This week, I’ve chosen to focus on probably my two favorite readings to date: Gogol’s “The Nose” and Dostoevsky’s “White Nights”. Both stories pandered to the romantic side of me, which I absolutely adored. In “The Nose”, the absurdity of social standing is teased as Kovalyov wakes up without his nose and suffers at its hand as it surpasses him in rank. The narrative of the protagonist wandering around St. Petersburg is cartoonish and charming, especially as he struggles with his love interest’s nagging mother. The ridiculous nature of her letter in response, spinning a missing nose into a proposal acceptance, is hilarious: “If by this you mean to say that I am, as it were, turning up my nose at you, that is, rejecting you out of hand, then I am surprised that you yourself should bring this up, since I, as you are aware, was of a directly contrary opinion, and if you were now to seek the hand of my daughter in the legitimate way I would be prepared forthwith to grant your request, for this has always been the object of my most earnest desire…” (57). The desperate mother peddling her daughter in the face of a rogue nose adds to the sheer madness of the piece and contributes to the social climbing motif in a misogynistic but comical way. The internal struggle of Kovalyov is different yet similar to the struggle of Dostoevsky’s narrator in “White Nights”, as both grapple with a whimsical identity crisis set in a whimsical city — whether stemming from unrequited love or societal insecurity, their experiences are beautifully melancholy. As Dostoevsky’s narrator says, “The dreamer’ – if you want an exact definition – is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort.” Both of these pieces took different spins on the hopeless human condition in a conflicted and cosmic city.
All a dream?
The setting of the Nose in St. Petersburg is important and helps make sense of the story. The events are concretely set in the city, with many references to the city’s landmarks throughout. These concrete, realistic details are juxtaposed with the absurd, dreamlike events of the story (Kovalyov having lost his nose without noticing; the strange fog that obscures the ending of scenes, which the narrator waves away). The Russian title is actually “Нос” (Nose), which is the Russian word for dream (“сон”) backwards.
The strangeness of the story is less surprising given this particular setting, because it corresponds with the strangeness of the city itself. The fact that it appeared remarkably quickly and became a focal point of the culture; the fact that it was built on swamps and water, seemingly impossible; the surreal white nights of the far north; all of these make the reality of the city seem more uncertain.
In previous texts, (like Alexander Herzen’s comparison of Moscow and St. Petersburg), the city was criticized for its bureaucracy, the political pressure and ladder-climbing. Gogol parodies this importance of political rank above all else when Kovalyov is afraid to talk to his own nose because it outranks him. No one else seems to notice anything strange about it, either, and pay all due respect to it.
What’s in a Name? Ontological Crisis!
Alexander Pushkin’s The Bronze Horseman is a masterpiece-the trouble is that it, like any masterpiece, has far too much worth unpacking for this humble blog post to cover. I will start with a small detail; I will enter through the servant’s door, Frol Skobeev’s coin jingling in my petticoats.
Throughout the poem, St. Petersburg is called by four different names. In the third stanza of the Prologue, it is Petra tvoren’e (creation of Peter), in the sixth stanza it is grad Petrov (city of Peter). In the first stanza of Part 1 it is Petrograd (Peter-city), in the fourth it is Petropol’ (Petropolis). With each name change, her aspect changes as well- from a strict and beautifully-ordered object of love, to the unshakeable death-knell for the elements, back to a November-kissed darkened city, and finally (and most dramatically) to ‘Triton, immersed up to the waist.’ The city is mutable and protean, stamped with Peter’s mark, yet failing to settle into one shape.
The effect of this on the reader (this reader, to be precise) is one of untethering. Pushkin gives us a poetic description of the city in the Introduction, but without a stable identity to pin it on, both the description and the city seem to escape the realm of the concrete. The city is a spatial non-sequitur, and only when the flood comes, bringing with it human tragedy and the destruction of concrete physical objects, can she be pinned down and transformed into a backdrop for small-scale grief-it is significant that St. Petersburg is given no further names in Part 2 of the poem, as Evgenii contemplates his loss and slips into madness.
