himself writes that the biggest draw to Hoffmann’s characters was their romantic ideas about friendship (Frezinskii 506). In such a way, they become linked to Arzamas who were also influenced by the romantic idea of friendship, as we saw in Chapter Two. And, indeed, the Serapion Brothers attempted to share an idealistic friendship among ten people. Gorky wrote of them as the most fraternal, unenvious and dedicated group “in the grim history of Russian literature” (qtd. in Kern xxvi). In his Biblical story “Rodina” and in his medieval play Bertran de Born, Lunts presents friendship as the 152 152 most sacred bond between men. Lunts’s essay “Why We Are The Serapion Brothers” (1922) openly contrasts personal friendship with civic camaraderie by declaring that, “E945 $A$ ($<4", <4" "7Z$%&('$4 (+9, <$." ($ %"-+2$>5 & ($ "7Z'9(&>5, -- (+>+ 7*+49-+' /I7"35./ G= ($ 9"</$(= "%("." -/)7+, ($ -"//$.&, ($ 4"3+*&A&, + --/ M * + 4 5 '!” (Frezinskii 495-496). The other Serapions expressed their feelings of brotherly love in their personal correspondence, such as the playful yet touching letters to Lunts, when he lay dying in Germany in the years 1923-24 (Kern xxvi-xxvii). Their expressions of tenderness for each other replicates the romantic expression of love we saw in the Arzamasians. Like members of Arzamas and the All-Drunken Synod, the Serapion Brothers also went through a transformation upon entering the sacred space of their collective. They go even a step further by taking on monastic names. Kaverin was Father Arkhimed; Vsevolod Ivanov was Father Aleut; Gruzdev was Father Superior (Nastoiatel’); Slonismkii—Brother Cupbearer (Vinocherpii); Kaverin was Brother Alchemist (Alkhimik); Pozner—Young Brother (Molodoi brat). Nikitin was called Brother Rhetorician (Brat Ritor). They address epistles and lectures to each other with these names but it is not clear how these names came about and they do not talk about their significance in their correspondences or memoirs. Given these monastic references, it should not be surprising that the group presents itself as a set of martyrs. Just as we saw in Arzamas and as we shall see in Dovlatov’s circle, the writers emphasize the fact that their society was composed of a diverse group of young people from different backgrounds, each having endured great 153 153 difficulties but now all equal and united by a common goal, the creation of a new literature. Fedin writes: ;*$%& (+9 (+?"%&/&95 9"3$*>$((=$ I(">& 9 "0=4"#, -"4"*=D %+$49' *"%&4$/59-&# %"#"#, )(&3$*9&4$4"# & -&($#+4".*+F"#. 6" 7"/5>&(943" &8 (+9 0*">/" ($"7=-("3$((=$ &90=4+(&', & (&-".%+ 3 &("$ 3*$#' 9$#5-3"9$#5 #"/"%=? /I%$D ($ #"./& 7= &90*"7"3"+45 94"/5-" 0*"F$9&D, &90=4+45 94"/5-" 2&8($(=? 0"/"2$(&D, 9-"/5-" 3=0+/" (+ (+>) %"/I. H"9$#5 <$/"3$- "/&:$4*3"*'/& 9"7"I 9+(&4+*+, (+7"*A&-+, "F&:$*+, 9+0"2(&-+, 3*+<+, F+-&*+, -"(4"*A&-+, 9"/%+4+, +-4$*+, )<&4$/', -+3+/$*&94+, 0$3:+. (Fedin 211) Fedin emphasizes that there were no senior writers and that they were all equal: “One might ask: who of the senior writers was the “main” one in the eyes of the Serapions. No-one (Oulanoff 13-14). He also writes that each of the members had undergone “unusual tests” as if to conjure up the image of martyrs. This idea of the diverse group of men united behind one goal and all being equal is reminiscent of a monastic community, especially when coupled with the monastic names they take on. This monastic circle has its own rituals: in Sentimental’noe puteshestvie, Shklovskii writes that the Serapions every Friday evening they would eat bread, smoke cigarettes and play afterward at blind- man’s-bluff. In his descriptions of how they found the Muruzi mansion and of how the society was founded, Chukovskii writes that he and Tikhonov were walking and wondered into the house, previously occupied by socialist revolutionaries and now by squatters. As 154 154 Chukovskii walked in, he realized that the previous occupiers had left on the faucet on the second floor: H"%+ 8+/&3+/+ 39$ -"#(+4=, 3 ($D 4&?" >$3$/&/+95 & #"-/+ -+-+'-4" *+8(":3$4(+' 7)#+2(+' *3+(5: 0" 0"/), -+- 0"4"# "-+8+/"95, 7=/& *+87*"9+(= 4=9'<& T9$*"39-&? 7*">I* & /&94"3"-, -"4"*=$ & 8+4"0&/" 3"%"D. [ 9('/ 7+>#+-& &, %"7*+3>&95 %" -*+("3, 0*&"94+("3&/ 3"%"0+%. (44) Chukovskii presents an almost mythical situation: he stumbles upon a flood as if by a random act of destiny and he himself becomes the symbolic savior when he takes off his shoes and stops the flood. This marks the beginning of the Serapion Brotherhood. Chukovskii emphasizes the ascetic conditions in which they existed, as if to further the idea of suffering and the men coming together as a kind of monastic brotherhood (in a speech from February 1, 1929 Kaverin even calls it an Order [Frezinskii 80]). He writes, “,(& "79)2%+/& T4& 9"<&($(&' 0" :$/=# <+9+# 3 "%("D &8 -"#(+4$("- P"#+ &9-)9943 - (+&7"/$$ ($)%"7("D, ?"/"%("D & 4$9("D - 3 -"#(+4$(-$ G&?+&/+ ;/"(&#9-"."” (“Zoshchenko” par. 35). He writes that the secretary would bring a “hot brown liquid under the legendary name ‘coffee’” and then “C "%(+2%= - #= 3"90*&('/& T4" -+- <)%"! - G+*&' O.(+45$3(+ "43"$3+/+ %/' (+9 %3$ 7"/5>&$ 7)?+(-& ./&("0"%"7("." ?/$7+, -"4"*=$ 9 3&*4)"8(=# &9-)9943"# *+8*$8+/+ (+ #$/5<+D>&$ <+94& 4)0=# & >&*"-&# ("2"#, (+D%$((=# 4)4 2$ (+ -)?($” (par. 7). 155 155 Of course, these were difficult times. But whether these details are exaggerated or not, their mere inclusion in Chukovskii’s reminiscences and the use of loaded adjectives and superlatives to describe the poverty under which the writers existed is purposefully dramatized. The details—the “brown liquid” that barely passes for coffee, the clay-like bread, the dull knife that they randomly found, the Christ-like dividing of the bread for many people—are all intended to underline the poverty and suffering of the young writers. We shall see this trope in the other groups as well, most notably in Arzamas and we will see it in Dovlatov’s circle, where the poverty and ascetic conditions in which the protagonists live as well as their suffering for the sake of literature are continuously emphasized (e.g., in Zapovednik, Boris Alikhanov’s room faces the trash can and there is nothing in his apartment save for a pair of dumbbells, a type-writer, a cat and a portrait of Hemingway, hanging as a kind of icon). And Chukovskii is not the only one to describe their living conditions situations in hagiographic terms. Slonimskii writes of an episode in which Gorky invited him to his house to talk about the publishing of their first almanac. When he got to the place, the following conversation took place, —1/$7 ) 3+9 $945? —S"/)<+$# 0" -+*4"<-+#—"43$4&/ '. —C #)-+? —G)-& ($4),--9"8(+/9' '. —G+9/+ 4"2$ ($4)? —B"2$ ($4). 156 156 ,( 3=%3&()/ 'A&- 0&95#$(("." 94"/+ & 3=()/ +--)*+4(" 8+0+-"3+((=D 3 3"9-"3)I 7)#+.) 7"/5>"D -)9"- #+9/+—3 ($# 7=/" ($ #$(5>$ %3)? -&/". —H"4 3+# (+ 39I 7*+4&I. (Frezinskii 514) The matter-of-fact tone, the barrenness of the dialogue resembles the barrenness of the writers’ homes and kitchens. What is striking also is that as Gorky makes donations, he refers to the group as brethren. This is further emphasized by the assertion that literature is irrational, crazy and manic passion and also the faith that unites them. Chukovskii writes, C 0"-)%+ &? #"2(" 7=/" 0*&('45 8+ /)(+4&-"3, "%$*2&#=? /&4$*+4)*"D, -+- #+(&$D. O? 2+*-&$ /&4$*+4)*(=$ 90"*= #"./& 9" 94"*"(= 0"-+8+459' 7$8)#(=#&. H*$#' 94"'/" 9)*"3"$: ."/"%, ?"/"%, .*+2%+(9-+' 3"D(+, 9=0("D 4&F, “&90+(-+” & %*).&$ 7"/$8(&. ! "9$(& <$43$*" (+>&? /)<>&? 94)%&94"3 0".&7/& - -4" 3 7"'? 9 !"/<+-"#, -4" - (+ -"D-+? 8+*+8(=? 7+*+-"3. 6)2(+ 7=/+ 0"&94&($ 9)#+9>$%>+' 3$*+ 3 /&4$*+4)*), 3 0"T8&I, 3 3$/&-)I :$(("945 & 9&/) 9/"3$9("." 43"*<$943+, <4"7=, ($9#"4*' (& (+ <4" 3 4+-"# #)<&4$/5("-4'2$/"# 7=4) &90"%3"/5 ."4"3&459' - /&4$*+4)*("#) 0"%3&.). (Chukovskii, “Zoshchenko”) Chukovskii uses the discourse of insanity and suffering to narrate the story of the society. He writes that the writers are “lunatics,” literature is a “mania,” their arguments and discussions are “mad,” their faith in literature, poetry and the word is “crazy.” The era 157 157 was “severe,” Chukovskii writes: hunger, cold weather, civil war, epidemic typhus, the Spanish flu and other illnesses were prevalent. Their goal is to achieve, gradually, a literary “feat” in such agonizingly difficult everyday circumstances. “Podvig,” which means a feat is also used to describe a religious miracle. The manic, obsessive senselessness, the need to create a new literature in severely deprived and difficult circumstances is also what we will see in Dovlatov. Both of these ideas, the crazy mania and the ascetic difficulties, link Chukovskii presentation of the group to the medieval holy fool that we saw in the first chapter. Perhaps the theme of the underdog/ little man, partially continued from Gogol’ and Dostoevsky, prevalent in this group of writers is part of this Orthodox aesthetic and it is also what connects them to Arzamas and to Dovlatov’s circle, both of which exhibit a similar attraction to the theme. Here the theme is different in that it is more prevalent and made more serious; it is more subtle and more poignant, which makes sense considering the harsh conditions of the 1920s Soviet Union. The role of this theme here is to connect the society back to earlier writers and themes and especially to the groups discussed earlier. Zoshchenko, for example, comes from the tradition of Gogol’ in that in he portrays the little man. For both him and Slonimskiii, “malen’kikh seren’kikh liudei i liudishek” knocked over by the war and the Revolution and who were not able to established themselves are of primary importance (Frezinskii 540). In a similar manner, Slonimskii “specialized” in reproducing the waifs and strays of the Revolution and painting the drab and desperate life of the rank and file, both at the front and in the barracks (e.g., Lavrovy, etc.) (Oulanoff 103; 106). The rank and file in Slonimskiii’s 158 158 writings convey the image of an eternal underdog, defenseless against his superiors; this underdog serves as cannon fodder at war and as a vulnerable scapegoat at peace (Oulanoff 106). In works such as Shestoi strelkovyi and Lavrovy, Slonimskiii shows the rank and file taking their revenge on their masters. The rebellion is, by way of reciprocity, bloody and senselessly cruel (Oulanoff 107). Ivanov also employs the theme of the little man when he depicts the peasants and soldiers fighting for the Revolution. Even in real life, the men often prefer the company of ordinary people, the little man. Kaverin writes: E." 3 "9"7$(("94& &(4$*$9"3+/& /I%& (&<4"2(=$, ($8+#$4(=$, 9 %)>$(=# (+%/"#"#… P+ & 3 2&8(& "( 9-/"($( 7=/ 394*$<+459' 9 /I%5#& 9$%(&#&, ./)0"3+4=#&, "7=-("3$((=#&… 6" L"A$(-" 7=/ A$%*, >3=*'/9' %$(5.+#& (3 /)<>)I 0"*)), /I7&/ 2$(A&(, - -"4"*=# "4("9&/9' 0"-"F&:$*9-& /$.-". (Frezinskii 45-46) In his reminiscences, Chukovskii describes an episode in which an old man, whom they all called “starichok,” used to attend their meetings and fall asleep there was being kicked out by some state administrators. Zoshchenko stood up for the old man passionately and spoke with the officials quite daringly, accusing them of callousness (“cherstvost’)” Chukovskii also observes that soon this fight against callousness in human relations became the center of Zoshchenko’s art. The rest of the Serapions exhibit similar traits, Lunts most notably. Ivanov, too Ivanov was obsessed with human misery and several of his stories are about the suffering of ordinary people during the Civil War (Kern xxxii). 159 159 We shall see almost the same type of discouse in the circle of Dovlatov, whose members also prefer the company of “little people” and even “nobodies” because those people are more honest and more true to life. Although Arzamas and Koz’ma Prutkov do have some of these themes, something changes in the 20th century. These themes are no longer used for wit and jest’s sake, as they were for Arzamas and Koz’ma Prutkov, whose main aesthetic premise was refined taste and who parody low-class tastes. In the 20th century, it seems, the parodic male societies become more concerned with subject of humanism and the parody show a tendency for even more democratic themes; furthermore, the authors laugh more at thmeselves and see their own struggle in the objects they parody. They are no longer as concerned with refined tastes but rather with good-heartedness and humanism. Even Shcheglov writes that by portraying the everyday life of lower class people, or the meshchane—their drama in the crowded communal quarters, for exmaple—Zoshchenko does not aspire to the sophisticated life the way Maiakovskii does, for example, but is completely content with his own aesthetic of the everyday (220). Zoshchenko’s portrayal of the everyday tends toward democratism, even as a satire, because there is no judgment; part of this is his success in imitating “non- literary” living speech (Oulanoff 154). Gorky’s archetype of the bosiak might be relevant to this discussion of the little man. Gorky was a member of the Sreda circle, whose members were interested in portraying the mood of the intelligentsia and of the lower classes (Loe 49). When Gorky’s two volumes of collected stories were published in the spring of 1898, they caused furious debates in the press, and Gorky became the most talked about writer in 160 160 Russia virtually overnight. In these stories, Gorky had created a gallery of social outcasts and rejects, but the character with whom he became identified was the rebellious bosiak (bum), a romanticized primitive who bore little resemblance to his real counterpart (Loe 50). The bosiak was an outsider who lived on the fringes of Russian society and condemned all its values and traditions; he asserted that the Russian intellectual was not a free man because he had accepted the traditional moral obligation of the intelligentsia to help the lower classes (which was his debt) (Loe 50). Gorky appealed to the yearning of the younger generation for a life of action: living in crowded cities and working in routine jobs, young, educated men longed for excitement, inspiration and escape. They were captivated by the bosiak’s struggle for survival in the open steppe; his freedom from familial, professional and personal ties seemed far more invigorating and exciting than their own restricted lives (Loe 51). They envied the bosiak because he was free of intellectual decisions and “the contradictions between the theoretical and the practical.” They wanted to identify with the bosiak, and hence with Gorky, because he was strong, fearless and free. While many critics were shocked that Gorky did not condemn the violent crimes of his bosiak, his admirers defended him, accusing the educated classes of committing "crimes" of hypocrisy and betrayal every day. Scholars write that Gorky became the first mass-culture hero because of increased public literacy and the unprecedented publicity given him by the press (Loe 51). As the public controversy over Gorky continued, young men started to view him as their cultural hero. Throughout Moscow and St. Petersburg young men began to copy his dress, mannerisms, and gathered to observe him as a national celebrity whenever he appeared in 161 161 public crowds (Loe 51). Entrepreneurs who recognized the potential profit to be made on the Gorky image sold his portrait on caramel and cigarette boxes; even the bosiak gained new respect as third-class railway cars were labeled "Maksim Gor’kiis" (Loe 51). The Serapions could not have remained immune to Gorky’s fame, especially as became their mentor, a figure to whom they looked up and emulated in certain ways. Therefore, bosiak legacy and that of Gorky’s Sreda circle must have influenced the Serapions—especially in their writing about the little man. Of course, the archetype of the bosiak is not the same as that of the little man, a theme that re-emerges in the writings of the Serapion Brothers and in other groups. But they do share common features such as being mistreated by the power structure and overlooked by the elite. Certainly, the bosiak is a much more action-driven and angry figure, whereas the underdog/ little man, at least as it comes out in the Serapions’ writings, is more pathetic and is thus treated by the Serapions with compassion and empathy. Especially when considering the monastic sentiments and framework, this empathy resembles Orthodox compassion and it is something we will see also in Dovlatov. And one could argue, especially when considering the humorous and theatrical/ performative aspects of the Serapion Brothers, it goes back to the medieval humor we saw in Chapter One, to the performances of the skomorkh and the holy fool, during which the humanity of ordinary man is asserted. 162 162 Theatrical Elements Theatricality becomes a central theme for the Serapion Brothers as well, just as it was for the All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas and Koz’ma Prutkov. The Serapions perform in front of each other and frequently in front of the public by wearing ostentatious clothes, playing pranks on the public, both of which can be considered part of the theatrical performance. One of the main performance acts occur when Serapion Brothers try to fulfill the role of writers. The Serapions’ contemporary Marietta Shaginian wrote that the young writers “,(& 94+/& 3."78(()"%&4,%9#) /&4$*+4"*+#& 0*$2%$, <$# )90$45 9%$/+459' /I%5#&, &(=#& 9/"3+#& "(& (+>/& ."4"3)I #+($*) 0*$2%$, <$# (+D4& 9$7'” (135). Shaginian compares the Serapions to children participating in amateur performances; she argues that they do not yet have a sense of art, do not know themselves and hence do not act the role but rather step into their parts by appropriating the mannerisms of one or another actor who had already played the role (134-135). In other words, Shaginian argues that the Serapion Brothers had fulfilled the role of writers without knowing whether it adequately articulated their own temperament or themes (Hickey 103). We will see this in the Dovlatov circle as well, especially when Brodsky acts like a poet, e.g., he takes on the role of a poet before he started writing. The deep concern for truth we saw in Arzamas and that we shall see in Dovlatov’s circle is present here, too, a concern that, when considered in the context of hagiographic framework, is related to Orthodox search for truth. 163 163 The writers are aware about this aspect of their behavior. Kaverin describes how he was introduced to the group. Shklovskii took him to the room and introduced him not by name but by the name of his first and only short story, “11th axiom.” Then Shklovskii left and Kaverin writes, “' "4-&()/9' 3 )."/ -*"3+4& & 94+/ ($9-"/5-" 0*$($7*$2&4$/5(", -+- T4" & 0"/+.+/"95 94"/&<("#) 0"T4), 0*&9/)>&3+459' - *+8."*+3>$#)9' 90"*)” (Frezinskii 512). Kaverin here is acting, trying to fulfill the role of the type of poet he thinks he should be—an urban and sophisticated poet from the capital. In some ways, Kaverin shows self-irony because he is aware that he is acting. The idea of theatricality also makes sense in light of Gruzdev idea that the artist is always a mask: “1)%"2(&- 39$.%+ #+9-+. B$, -4" 9<&4+$4 &9-)9943" 0*'#=# "4*+2$(&$# %)>& +34"*+, $." <)3943, #=9/$D & &%$+/"3 (+0"#&(+I4 ‘(+&3(=? *$+/&94"3’, )7$2%$((=? 3 %$D943&4$/5("# 9)A$943"3+(&& 3&%&#=? 0*$%#$4"3” (207). He also writes that, “K 4$+4*+/5("D #+9-& $94 & ("9, & ./+9+, & *"4, "%(+-" 4"4, -4" 0*&('/ $$ 8+ 0"%/&(("$ /&:" +-4$*+, (+0*+9(" ?"%&/ 3 4$+4* "( ($ 0"('/ $." 9)4&. C//$."*&' T4+ "4("9&#+ & -" 39'-"#) &9-)9943): /&:" 0"%/&((+." ?)%"2(&-+ 39$.%+ 9-*=4", 3&%&#+ 4"/5-+ #+9-+” (207). In some ways, the writers try to perform to fit what they think the audience wants (Hickey105-106). The writers made a practice of reading their work aloud to each other. Fedin, Kaverin, Ivanov, Lunts, Nikitin, Slonimskiii, Zoshchenko gave their first joint public reading in October 1921 at the Petrograd House of Arts. And this type of reading aloud becomes a performance, partially because the narrative skill or verbal artistry that might have appealed to readers like Shklovskii, Chukovskii, or Shaginian might have not 164 164 “met the requirement” of the working-class readers whose interests the new regime promoted as the legitimate target and concern of writers deemed worthy of recognition. We see glimpses of this in some of the memoirs. For example, Zoshchenko writes, “[ 0"%?"2) - 0&95#$(("#) 94"/) & 0$*$0&9=3+I *+99-+8 *"3(=#, -*+9&3=# 0"<$*-"#. S$*$0&9=3+', ' 0*"%"/2+I 4&?"(5-" 9#$'459'. C 8+34*+, -".%+ 7)%) <&4+45 T4"4 *+99-+8 3 *$%+-:&&, ' )2$ 9#$'459' ($ 7)%). M)%) ?#)*" & %+2$ ).*I#" <&4+45” (qtd. in Chukovskii, “Zoshchenko” par. 32). Here we see that he practiced and that he acted—i.e., he was not going to laugh when reading the story and so on. He will read sullenly and even gloomy. As we shall see in the next chapter, Dovlatov and his friends act in the same way; the narrator of Zapovednik, for example, knows the story by heart and yet when faced with an audience, he purposefully stutters in order to seem like he is telling it for the first time. In a way, he also acts like a holy fool. Martha Hickey reads Ivanov’s “Father and Mother” as a transcription of an anxious performance, for example—points out, in the early 1920s, writers and their works were subjected to intense scrutiny while, at the same time, the forum for their creative expression was diminishing (105). In these years, the author was literally on display and judged everywhere (Hickey 105). Furthermore, until the effects of NEP allowed for state and private publishing ventures, writers often found their initial audiences among those who gathered to hear them read aloud, so one’s chief attribute was often one’s voice (105). In Petrograd, these audiences were composed of the remaining older and younger members of a pre-war intelligentsia, middle-class and working-class persons who, like the Serapions, sought out the literary collectives, studios 165 165 and institutes that had sprung up after the Revolution (Hickey 105). All of this contributed to a kind of theatricalized aesthetics, which we have seen in the other male societies groups but it is even more pronounced in this era and in this group. The writers had to adapt to the audience, engage with it and, in a certain sense, perform in front of it. As Lunts’s “To the West!” demonstrates, he was keenly conscious of the relation of art to its audience and, as Edgerton writes, “sought no ivory tower for himself.” He looked upon the artist’s audience as a group of individuals to be pleased rather than as a social class to be educated or a political force to be guided, and in this respect he and the Serapions found themselves out of step with most of the communist critics. (Edgerton 62). This becomes even more apparent in the following episode, described in detail in Chukovskii’s memoirs. Lunts read his story “Dnevnik iskhodiashchei.” The audience did not understand any of the irony or the humor. Chukovskii writes, P" 0)7/&-& ($ %">/" ./+3("$: 94&/&8+:&' 0"% 9"3*$#$((=D 2+*."(: ‘3=?"% &8 7$83=?"%("." 0"/"2$(&'’, ‘(+-"($: &(=#& 9/"3+#&, 3- <$43$*4=?’ & 4.%. ;#$'/&95 4"/5-" 3 ($9#$>(=? #$94+?, "4("9'A&?9' - F+7)/$. E9/& 4+- 0*"&9?"%&4 3 S$4$*7)*.$, <4" 2$ 3 0*"3&(:&&! 6$4 (+>$D 0)7/&-&. 6$4 4$?, -4" #"2$4 ":$(&45 &*"(&I, 4"(-"945, &.*) )#+, &8'A$943" #=9/&, 94&/5 & 4.%. [ ?"?"4+/, -".%+ N)(: ."3"*&/ ‘" :$/& 93"&? *+99)2%$(&D’ & (+*"<(" 9/$%&/ 8+ 9"9$%'#&: 9&%$/& -+- -+#$((=$… (Frezinskii 515) 166 166 The writers feel misunderstood by their audience, which might be one reason why they attempt to perform in front of it, i.e., to please it. And the men try to be ostentatious in the same way that the Arzamasians were— by wearing strange outfits and seeking attention, which is part of their performance, as it is for the Arzamasians and for Dovlatov’s circle. Kornei Chukovskii writes in his diary on June 3, 1921: “K @"*5-"."… S"4"# %"/"2&/& " 0*&?"%$ ;$*+0&"("3=? 7*+45$3 & #= 0*">/& 3 94"/"3)I. H 94"/"3"D 9"7*+/&95: U-/"39-&D (7"9&-"#), N$3+ N)(: (9 7*&4"D ."/"3"D), F*+(4"3+4=D 6&-&4&(, !"(94+(4&( `$%&(, G&>+ ;/"(&#9-&D (3 7$/=? >4+(+? & 9 "4-*=4=# 3"*"4"#), !"/' [Q)-"39-&D] (3 *)7+?$, %$#"(94*+4&3(" 8+/+4+(("D), @*)8%$3 (9 4*"94"<-"D)” (Frezinskii 516). The whole scene is ceremonial and even staged: the arrival of the Serapion Brothers is announced, the audience steps into the dining room and sees a medley of eccentric characters, very much like a traveling troupe of performing artists. These personages are bold and daring: “demonstratively” patched up shirt, white pans with an open neck, shaved heads, and so on. Dovlatov and his friends will do the same, as well shall see in the next chapter; they dress up with military epaulets or wear peasant shirts to the university, in order to provoke a certain reaction in the “audience” and to call attention to themselves. Brodsky, for example, wears military coat and epaulets. The theatrical nature of the society makes even more sense when we consider the background of the members. Vsevolod Ivanov for several years as a clown and as a fakir—the dervish Ben-Ali-Bei—swallowing swords, piercing himself with pins, jumping over knives and torches, doing focus tricks and so on (Frezinskii 408). He 167 167 walked around Tomsk with a barrel organ; he acted in fair booths, did buffoonery, was a singer of satirical songs (“kupletist”) in the circus, and was even a fighter. He took those elements to Petersburg and then to the Serapion Brothers with him (Frezinskii 408). He was known, for example, for his eccentric clothes, which in this context can be seen as a prop. His contemporaries frequently describe his outfits; for example, he would wear a soldier’s shirt (“gimnasterka”), English soldier’s boots with green puttees, or a soldier’s hat (Frezinskii 512). Yelizaveta Polonskaia recalls the striking, unusual impression Ivanov made in the knee-length coat he fashioned for himself out of white bearskin (Bougher xvi). Chukovskii also writes that Lev Lunts was an avid fan of circus performers, jugglers, and magicians and was inclined to behavior similar to that of Ivanov (“Zoshchenko”). All these experience certainly inform the aesthetics and even behavior of the men. Furthermore, it links them to Arzamas, Peter the Great’s All- Drunken Synod and we will see it in Dovlatov’s Circle, where it is just as pronounced. Gorky, the Serapions’ mentor and supporter, too, engaged in this kind of performance and this might be a partial source for the Serapions’ own theatricalized manners and behaviors. It is well-described how Gorky was in many ways an actor. He frequently complained of the attention he was receiving but relished every moment and willingly performed the role of the bosiak-rebel-outsider with the skill of an experienced actor (Loe 52-53). When Ivan Bunin, one of the founders of the Sreda circle of which Gorky was a member, first met him while strolling along the boardwalk in Yalta, he observed his skillful role-playing: 168 168 I introduced myself, looked at him and was convinced that they had described him correctly in Poltava: the cape, the odd hat, and the cane. Under his cape was a yellow shirt, tied by a plait of a cream color, and embroidered with multi-colored silk threads on the hem and the collar. Not a husky or raging man, but simply a tall and somewhat round-shouldered, chestnut-haired young fellow with green eyes, a duck-like freckled nose, wide nostrils, and a blond mustache which he kept stroking with his large fingers while coughing. He would spit on his fingers a little bit, and then stroke his mustache. We went along farther, he smoked, heavily drawing in, then immediately exhaling, and then began to wave his hands. Having quckly smoke his cig, he spit on the cig holder in order to extinguish the butt, then threw it away and continued to talk, looking at Chekhov every so often trying to catch his attention. (qtd. in Loe 52-53) It seemed to Bunin, who was a young, aspiring writer at the time, that Gorky’s eccentric, colorful, and crude behavior was a complete affectation performed for Chekhov’s approval. When Bunin visited Gorky’s room later that day, he found the bohemian-bosiak transformed into an entirely different person (Loe 53): Gentle, clowning humorously, modest to the point of self-abasement, speaking now not in a bass voice, not with the heroic coarseness, but continuously seeming to excuse himself for something, with a feigned- sincere Volga accent which placed the stress on the o’s. He played both this and the other situation with equal pleasure and persistence. 