Is it any wonder, then, that Petersburg has developed around itself a myth of unreality, that for Herzen it “disappears from my eyes in the fog”, unique and elusive in being “the embodiment of the general abstract notion of a capital city”? The idea of St. Petersburg being an ‘unreal city’ is not my own-it is a complex (and fascinating!) cultural trope, which we will discuss next class. It is interesting, however, to observe the small tweaks in language that can buttress this unreality-a syllable here, an allusion there, and St. Petersburg recedes into the night…*
*Read Andrei Bely’s Petersburg for this and more.
A Perplexing Pecking Order
Going into this story, I assumed that it would reflect the traditional power structure of the era, establishing men as superior to women, and the old as superior to the young. This story challenged the historic hierarchical systems, portraying them as complicated and nontransparent. I found it effective to look at these structures through the practice of gift giving. The story began with Frol somewhat respectfully giving gifts to win the love of Annushka. He courted her, and initiated any minimal contact the two had. Frol’s sister “did not dare disobey her brother”(476) and had no option but to assist in his schemes. He then, “became daring and forced her to submit to his will”. At this point in the story it was clear that he held the power in their relationship; he courted her and forced her to “submit to his will”. He held power over the women he interacted with. Then, according to this account, Annushka fell for Frol, and she began to give gifts to him: “Annushka became very happy, and told her nurse to take him twenty rubles” (479). By giving Frol a gift, she secured her role as an equal partner in a consensual relationship, where she had the capability to contribute. As it became clear that Frol was a “poor nobleman and a great cheat”(479) while Annushka came from a fairly well-established family, their relationship challenged my assumption that men held significantly more power than women did during this era. Granted, he certainly had the upper hand, but she experienced notable agency for this era.
When the Frol and Annushka eloped, they challenged the notion that older generations held unequivocal power over the generations that followed. The two managed to marry without the approval of Annushka’s family. Then, her parents sent them the valuable and precious “ icon with our blessings” (484), all of a sudden pandering to their daughter, with the hopes of winning her back. The story ended with Stolnik Nadrin-Naschekin saying “No rogue, don’t sell them. I shall give you some money. Take it” (486). This establishes a more traditional power structure: he grants his daughter and her husband his approval, and supports them financial, compromising their previous position of pure independence, but he still had no control in their decision about marriage. Throughout the story, the traditional power structures reverse and then return to their conventional state, offering a unique glimpse of the intricacies of the Russian hierarchical systems to the modern reader.
Success Without Absolute Merit
Although the opera Boris Gudonov is now regarded as one of, if not the greatest, in the Russian canon, it was initially panned. Although the drama is a remarkable, complex tale of opportunism and the failings of human political systems, and has long been acknowledged as such, the opera’s score has come under harsh criticism since Gudonov‘s premier. Originally written and composed by Modest Mussorgsky, noted member of the “Mighty Handful” group of nationalistic Russian composers, the score was torn apart by critics for its “weak harmonies”. Incredibly, it was later re-worked by another member of the “Mighty Handful”, Nicholai Rimsky-Korsakov, in a fairly successful attempt to right the thinly-orchestrated areas of Gudonov‘s original Mussorgsky score. Some of the errors in Mussorgsky original work are plainly evident, even to the relatively untrained ear. One minute into Act 4, Scene 2 (second excerpt), the harmony is stark and ugly, not aiding or benefiting the soloist’s melody line.
Shostakovich also reworked Gudonov, completing a veritable who’s who of Russian classical composers (with Tchaikovsky the notable exception). Although Mussorgsky has many musical accomplishments, including Night on Bald Mountain, Boris Gudonov is clearly not within that number. The success of the opera is solely based on Pushkin’s drama, which was the framework for the plot. Although a fantastic opera, it may be very well best absorbed with a score that is not original.
Distinctions of Desire
The opera of Boris Godunov by Modest Mussorgsky presents several different depictions of the morality of desire.