169 169 Afterwards, I realized that he would carry on a dialogue from morning to evening with equal ease, fully entering first into one role, then into the other and when he wanted to be especially convincing in the sensitive places, he could even easily bring forth tears to his green eyes. (qtd in Loe 54) Loe conjectures that Gorky learned his dramatic skills from his maternal grandparents who had raised him (his descriptions of his grandfather’s constantly changing posses bear striking resemblance to descriptions by Bunin and others of his own skillful self- transformations) but it is likely that he assumed diff public poses at this time in order to impress others and to conceal his own uncertainty (Loe 53). The technique of skaz, for which the Serapions are famous, becomes another aspect of their theatrics. Hickey, for example, views Zoshchenko’s mystification of Nazar Il’ich, Mr. Sinebriukhov as a kind of theatrical performance. This might look like Zoshchenko’s private theatricalizaiton rather than a trait of the group; but we should note that the individual members inform the aesthetics of the whole group; furthermore. Hickey argues that by inviting his readers to try to capture the elusive author’s position within the inverted mirrors of the text, adapting maneuvers reminiscent of the tales of Pushkin’s Belkin, Zoshchenko deliberately courted the confusion, not only in the text but in the introduction that framed the collected tales. There, his authorship was reduced to a footnote—a certain M. Z. who had transcribed Sinebriukhov’s words. When the text of the Sinebriukhov stories was sewn into the wrong cover, because of a curious mistake during the first printing, Zoshchenko would not distribute the book without its cover. He 170 170 was adamant that he was not to be the visible author. “Zoshchenko” would only appear on the title page. Nothing should detract from the illusion that the responsible party might be in dispute. (The editor of Red Virgin Soil found this unsettling: he used his review to insist on Zoshchenko’s intermediary presence. He found there was “something left unsaid,” maybe even something “counter-revolutionary” about the telling of these tales.) Playfully obscuring the author’s name and origins, Zoshchenko parodied his own position while mirroring his audience’s search for a responsible authority (Hickey 111). Zoshchenko’s insistence that he not appear on the cover shows his desire for masking, as does his persistent use of skaz. Whereas this might be simply because he was afraid of the authorities, I think there is something deeper going on, a deeper masking, a deeper theater. Of course, given the terrain of the early 1920s, it was both risky and provocative for an author to pose in the 1st person (Hickey 107). We should also note that Zoshchenko’s mystification, in our context, is reminiscent of Koz’ma Prutkov’s. Tolstoi and the Zhemchuzhnkovs created this persona and went thought careful masking so as to avoid letting it be know who was behind it. One could argue that creating this type of mystification is also a type of theater. This theatrical/ performing aspect should not be too surprising considering that the Serapion Brothers had obvious theatrical interests; for example, they collaborated with Meyerhold (who, incidentally, also borrowed from E. T. A. Hoffman the pseudonym of Dr. Dapertutto under which he used to direct in his experimental studio in 1910) (Wollen 23). Lunts, their “spiritual leader,” wrote five plays, only one of which was allowed to be performed in Soviet Russia and only once, in Odessa in the season 1923- 171 171 1924 (Russell 215). Interest in theater makes sense considering that during this epoch theater was quite important in general and a new theater was making a splash in the cultural scene of the new republic and these young literary enthusiasts must have been intrigued by it. The themes of drinking, laziness, and debauchery are not as pronounced in the Serapion Brothers as they are in the All-Drunken Synod or Arzamas. Gorky hated alcohol and was very insistent that his protégés did not overuse it. Of course, they did drink and some of them even had quite a few embarrassing episodes that caused spectacles (e.g., Zoshchenko). But there was no communal drinking, reveling in indolence or engaging in debaucheries of the kind we saw in Arzamas, the Wild Synod and will see in Dovlatov’s circle. This could be due to the post-Revolutionary era, when the government promoted sober action for the sake of the Revolution. Still, there are enough other similarities and shared sources and themes to consider the group part of the phenomenon described here. The parody and the theatrical aspect of the group as well as its self-presentation as a monastic cloister do several things links the group to Koz’ma Prutkov and Arzamas and even further back to Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod and it lets the group privilege one aesthetic over another, especially in a time when many aesthetic projects were being proposed. In the midst of a kind of euphoria of big questions such as what guidelines should the literature and art of the newly created Soviet state, the Serapion Brothers argue that it should be a literature free of the control of the state and with democratic values that are honest and true to the human spirit. 172 172 Chapter 5: Dovlatov and His Sobutyl’niki : «7)4"4";&-» <94" 1&1-+" (1&=&%", >+" ?+"—4)+8.&+$.%&2 ;.$33&, 3.)+5".25/&2(2 1"#3&%)8@ ("<$+94,%)1"5. A& >+" 0)%";.&B"5 5"=.&=)4, >+", %&"<"."+, 1"#3&%)2 ("<$+94,%)1"5 3.)+5".24&(, 4)+8.&+$.%"@ ;.$33"@. (C5&% D-#8+,85) E."B(+5$@, 5".$@, #"4)(,! F$B, "B)%"1, 1&1 38.(+!.. ...(4"5%" <91&#- -49(+, 08>8% <";&# 1.8(+. (G. F."B(1)@) In “Chemodan,” Dovaltov tells the following story. The film director Iuriii Shlippenbakh invited the narrator to act in the role of Peter the Great in the filming of a semi-dissident film about Peter the Great. The plot was simple: by the means of some 173 173 fantastical accident, Peter the Great finds himself in 1970s Leningrad, walks on the streets, stops passersby, asks them who plundered his country, where his palaces are, and so forth. Like most of Dovlatov’s works, this is a fictionalized account of a real story. The protagonist, like Dovlatov, was very tall (194cm) but was perceived as much taller by people and looked very much like Peter the Great. Anna Kovaleva, a collaborator for St. Petersburg TV station, who saw the footage for her book on Dovlatov, writes that it was fascinating to watch: “P"3/+4"3 &%$4 0" 7$*$.) 6$3= 3 -"94I#$ S$4*+, *+8#+?&3+$4 *)-+#& & )%&3/'$49' 4"#), <4" 0*"&8">/" 3 9"3*$#$(("# N$(&(.*+%$” (Vail’, par. 74). According to Kovaleva, the director (whose actual name was Nikolai, not Iurii) wanted to make the film because he thought that the memory of Peter the Great is being forgotten and he wanted to remind people of the leader. The plot of the actual movie is not exactly as Dovlatov describes it either. (Vail’ par. 74) But what is important in this story for our purposes are two things. First, that Peter the Great was in the consciousness of Dovlatov and his friends. Second, performance and playfulness are part of their consciousness as well. Sergei Dovlatov and his friends, Iosif Brodsky, Vladimir Ufliand, Igor’ Efimov, Rid Grachev, Vladimir Maramzin, Viktor Krivulin, Valerii Popov, Anatolii Naiiman, and others, many of whom where considered part of the Leningrad andegraund, are part of a 174 174 group I will call Dovlatov’s circle. 11 Unlike Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod, Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, or the Serapion Brothers, this circle was not a formalized society but rather a kompaniia, or a loose, informal association of friends (although several of them did try to form the more formal group “Gorozhane” [Young, “Gorozhane” 14]). They became acquainted at the Philological Department at Leningrad State University (which is why they have also been “filologicheskaia shkola”; see ) and began to meet on a regular basis one another’s apartments and at restaurants to hang out, discuss ideas, exchange writings and so on. Their friendship continued through university, into adult life and even through emigration. The best-known elements of their literary works are dissident and urban themes, irony, innovative language and a stance against village prose. But this group also engages a number of themes we have seen in the Serapion Brothers and Arzamas, and even Koz’ma Prutkov and Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod. These include the aestheticization of debauchery, pranks, and theatrical behavior. Furthermore, just like 11 Boris Grois argues that the term “underground” should not be used for the unofficial culture of the 1950s-1980s, or second culture as it has been called, because cultural memory connects the word “underground” to the “merry” life of the New York bohemians of the 1960s: alternative night clubs, drugs, free love and pop art that replaced traditional cultural hierarchies were in the middle of bourgeois wellbeing and prevalence of formal law and norms. And all of this has nothing to do with what went on in those years in Russia, where there was never stability of wellbeing and where cheerless lawlessness reigned instead of never reigned but rather cheerless lawlessness. There were no alternative clubs, as it is well-known, and, in general, the representatives of Russian underground preferred to sit at home and not stick out. This is why I prefer the term andeground, so as to distinguish between the Western phenomenon and what went on in the Soviet Union. (par. 50-51) 175 175 Arzamas and the Serapion Brothers, whom they admired, the group uses a number of hagiographic motifs, for example. The writers often underline the poverty in which they live and how much they suffer; they show an almost religious obsession with honesty and “deeper” truths, even when they are persecuted for it; they exhibit a need to show that they are misunderstood or persecuted, that everyone is against them and yet they are enlightened and perhaps have some secret knowledge; they display a certain level of restraint, rejection of the material world and embrace a kind of morality of asceticism; and finally, the writers show a tremendous pity and love for humanity, without moralizing. Another important element of these hagiographic motifs is the theme of the little man and even, as these writers transformed it, into the theme of the nobody. These themes are a reaction against the Soviet regime, which was notoriously and actively atheist. Similarly, the authors’ thematic obsession with debaucherous topics, especially drinking and indolence, are a response to the Soviet idea of aktivnost’, which encouraged—and in many cases required—all people to be productive, engage in sports, volunteer and, in general, be active members of society, as we shall see. The group’s comedic aspects, particularly its members’ use of irony and parodic tone, their dressing up in shocking clothes, and their ostentatious, almost “foolish” public behavior, can also be considered a dissident reaction to the system, which did not allow for frivolity of any kind. But these are not just simple resistance to their contemporary situation. These themes and behaviors echo what we have seen in the work of the Serapion Brothers, Koz’ma Prutkov, Arzamas and Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod. And while it is 176 176 unclear whether the members of Dovlatov’s circle do this intentionally or as part of some unrecognized cultural legacy, we know that the authors of this group did look for inspiration to some of these predecessors. Dovlatov and his friends consciously were influenced by the Serapion Brothers, for example, and they refer to the Serapions and especially to the satirists such as Zoshchenko; e.g., Nechaev briefly compares Gorozhane to the Serapions when he says that he was finally accepted into the “Serapion Brothers” but means the Gorozhane group; in Dovlatov’s Nashi, the protagonist’s aunt has a conversation with Ol’ga Forsh, who wrote Sumashchedshchii korabl’, a book in which many of the Serapions feature prominently; finally, Dovlatov and his circle praise Zoshchenko effusively. Furthermore, scholars have noted that the literature of post- Stalinist Russia quite consciously looks back to the 1920s for its roots, for a continuity with “living” art (Kern xxix). Koz’ma Prutkov existed in the minds of these writers through cultural memory: his aphorisms are extremely popular in Russia, and his sense of humor and several of his prominent themes—bureaucracy, ignorance and philistinism— are echoed in this circle’s work. Arzamas was also a strong influence, especially since Pushkin was a member and the men of the 1960s looked up to the Romantic era; they also saw parallels between themselves and Pushkin because both were censored by the government and persecuted or forced into exile, and both had to use Aesopian language and imagery to communicate their ideas (Young, “Sanctuary” 141-144). 177 177 This line of parodic male societies with their use of hagiographic motifs, drunkenness, humor and physical comedy, goes back to the Medieval era, and especially to the theatrical interludes described in Chapter One. 12 Dovlatov’s circle, whose members reject Soviet values such as the positive hero of Russian literature and the idea of aktivnost’, attempt to create a new literature that turns away from the artificiality of Socialist Realism in favor of more real, humanistic literature, independent of ideology— and they do so by turning to Old Russian sources. Although this group is reacting against something immediate, e.g., Soviet state ideology and its imposed ideas of aktivnost’ and atheism, it is also embedded in a long history of countercultural practices and dissent that are ultimately rooted in Medieval aesthetics, especially in the games of the skomorokh, the performance of the iurodivyi and the sentiments and structure of theatrical interludes. The Group Some might object to the categorization of Dovlatov’s circle as a formal literary group. And indeed, this was not a formalized society with a membership roster or rules, such as Arzamas or the Serapion Brothers and even the All-Drunken Synod were, nor did they have a name that ostensibly turned them into a unified society. And yet, they were just such a group and it is important to establish that. They were intimate friends, loved to 12 This group of writers was strongly influenced by work of American writers such as Hemingway, J.D. Salinger, Saul Bellow, William Faulkner, and John Cheever, as well as other by the French existentialists such as Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre (Ueland 362). 178 178 be around one another and read one another’s writings, and had a similar aesthetic platform, although perhaps not one so obviously stated as those of the earlier societies. When asked why they were together, for example, Vakhtin writes: ;(+<+/+ (+# -+8+/"95, <4" (+> $%&(943$((=D "43$4 %"/2$( 7=45 4+- 39$# 0"('4$(—#= /I7&# %*). %*).+. 6$)2$/& T4" ($'9("? G= /I7&# 7=3+45 3#$94$, /I7&# *+8."3+*&3+45, (+# 39$ &(4$*$9(", <4" 0*"&9?"%&4 9 -+2%=# &8 (+9 <$43$*=?, & <4" "( "7 T4"# %)#+$4, & <4" 0*& T4"# 0$*$2&3+$4, (" ./+3("$—#= /I7&# <&4+45 %*). %*).+. (Vakhtin 82) In its structure, this group most closely resembles Koz’ma Prutkov, which was an informal gathering of cousins who collaborated at their family estates or summer houses during family gatherings. Dovlatov’s friends, too, gathered at one another’s apartment— paralleling the famous “Moscow kitchens”—or at local cafés. Although groups like Arzamas and Koz’ma Prutkov were fringe or even secret, their members had responsible functions in upper echelons of society. Peter’s All- Drunken Synod consisted of Peter’s closest friend and the political elite; the members of Arzamas, most of whom were public figures and civil servants, were also active members of the establishment; the members of Koz’ma Prutkov were noblemen as well who were actively involved in court. Dovlatov and his friends, to a certain extent were also members of the cultural elite, in a sense. Most of them grew up in the center of Petersburg and many of their parents were part of the intelligentsia. Dovlatov’s father, for example, was a theater director and his mother an actress. Brodsky’s father was a 179 179 photo correspondent during the war and his mother was an accountant. Ufliand’s father was an engineer; Maramzin’s mother was a teacher; Krivulin’s father was an officer and mother a medical assistant. And yet, Dovlatov and his friends, in many ways, did not engage in the larger society and actively tried to separate themselves from it. They chose to live on the fringes of society and were a kind of internal exiles. Many of them did not finish university. Even in the post-Stalin era, when a large number of literary organizations attached to institutions of higher learning and official cultural centers (e.g., the Palace of the Pioneers) sprang up, Dovlatov and his friends chose not to participate even though they wanted to become writers (Mitaev par. 3). 13 They did not accept jobs that would turn them into “proper” Soviet citizens; instead they liked the gritty parts of town, which is why they were also known as the “boiler-room poets”; Brodsky, for example, worked as an assistant at a local boiler room; Dovlatov was a prison guard; Gubin was a clerk at the Leningrad Gas and Oil Company (Pakhomova 37-38). And in a society, in which allegiance to the political ideology was extremely important, they strayed from any political discussions. Dovlatov writes about Brodsky, for example, “,( 2&/ ($ 3 0*"/$4+*9-"# ."9)%+*943$, + 3 #"(+94=*$ 9"7943$(("." %)?+./ ,( ($ 7"*"/9' 9 *$2&#"#. ,( $." ($ 8+#$<+/. O %+2$ ($43$*%" 8(+/ " $." 9)A$943"3+(&&” (Remeslo 23). The same can be said about many of their friends. Even Dovlatov writes, “H ;"I8$ ' %&99&%$(4"# ($ 7=/. (S5'(943" ($ 9<&4+$49'.)/ [ 39$." /&>5 0&9+/ &%$D(" 13 There were 50 registered literary organizations, or LITOs, in the early 1960s in Lengingrad alone (Mitaev par. 7). 180 180 <)2%=$ *+99-+8=. O #($ 0*&>/"95 )$?+45./ P&99&%$(4"# ' 94+/ 3 C#$*&-$” (“Marsh odinokikh”). This should surprise us considering what Yurchak writes about the last Soviet generation, namely that the late socialist subject experienced official ideological representation of social reality as largely false and at the same time as immutable and omnipresent (“Cynical Reasoning” 162). In such conditions, it became irrelevant for subjects whether they believed official ideological messages or not. Instead, the relation to the official representation became based on intricate strategies of simulated support and on “nonofficial” practices behind the official scenes (162). He uses the terms “parallel event,” “parallel meaning” and “parallel culture” to stress the grounding in personal noninvolvement in the official sphere. In this respect, it is more accurate to speak of parallel culture than of counterculture or the underground, both of which imply resistance to or subversion of official ideology and culture, and thus an involvement in their official logic. The parallel event was carved out within the official one and people were simultaneously involved in both (163). In The Last Soviet Generation, Alexei Yurchak explains how this process worked in the minds of the people living in late socialism, a period that became marked by an explosion of various styles of living that were simultaneously inside and outside the system, i.e., “living vnye” (127-128). The way to deal with the regime was to remain within the societal context but imagine oneself elsewhere or stay inside one’s own mind; i.e., simultaneously be a part of the system and fail to follow certain of its rules and expectations. He further argues that “being vnye” was not an exception to the dominant 181 181 style of living in late socialism but a central and widespread principle of living under that system; it was a “deterritorialization” of late Soviet culture, which was not a form of opposition to the system. It was enabled by the Soviet state itself, without being determined by or even visible to it (Yurchak 127-128). When Brodsky is unable to distinguish the political leaders, when he lives in a “monastery of his own spirit,” he is living precisely in this manner. In her dissertation, Pakhomova argues the opposite of Yurchak when she says that this group of writers deliberately challenged the image of the Soviet writers and “sovetskii obraz zhizni” by adopting a disheveled appearance and spending much time in bars, by eschewing regular jobs, neglecting their careers, and deliberately choosing life on the fringes (as stokers, night watchmen or elevator operators) in order to present themselves as different from the “positive” Soviet personality type (Pakhomova 37-38). But they do not like this simply in order to challenge the system. As scholars and contemporaries have argued, people did not think the system was changeable and could not imagine anything outside of it. Furthermore, the men of Dovlatov’s generation grew up listening to the stories of their relatives, many of whom had suffered through the most severe repressions of the 1930s. The Italian scholar Vittorio Strada writes that the difference between the generation of the 1970s and the generation of the 1960s is that the latter (i.e., those who matured in the 1960s) were still close to the ideals of their fathers and naively believed in the possibility of social-cultural progress within the old system and its “socialist” ideology (Rogov 12). In the 1970s there was nothing left from Stalinist classicism with its claim of goodness (Khazagerov, “Semidesiatye”). The 182 182 younger brothers, the generation of the 1970s, recognized the dashing of these hopes, lost faith in gradual progress but did not become direct oppositionists; they chose the path of slow internal re-evaluation of old ideas and illusions, accompanied by skepticism, irony and reflection. This process occurred in the “soul of certain individuals” united in small private groups (e.g., the famous Moscow “kitchens”) but rarely came to light because renewed repression made public movements impossible (Strada 12). At the same time, they did create an intimate community. A. Ar’ev, V. Goliavkin, R. Grachev, S. Dovlatov, I. Efimov, E. Rein, B. Ponizovskii, A. Naiman, V. Sosnora, and O. Tselkov lived in the neighborhood delineated by Nevsky boulevard, along Vladimirskii and Zagorodnii streets up to the Vitebsk train station (Gubin, “Rebiata”). This proximity certainly fed their intimacy and encouraged the intellectual and literary fervor they exchanged. When asked why they were together and what united them, Vladimir Maramzin answered that they loved one another, loved to be around one another, loved to talk to one another, were interested in one another’s lives and, most important, loved to read one another’s writings (Vakhtin 82). 14 The ones who are still alive today publish emotional reminiscences of their time together. The members resemble the Arzamasians in their expressions of mutual love; even though they did not write epistles to one another like the Arzamasians did, they dedicated many poems and prose works to one another. 14 Gorozhane was a subgroup consisting of Vladimir Maramzin, Boris Vakhtin, Igor’ Efimov, Vladimir Gubin, and, toward the end, Sergei Dovlatov that tried to publish an almanac of their writings together, called Metropol’. See Ueland and Young. 183 183 Even though the men did not have scheduled meetings of the kind Arzamas did, they still engaged in a kind of ritual, which emphasizes their nature as a repeating phenomenon. In an interview, for example, Valerii Popov wrote that they would first get drunk in the restaurant Evropa and then go to Metropol’. The ritual aspect contributes to the sense of the circle as a society with a defined code of behavior. Asia Pekurovksaia, Dovlatov’s first wife (over whom, allegedly, Dovlatov and Brodsky fought when they were young), was close to his friends and remembers the following about her former husband’s group in an interview: … "(& ?"%&/& 0" 0&4$*9-&# )/&:+#, (+4+/-&3+'95 %*). (+ %*).+ 3 9+#=? ($"2&%+((=? #$94+?, &/& 9""7A+ 90$>&/& (+ <5I-4" -3+*4&*) - 9$."%(' !*&3)/&(+, 8+34*+ !)8#&(9-".", <$*$8 ($%$/I 6+D#+("3 & 4.%., <4"7= "4<&4+459', 0*"0$45 4", <4" 3=0/$9()/"95 (+ 7)#+.). (par. 3) Aleksandr Genis further emphasizes their idea of hanging out as a ritual, when he compares their drinking to a Japanese tea ceremony: M/&2+D>+' +(+/".&' %/' 3=0&3-&, -"4"*+' #($ 0*&?"%&4 3 ."/"3), 93'8+(+ 9 %*).&# ($3$*7+/5(=# 0$*$2&3+(&$#—<+D("D :$*$#"(&$D. H" 3*$#' $$, 9 4"<-& 8*$(&' 0"94"*"(($." (+7/I%+4$/', (&<$." ($ 0*"&9?"%&4, 9 4"<-& 8*$(&' $$ )<+94(&-+—0*"&9?"%&4 $A$ #$(5>$. ;)45 *&4)+/5("." <+$0&4&' 3 4"#, <4"7= ".*+(&<&45 (+>) 2&8(5, 0*$%$/5(" 9)8&45 $$, 9-"(:$(4*&*"3+3 3(&#+(&$ (+ 184 184 "4-*=3+IA$#9' 0*'#" 0$*$% 4"7"D "4*$8-$ (+94"'A$.", /&>$(("." 0*">/"." & 7)%)A$.". (227-228) There is a meditative practice to drinking, as well as a sense of it being a ritual. Also, the most important part of their drinking was that it had focused attention and it focused on the present moment, in which there is no past or present. If the gatherings were a type of ritual, the question then is, what were the ritual’s codes of behavior, dogmas, and meaning? This setup—existing within the larger society without participating in it, while at the same time engaging communally in the building of “higher” goals—resembles a monastic community. Even the rhetoric of the group reminds us of such an institution. Ivanov writes, “H -"#(+4)>-) (+ )/. R$/'7"3+ 0"4'()/+95 #"/"%+' /&4$*+4)*(+' 7*+4&'. B+# #"2(" 7=/" )3&%$45 0"T4"3 M*"%9-"." & @"*7"39-".", 0*"8+&-"3 G+DI P+(&(&, ;$*.$' H"/5F+, C(%*$' M&4"3+ & #+99) %*)."." 0&>)A$." & ($ 0&>)A$." (+*"%+. H0$*3=$ ' )3&%$/ M*"%9-"." 3=?"%'A&# "4 J&%+, -"4"*"#) "( 0*&($9 0"T#) ‘U$943&$’” (Ivanov 51). Ivanov uses the phrase “young literary brethren” to describe the group of friends, thus emphasizing the spiritual community they had formed. The term “bratiia,” meaning a group of monks living in the same community or monastery, also has a secondary meaning, i.e., people in the same circle or with the same profession (usually said with a sense of irony or joke), as in “aktrerskaia bratiia” or “pishushchaia bratiia” (Ushakov, “Bratiia”). But considering the hagiographic references of martyrdom and suffering and the search for truth, we could argue the men are using the first defintion. Also, the word “komnatushka” is used here with irony, perhaps to 185 185 underline their scarce resources or their bare living conditions, yet when combined with the notion of brethren, one cannot help but be reminded of the rustic connotations of the word and its almost monastic aura. Once together, just like the Arzamasians, the members of the circle told jokes and made up puns (“ostrili kalamburami,”) (Losev 19). They also wrote epigrams and parodies, which were not always meant to be published; frequently, they were just a way of socializing or were given as gifts or expressions of good wishes on an occasion such as a birthday, a wedding, or an illness (19). For example, Gordin and a few others collaborated on a humorous epistle to Kushner on the occasion of his birthday in 1969: Gordin improvised the subject matter and Brodsky turned it into poetry “at a moment’s notice” (Polukhina 166). Krivulin remembers the operas he composed with his friends as jokes, usually about contemporary events: “G= 3#$94$ 9"<&('/& "0$*= (+ ‘."*'<&$’ 9I2$4=, 0*$%/+.+$#=$ 9+#"D 2&8(5I. @*)94(+' &94"*&' /$4<&-+ S+)T*9+, (+0*&#$*, 7=/+ 0"/"2$(+ (+ #)8=-), 9 &90"/58"3+(&$# 4$# ‘S&-"3"D %+#=’, ‘C&%=’ & 3"-+/5(=? ("#$*"3 &8 %$49-&? *+%&"0$*$%+<. […] S"#(I %)T4 _D8$(?+)T*+ & 1*)A$3+. …” (Savitskii 122). These are quite similar to the home plays the Arzamasians wrote and performed. The influence of Pushkin and his compatriots is equally clear in the works in which the members of the circle feel pity and take up sad stories. 186 186 The jokes and domestic theatrics that characterized the circle’s existence in the Soviet Union continued even in emigration. Genis and his friends collected funny incidents from newspaper headlines and wrote “Premature memoirs” (Genis 30) 15 . At one point, Vail and Genis wrote a parody of Dovlatov, called Iubileinyi pal’chik that took place in the Estonian bar Ukhnu and passed it off as samizdat. Dovlatov was at first indignant but, once he realized who the authors were, he said his “favorite” phrase, ",7&%$45 P"3/+4"3+ /$.-", 0"('45 4*)%("" (Genis, Dovlatov i okrestnosti 23). The self-ironic phrase is featured in several Dovlatov’s stories. The replication of many Arzamasian motifs explored in Chapter Two, including the intimate expression of love for one’s friends as well as parodying each other can be seen here and indicates a reference to the Romantic cult of friendship. The parallels do not end here. As we shall see later, the writers’ everyday behavior was also theatrical, also reminiscent of the late 18th/ early 19th century noble culture, which, as Lotman has argued, was highly theatricalized on an everyday level. While this might be true, it is also possible, as we shall see, that they did this partly in order to present themselves as holy fools, rejecting the system, making fun of it, causing public spectacles in order to expose it as false. The ascetic self-denial of the authors expressed in their fringe existences is also reminiscent of the asceticism of the holy fool. 15 Vail and Genis are not part of the Leningrad circle but were friends of Dovlatov’s in the United States, and thus part of an extended circle. 187 187 Monastic Values: Search for Honesty, Asceticism, Pity The Dovlatov circle exhibits a number of monastic and Orthodox values. Some of these include a constant search for honesty, occasionally to the point of obsession, which has been termed the “honesty psychosis” (Gessen 14). Included in this “Orthodox” aesthetic are the rejection of material goods and privileging asceticism; this is also part of a hagiographic tradition—in the lives of the saints, the expression of one’s poverty is a well-known trope that becomes the grounds for a miracle, which in this case might be the creation of a new literature. Pity for the underdog, or for anyone who is in a more unfortunate position, is another aspect of this aesthetic, and such pity was a major concern for the writers of this group. The thematicization of pity can be viewed as a continuation of the theme of the little man inherited from Dostoevsky and Gogol. The writers of this circle furthering of this idea, where the “little man” becomes even smaller and turns into the “nobody.” What united this group was an almost obsessive search for truth, sincerity and honesty, or, as Krivulin writes, their “vkus k vechnomu” (100). In Remeslo, Dovlatov discusses Niels Bohr’s aphorism about truths—that the opposite of a correct statement is a false statement but the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth. He writes, “G"& %*)85' 7=/& "%$*2&#= '9(=#& &94&(+#&. G= ."3"*&/& " 93"7"%$ 43"*<$943+, " 0*+3%$ (+ &(F"*#+:&I, "7 )3+2$(&& - <$/"3$<$9-"#) %"94"&(943). 6+#& 3/+%$/ 9-$04&:&8# 0" "4(">$(&I - ."9)%+*943)” (23). Dovlatov compares this concern with “clear truths” to an attitude that he first encountered in the mid-1960s, 188 188 in which people did not evaluate Soviet life as moral or immoral, because they considered the events and facts of Soviet life around them to be somewhat irrelevant compared to "deep truths." It is noteworthy that he uses the word “istina” as opposed to “pravda,” which has Biblical and philosophical connotations as well as other concepts used by them, e.g., Krivulin’s idea of the eternal. The Moscow poet Gandlevsky, who was a contemporary of the group and knew many of its members, and who exhibits many of the same values, said in an interview that his generation of intellectuals was constantly dissecting things into what was “honest” and what was not, “like medieval priests struggling to figure out how many angels can dance on the head of a pin”; he terms this “the honesty psychosis” (Gessen 14). This is how they would reason: “To work is to participate, which is dishonest, but to work as a night-guard making 70 roubles a month—that seems honest because you can’t make any less and we don’t want to kill ourselves” (Gessen 14). This attitude might also explain why they deliberately chose life on the fringes as stokers, night watchmen, elevator operators and so on. They wanted to be honest with themselves and not participate in a “fake” society. 16 This attitude of attacking falsity to find honesty is translated into their use of language in both their literary works and their daily life. The writers could not stand “fake” language, bureaucratic language and anything that seemed manipulable or 16 At the same time, they were also a part of a worldwide countercultural movement of the moment, i.e., they shared the same values as the generation whose parents fought in the Second World War. They also followed the examples of their favorite writers, e.g., J.D. Sallinger and Hemingway. 