Early in the opera, just before Tsar Boris exits the stage after his first entrance, two children crawl up to him and touch his extravagant garments. They hold their hands out for help, yet Tsar Boris not only denies them, but also seems deeply disturbed. Is it their neediness and desire that causes this reaction, or their mere disrespect? To what extent are these all the same things?
In the depiction of Grigory and the older monk Pimen, Pimen aims to educate Grigory on how to be a moral individual. Grigory has selfish temptation for glory; he wishes not to be a monk for life and perhaps to have fought for Russia and the Tsar as Pimen did). Pimen at once chastises Grigory for this desire and still himself glorifies past leaders. He speaks of Ivan’s repentance in the same monastery, and of Feodor converting the Tsar’s rooms into a monks cell. While Pimen holds royalty in high esteem, he finds love to be a more problematic aspiration and talks of the “treachery of woman’s love.”
Later, Grigory assumes the position of the fake Tsarevich Dmitry and courts a Polish noblewoman named Marina. Here, he makes an entirely different distinction about desire than Pimen did. He claims that he wants Marina to love him and regards her love of his political aspirations as somewhat distasteful initially. Even as Marina saves the argument, she says she says to Grigory that she feels “love and desire for your glory.” But does that mean she has a desire for his glory, or that she desires him to be glorious? How might these different interpretations be regarded in Grigory’s or Pimen’s mind, and how might they have been regarded in the time when Boris Godunov was written?
“Death to Boris!”
What struck me most while watching the opera was the way the commoners and peasants were portrayed. The very first seen that we are shown shows the boyars using them, forcing them to beg for the coronation of Boris Godunov as Tsar. And even after they were forced to beg for his coronation, they accepted him wholeheartedly as the chosen one of God. The last scene then shows the way they turn against Boris, blaming him for all of their misfortune, and voice their support the false pretender. Without fail they are presented as being a mindless mass without a will of their own, to be directed for the political advances of others. The way I view it, they are presented as to being in a constant state of servitude, always looking for someone to serve under, constantly looking for someone to solve their problems. They are also extremely vicious to those unable to solve their problems, making the powers that be responsible for everything that is going wrong, even things beyond the person in power’s control. After supporting the false pretender, they all then appear as a mound of lifeless corpses as a result for their actions with the ghost of the real Dmitry pressing over them. Following the role the commoners played throughout the opera, we can see the way they are depicted as being this weak minded and easily manipulated group of people, arguably in need of a strong willed ruler. Although in some sense, the behavior of the peasants can be shifted away from them due to them living in the Times of Trouble, the opera does depict them at the very end as having this revolutionary nature buried beneath that surfaces in turbulent times. Regardless, I do think it is important to note the role of the peasantry in those times and the way they are depicted in outlets such as an opera.
Boris Godunov through Domostroi
In the first scene, the commoners beg Boris Godunov to assume the role of Tsar. They say to him, “Why are you abandoning us? We are your helpless orphans”. Their rhetoric positions the Godunov as a father, and themselves as his children. This initial familial imagery reminded me of the Domostroi’s rules for familial behavior, and I referenced the Domostroi to see is this family lived by its regulations. I examined the costumes through this lens, and noticed their coloring first. The wealthy wore bright reds and oranges and were lavishly decorated, while the poor wore beige, ragged, dirty clothing. According to the Domostroi, “golden velvet” is a mark of celebration and wealth, as it should be a part of wedding rituals. These costumes correspond to the codes of the Domostroi. The evil wore dark, ominous looking clothing for a theatrical effect. The police were dressed in awfully festive, elf-like costumes that aren’t explained in the Domostroi. As per the instructions of the Domostroi, the peasant women covered their hair, while wealthy Marina, a romantic object, wore her hair exposed, intensifying her sexualisation. Feodor’s son wore white, as a mark of purity and innocence. I also saw a similarity between the religious rhetoric in the Domostroi and the opera. Feodor’s last words of wisdom to his son included, “honor god’s saints” and the “heavenly powers, guardians of the eternal throne” in addition to advice about the political side of being a Tsar. The role of a the tsar is defined by the nature of a divine right political position. As the Domostroi expressed it, “If you serve the earthly kind righteously and fear him, you will learn to fear the Heavenly Kind also”. This tenet permeates the opera; the commoners treat the Tsar as a religious deity and the Tsar sees his own political rule as one that is deeply intertwined with religiosity. Both the religious guidelines and the regulations on dress in the Domostroi play active roles in this opera.