189 189 untruthful. In an interview with Gessen, Gandlevsky says: “Sometimes it seemed like all words were discredited. At one point, I developed a love for going to the hardware store because it was full of such good, honest words: planer, secateurs, sawhorse” (Gessen 14). This explains why the prose and poetry of the writers under examination was simple, ascetic, with few words. Many of them used peasant language, or made puns coupling peasant language and bureaucratese. The writers of the group, especially as a kind of Brezhnev-era “fellow travelers” similar to the Serapion Brothers, chose to struggle personally, socially and financially for the sake of writing. One could argue that Brodsky, who was put on trial for being a “vagrant” and was sentenced to five years of hard labor in the north of Russia, also represents this type of martyrdom; he gave up having a normal life in order to be able to write. This was the fate also of Maramzin, Efimov, and Dovlatov, who were all essentially forced into exile, mostly because of their creative works and their refusal to participate in the “false” system. Their giving up everything for the sake of an idea or freedom of expression is a type of saintly martyrdom that is embedded in the rhetoric of hagiographic texts. Their friend and contemporary Veller, for example, summarizes these sentiments well: “6+ 3=?"% -(&.& ' 0"94+3&/ 39$. M"/5>$ ) #$(' 3 2&8(& (&<$." ($ 7=/". [ 0"-&()/ 93"D ."*"%, 9$#5I, /I7&#)I 2$(A&(), %*)8$D, "4-+8+/9' "4 39$? 3&%"3 -+*5$*=, *+7"4=, 2&/ 3 (&A$4$, T-"("#&/ <+D & "-)*-&, (&<$# -*"#$ 0&9+(&' ($ 8+(&#+/9'” (Veller 308). Frequently, the protagonists in the stories of the group more or less reject society, renounce worldly goods, live as outcasts, and have a singular struggle: to write. 190 190 In “Zapovednik,” Dovlatov writes, Q$/"3$- %3+%:+45 /$4 0&>$4 *+99-+8=. K7$2%$(, <4" 9 ($-"4"*=#& "9("3+(&'#& 38'/9' 8+ 0$*". […] B$7' ($ 0)7/&-)I4, ($ &8%+I4. 6$ 0*&(&#+I4 3 93"I -"#0+(&I. H 93"I 7+(%&49-)I >+D-). 6" *+83$ "7 T4"# 4= #$<4+/, 7"*#"<+ 0$*3=$ 94*"<-&? B= %"7&3+$>59' 90*+3$%/&3"94&? K90"-"D9', T4"4 F*)-4 8%$95 ($ *+94$4. 6$9-"/5-" 9&'IA&? &94&( %"/2(= 7=/& &8#$(&45 #&* - /)<>$#), + <4" 0*"&8">/" 3 %$D943&4$/5("94&?... […] S&>&, 9"8%+D >$%$3*. H=8"3& %)>$3("$ 0"4*'9$(&$ ) <&4+4$/'. K "%("."-$%&(943$(("." 2&3"." <$/"3$-+... L+%+<+ (+ 39I 2&8(5. C $9/& ($ 0"/)<&49'? Q4" 2, 4= 9+# ."3"*&/, 3 #"*+/5("# "4(">$(&& ($)%+3>+'9' 0"0=4-+ $A$ 7/+."*"%($$. 1"4' 7= 0"4"#), <4" ($ 3"8(+.*+2%+$49'... S&>&, *+8 )2 38'/9', 4+A& T4"4 .*)8. Q$# "( 3$9"#$$, 4$# /$.<$... (22) The protagonist is obsessed with the search for truth and describes writing as a kind of toil. He has been doing it for twenty years and keeps on going through all obstacles and challenges; he goes through this, every day, all the time, even though his writing isolates him from society and alienates him from friends and family. This is almost an 191 191 Avvakum-like struggle. Just as Avvakum, the protagonist of Zapovednik, comforts himself by saying that it is morally better and nobler not to be rewarded for one’s work. The idea of the mainstream as a bandit or a criminal organization is Avvakumian as well. Furthermore, the protagonist, just like Avvakum, concludes that, once he has taken the load, he has to keep on going. And, in his view, the heavier the load is, the easier it becomes to carry it; this, again, is derived from the Christian work ethic. Writing, just like prayer or fighting for one’s religious beliefs, is a prolonged, consistent, all- consuming labor. The idea of carrying a weight, struggling, toiling alone and feeling morally good about it, especially because the struggle is left unappreciated, is an Orthodox one. Along with the idea of suffering for a single idea, the authors and their characters reject physical comforts and material goods. Maramzin’s friends write that he was constantly without money because “"( "<$(5 ?/$7"9"/5(=D <$/"3$-, %"7*'-, 39$ <4" $945, -- (+ 94"/$. ,( 0"-%*)."#) 2&45 ($ #".” (Vakhtin 97). At the beginning of Zapovednik, the narrator says, H""7A$ 94*+945 - ($"%)>$3/$((=# 0*$%#$4+# *+8%*+2+$4 #$('... […] E945 <4"-4" )A$*7("$ 3 ()#&8#+4+?, F&/+4$/&94+?, 8+'%/=? 0)4$>$943$((&-+?, /I7&4$/'? -+-4)9"3 & +-3+*&)#(=? *=7. G($ <)2%" 9"(("$ %"/."4$*0$(&$ *=7+-+, 7$8*$8)/54+4(+' ($#"4&3&*"3+((+' ?*+7*"945 +/50&(&94+, ."*%$/&3+' )3$*$(("945 3/+%$/5:+ -"*"/$39-"." 0)%$/'… (Zapovednik 14) He rejects material objects not only because they are deficient and lower on the “value 192 192 scale” than more spiritual things but also because of the kind of righteous attitude that comes with them. He does not like pride and confidence, thus embracing the Orthodox idea of humility and lowering oneself before others. The authors continuously emphasize the poverty and suffering which they endure in order to create their art. The Leningrad apartment of the narrator of “Zapovednik,” Boris Alikhanov, resembles a monastic cell: “K #$(' 7=/+ -3+*4&*+ 9 "-(+#&, 3=?"%'A&#& (+ 0"#"D-). S&95#$((=D 94"/, %&3+(, .+(4$/&, *+%&"/+ "B"()9". […] S&>)A+' #+>&(-+, .&4+*+, &8"7*+2$(&$ 1$#&(.)T', ($9-"/5-" 4*)7"- 3 -$*+#&<$9-"# 94+-+($. N+#0+, >-+F, %3+ 94)/+ T0"?& 7*"(4"8+3*"3, + 4+-2$ -"4 EF&#, ./)7"-" )3+2+$#=D #("I 8+ <)4-"945...” (Zapovednik 74). These descriptions repeat again and again in his works (e.g. his apartment always faces “pomoika”). His aesthetic is one of simplicity and ascetic bareness. And, of course, the portrait of Hemingway hangs as a kind of an icon. He makes fun of himself for being an intelligent, but he knows he has to sacrifice his wellbeing in order not to offend Mikhail Ivanych. He prefers to live in misery rather than hurt the feelings of another human being. He feels pity for the man, and this comes up again and again. The passages here resemble “Matryonin dvor” and give the work a village prose-like quality. The narrator reads Likhonosov in the story; and when he returns to Leningrad, he misses the village and is nostalgic for the rivers and the sand. Yet these values can also be perceived as invoking saints’ lives, and other medieval Russian texts, especially when their we consider their rejection of physical comforts and material goods and renunciation of worldly pursuits to devout one’s life to 193 193 “spiritual” ones (or in this, case literary). The themes of honesty and pity are part of this aesethic as well. The protagonists of this group are isolated, misunderstood individuals, ignored by the system and society. Grachev and some of the other writers of the group were particularly affected by stories about orphans, clerks, workers and their lives, which took place on the streets, in public transportation, in communal living quarters; in other words, in a very narrow, restrictive social environment (Ivanov 53). In a way, the protagonist of this literature is a modern-day version of the Gogolian and Dostoevskian “little man.” But here, he has evolved further into a “nobody,” “nikakoi chelovek,” an archetype Grachev invented (Ivanov 54). This “nobody” is a product of the post- revolutionary Soviet society, where the lively traditional family, religious, ethnic and cultural connections were being destroyed and replaced by a unified bureaucratic system. Grachev’s big concern was that interpersonal relationships between the Soviet people became completely lacking in moral goals and connections (Ivanov 54). For him, this also implied that there was no intrapersonal connection either, i.e., that a person would not know himself (Ivanov 54-55). There are many accounts of how even in real life, Dovlatov liked outcasts: S"9/$ 0$*$3"%<&-"3 ;$*.$I 3 C#$*&-$ 7"/5>$ 39$." (*+3&/&95 )/&<(=$ #)8=-+(4= & "94*")#(=$ 0"0*">+D-&. H0*"<$#, ;$*.$D & (+ *"%&($ /I7&/ 7"9'-"3, 8+7)/%=. & &8."$3. !+- 3 "Q&00"/&("", 3 $." *+99-+8+? 7".+4=# %"94+$49' 7"/5>$, <$# 7$%('-+#. (Genis, 128) Other friends and scholars have said the same. He had a weakness for “superfluous” types and preferred their company to that of “proper” Soviet citizens: 194 194 B+#, .%$ "7A$943$(("$ #($(&$ 0"%"8*$3+/" 3 <$/"3$<$9-"# 0"3$%$(&& )#=9$/ & 8/)I 3"/I, P"3/+4"3 "7(+*)2&/ 2&3&4$/5(=D, *+9-*$0"A+IA&D %)>) &#0)/59. O 9 T4"D 4"<-& 8*$(&' "( 7=/ +79"/I4(" 0*+3, 0&4+' 8+3$%"#)I 9/+7"945 -" 39'<$9-&# “/&>(&# /I%'#”, ($ 9/&>-"# "0*'4(=#, (" ($&8#$((" 9&#0+4&<(=# 0$*9"(+2+# $." 9"<&($(&D. M$8 "9"7$((=? -"/$7+(&D P"3/+4"3 & 3 2&8(& 0*$%0"<&4+/ &? "7A$943" "7A$943) 0*&/&<(=?—7$8 39'-&? -+3=<$-—.*+2%+(. 6$/&:$#$*(+', (&<$# ($ 8+A&A$((+' "4-*=4"945 %)*(=? 3"/$&8Z'3/$(&D 0*$%94+3/'/+95 $#) .+*+(4&$D <$94("94&, 7/+."0*&94"D("$ 9)A$943"3+(&$—"0"*"D /&:$#$*&'. (Ar’ev 9) In the unkempt, unhealthy, “improper citizens” Dovlatov sees a truthfulness: they are open and have nothing to hide. This connects to the constant search for honesty. These sentiments are very similar to old Russian texts such as “Povest’ o Gore-Zlochastii”; some folktales have similar themes as well. This echoes the work of the holy fool, who exposes in order to get to truth. Brodsky, too, was concerned with the underdog, the little man, the person abused by society. On October 16, 1967, he presented a “safe pass” to his friend Grachev, who was plagued by mental illness and for two decades lived in isolation and in and out of mental facilities (Ueland 362). The “safe pass” contained the following text: J&%) O"9&F"3&<) H&4$ (@*+<$3)) %/' ".*+2%$(&' $." "4 %)*("." ./+8+, /I%9-"." 0)94"9/"3&', *$%+-4"*9-"D 7$9<$94("94& & 7$90*&(:&0("94&, /2&3"94& 2$(9-"D, 0"/&:$D9-"." 0*"&83"/+ & 195 195 39$." 0*"<$.", <$# 7".+4 9)A$943)IA&D #&*"0"*'%"-; + 0+<$ 39$." — "4 39$"7A$." (+./"." ($3$2$943+. O 0)945 )*+8)#$$4 <&4+IA&D .*+#"4) 9&I, <4" "7/+%+4$/5 $' ()2%+$49', -+- (&-4" 3 @"9)%+*943$ J"99&D9-"#, 3 4$0/"# -*"3$, 9=4("D 0&A$, 3 *+8)#("D ($(+3'8<&3"D 8+7"4$, 3 0"*'%"<("D 2$(A&($; & <4" 39'- %"/2$( 99)2+45 $." 7$99*"<(" %$(5.+#&, 0"$/&-) "( 7$%$(, 99)2+45 & )?"%&45 4"4<+9, %+7= ($ (+3'8=3+45 93"$ 9)A$943"3+(&$ & ($ 0*&-"3=3+45 - 9$7$ 3(&#+(&$. O7" J&% H&4$ — /)<>&D /&4$*+4"* *"99&D9-&D (+>$." 3*$#$(& — & 3*$#$($# T4&# & /I%5#& (+>$." 3*$#$(& 3-"($: &8#)<$(. H9'-, -4" 0"%(&#$4 (+ "7/+%+4$/' @*+#"4= T4"D *)-), %+ 7)%$4 0*$%+( -+8(& & 0"*).+(&I 3 T4"D 2&8(& & 0*"-/'4 3 7)%)A$D, + %"7*=D — %+ 7)%$4 7/+."9/"3$(. ; <)3943"# ."*$<& & (+%$2%= & 7$8" 39'-"D )/=7-& 0&9+/ T4" 3 N$4" @"90"%($ 1967-$ *+7 M"2&D O"9&F M*"%9-&D, 0"T4 (Ueland 363) This document illuminates the humble attitude of the writer and the love he feels for his friend, both feelings reminiscent of saints’ lives. This idea is further emphasized by the antiquated, quasi-religious language Brodsky uses. There are other possible explanations for the obsession with honesty and sincerity. First, Soviet society imposed these values through constant propaganda and through organizations such as the young pioneers and the Komsomol, many of whose mottos were similar to the Ten Commandments, in which moral honesty is highly praised. This 196 196 should not come as a surprise, especially in light of what Katerina Clark and Abram Tertz have argued, namely, that Soviet culture incorporated many traditional Russian Orthodox values. Furthermore, during the heyday of the Dovlatov circle, there was a Rozanov revival, intellectuals read the religious and political philosopher Berdyav, and Likhachev and Panchenko were writing about old Russian culture (Dovlatov even participated in seminars with Likhachev). Second, the circle was influenced by Western literature that tried to strip away the “fakeness” of bourgeois society—by writers such as Hemingway and J.D. Salinger. The men also listened to jazz, which has an element of criticism of social injustice, and had an affinity for Don Quixote and The Three Musketeers, which helped shaped the moral beliefs of their generation. They also frequently quote children’s books that influenced them, including Winnie the Pooh, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Adventures of Pinocchio (or Boratino), and The Tale of Cipollino. Pooh is naïve, simple, curious, free, and caring toward his friends. There is a kind of simple goodness, a naïveté, to his stories, and the good usually wins at the end. Friendship and love for one’s friends is extremely important in the other books as well; the title characters of The Three Musketeers live according to the motto, "One for all, all for one." The Tale of Cipollino is a children’s tale about political oppression written by the Italian communist children’s writer Gianni Rodari, and popular enough to have a ballet staged in Russia in 1973, created by their friend the composer Karen Khachaturian. Cipollino, or Little Onion, fights the unjust treatment of his fellow townfolk by the fruit royalty in the garden kingdom. The main theme is the "struggle of the underclass and the powerful, good 197 197 versus evil" and the importance of friendship in the face of difficulties. Grachev translated The Little Prince from the French and many of his friends read it (include source). Other favorite characters from children’s books also included Robin Hood-like characters that take from the rich and give to the poor; many of these stories are concerned with social injustices and were used by Soviet ideologists to instill values in Soviet children. Of course, it is likely that these young readers did not understand the books the way the authorities wanted them to (e.g., when Veller writes, “G= $A$ 39$*5$8 ($-".%+ <&4+/& H.8- #$/18+8."5: ‘;/+3+ 0+3>$#) 3$/&<&I’,” he implies that they were applying this phrase from the Three Musketeers to the Soviet government) (33). Still, these values permeated their moral and aesthetic sensibilities. In any case, the members of the circle were very much shaped by these influences. 17 Furthermore, the appeal of adventure stories is obvious in an era of “stagnation,” when people felt that nothing was happening. Drinking One of the main features of the group’s writing is the portrayal of drinking and drunkards; in fact, in some circles their writings are known as “al’kogol’naia proza” (Matich, conversations). Dovlatov’s positive characters, for example, are usually intellectual alcoholics, 17 Other very strong influences include Hemingway, Faulkner, Platonov, Babel, Zoshchenko, Olesha, and Akhmatova (“Gorozhane” 90). 198 198 rejected by society; e.g., Markov is a “zakonchennyi propoitsa” and “spivshiisia zhurnalist i, kak mnogie alkashi, chelovek oslepitel’nogo blagorodsvta” (Zapovednk 32; Nashi 71). Dovlatov connects the element of alcoholism to “blinding nobility,” thus reversing common-sense values. Genis writes that in Dovlatov the aristocrat-alcoholic plays the same role as the noble vagabond in Pushkin: he loves life; he is belligerent; he is useless and free and true to his nature; he is always himself (161). Other scholars have pointed out that vodka does not make the reader drunk in Dovlatov’s writings but, rather, it makes the author sober (Tyszkowska-Kasprzak 70). In other words, the protagonist is able to reach truth through alcoholic delirium. Gorbovskii has many poems in this vein: 6+>/+ #&/&:&' 3 9($.) 90$*3+ 9+0"., 8+4$# - 7+>-). H$9V/=D 4*)0 9 7"*"%-"D! L+#V*8, (" 0+?($4 3"%-"D. ;$*2+(4 $." ("."D -"0()/. C 4*)0... "<()/9'. O - *=.()/. (1970) () A police sergeant finds in the snow what he thinks is a corpse smelling of vodka. He digs him up a bit with his foot but the “corpse” wakes up and burps. This is an absurdist comedy with a theatrical element—a physical comedy of the sleeping and/or dead person waking up in strange circumstances; the sound of burping, the kicking, and so on. 199 199 Even though this is not a full beard but more of a goatee, considering some of the other medieval elements, references and possible sources, it reminds us of pre-Petrine Russia or perhaps even Old Believers. In Old Rus’, the beard was a sign of dignity and it did not only refer to tradition. It also signified a religious problem: man was made in the image of god and, on icons, Jesus and hence in people’s imagination has a beard. To shave one’s beard was considered a sin, a distortion of the godly image and an insult of Christ (Chaikovskaia par. 39). There is something medieval in this poem. The drunk bearded man fallen at the side of the road reminds of medieval works such as “Sluzhba kabaku” in which we see the drunken clergy falling and what Olearius and other contemporary travelers describe of medieval Russian society—the drunks falling down on the street. Ufliand was also a known drinker and has written many poems in praise of drinking. Brodsky, who claims Ufliand as his mentor, frequently extols drinking in his early poetry as well. In the writings of the group, a reversal of Soviet (and sometimes common-sense) values takes place. For Dovlatov and his friends, alcoholics are proper, cultured, sensitive and fully human; lazy men are the “positive” heroes. Morality is upside down— alcoholics are good and loafers are the only intelligent ones. But aestheticizing dinking is not simply a way of challenging Soviet values or the Soviet system. For the members of this circle, drinking becomes a spiritual activity and, in many ways, alcohol becomes, if not a substitute religion, then at least connected to Christian culture. It has been argued that Krivulin’s poem “P’iu vino arkhaizmov” portrays members of the andegraund as the new apostles of Logos, and portrays drinking as a form of religious ritual and a means 200 200 of communing with other souls lost in the depths of the “narcotic oblivion” of the Brezhnev era (Walker 682). Furthermore, in borrowing literary elements from Avvakum, Walker argues, Krivulin turns the poets of the Leningrad underground into metaphorical “Old Believers” (689). 18 In Kompromiss, when one of Dovlatov’s characters is asked if he would like a drink, he answers “C -+- 2$?! … - O(+<$ ($ 0"-?*&94&+(9-&” (242). Mikhail Ivanych, a potential landlord in Zapovednik, spends the first few minutes of their meeting describing his previous tenants: - S*">/=D ."% $3*$& 2&/&. 1)%"." ($ 9-+2), /I%& -)/54)*(=$... 6& 4$7$ 0"/&4)*=, (& "%$-"/"(+... C 4"/5-" - 7$/"$, -*+9("$ & 0&3"... N&<(" ' $3*$$3 )3+2+I. (35) This is a mockery of Russian/Soviet anti-Semitism but, at the same time, it communicates something about cultural values. In Russian culture, Jewish people are considered weaklings, traitors and alcoholic lightweights, and hence bad drinking partners. The joke 18 Here, the recent history of drinking might be relevant. During the Second World War, beginning in 1943, the consumption of vodka became a sign of “dostoinstvo” in the eyes of the closest boss and a refusal of the offered portion was deemed a sign of disobedience and disloyalty. After the war, this attitude spread throughout the entire nation (Tyszkowska-Kasprzak 68). In the 1950s and 1960s, vodka had a low price and wide sales, so consumption of alcohol rose. In the 1970s, there was a new attitude toward drunkenness; it was already not possible or accepted to condemn public drunkenness or create an atmosphere of hatred toward drunkards because the vice of drinking was now considered one’s “personal business” and was no longer connected to Socialist ideology (Tyszkowska-Kasprzak 68). This attitude is very similar to the 16th-century attitudes toward drinking as described in A-Peretz’s work especially because there was no embarrassment associated with getting drunk, nor public judgment of the drunkard. See Chapter One. 201 201 exposes this Russian cultural trait as absurd. At the same time, this joke is embedded in the well-known literary and popular mythology linking Orthodox Christianity with drinking alcohol, the most famous example of which is the Primary Chronicles, where, as we saw in Chapter One, it is explained that Vladimir did not accept Islam (a religion to which he was attracted) because Muslims were not allowed to drink and famously said, “J)9& $945 3$9$/&$ 0&45: ($ #"2$# 7$8 4"." 7=45” (“Povest’ o vremennykh let” par. 94) Drinking involves sitting for long periods of time and to sit includes doing, in a certain culturally specific sense, nothing; if doing nothing well is paradoxical, that increases its value (Pesman 71). Part of sitting and resting is feeling that you are together against a greater power, the boss, the System, Fate (72). Sitting must simultaneously be outside and in defiance of contexts of power relations (72). Furthermore, sitting takes such a priority in drinking that all else must fade in the face of it: a person who allows real time or practical matters to affect this may be (and often is) accused of soullessness (71). (Think also of Nicholaevan-era students who would occupy pubs together, effectively staging a sit-in [Freidman 229]. They sought socialibity with their classmates in rituals of alcohol consumption and rowdiness. Manliness consisted in knowning how to combine respectable comportment before one’s betters with indulgence in the disreputable activities that raised a man’s reputation in the eyes of his peers. Paradoxically, it was the representative of the state that helped to mentor these young men in this blanacing act, in the person of the university inspector (Friedman 229].) 202 202 This is perhaps why the authors also revel in indolence. Dovlatov considers bezdeiatel’nost’ the only moral state of being: “M$8%$'4$/5("945 - $%&(943$(("$ (*+3943$(("$ 9"94"'(&$. … H &%$+/$ ' ?"4$/ 7= 94+45 *=7"/"3"#. S*"9&%$45 39I 2&8(5 (+ 7$*$.) *$-&, O 2$/+4$/5(" 7$8 39'-&? 4*"F$$3... ” (100). In Zapovednik, there is also the character Mitrofanov who is a genius, extremely well-read, but suffers from dysbulia, or total atrophy of willpower, as Dovlatov defines it: “G&4*"F+("3 3=*"9 F+(4+94&<$9-&# /$(4'$#, $9/& #"2(" (+83+45 /$(4'$# <$/"3$-+, 0*"<&4+3>$." %$9'45 4=9'< -(&.” (Zapovednik 55, 52). Furthermore, he does not wash, shave, or tie his shoes, nor does he attend “volunteer weekends” (“leninskie subbotniki”) (Zapovednik 52). This takes issue with the Soviet authorities, who did not consider reading or writing a job. This idea was certainly in the minds of this group; a testament to that was that during Brodsky’s trial—Brodsky was accused of being a vagrant—Gordin wrote an emotional and angry public letter, asking why writing poetry is not considered “a labor” in Soviet society (Ufliand 195-198). 19 19 The idea of inactivity as the only moral state is repeated in several Dovlatov stories and novels. It is quite similar to Rozanov’s idea of the individual being higher than any religion: 6+*"%=, ?"4&4$ /& ' 3+# 9-+2) .*"#"3)I &94&(), -+-"D 3+# ($ ."3"*&/ (& "%&( &8 0*"*"-"3... - 6)? 6)?.. 1?... - _4" - <4" <+94(+' 2&8(5 3=>$ 39$.". - 1$-?$-?$!.. 1+-?+-?+!.. 1+-?+!.. - P+, %+! 6&-4" T4"." ($ ."3"*&/; ' - 0$*3=D... S*"94", 9&%$45 %"#+ & ?"4' 7= -"3=*'45 3 ("9) & 9#"4*$45 (+ 8+-+4 9"/(:+. - 1+, ?+, ?+... 203 203 Ufliand has multiple poems mockingly regretting not attending “labor week.” In a1962 poem, for example, he describes a scene of how everybody is going to “labor week” while he lazily sits on the bus and goes to the country. There, he sits under a birdhouse, acts like a bird and becomes possessed by some godlike force that inspires him to compose parodies: H"4 0*">/+ 4*)%"3+' ($%$/'. !4" ($ 3$*&4. !4" *+%"94(" 0*=.+$4. B"/5-" ', 9"7"I 3/+%$', 9$/ 3 +34"7)9. O $%) 3 0*&."*"%. B+# 4"4<+9 94+("3/I95 0"% "*$>(&-"#. J"4 *+9-*=3, 0*&43"*'I95 9-3"*$>(&-"#. [ 9/$.-+ 9$7' T4&# )*"%)I. 6" 8+4" 9/&3+I95 9 0*&*"%"I. O (+ *+8("." *"%+ #$/"%&& &8 .*)%& #"$D /5I49' 0+*"%&&. 6" -/'()95, <4" ($ ' &? 43"*$:. B" 3" #($ 0*"7)%&/9' 9-3"*$: - ED-$D: T4" - "7A$$ *$/&.&&... H9$ *$/&.&& 0*"D%)4, + T4" "94+($49': 0*"94" - 9&%$45 (+ 94)/$ & 9#"4*$45 3%+/5. (sec. 42) 204 204 H""7A$ 2$ 3 4$<$(5$ ($%$/& [ 9/)2) ) 9$7' 3 "4%$/$. E9/& $945 3" #($ 7"2&' &9-*+, ' -".%+-(&7)%5 94+() #&(&94*"#. (Kulle 117) In another of Ufliand’s poems, the protagonist is an old man who has never played football and, as a result, feels like he has not done anything with his life: “K3=! H%+/& "4 94+%&"("3/ [ 2&8(5 ($()2()I 0*"3$/,/ 6& *+8) 3 2&8(& #'< ($ 4*"()3,/ 6& *+8) ($ 9=.*+3 3 F)47"/” (Kulle 117). The last lines are, “O 0$*$% 9#$*45I 0" #'<)/ ?"45 *+8 )%+*&45 ' ?"<)./ H8%"?()3 3 0"9/$%(&D *+8, %*)85',/ ' 7)%) 8(+45, <4" 2&/ ($ 8*'.” Soviet society made the widest possible provision for all to take part in sport. Social pressure excited the motivation which, added to a government-aided base, a national fitness program for virtually all age groups and free access to the means of pursuing sport, is said to involve nearly a quarter of the population in regular and active sport (Riordan 15). The Soviet sporting philosophy and system echoes the Marxist notion of the interdependence of the physical and metnal states of human beings, so that physical culture is treated equally with mental culture in a person’s upbringing—both for the all- round development of the individual and, ultimately, for the health of society (15). In Soviet development, sport was accorded the vital role of helping to change society (15). In the development of Soviet society, sport was always state-controlled, encouraged and shaped by specific utilitarian and ideological designs—primarily for labor and military traing and the all-round development of the ideal citizen. Sport was proclaimed an essential part of the way of life of all citizens (49). 205 205 During the postwar period when the U.S.S.R. was training its first Olympic team, and the government elevated the status of the athletes to Soviet heroes. Athletes were presented to the public as exemplars of three principles: 1) pre-eminence in sport was more a function of systematic training than of talent; 2) any Soviet citizen could achieve such pre-eminence, and by doing so would contribute to the nation’s greatness; 3) it was the responsibility of the Soviet men and women who did become sports heroes to serve as examples, especially to the younger generation (Gilmour 210). In a way, athletes were viewed as the highest achievement of the system. Male athletes were also supposed to instruct Soviet youngsters and readers of the nation’s sports magazines in the essentials of masculinity, which included such “healthy” behavior as hard work, physical exercise, service to profession and nation, and devotion to family (Gilmour 210-211). This masculine idea, described in Russian as kul’turnyi, was juxtaposed in the sports press with a much-criticized antithesis: nekul’turnyi male behavior (Gilmour 210-211). Uncultured masculinity valorized self-indulgence (typically expressed in smoking, drinking, and sexual adventures) and aggressive physical self-assertion in relation both to other men and to women (Gilmour 211). The distinction between cultured and uncultured masculinity was a significant part of the rhetoric of Soviet sports (and hence Soviet society), because it had long figured in Soviet attempts to transform the men of the nation into model citizens (Gilmour 211). 20 20 Related characters include Volodia Makarov, the soccer player who represents the young generation and new world in Olesha’s Zavist’. Zoshchenko’s protagonists also exhibit strong degrees of nekul’turnost’. 206 206 Furthermore, throughout the 1970s and 1980s, the lineup of the politburo of the Communist Party remained practically unchanged. Portraits and names of the politburo members were constantly invoked by the media, on political billboards and in speeches, usually in the form of a list (Yurchak 256). As political bodies, the human beings that constituted the politburo remained fixed and immortal, but as biological bodies they were quickly aging and becoming frail. The average age of the politburo members rose from 55 in 1966 to 70 in the early 1980s, with the leading group close to 80, which is why this period has been called “the period of gerontocracy.” The uncoupling of form and meaning in this case was that while these figures were on the verge of dying as biological beings, they functioned as immortal authoritative forms. As a result, the news of Brezhnev’s death in 1982, while not surprising, still caught most people completely off- guard. Andrei Makarevich realized he had perceived Brezhnev not as a human being but as a “biblical figure that would live 800 years” (Yurchak 256-7). Furthermore, there were visible signs of their aging. Brezhnev’s speech was becoming increasingly slurred, for example. Between 1982 and 1985, many of the politburo members died—one every six months on average. The representation of high-ranking deaths quickly became normalized and ritualized (257). As a result of this normalizing process, the focus in high-ranking funerals shifted from the biological rupture of death to the political stability and continuity of the discourse that represented it. 21 By showing the decay of the body and the body in a state of laziness, the writers tried to challenge this normalizing institution and unbalance the false stability it promoted. Furthermore, these sentiments 21 In “Zapovednik,” the narrator changes the Pushkin line “k nemu ne zarastet narodnaya tropa” to “k nemu ne zarastet svyashennaia tropa”; Young writes that this is probably because Dovlatov had a rather Khlebnikovian horror of starting words with the letter “n” (Sanctuary 82). Yet we should note that the replacement word “svyashennaia” has a strong religious connotation. 207 207 echo those of the Arzamasians, who write long letters about how they do nothing all day, keep logs of number of hours they spent laying on the couch or going to the bathroom (see Chapter Two). Although it has been argued that these depictions function as acts of anti-Soviet dissent, it is important to note that this line of dissent is embedded in the kind of medieval aesthetic seen in Chapter One and later in Arzamas, Koz’ma Prutkov, and others. There is a genealogy to the aestheticization of these themes and behaviors. This is further emphasized by the deeply spiritual and ascetic presentation of Orthodox Christian ideals in the writings of these authors. Honesty, asceticism and pity are chief among the values quietly represented in these works. Drinking challenges the Soviet idea of aktivnost’ because it involves sitting for long periods of time and thus being unproductive. Drinking also challenges the Soviet ideas of propriety and decency and even cleanliness. A second way in which drinking challenges Soviet values is that it allows the protagonists to behaving improperly or “nekul’turno,” thus turning them into a kind of medieval characters (such as the ones in “Sluzhba kabaku,” for example). Alcoholics make funny gestures, wobble when standing, cannot walk straight, bump into things, fall down in puddles, get into fights, and so on. The anthropologist Pesman writes that jokes about Russians as notorious drinkers feature razmakh, unpredictable, unchecked gestures. 22 This physical comedy frequently uses 22 In attempting to establish a prototype of the alcoholic in Russian literature, Rudanovskaya claims that this alcoholic “hero” can be traced back to Dostoevsky’s Marmeladov. But I think the alcoholic can be traced back to the satirical texts of the 16th century discussed in Chapter One. 208 208 props such as dirt, puddles, and empty bottles. 