Courting (Disaster)
As I watched this adaption of Modest Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov, I was struck by the (apparent) subtext of Grirogy’s (ie, the ‘Tsarevich’) courtship scene with the Polish noblewoman Marina Mniszek. Thompson points to the recapture of Moscow in 1612 by a nascent ‘national movement’ as a clear symbol of Russian determination to regain control over their fate from foreigners and usurpers. Avraamy Palitsyn’s work on ‘Pseudo-Dmitry’ pulsates with vitriol against foreign, non-Orthodox elements: the False Dmitry gives the hated Catholics a ‘written promise’ to deliver Russia up to the ‘Antichrist’ of Papism, as the Poles squander Russia’s ‘ancient’ patrimony and bathe themselves in various holy vessels. Although the recapture of Moscow takes place after the events of Boris Godunov, one could reasonably expect that any work depicting the Time of Troubles, a time charged with swirling crosscurrents of religious and national fervor, would reflect some of these themes.
The danger is of reading too much into a portly ex-Monk begging a haughty princess for her hand. Earlier in the class, we talked about the role the feminine played in Russian culture, that eternal incarnation of the ever-loving mat’. The princess mocks this sort of love-her eyes lifts skywards (a parody of ‘true belief’?), and with glazed eyes she ironically pronounces that her and the tsarevich will live on ‘love alone.’ Then her face changes, and Grigory is reminded that if love is all he wants, in Russia he’ll find all the ‘rosy-cheeked women’ he wants. Rosy cheeks, vital with lifeblood and the ‘feminine’, are to be found in Russia, but Grigory rejects this kind of love with a shrug-it will ‘smother’ him. He offers the princess a flower, a shred of the vital, natural world, but the foreigner rejects it-only the throne can win her heart. Russia, lost and confused in the form of Grigoriy, seeks the ‘love’ of the West, tricked by Blok’s ‘suffocating mortal odor.’ The West (the heretical West!) is not interested, unless Russia will submit in her entirety. Finally, let’s talk about the staging of this scene. Darkness hangs over the stage, and on either side of the center, receding into that darkness, stand two rows of classical-esque toga-bearing statues with their backs turned. Mute idols of the Western tradition, they betray the true fruits of this union-power to the Poles, Russia degraded and left in darkness. This, of course, is not an authoritative reading-it’s just food for thought! (bread and salt, if you will).
The tsar, exalted above all by God…
One of the most striking aspects of the opera (other than the music itself, which was astonishingly beautiful and moving) was the way Christianity seemed to pervade every aspect of life.
The way the peasants treat Boris in the first scene is very similar to their relationship with God, saying that they are all his children, that they will be orphans without him. It reminded me of the combination of fear and reverence people felt for Ivan the Terrible (or awesome). In the final scene, when they turn on him, it’s through the lens of religion again, saying that he has brought hell and torture on the Christian people of Russia. This was another possible parallel with Ivan the Terrible. It reminded me specifically of Kurbsky’s epistle, where the violence and torture committed by the tsar were even more sinful and terrible because he was supposed to be beloved and representative of God.
Along these same lines, Grigory the monk abandoned his pious, monastic life to impersonate Dmitri and try to claim the throne. He too is praised and almost worshipped by the people, but is actually guilty of terrible “sin”. This too adds to the foreshadowing of dark, tumultuous times ahead for Russia. The final tableau, too, is reminiscent of the crucifixion.