23 Third, drinking levels people because drinkers come from all segments of society—rich and poor, smart and stupid, Soviet and dissident. In this way, there is an ancient quality to this, a kind of monastic leveling, a democratic idea behind drinking. In such a way, drinking is related to the medieval Christian tradition and also to the kind of medieval behavior examined in Chapter One. But drinking brings the writers closer to the Medieval era and even to a kind of carnivalesque aesthetic. Along with drinking, in their writings (and frequently in their real-life behavior as well) Dovlatov and his colleagues also present a kind of physical comedy that is similar to the comedy of the iurodivyi or the skomorokh: men fall down, get lost, lose their possessions, make fools of themselves, and so on. These are all aspects that go back to the medieval performances we saw in Chapter One, in which we saw the medieval drunkard—very often the priest—expose himself, start fights, etc. Drinking there is linked to Christianity as we saw in Chapter One, especially as priests often got very drunk and simple people felt not only that it was ok to get drunk during a holiday but often thought it was a religious practice. In the medieval era, it was done in order to protest the restrictive, authoritarian society. 23 Dovlatov, partially due to his great size, was quite clumsy when drunk: “H=0&3>&D ;$*.$D #". 7=45 F&8&<$9-& "7*$#$(&4$/5(=#. 6+ 4*$4&D %$(5 $#) "4-+8=3+/+ .*+:&', 9 -"4"*"D "( "7=<(" ("9&/ 93"$ ($0"#$*("$ 4$/". M"/5>$, <$# 39$ "94+/5("$, "(" 97/&2+/" $." 9 1$#&(.)T$#” (Genis 130). This is another example of theatricality, as he is trying to fulfill a certain role: i.e., that of the Russian Hemingway. 209 209 Theatricality Boris, the protagonist of Dovlatov’s Zapovednik, is a docent in a fictionalized Pushkin museum reserve located in Mikhailovskoe. He memorizes the speech he is supposed to give tourists and yet, upon delivery, he stutters, searches for words, and feigns incompetence and ignorance, essentially performing a kind of spectacle: 1"4' %($D <$*$8 0'45 ' 8+)<&/ 4$-94 T-9-)*9&& (+&8)945, #($ /"3-" )%+3+/"95 9&#)/&*"3+45 383"/("3+(()I &#0*"3&8+:&I. [ &9-)9943$((" 8+&-+/9', -+- 7= 0"%=9-&3+' F"*#)/&*"3-&, "."3+*&3+/9', 2$94&-)/&*"3+/, )-*+>+' 93"& 4A+4$/5(" *+8*+7"4+((=$ T-90*"#4= +F"*&8#+#& @)-"39-"." & a$."/$3+. Q$# /)<>$ ' )8(+3+/ S)>-&(+, 4$# #$(5>$ ?"4$/"95 *+99)2%+45 " ($#. P+ $A$ (+ 4+-"# 0"94=%("# )*"3($. [ #$?+(&<$9-& &90"/('/ 93"I *"/5, 0"/)<+' 8+ T4" ($0/"?"$ 3"8(+.*+2%$(&$. (S"/(+' T-9-)*9&' 94"&/+ "-"/" 3"95#& *)7/$D.) (64) Part of this behavior stems from the fact that, as Young writes, beginning in the late 1960s, the Soviet intelligentsia started to re-evaluate their attitude toward the “god” Pushkin; they began to approach him with lighthearted irreverence (Siniavskii’s Progulki s Pushkinym, written in the mid-1970s, is the most famous example) and to distance themselves from official writing on Pushkin (Sanctuary 136). Here, even though Boris indeed recites whatever authoritative version of Pushkin’s life he has memorized, he defies this by stuttering and acting like he does not know the full story. Young further argues that Dovlatov’s account of his semi-fictitious narrator’s experience in Pushkinland 210 210 is, at the same time, an exploration of parallels between the literary scene in Pushkin’s time and his own, especially of the question of the relationship between the artist and the state in those two periods (138). Dovlatov sees a parallel between himself and Pushkin in that they are both censored and under surveillance and he sees in Pushkin freedom and rebellion against the political usurpation of a writer’s personality because Pushkin was manipulated to serve the totalitarian state, very much like Dovlatov and his generation were supposed to be (Young 136). In such a way, Sanctuary is a microcosm of Soviet reality (136-7). Yet there are also certain elements that remind the reader of the game of the medieval holy fool, who, like Boris, feigns ignorance and tries to look sillier that he is. This becomes even more apparent in the light of the other performances, attitudes and themes that link the protagonists of this group of writers to those of a certain tradition extending back to the medieval era. Later in the novella, Boris and his friend Markov get drunk and imitate Pushkin and Baratynski: “6$9-"/5-" *+8 #= 4$*'/& 0+-$4 9 %$(5.+#&. ,7(&#+/&95 9" 3<$*+>(&# .+*#"(&94"#. M=/& 8+#$<$(= 39$#& "43$4943$((=#& *+7"4(&-+#& 4)*7+8=. !+- )43$*2%+$4 6+4T//+, 3=%+3+/& 9$7' 8+ S)>-&(+ & M+*+4=(9-"."... ” (Zapovednik 134). Losing a bag with money, making a fool of oneself, being drunk and hugging random people are all typical comedic elements. Also, this Dovlatovian story echoes Zoshchenko’s quote from Chapter Four, “S$*$0&9=3+', ' 0*"%"/2+I 4&?"(5-" 9#$'459'. C 8+34*+, -".%+ 7)%) <&4+45 T4"4 *+99-+8 3 *$%+-:&&, ' )2$ 9#$'459' ($ 7)%). M)%) ?#)*" & %+2$ ).*I#" <&4+45” (qtd. in Chukovskii, “Zoshchenko” par. 32). Considering that Dovlatov and his friends 211 211 admired Zoshchenko very much, it is not too far-fetched to considering this as a form of imitation. The fact that the characters imitate Pushkin and his friends, who were both Arzamasians, and considering the other parallels with Pushkin’s time—friendship circles, an atmosphere of playful wit, closed-off private discussions and salon culture—we can view theater as a model of behavior for these men, especially in light of Yu. Lotman’s argument that theater became a model for behavior in real life of the Russian 19th- century Romantics, as we saw in Chapter Two with the Arzamas circle. Lotman argues that theater became a model of behavior in real life for the Russian 19th-century Romantics (Lotman 141). Similarly, during the stagnation era, people reported experiencing a feeling of “timelessness” and like nothing was happening (Savitskii 114). Everyday life seemed immobile; events and happenings in it either did not take place at all or were rare exceptions to the norm, which is what Lotman describes of the period of Arzmas (160). Hundreds of people could live their lives through without experiencing a single “event.” Powered by the law of custom, the day-to-day life of the average Russian gentleman of the 18th century was “plot-less” (Lotman 160). The Napoleonic period brought into military activities, apart from the features essential to it, an element of the aesthetic (148-149). Just the Napoleonic period brought an element of the aesthetic, as Lotman as argued, the Soviet period did the same. People dressed up, watched meaningless military parades and acted happy to watch leaders give speeches, essentially performing a kind of theater. Gordin describes how Brodsky takes pictures of himself in an army uniform and 212 212 addresses his friend with a military greeting: O"9&F 3""7A$ 7=/ ($*+3("%)>$( - +*#$D9-"D +4*&7)4&-$. ,%(" 3*$#' ' ("9&/ 8+A&4("." :3$4+ -)*4-) 9 0"."(<&-+#&. !".%+ ' 0*&?"%&/ - O"9&F), 4", "4*-=3+' #($ %3$*5, "( ($&8#$((" 0*"3"8./+>+/: “L%*+3&' 2$/+I, #"D -+0&4+(!” ,( & 9+# "?"4(" F"4".*+F&*"3+/9' 3 3"$(("D F"*#$. _4", -"($<(", 7=/& 94"/5 0"0)/'*(=$ 3 4$ 3*$#$(+ ?$##&(.)T$39-&$ #"4&3=… (Gordin 135) Others in the circle, including Gordin, also wear military jackets with epaulets. The unusual (and sometimes shocking) mode of dress was something we saw in the All- Drunken Synod, the Arzamasians and even in the Serapion Brothers, where it was done in order to call attention to oneself in a kind of holy foolish manner and frequently even cause a spectacle. Their “older brothers,” i.e., their mentors just half a generation before them, engaged in this kind of theater as well. In December 1952, three 18-year old university freshmen, Eduard Kondratov, Mikhail Krasilnikov, and Iurii Mikhailov, wearing boots and untucked shirts, went to the university and, during a break between lectures, sat in a circle on the floor and ate turia (soup made of bread and water or kvass) with wooden spoons, singing some Khlebnikov poems “appropriate for the occasion,” realizing, as it were, a kind of “pan-Slavic Khlebnikovian utopia” (Losev 12). They wore kosovorotki shirts, took class notes with goose feathers and never missed a chance to dance in a circle like Russian peasants or play the game Korovoi close to a lively intersection (Losev 14- 15). 213 213 Dovlatov and his friends tried to imitate their mentors. Ufliand and the young pianist Iurii Tsvetkov were held in jail for four months for spinning on ottomans in the bar next to the government building (Losev, “Tulupy my” 16-17). Once, Losev was walking on Nevsky Boulevard with Vinogradov and Eremin when, all of a sudden, he told them that he felt like lying down. “Surely,” his friends said and started to lie down. He writes they lay down on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to a former Masonic lodge. Ivanov writes, “!+- 39$.%+, 0*"?"2&$ ($ 8(+/&, -+- *$+.&*"3+45. 6$-"4"*=$ 0"<4&4$/5(" "94+(+3/&3+/&95 & 90*+>&3+/&, 3 <$# %$/". G= %*)2$/I7(" "43$<+/&, <4" 0*&/$./& "4%"?()45.” Ivanov interprets this type of behavior as a desire to transform what was generally accepted into something new (“obshchepriniatoe”) (49). Yet it is impossible to avoid linking this behavior to that of the medieval skomorokh or even the holy fool, who used to call attention to himself by causing a spectacle and who turns things upside down. Brodsky tried to fulfill the role of the poet as represented in popular imagination: rebellious, romantic, quixotic. In an article analyzing the extent to which Brodsky was influenced by Pushkin, Polukhina writes that right before his arrest in 1963, Brodsky said to his good friend Iakov Gordin that his most important task was to figure out if he was a poet or not because if he were, he had to act like one: “[ 0"#(I, -+- O"9&F ."3"*&/, <4" &#$((" M+*+4=(9-&D & 0"94+3&/ 0$*$% (&# 3"0*"9—0"T4 "( &/& (& 0"T4. O $9/& 0"T4, 4" %"/2$( 2&45 -+- 0"T4” (146). Krivulin said about Brodsky that “one always feels that no matter what he is doing, in any situation, he acts as a Poet, and his actions are facts of his biography” (Polukhina 162). Comparing him to Pushkin, 214 214 Krivulin points out the “most radical” similarity: “The fact is that both Brodsky and Pushkin, recognizing themselves to be unique personalities, were aware of the necessity of somehow hiding that uniqueness, of wearing a mask” (Polukhina 162). Gordin writes that in the 1960s Brodsky got into trouble with the authorities not so much for his poetry, which the authorities could not really understand and which did not contain any political declarations, but, rather, for the style of his public behavior, which was based on freedom and limitations in their most intense variant (“Pereklichka” 130). Therefore, Brodsky’s behavior before and during his trial and his public vystupleniya may also be viewed as showy and somewhat theatrical, as if he were trying to fulfill this role of the bohemian dissident poet. Dovlatov also engaged in theatrical behaviors, especially ones considered typically Romantic. He liked to recite in a loud voice the line from Pushkin’s “Kapitanskaia dochka”: “!4" &8 #"&? /I%$D 9#$$4 "7&2+45 9&*"4)?” (Genis 122). And indeed, he really stepped into the role of a knight: when someone offended a lady, he always got involved and became dangerous (Genis 122). He seems to have been aware of his own performances and even pokes fun at them. Liudmila Shtern describes how, at their first meeting, Dovlatov accompanied her home; in the cab, he asked whether there was a puddle in front of her apartment. When she asked him why, he said: — ,<$(5 3+2(+' %$4+/5. E9/& $945 /)2+, ' 3=9-+-&3+I &8 #+>&(= 0$*3=D, 9(&#+I 0+/54" & ($7*$2(" 7*"9+I $." 3 /)2), & 3= 0*"?"%&4$ %" ($#), -+- 0" -"3*). S"#(&4$, 3 ‘M$90*&%+((&:$’? _4"4 2$94 3?"%&4 3 0*".*+##) "7"/5A$(&' & %$D943)$4 7$8"4-+8(". 215 215 S*"3$*'/ 9"4(& *+8. — ;-"/5-" 2$ ) 3+9 0+/54"? — ,%(", (" $#) (&<$." ($ 9%$/+$49'. ;#"4*&4$, -+-+' :+*9-+' 0"%-/+%-+! 6$D/"( 0"% ."*("94+D. B"/5-" ($ 38%)#+D4$ ."3"*&45, <4" T4" %$>$3=D 4*I-. M)%4" ' 9+# ($ 8(+I. (Shtern par. 14) Dovlatov knows that laying his coat over the puddle is a “cheap trick,” yet he still does it for the theatrical value. Here, in addition to Dovlatov’s ability to make fun of himself, we witness the theatrical nature of his playful behavior. Lotman writes that it is precisely because theatrical life differs from everyday existence that the view of life as performance in the 19th century offered people new possibilities for behavior. Everyday life, compared with theatrical life, seemed immobile; events and happenings in it either did not take place at all or were rare exceptions to the norm. Hundreds of people could live their lives through without experiencing a single “event.” Powered by the law of custom, the day-to-day life of the average Russian gentleman of the late 18th and early 19th centuries was “plot-less.” Theatrical life appeared as a chain of events. A man was not a passive participant in the impersonally flowing course of time, for, liberated from everyday life, he existed as a historical person, choosing his behavior, making an active impact on the world around him, and either going under or winning through (Lotman 160). 24 This is true also for the 1960s and 1970s. The Brezhnev era, during which the 24 Dovlatov has a short story called “Predstavlenie” (Kontinent No. 39, 1984), which is similar to Zona. It has an archaic title, which repeats the title of the famous chapter from Notes from the House of the Dead, where a performance is also played out by Dostoevsky’s friends in Omskaya ostroga (Serman 159). 216 216 Dovlatov circle was active, is also called “the stagnation period,” because of the sense of “timelessness” and utter lack of eventfulness that most members of society felt at the time. Furthermore, in the 1970s, there was a flourishing of “litsedeistvo” in both senses of the word. The many rituals society demanded from regular citizens, as well as from intellectuals, formed a kind of actor’s game (Khazagerov “Semidesiatye” par 16-18). For example, in supermarket lines, many people would claim that they had a wedding or a funeral to go to so that the people on the line would let them go faster, which gave a new meaning to the word “artist’”: “Nu, artisty!” is used to connote scammers (Khazagerov “Semidesiatye” par 16-18). Khazagerov also argues that the love for the mask (“lichina”) was nationwide (“vsenarodnaia”) (Khazagerov, “Semidesiatye” par 16-18). The reason for this phenomenon, he argues, is the torment of social bilingualism, the idea that “we speak one thing at home and a different thing at work.” Lotman writes that viewing real life as a performance not only offered a person the possibility of choosing his type of individual behavior, but also filled it with expectation that things were going to happen. Eventfulness—that is, the possibility that unexpected phenomena and turns of events would happen—became the norm in the early 19th century, and the awareness that any political turn of events was possible shaped the sense of life that young people had at the time. The revolutionary consciousness of the younger generation of the nobility had many sources. Psychologically, it was rooted in part in the habit of looking at life “theatrically.” By turning a person into a character in a play, theatricality liberated him from the automatic sway of group behavior and of customs. A little time would pass, and the literariness and theatricality of the real-life 217 217 imitators of Marlinskii’s or Schiller’s heroes would itself become a group norm that hindered the individual expression of the personality. The man of the 1840s to 1860s sought to find himself by rejecting literariness (Lotman 160). At the same time, we know that in the 1960s and 1970s, there was an increase in the number and frequency of public displays of violence, e.g., public brawls, mostly in the form of art projects. Yurchak describes a group of young friends who began to stage what they called “provocations”—bizarre events that took place in public places in front of unsuspecting audiences (243-246). The absurd events they staged (e.g., naked men running away in different directions, massive brawls having no obvious goal and ending as unexpectedly as they emerged, trains passing bandaged fornicating sailors at high speeds, a person beaten in front of a crowd on the street by violent men with sticks turning out to be a dummy) happened suddenly and were performed fast, giving their witnesses no time to understand what had just happened. Later, their genre of performance art was called “necrorealism” (243). Yurchak argues that the function of these “performances” was to defy social taboos and rational understanding, and to leave the witnesses wondering whether they had observed a group of lunatics and drunkards, or were themselves going insane, or if perhaps there was something “bigger” going on (257- 258). Furthermore, by staging their “provocations” in the most mundane contexts of Soviet life—e.g., in front of a crowd waiting for theater tickets—they made it apparent that even in these contexts spatial, temporal, and biopolitical discontinuities were lurking (258). In other words, they made it apparent the system had problems and that there were layers of society that did not necessarily agree with the discourse presented in the 218 218 media, educational and work institutions. The brawls, according to Yurchak, signify that society is not perfect. 25 While Yurchak’s argument makes sense, it fails to entirely explain the phenomenon. This behavior is also part of a long tradition of countercultural performances that extends to the medieval era and is rooted in Christian popular culture. The themes of parody, decadence, asceticism, humility, pity and theatricality prevalent in the works of the Serapion Brothers, Koz’ma Prutkov, and Arzamas are repeated here, thus placing Dovlatov’s circle in the same line of parodic male societies which rely on medieval sources and precedents to communicate their discontent with their contemporary society. By re-enacting these medieval elements and behaviors, they bring back the upside-down “shadow world” of theatrical interludes, skomorokhi and holy fools. But the members of Dovlatov’s circle are not just releasing pressure from the constrictive and rigid society and they are not simply having fun; neither are they dissidents looking to take down the system, as it has been argued. Rather, after the 25 Nancy Ries comments on the increasing prevalence of brawls during perestroika in the context of constant talk of complete destruction (empty shelves in the stores, private businesses, etc.). She argues that Russian daily talk during perestroika was an extension of religious litanies or laments (women were constantly complaining about how difficult it was to live there, that there were no products in the store, that everything was a disaster leading to a bigger disaster; men told jokes and stories of how tough they were). She argues that the typical incidents of urban disorder—fistfights, drunks careening along the street, people cutting in line or using obscene language openly in public—were embedded in the discourse of “complete ruin” which is part of religious litanies (47). This aspect, when viewed simultaneously with the monastic aesthetic and medieval themes, references, and behaviors, can be interpreted as a medieval carnivalesque gesture. Even though this perestroika-era phenomenon occurred almost two decades after the era I discuss, it still provides a glimpse into the society that would eventually produce this behavior. Perestroika-era brawls were, in many ways, the product of the theatricality of twenty years prior. 219 219 humiliation that their society and close family members endured, e.g., revolution, repression, war, rape, starvation, more repression and imprisonment—and we should note that these humiliations were frequently connected to the body—this generation of writers sought a humanism that they found in the medieval laughing world, when people were equal, and where unfair and random social laws leading to inequality were rejected. In such a way, Dovlatov’s circle argues for a return to more humanistic institution of literature. 220 220 Conclusion This dissertation shows that parodic male societies such as Peter the Great’s All- Drunken Synod, Arzamas, Koz’ma Prukov and others, which at first glance seem to appear sporadically throughout Russian history are, in fact, part of a meaningful cultural phenomenon that has its own history, rooted in the late medieval era of Russian culture. The main evidence for this is that the societies have several overlapping themes and behaviors in common, beginning with separating themselves from the larger society and producing parodic writings. The target of the parody is “official,” authoritative culture such as the Church (in the case of the All-Drunken Synod, for example) or the Academy (in the case of Arzamas, for example). The groups also thematize drinking, engage in certain theatrical behaviors (such as masking themselves, wearing ostentatious clothes and pranking the public), exhibit ascetic values (i.e., restraint), use monastic rhetoric, incorporate hagiographic tropes (e.g., the men emphasize that they are persecuted for their art and that they would sacrifice anything to create their art) and often conceptualize their aesthetic projects in sacred terms. Ultimately, this dissertation studies history of literary dissent. This study shows that the parodic male societies, frequently considered Western- oriented, in fact borrow elements from popular humor of Old Russia for their themes, values and behaviors. Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod (and to a certain extent, Ivan the Terrible’s oprichniki), borrow grotesque humor and masquerading from the performances of the skomorokhi. Peter and Ivan borrow feigned humility in order to 221 221 appear more holy and righteous from iurodivye. From satirical texts that target corruption of the Church and the clergy, written by monks who remain anonymous, the All-Drunken Synod extracts the themes of excessive drunkenness and indolence and using religious form but filling it with “wrong” content. For example, members replicate the hierarchy of the Church by assigning “religious” ranks to each member but the blasphemous and debaucherous content inverts religious symbols. Each successive society replicates some of the values, themes, and behaviors of the previous one. In the nineteenth century, these themes are picked up by Arzamas, whose members also engage in ostentatious behavior, play pranks on the public and thematize overdrinking, overeating, and indolence, all the while using the form of both the Academy and the Church. In other words, very much like Peter’s All-Drunken Synod, the Arzamasians use the rituals of the Academy but with humorous content that does not fit the serious form. Later in the century, Koz’ma Prutkov, whose members had direct connections with the Arzamasians, replicate the themes of parodying official, authoritative culture and pranking the public. The Serapion Brothers (under the influence of their mentors, the Opoiazians, who very consciously modeled their own society on Arzamas) also replicate these themes and behaviors. Dovlatov’s circle, in turn, picks up the themes and behaviors when they look back to both the Serapions and the Arzamasians. Furthermore, members of Dovlatov’s circle see parallels between their own contemporary era, which was defined by increased censorship after a period of relative relaxation immediately following Stalins’ death, and the era of Arzamas and the Serapions. Even though not all the societies examined here are formed with the self- 222 222 conscious purpose of creating parodies and not all themes are present in each society, there is a significant overlap, pointing to a cultural phenomenon that has lasted throughout Russian history. Just as a rope is composed of many fibers that do not extend the entirety of the length and yet make up the rope, so do the overlapping elements present in the groups become part of a continuous phenomenon that proves to be an important aspect of Russian literary culture. The parodic male societies studied here occur in times of important social, political and economic paradigm-shifting changes. In the late 17th century, Peter the Great imposed fundamental changes on his country by leading a cultural revolution that replaced the traditionalist and medieval social and political system with a modern, scientific, Europe-oriented and rationalist system (e.g., see James Cracraft). During Alexander I, when Arzamas was active, the Napoleonic wars also changed Russian society because it brought about the revolutionary idea that the common people of Russia—the peasants conscripted to fight the French invaders—were as capable as the well-born of loyalty, initiative, dependability and devotion to the common weal of the country (Raeff 12-13). Similarly, in the 1920s, in the immediate aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution, when the Serapion Brothers were active, major shifts in the institutions of government and society took place as the country transitioned from a monarchy to a communist state. Dovlatov’s circle, too, was active in a time of cultural transition, when the ossified intellectual structure of Marxism-Leninism was coming under threat from the flood of samizdat and tamizdat of the 1960s and 1970s. 223 223 With these political and historical shifts, the state tightened control over the institution of literature as it tried to use literature for ideological purposes. In all these instances, a glimpse of hope for creative freedom was overshadowed by a sudden rise in censorship and show of authoritative power or the ideological need for the promotion of national or ideological goals. During Alexander I, when Arzamas was active, Napoleonic wars demanded that writers produce nationalistic literature. During Nicholas I, when Koz’ma Prutkov came into being, increased censorship threatened the creative freedom of writers once again. In the post-Revolutionary era, just as in the post-Stalin era when Dovlatov’s circle was active, an initial relaxing of censorship was followed by a tightening of censorship. At the moments when the parodic male societies appear, writers are linked to some institution that controlled them, be it the patron, the tsar or the state. In these moments of ideologically oriented and rigid authoritarian control, the parodic male societies serve the function of releasing the pressure by evoking humanist values. By replicating the very logic of the medieval world of humor, they create a “shadow world” of the rigid authoritative structures of Russian society. The scholars Likhachev and Panchenko have argued that the “shadow world” of medieval humor had the function of destroying the sign system of the “real” world and challenging its false exterior; by doing this, laughter laid bare the truth and showed that everything and everyone was equal even though etiquette, pomp, and ceremony attempted to conceal this fact. And this has been one of the functions of the parodic male societies: through laughter, to bring back a humanist aspect that emphasizes human dignity and human values and that everyone has the right to create and everyone has the right to ethics and 224 224 justice. In such a way, they motivate human hope and compassion. The members of the parodic societies do this not just for their own small circles but for their entire generation of litterateurs. Finally, we should note that each group examined here was active in a period when literature itself was undergoing a transition. Arzamas was active in a period when literature was in transition from Sentimentalism to Romanticism; Koz’ma Prutkov came into being when literary fashion was changing from Romanticism to Naturalism/ Realism; Serapion Brothers existed during a time when Socialist Realism was replacing avant-garde modernism. And during the activities of Dovlatov’s circle, Russian literature was moving away from Socialist Realism. This is a subject for further study. So is the tracing of how these values and themes become incorporated in the post-Soviet era, when Russian society and Russian literature were again in transition. 225 225 Bibliography Adrianova-Peretts, V. P. Parodiia-satira votori polovinyi XVII veka. Moscow and Leningrad: Akademiia nauk SSSR, 1934. Anderson, M. S. Peter the Great. London and New York: Longman, 1995. Anderson, Roger B. “Karamzin’s Concept of Linguistic ‘Cosmopolitanism’ in Russian Literature.” The South Central Bulletin. 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Abstract (if available)

Abstract This dissertation aims to show that parodic male societies in Russian culture have shared a set of themes and behaviors across history and argues that this phenomenon extends back to the late medieval period of Russian culture. The study begins with Peter the Great’s All-Drunken Synod (1689-1725) and includes Arzamas (1820s), Koz’ma Prutkov (1850s), the Serapion Brotherhood (1920s) and Sergei Dovlatov’s circle of the late 1960s and 1970s. These seemingly Westernizing societies engage in a return to “Russian” values by incorporating into their works elements of late medieval Russian satire, especially theatrical interludes, as a means of protesting the literary cultures and social realities of their times. Ultimately, this study examines an important aspect of Russian counterculture by showing that the ostensibly occasional and peripheral phenomenon of marginalized writers parodying aspects of the larger culture and especially the dominant institutions of literature was, in fact, a recurring and even a productive part of Russian literary culture.

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Creator Sandalska, Zlatina G. (author)

Core Title Parodic male docieties in Russian culture: from the late Medieval period to the late Soviet era

School College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Slavic Languages and Literatures

Publication Date 07/26/2012

Defense Date 04/24/2012

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag dissident,Drinking,male societies,monastic humor,OAI-PMH Harvest,parody

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Seifrid, Thomas (committee chair), James, Heather (committee member), Pratt, Sarah (committee member)

Creator Email sandalsk@usc.edu,sandalska@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c3-71483

Unique identifier UC11289281

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Legacy Identifier etd-SandalskaZ-1033.pdf

Dmrecord 71483

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Sandalska, Zlatina G.

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA