The Grotesque Style of Belyj's Moscow Novels

American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European Languages

The Grotesque Style of Belyj's Moscow NovelsAuthor(s): Olga Muller CookeSource: The Slavic and East European Journal, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Autumn, 1988), pp. 399-414Published by: American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European LanguagesStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/309179 .

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THE GROTESQUE STYLE OF BELYJ'S MOSCOW NOVELS

Olga Muller Cooke, Texas A & M University

The Best Intentions. As a prominent essayist and theoretician of literature, Andrej Belyj often made clear the intentions of his artistic prose. For example, in the preface to Moskva (1:8) he claimed that he wrote a satire on pre-Revolutionary Russia in this and the second volume of his Moscow novels, Maski. If there were no essential difference between planning a novel and actually writing it, we would have every reason to agree with the many critics who attacked Belyj in his final novels for submitting to the powers- that-be.' But, in fact, Belyj's intentions could not have clashed more pro- foundly with the actual finished product, which hardly amounts to a satire on tsarist Russia. In the process of composing Moskva Belyj admitted that he could not curb the flow of frightening "uiasy," which manifested themselves in murders, rapes, and torture (Bugaeva, 165). However much he aspired to beauty and resisted these "horrors" in his Moscow novels, he could not control them (Bugaeva, 161). Instead, he created the underside of beauty, the grotesque. The key to Belyj's estranged and ambiguous perspective is in the grotesque; it is in that admixture of extremely heterogeneous elements, embracing such polarities as the horrific and the humorous, the ludicrous and the absurd, that the grotesque resides. It especially embraces all levels of the novels' style. The Moscow novels are riddled with nonsense words, tautologies, naming games, puns, and amusing poems. Footnotes and parentheses are exploited by the narrator to create a sense of alienation and distortion, or simply for comic purposes. True to his aesthetic credo of "formosoderianie," Belyj's grotesque represents the marriage of form and content (Simvolizm, 136-37).

The appearance of the grotesque in Belyj's works also reveals a great deal about his favorite themes, especially his fondness for contradictions. The double-edged nature of the grotesque is as much a reflection of Belyj's preoccupation with thematic extremes-be they couched in the opposition of the East and the West, Christ and Antichrist, revolutionaries and reac- tionaries, play and seriousness, etc.-as it is a reflection of Belyj's own

SEEJ, Vol. 32, No. 3 (1988) 399



400 Slavic and East European Journal

divided consciousness, expressed most aptly by Belyj himself as the problem of "noinicy."2 Although these polar opposites seem incompatible, they are never mutually exclusive. Wherever we turn in Belyj's novels, we encounter images of the apocalypse, decay, and disintegration, all of which are con- sistently deflated by means of irony.3 For example, the buffoon-like Dar'jal'- skij of Serebrjanyj golub' and the parodic Nikolaj Ableuxov of Peterburg act as though the world were coming to an end; yet in every instance the apocalypse is aborted.4 Belyj's grotesque world is carnivalesque, where the profane is made sacred and the sacred is made profane (Cooke); it is peopled by marionettes, clowns, freaks, commedia dell'arte figures, and a host of other human gargoyles, all of whom represent human deformation. A typical locale for Belyj's grotesque is a landscape permeated with heterogeneous elements thrown together in a jumble of strange combinations. The grotesque represents a fusion of unlike terms, punctuated by contrasts between expectation and fulfillment and by disturbances of cause and effect, and it prevents any one vision from dominating.5 An observer of Belyj's grotesque world soon discovers that no aspect of existence is exempt from artistic mockery. Indeed, all material, whether it entails the sublime or the vulgar, is of equivalent value for Belyj. Belyj might have attempted to resist the flow of so-called "uiasy" in his Moscow novels, but he could not mask the inherent tension between what he hoped to create and how he finally put it to paper.

"Kak" vs. "Cto." Klavdija Bugaeva recounted in her memoirs, Vospominanija o Belom, that Belyj once claimed that the entire style of his Moscow novels was imbued with the grotesque. Apparently, Belyj was particularly fond of one of his minor characters in Moskva, Viinjakov, the hunchbacked tailor. Given this affection, one can hardly understand why Belyj made such a veritable Quasimodo of him. Although Belyj's portrait of the tailor incor- porates details of his kindness to children and love of nature, what domi- nates is Visnjakov's repulsive appearance. When Viinjakov is first introduced in the novel, one particular aspect of his physiognomy is emphasized, namely his backside. In light of what Bugaeva tells us about Belyj's fondness for Vi'najkov, the juxtaposition of the tailor's goodness with his freakish physical makeup seems incongruous. Wherever he appears, we are reminded of his rump: "Visnjakov,-gorbozadyj, tSdedusnyj urodec; prijurkival zad- nicej" (2:77); "i pod nebo vzletela uiasnaja zadnica" (2:89); "Portnoj zajurzi- kaet zadom" (2:86); "portnoj Vi'najkov 'erez iizn' pronosil podpryg zada" (2:89); "I podskobila pod nebo uiasnaja zadnica" (2:123).

There is thus little wonder that Belyj's affection for such a grotesquely drawn figure disturbed Bugaeva, and in her curiosity over this incongruity she asked Belyj, "A zabem ego vse-taki nuino bylo sdelat' urodom?" Belyj replied, "Mne zapovedany inye priemy. Udel moj grotesk. Takov ves' stil'



Belyj's Moscow Novels 401

romana" (Bugaeva, 165). One can readily note how the manner of Belyj's characterization, his diction, and the emphasis on distortion reflect the grotesque themes of the Moscow novels. The vocabulary associated with Vitnja- kov's rump, namely the quality of "uiasnost'," points to the overall admixture of horror and humor.

The "kak," thus, is indistinguishable from the " to." In fact, it controls the "cto." It is significant that for Belyj the way in which a novel is com- posed constitutes the most fundamental aspect of the creative work. In his own words, "v xudotestvennyx proizvedenijax 'Eto,' ili smyslovaja tenden- cija, ne bolee odnoj desjatoj polnogo smysla; devjat' desjatyx leiat v 'kak' vypolnenija" (Na rubez'e, 209). A cursory glance at the themes, settings, and characterization of the Moscow novels reveals a multitude of grotesque details. The plot of Moskva entails Professor Korobkin's refusal to sell his dangerous scientific discovery to the villain of the novels, Mandro, a busi- nessman and spy. For this Mandro savagely tortures the professor by burn- ing his eye with a candle. Both Mandro and Korobkin go insane at the end of the novel. In a subplot Mandro rapes his daughter Lizasa. Maski, the second volume of the Moscow novels, unfolds with the professor in an insane asylum and Lizasa's betrayal of her father to the secret police. With the help of a nurse named Serafima, who functions as the most perfectly idealized image of the Eternal Feminine in Belyj's works, Korobkin soon recovers from amnesia, whereupon he abandons his scientific and profes- sional calling and devotes his life to reconciling Mandro and Lizaga. The novel concludes with the explosion of a house containing all the principal dramatis personnae. Although these are serious, if not horrific, matters, the tone of the Moscow novels is frequently ludicrous and absurd, and this is due to the other nine-tenths of the novels' creation, namely, style.

The Self-Conscious and Shifty Narrator. The intensity of the grotesque depends on high levels of distortion, estrangement, and the emphasis given to incompatible features. The principal perpetrator in this framework is the self-conscious narrator. Wielding an eccentric point of view, the narrator in the Moscow novels vacillates between an all-knowing perspective and one that indicates he is mocking readers as well as himself and his work. By occasionally incorporating the stylized skaz-technique, the narrator does not limit himself to one mode of delivery; rather he seems comfortable blending popular speech with archaic, rhetorical figures and foreign speech with poetic abstractions. His specious comparisons and inversions of the Scriptures serve to undercut his own narrative world.6 He is prone to digress and dabble in circumlocutions and equivocation. And when he decides to relinquish all responsibility for his narrative, he does so not only with the intention of lowering tragic intentions inherent in the grotesque novel, but even more to turn readers away from his artificial construct. In essence, the




narrator's polyphonic and deliberately deficient world view questions the very integrity of the text.

The idiosyncracies of the narrator animate his inconsistent world view. Although he does not appear as frequently as the self-conscious narrator of Peterburg, the "cerebral" games to which he subjects readers are all the more novel in that he reminds them, at times for pages and pages, that his creation is merely an assemblage of invented gestures which is subject only to its own laws. However, the narrator exposes the self-enclosed finite nature of the creative act at a dear price, readers' trust. At one point in Moskva, when least expected, the narrator insists that his novel "is merely a novel called Moscow" (2:178): "Byl lis' roman pod nazvan'em 'Moskva.' [. ..] Povernulas' stranica: 'Konec'! God izdanija, adres izdatel'stva: tol'ko." As the narrator proceeds to undercut his narrative, some of the most terri- fying moments in the novel have just transpired: Mandro has raped his daughter, Liza'a; we also learn that he has tortured his wives and murdered a Roman boy. Moscow is depicted as putrid, on the verge of destruction. Rich in apocalyptic overtones, the scene pulsates with omens. And yet the narrator delights in turning his back on his own narration: "Ja, avtor romana 'Moskva,' o gerojax romana sobral mnogo svedenij, pravda: no-ne vezdesusc ja" (2:179). He pretends that he does not know the identities of certain personages; he deliberately retards the action and thus subverts the readers' expectations. He then saturates two pages with nonsensical details, which not only insult readers but undermine their efforts to get involved in the drama. In the face of horror, the shifty narrator effects a release through laughter; he brings readers to a jolting halt with humorous and deceptive stylistic acrobatics. Such incompatible surprises are characteristic of Belyj's grotesque style.

The narrator makes other deceptions apparent with absurd contradictions in Maski. Belyj uses several sub-chapters to describe the sinister role which Madame Tigrovatko will play in the drama between Mandro and his daughter: not only does Liza'a betray her father to the secret police, but Madame Tigrovatko's residence will be the locale of Mandro's murder. Yet in the midst of this mounting suspense, the narrator cannot refrain from flaunting his self-consciousness with an obtrusive comment:

HeT, y)K, IqHTaTenIb,-aBb-He npHcTaBaHiTe; H KOJrH He CJrIbIIHO HaM C BaMH, TaK 3TO

HapOqHO MHORi ceiaaHO (sI-pe)KHccep,--3Haio niymue TeqeHHe ApaMbI); gaBaTb pe3synrbTaT

npe~pe nay3bI-a3TO )K ecepT BMeCTO cyna; qeM I BHHOBaT, qTO H MHe CaMOMy HeH3BeCTHO

BeAb, KTO TaM IIpHCyTCTByeT, CHAR B TeHIX. (96)

A sense of disconnectedness reigns over this digression as the narrator contradicts himself. Such marginal comments stand in opposition to the text.' One minute the narrator states that, as the director of his drama, he is all-knowing and that he deliberately has chosen to conceal the particulars




of a conversation; then he admits that he does not know the identity of the person in the shadow. The statement "6to narocno mnoj sdelano" juxta- posed with the narrator's bafflement is a mark of Belyj's grotesque style. Belyj is not merely playing one contradiction off against another. Rather he throws into doubt all certainties. The narrator's humorous aside, that "davat' rezul'tat preide pauzy--to I desert vmesto supa" is entirely at variance with the surrounding material. Shifting points of view subvert the narrative, while the narrator's equivocation is calculated to deceive.

In many of the narrator's digressions the exposition of nonsense becomes an end in itself. There is no justification for their inclusion, or so it seems. The following digression from Maski illustrates Belyj's closeness to Joyce, particularly in the "tendency toward excessive elaboration of artifice" (Alter, 144). In anticipation of Mandro's arrival at Madame Tigrovatko's, the narrator interjects:

4HTaTeIb! ;ia6bI H36eKeaTb IOCTOSHHbIX ynpeKoB B HOBaTopcTBe,-HnpHHHnaM cTapbIx poMaHOB TypreHeBa r OTgaIOCb, OT ce63 caMoro OTCTynas B TpaAHuHIO noBecTBOBaHHSU ; nHumyT: "noKa Haum repoii, B3AepHyB 4anAy, caeHTCrs, nocneTyeM MbI B ero AeTCTBO H OTpO- qecTBO"; anIbmue--AecATb cTpaHHI; TepneJnHBbii repofi, B3AepHysB 4anAy,-npHceB, HO He ceB,-)KgeT, 'TO6. .... "Y4!" H Tora TOJlbKO aBTop:

-"Cen!" BnpoqeM repon TaKHe, nlOMeIgHKH, MHOrO ocyra uMenu.

C3HaMeH-3K3aMeH; BepHef,--y C3AHaMeHa. 14 noJOBHHe MOCKBbI, 6bIBIlUHM cinyiuaTeeaM (Inun "enbHHHIaM"), CTaBtUHM H3BeCTHbIMH

AesTenrsMH, ocTasancBc C3HaMeH 3K3aMeHOM; HO-rOBopHJI euge: Ce-pe-Aa-MeH (3aqeT y

CanaMeHa no cepegaM), npH6aBnsa: ceg-aMeH, ceg-aMHHH, ceA-aMHHHcTH,-raroJR: OT

CHAeTb. TaKOB OH--qeTBepTb BeKa; ycbI TOil w)e CTPHIKH; npo6op erTBepTb BeKa, npaMoHi,-BBoJoc,

qepHbIX npsMbIX; TOT )Ke raincTyx; HHKTO HHKOTAI He BHgaan "CepegaMeHa"-B CMOKHHre,

4paKe, BH3HTKe, HJIH B flHAKaKe: B-cIp-Ty-Ke! BoT-C3HaMeH. (98)

Within this digression subjects range from a discussion of traditional methods of narration "a la Turgenev, to lessons in conjugating Latin verbs, to variations in the meanings of these Latin verbs, to the eventual annihila- tion of these very topics. First of all, the narrator errs in equating traditional Turgenevan heroes, who frequently require a Vorgeschichte of ten pages or so, with Sednamen. Throughout the two novels the narrator repeatedly invests insignificant characters with importance, as he does Sednamen. He is not only mocking old traditions. By saying that he is following old traditions in order to avoid reproaches for his innovation, he is mocking his innovation as well. This passage is replete with non sequiturs. Just as the narrator has established the recipe for a proper Vorgeschichte, he noncha- lantly excuses Turgenev's longwindedness until the author decrees: "You can sit down now!" What is even more humorous is the choice of Sedna- men's name, which is derived from the Latin verb sedtre 'to sit'. Hence, the




play on Sednamen's name is connected to traditional techniques of retarda- tion, whereby authors of yore postpone the description of their heroes' humdrum actions, like sitting, by relating their pre-history. The play on Sednamen's name conveys other meanings as well. It rhymes with ekzamen, which in turn is tied to his profession: he is a professor. All the details provided within parentheses constitute yet other digressions, either totally extraneous, or further plays on sound. The three Latin verb endings-"sed- amen, sed-amini, sed-aministi"-make little sense, as does the listing of his forms of attire-"v smokinge, frake, vizitke, ili v pidiake: v-sjur-tu-ke!" "Tixo podpisyval to, 6to u'e propisalos"' duplicates the senseless tautologi- cal act of rendering Sednamen's vita, a vita that shall never be referred to in the pages of Maski again. And when all is said and done, having adhered to the so-called traditions of the past, the narrator concludes this digression by annihilating the very existence of Sednamen: "Tradicii-sobljudenny; on predstavlen, proseryj i stertyj." It is not enough for Belyj's narrator to draw attention to himself. Rather he feigns humor and proceeds to debunk all fictions, his own included. Nothing makes sense in this topsy-turvy universe.

Footnotes and Parentheses. Non sequiturs and red herrings permeate Belyj's mature works. For example, at one point the narrator promises not to reveal the identity of a so-called "honorable lady," who is having an affair with Korobkin's colleague at the university. The secret is soon dispelled by the smell of rancid cabbage, an odor exclusively associated with Korobkin's wife. The narrator's decision not to divulge her identity is thus a hoax. However, the majority of Belyj's red herrings are located in footnotes and parentheses, which function as a constant reminder of the illusion of fiction.8 Unlike traditional notations in works such as Gogol"s Vedera na xutore bliz Dikanki, which clarify various Ukrainianisms, Belyj's footnotes exist in a tense relationship with the novel. Resembling the footnotes and other marginal commentary found in Joyce's Finnegan's Wake, Belyj's notational devices seem at times to engulf the "major" text.9 Visually they not only call attention to themselves, but lie at cross purposes with themselves and the text. Their anti-climactic and often false information constitutes a type of secondary text. At the same time, footnotes, graphically set off from and yet referring to the main text, seem to be engaged in a dialogue with the text.

Among many obtrusive and confusing footnotes, a particularly incongruous one occurs in Moskva. Mrs. Korobkina discovers that her lover's wife, Anna Pavlovna, is following her every move. Anna Pavlovna's venge- ful pursuit, which results directly in a paralytic stroke, evokes fear in Korobkin's wife. On one occasion when Korobkina encounters her in the street, she hears the sound "xo." This "xo" is followed by a footnote which bears no relationship whatsoever with the source of Korobkina's fear and




Anna Pavlovna's revenge, but simply reminds us again that the self- conscious narrator may obtrude when he so pleases. It reads:

He COBeTyI-O

"XOKaTb" A B nHCbMaX, KOTOPbIe nocne neqaTaIoT:

3To nHUIy noA c)KHBblM

BsneaTneHbeM o6MeHa rnO6e3HOCTAiMH, B rIHCbMaX IIHCaTebhHHlbI KpaHHCeBCKOi C "nIHcaTe- neM"

(HnIH-"HHiteIo") MHpTOBbIM: MHpTOB B ncICbMe CBOeM "XOKaeT" Ha KpaHgHeBCcKyIo;

KaK AOSHTaeIIj, AO "XO",-Ha Aiyme-oTBpaTHTenbHO, ragKro H KaK-TO nIacKyAHO: He cnegyeT

"xoKaTb" nIIHCaTenM (-"HMHIaM"). A. Benfli (2:40)

Besides representing an illogical association of ideas, this footnote contradicts the very notion of what a footnote is supposed to provide, namely an explanation for the word footnoted. It leads readers astray and creates false expectations. It prevents readers from involving themselves too closely with the characters. The distracting footnote is all the more nonsensical, since the word "xo" hardly demands annotation. Furthermore, the footnote encompasses a digression on a fictitious writer's correspondence with another fictitious writer, whose sex is not made clear. In other words, Belyj composes "real" footnotes on imaginary personages. Although Mirtov's name is masculine, "he" could be a woman! Quite unabashedly the author (Belyj makes a point of signing his name after the footnote) comments on the impropriety of authors to say "xo." As a graphic display of irony, the footnote calls into question the very status of the clownish narrator. There are countless examples of such footnotes that serve no thematic function other than to underline the playfulness of the narrator.

In Maski one glaring footnote functions as a trap-it throws readers off the scent, luring them away from clues that might be of value to solving the novels' puzzles. The narrator here feels compelled to explain the derivation of a Madame Kuboa's name in a footnote. Her primary role is to transmit a message to Mandro about his visa. The source of her name, we discover, is Knut Hamson's novel, Hunger: "Zvukoso'etanie 'Kuboa' mnoju zaimst- vovanno u Knuta Gamsuna (sm. ego Golod)" (154). If readers have not by now become privy to the narrator's games, they are likely to run to the nearest library to check out Knut Hamsun's novel, in search of valuable associations with Maski. However, only upon reading Hunger do they realize that their quest is in vain, for all that the word "Kuboa" designates is a ruse on the part of the first-person narrator in Hamsun's novel. "Kuboa" is simply a word Hamsun's narrator concocts, a word whose meaning he changes at will, a word which in fact bears no meaning at all (Hamsun, 77-78). Thus, Belyj intentionally repeats Hamsun's trick, performing, as it were, a doublecross. In Maski the misleading narrator deliberately arouses our speculative urges only to lead us up a blind alley.

On other occasions the narrator judiciously explicates or defines words in his footnotes, but he does so selectively. He may explain the meaning of a word such as "bzyrit" in a footnote (48), but he deliberately neglects




countless other words which warrant similar treatment. There are yet other notes that pretend to be scholarly, such as the footnote commenting on the mathematician Klein (181). But the note is filled with such technical details about mathematics and physics, that a footnote to the footnote is required.'0 In Maski many footnotes consist of translations, albeit correct, of French words and phrases found in the text. Indeed, more footnotes are found in Maski than in Moskva, but more often than not the words translated are obvious. For example "Ki" is glossed as "Kto" (161). On the other hand, difficult words remain unexplained. Belyj is only willing to display a small fraction of his own erudition. Grotesque inconsistency is the narrator's most effective tool.

Similarly, parentheses, operating grotesquely like footnotes, introduce an ambivalent perspective, a contradictory voice. Normally parentheses contain vital information or elucidations of what is being described. Here they often present the narrator's nonsensical pronouncements that have no bear- ing on the subject under discussion. In the following example the narrator has just digressed poetically on the threat to mankind that Mandro's success in finding the professor's equations would represent. By following the suc- cession of Korobkin's fears at the danger to Moscow's inhabitants, the digression entails a play on Mandro's name: "Roj-roj ... Roetsja ... Sta- roe-staroe ... tartarararovoe ... Tarta-mantor ... mandor ... Ko- mandor ... -groxotala proletka. A vse vyxodilo: -Mandro!" (1:254-55). This digression is immediately followed by another musing, but this time the subject is at variance with what preceded. The professor recalls how on one occasion he knocked on his front door, asking whether he, the master of the house, was in. When he realized that he was inquiring about himself, "i Eto ne'ego bylo emu voprosat' 'barin-doma,' kogda etot 'barin,'-on sam (meidu nami, -kakoj fe-on 'barin'; smotrite, poialujsta,-'barin': xa-xa! Tak-kakoe-to, staroe: roetsja v Sube pod sobstvennoj dver'ju)" (1:255). Although the nonsense enclosed within this parenthesis parallels the general pattern of chaos in the professor's muddled thinking, it is none- theless the gratuitous voice of the narrator that connects the "Roetsja ... Staroe-staroe" of the poetic digression to the "kakoe-to, staroe: roetsja" of the parenthesis. The former "roetsja" signifies "swarms," while the latter contains the colloquial meaning of "rummaging about.""1 The import of the lyrical digression is lost, sacrificed to the silly quibble. Korobkin is at the mercy of a narrator at once sympathetic (the narrator wishes the professor could understand the ominous meaning of Mandro's name) and antipathetic (the narrator's pun reduces the professor to a mechanical doll, an "it"--"kakoe-to, staroe"). The grotesque prevents any one vision from dominating.

There are numerous instances when the information that is provided in parentheses is innocuous and unnecessary. But because parentheses draw




attention to themselves, they should introduce novel ideas or explanatory notes. And when they fail to do so, our expectations are doubly thwarted. For instance, the reader is told that following the death of Mandro's wife, Mandro abandons two-year old Liza'a, and then suddenly feels an urge to torture others: "On ispytyval golod po muke (xotelosja mucit' emu)" (2:149). The information presented in the parenthesis is not only rendered ridiculous because it reiterates what it qualifies, i.e., that Mandro needed to torture, but this information immediately follows drawn-out descriptions about Mandro's previous sexual acts and orgies. Hence, the act of reiterating the obvious seems irrelevant as well as irreverent. At the same time, "golod po muke" represents a pun on the other meaning of muka, 'flour'. Indeed, the enumeration of Mandro's tortures, crimes, and cravings ceases to be important. Mandro's offenses accumulate before our eyes, as though they were everyday occurrences. Once again parentheses provide the narrator with a mode of playing with the reader's gullibility. In the grotesque the reader is forced to read between the lines.

Throughout the novels, shocking details are related in the most matter- of-fact manner. What is even more incongruous is the importance that the narrator attributes to extraneous details within parentheses. Examples such as the following only reveal the meaninglessness of superfluous material. We learn that Mandro had peculiar tastes: "Strannye vkusy imel; tak: on v Afrike el sarancu s sarainskim psenom; utveridal, Eto iuk majskij, koto- rogo s"el on odna'dy, poxoz na oresek (on v detstve esce na pari otkusil u 'ivoj my'i golovu)" (2:148). The narrator shows a lack of discrimination between what is important and what is not. Unnecessary amplification intensifies the grotesque, and in this example one is more disconcerted by the narrator's choice of details, than by the brutal imagery of predation. The accumulation of senseless details illuminates the grotesque quality of excess. On the one hand, parentheses come to assume their own autono- mous lives; on the other hand, the note about Mandro's biting off the head of a live mouse is a warning, based on our knowledge of the function of parentheses, that it may be false. The narrative style, like content, deviates from the norm.

Onomastics. In "Magija slov" Belyj characterized the practice of playing with words and sounds: "Igra slovami-priznak molodosti; iz-pod pyli oblomkov razvalivajuscejsja kul'tury my prizyvaem i zaklinaem zvukami slov" (Simvolizm, 448). As a grotesque device in the Moscow novels, names are heaped together arbitrarily in incompatible combinations. While the humorous sounding names may have no meanings in themselves, the textual details bordering them are hardly comical. The most alienating effect of these names lies in their seeming importance. Lists of the most unusual names are introduced into the novels as though the personalities behind




the names will appear again to play a role of some importance. But this expectation is almost invariably frustrated. What is most disconcerting is the manner in which these characterless names come and go, never to be encountered again.12

The penchant for piling up insignificant material is one matter, but in the following citation even a nonspeaker of Russian can delight in the onomastic orchestration of sound. And yet what adds to the grotesque effect is the surrounding material. Sounds of war, terror, and violence are set against the arbitrary introduction of grotesque-sounding names. Humor and horror once again intermingle. The narrator wonders how children could par- ticipate in the revolutionary activities so typical of the early years of the First World War:

H--ywac qro: caMyro rTO HH Ha eCTb "Mapcenbe3y" nponenH, no TpeTbeMy Knaccy npofi-

)acb,-TpeTbeKxJaCCHHKH: -"JIKOB KaKneB, BaKa BaKneB, IIypa YpwueB, IOpa EypwueB, MHT BHTeB, BUHT MHTeB. DOpuHpHx Kapn oH-AQopHe4opPT,-nTHKRjaccHHK,-HX Ben, 3HaMI KpacHoeC BbBecHB-- -H- -JIHna JInnHHa, Onsi OKHHa, Hropa HynHHa, JIIo6a BynnHHa, Camua BamnHHa, Enauma FnrHKHa, KHHa HKHHa." (369-70)

Listing hundreds of insignificant names, which offer very little, if any, meaning in themselves, adds to the atmosphere of distortion and alienation.13 The very practice of setting off these lists in telegraphic style is an index to estrangement. James Joyce similarly plays naming games in Ulysses with : "Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitepatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Poket- handkertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hoden- thaler, Countess Martha Viraga Kisaszony Putrapesthi, Hiram Y. Bom- boost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos. Ali Baba Backsheesh, Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, etc." (307). However, the difference lies in the degree to which Belyj mixes horrific with humorous material. It is obvious that what concerns the narrator here is not so much meaning as the utilization of consonance and assonance for humorous effect. The narrator seems to be carried away with the sounds of people's names. Despite the prospect of Moscow going to ruin, despite all the portents throughout the Moscow novels of the destruction of cities and the universe, one is left with a vital verbal reality, full of potential and hope.

Naturally, there are personages whose names are characteristic of gestures and idiosyncrasies. Korobkin's name, derived from the closed space, korob- ka, indeed suggests the closed space of his mind. Korobkin is a prisoner of his brain, the extension of which is his office. Madame Vulevu, Lizaa's




guardian, bears a name that reflects certain habits. She often interrupts Liza'a and Mandro, pretending to see whether they need anything, as though she were asking, "Voulez-vous quelque chose?" There are many such examples. But for the most part the narrator records long lists of names, especially for the sake of naming itself. On the one hand, the narrator provides comic relief from potentially tense situations; on the other hand, he illustrates his strong bent for verbal association, a tendency which constantly saves a scene from pure horror.

Word-Play and Rhyming Puns. Puns and rhymes stud the Moscow novels, as do footnotes, parentheses, and onomastic games. Honig claims that of all of Belyj's novels, Moskva and Maski contain the greatest number of puns (26). Belyj's preoccupation with punning originated in his childhood. Not unlike his father, Professor Nikolaj Bugaev, who in real life tried to estrange the burdens of everyday life by punning, Belyj controlled his fears over "byt" and "nevnjaticy" with word play (Na rubez'e, 42). His fictional fathers, such as Apollon ApollonoviE Ableuxov and Professor Letaev, practice the same hobby. Punning as a means of controlling irrationality and terror is not absent from the Moscow novels. However humorous the pun-and some puns are introduced apparently for comic purposes only-it is frequently motivated by some fear, or a sense of impending doom.

Elements from Professor Bugaev's puns, rhymes and jokes certainly are reflected in Korobkin's verbal behavior. Even patterns of speech are lifted from Bugaev's biography. For example, one of Korobkin's favorite sayings, "Ne ljubo-ne slugaj, a vrat' ne mesaj ... ," originated in the Bugaev household (Na rubeze, 64). These curative quirks of speech represent Korobkin's method of coping with and transcending harsh reality. For instance, the Korobkins discover that they are being spied upon by Jasa Kaval'kas, the dwarf, an agent of Mandro. To dispel his fears, Korobkin composes many amusing poems. One goes:

llperpacHa Arrama,- Be3 Kria BarIn Ima... A Kalma-TO-Halra! A BapHT-To--Malma! (2:51)

While this poem is graphically distracting, we must be reminded that Jasa is instrumental in leading the sadistic Mandro to Korobkin's apartment. Thus, humorous puns alternate with lurid descriptions, underlining how quickly a sense of reality can be disturbed.

Belyj's plays on sound are not simply created for effect; they are not an end in themselves. However nonsensical, sounds do have a referent, particularly the states of mind of the characters. Sklovskij calls Belyj's puns "slovo- obrazovanie"; they are intrinsically linked with creating the world anew,




while imparting knowledge to one's universe (217). Puns represent a grotesque device insofar as they are a combination of the ludicrous and the fearful. Loaded with multiple meanings, Belyj's puns sometimes are meant to mislead. Moreover, puns that are couched in poems contain the addi- tional feature of being set off telegraphically in rhymed stanzas, underlining their marginal aspect, a feature earlier associated with the grotesque. Others can only be understood with very careful reading of the text. For example, in Maski there is a play on Mandro's name that conveys a number of explica- tions. Drua-Domarden, Mandro's new alias in Maski, is an anagram of the name, Eduard Mandro. The following scene once again takes place at Madame Tigrovatko's, where Mandro is introduced to a number of guests who will figure prominently in his murder. The conversation is in French:

- "JIA 63T IOM3H!" - "Apya JboHep: Apya ge JnbOM"--noICHRI AoMap93H. "Apya ge Mop!"--reKoM, B yuIfH BnIennHeMbIM, B yXO BsnenJIn lleBwenaHCKHIi . "EbeH AH, M3 MopgaH!"-HnoBepHynJcI C KpHBOIO ycMemuKOai K HeMy T;oMapg3H, 6yrTO C

BbISOBOM. (102-103)

Although the narrator provides footnotes which explicate the meanings of the French words, unless we have read Moskva thoroughly, certain allu- sions will remain incomprehensible. "Droit de mort" is at once a play on Mandro's alias, Drua-Domarden, and a play on the role Pseviepanskij will take in Mandro's death. And when Mandro replies, "Bien dit, mais mor- dant," he is alluding to the pithy substance of Pseviepanskij's words, as well as to the name he assumed when he tortured Korobkin, that is, Mor- dan, another anagram for Mandro.

The most telling example of the double-edged meanings of puns occurs in the extended scene depicting the paralyzed wife of Professor Zadopjatov (whose name incidentally also contains a pun, "zad," on his problems with hemorrhoids). What transpires under the guise of a spiritual transformation of personality can only be likened to a horror show, for Anna Pavlovna's physical metamorphosis does not match its spiritual counterpart. Whereas Anna Pavlovna earlier was consumed with hatred and jealousy for her rival, Mrs. Korobkina, she now seems to be blissfully reunited with her husband. The reunion is, no doubt, a result of Anna Pavlovna's debilitating stroke. However, Anna Pavlovna's vegitative condition poses a deterrent to a full rebirth. Imprisoned in an immobile body, Anna Pavlovna is described as a lump of meat around which flies circle. Grotesque diction underlines incongruity: saliva dangles from her mouth, twisted into the shape of a smile and emitting bellowing sounds (2:102). One wonders whether anything akin to a spiritual transformation can be conceivable in light of the way Anna Pavlovna is portrayed. The more the narrator dwells on her deformed body, the more she is identified with one sound that emerges from her mouth-"by."




-'1TO, AHHymIKa? -EbI! -Xoiemb KymJaTb TbI? --BIb! [. ..] CBOfi POT pa3opBaBsmH, xpHnena-B HacTypuHH. [...]

-BbIbI!...... ] OHa 3aRHBalacb: cne3aMH H peBOM; CKBO3b cqaCTbe CBOe ropeBana, qTO BCs 3Ta )KH3Hb

npoTexaana Tenepb JlHUlb B OAHOM COCIaraTenTbHOM CMblCne: JIHIlb B "6bi"; cqacTbe 6bljlO- "6bi."

--EbIblbI. [. . .]

-EcnuI 6bI BCTaJa.

--ecJni 6bI... )KH3Hb B COCJaraTeJbHOM CMbICIe: cnJIolUHoe-"6bI, 6bI". [...] OHa-3Hana; OHa-He 6bmaa; HaH-npoure: OT CJOBa "6bIna" OcTaBanacb oAHa nORoBHHa; a

HMeHHO: 6bI. CocnaraTenbHoe HaKJlOHeHHe. (2:104, 106-107)

The narrator forms a pun on the sound "by," for "by" as the particle of the subjunctive mood suggests all that Anna Pavlovna could have been, had the stroke not occurred. "By" also represents the only sound she is capable of producing. Indeed, Anna Pavlovna's either/or existence becomes a grammar lesson in the narrator's long disquisition on the subjunctive mood. One must question whether such a transformation can, in essence, be taken seriously. As the narrator lingers on the grammatical function of the subjunctive mood and on Anna Pavlovna's pathetic existence, readers must realize that this is not the way to depict victory over imminent death. Instead the profane humor of the grotesque attacks everything sacred and sentimental, and proves that a victory over death is irrelevant. However much Anna Pavlovna's eyes convey traces of rebirth, it is a rebirth belittled and undercut by the grotesque. For every time that transcendence seems possible, there is a contrasting modulation that undermines that possibility. El'sberg relates this device of constantly changing tones in terms of Belyj's diction, a tendency that manifests itself in blending the poetic with the prosaic: "No i za bytovoj figuro'koj budet Euvstvovat'sja otvleiennaja kosmieskaja 'circuljacija,' a skvoz' tumany etoj poslednej budet slylat'sja pust' zaglugennyj, no nesomnennyj i exidnyj sme'ok bytovogo groteska" (36).

Concluding Remarks. All of the examples of Belyj's grotesque style discussed above emphasize one salient point-that one effect does not cancel out the other. They all coexist in a mutual deviational bond, defying any rational explanation, indeed emphasizing the limits of all fictive interpretations. Can it be that the very element that has eluded the critics for so long may be the underlying factor in determining the mastery of Belyj's final creative works? It comes as no surprise that many readers are repelled by what they view as disgusting in Belyj's grotesque world. Belyj himself, as we noted earlier, yearned to depict the beautiful, but instead submitted to the grotesque mode




that poured forth from his pen. The Moscow novels are not a satire on tsarist Russia by a self-obsessed artist struggling with the idea of his nation's destiny. Belyj's grotesque style is one of humorous blasphemy. His stylistic incongruities all point to the dominance of a playful grotesque vision, one which serves as a counterpart to logic and rational philosophical systems.

NOTES

1 Among the commentators most critical of Belyj's final novels is Modul'skij, who censures Belyj's "grubyj arl" and concludes his brief analysis of the Moscow novels with a slur against Belyj, the "Communist" (261, 265). See also Stepun (342-44). Struve recounts many critics who attacked Belyj in a similar vein. Especially vicious with regard to the final decade of Belyj's life was Adamovi6. With the exception of Kolevatyj (97) few critics discuss the way the press, censors, and Soviet powers poisoned Belyj's life after his return from exile in 1923.

2 Belyj refers to the image of "scissors" as reflecting the major tension between himself and his parents, a tension he was never able to resolve, as well as the division of the age at the turn of the century. Life for Belyj was a never-ending battle of "scissors," one end of which represented his father's influence in scientific thought and rationality, while the other mirrored his mother's artistic leanings in music, aesthetics, and mysticism (Na rubefe, 174, 401). One can look upon Belyj's works as attempts to resolve these conflicts, attempts which resulted in failure.

3 In his early novels, Serebrjanyj golub' and Peterburg, as in his final novels, Belyj draws from the more pessimistic aspects of the human condition. He burdens his texts with unfathomable acts of violence. Note the brutal murders of Dar'jal'skij and Lippantenko, as well as the assassination attempt on Apollon Ableuxov. Yet, at the same time, Belyj's savagely comic and mocking tone makes sport of the horrific. For Reeve, "Belyj's accomplishment was to set up a story that completes the gestures of life by mocking them" (10). This observation, in fact, can be related to the grotesque, which seems to reduce and alleviate the burden of pessimism. It acts as a leveller. In light of the comic dimension of both narratives, Belyj's audience cannot take Dar'jal'skij's "crucifixion" any more seriously than they can Nikolaj Ableuxov's transformation. Moreover, the narrator never ceases to play tricks on the reader with his self-conscious games, his parodies of other writers and self, and principally with his verbal wizardry. As Pozner maintains: "Il y a trop de mots, trop de details, trop de recherches qui disloquent la composition et nuisent a l'unit6. Belyj grimace, jouant sur les mots, jouant avec les id6es" (182). Accompanying the eschatological themes about the destiny of Russia in both novels is the ironic perspective of the narrator. The Moscow novels share the same double perspective as in the earlier novels. In fact, all aspects of the grotesque encountered in the early novels, whether of content or style, are found in greater frequency and in much more extreme forms in the Moscow novels. Furthermore, Belyj caps his career by creating a transcendent grotesque, wherein we witness Korobkin's convincing metamorphosis. From this analysis of the grotesque I am excluding the autobiographical novels of Belyj's middle career, namely Kotik Letaev, Kresgenyj kitaec, and Zapiski eudaka.

4 Rice has observed the rampant high-jinks of the narrator in Serebrjanyj golub': "The shamelessly messy, frantically madcap plot of The Silver Dove, lapsing frequently into pure slapstick, parody and pun, forces a comic response that is nervously at odds with Belyj's lofty and serious artistic purpose" (306). On parody in Peterburg see Steinberg (162-91).




5 There is an extensive bibliography on the grotesque in all literatures. Here I am drawing from traditional definitions of the grotesque, the major exponents of which are: Barasch, The Grotesque: A Study in Meanings; Baxtin, Rabelais and His World; Harpham, On the Grotesque; Kayser, The Grotesque in Art and Literature; Ruskin, "Grotesque Renaissance"; Thomson, The Grotesque; Wright, A History of Caricature and Grotesque in Literature and Art.

6 See Cooke, where play and Rabelaisian humor are discussed with relation to biblical inversions in Moskva and Maski.

7 And yet these marginal comments seem best to set the locale for the grotesque. As Har- pham notes, "the grotesque provides a model for a kind of argument that takes the exceptional or marginal, rather than the merely conventional, as the type" (22).

8 With the exception of Valerij Brjusov, few writers of Belyj's generation exhibited as sophisticated a scholarly apparatus as Belyj. See, for example, Belyj's notational commentaries to the 1910 volume Simvolizm (458-633). Up until his death in 1934, Belyj devoted as much time to his critical writing (Masterstvo Gogolja, for instance) as to the writing of his memoirs and his final novel. A similar ironic relationship between scholarly and fictional notations can be found in Nabokov's commentaries to Evgenij Onegin and in his novel, Pale Fire.

9 For an enlightening discussion of the unconventional use of footnotes in fiction, especially Finnegan's Wake, see Benstock.

10 The same has been said about Joyce's Finnegan's Wake: "What we need, then, is documentation of the documentation, the chapter having set up a pattern of interlocking relations that lead further and further from their source (the text) in search of other sources (outside the text) that are themselves housed in texts" (Benstock, 212).

11 Janecek discusses the symbolism of "roj" in his translation of Kotik Letaev (viii-ix). 12 H6nig counted as many as four hundred names in Maski, names that, he claims, one will

never find in a Soviet telephone book (98). 13 Koievnikova maintains that the surnames of these faceless lists are in such profusion that

they function as substitutes for the principal characters (230). She adds, "Oblaja ideja romanov Moskva i Maski-ideja krugenija, razrugenija, xaosa, 'pljaski nad bezdnoj'-vy- razena i 6erez sobstvennye imena, opredeljaja ne tol'ko ix smyslovoe napolnenie, no i ix formu" (259).

WORKS CITED

Adamovic, Georgij. "Andrej Belyj i ego vospominanija." Russkie zapiski, May 1938, 137-49. Alter, Robert. Partial Magic. The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre. Berkeley: Univ. of California

Press, 1975. Barasch, Frances K. The Grotesque: A Study in Meanings. The Hague: Mouton, 1971. Baxtin, Mixail. Rabelais and His World. Trans. Helene Iswolsky. Cambridge: M.I.T. Press,

1968. Belyj, Andrej. Kotik Letaev. Trans. Gerald Janecek. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1971. Belyj, Andrej. Maski. M., 1932. Reprint. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1969. [References followed

by page number.] Belyj, Andrej. Moskva. M., 1926. Reprint. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1968. [The first part of the

novel, Moskovskij ]udak, is indicated by 1, the second part, Moskva pod udarom, by 2.] Belyj, Andrej. Na rubefe dvux stoletij. M., 1930. Reprint. Chicago: Russian Language Special-

ties, 1966. Belyj, Andrej. Simvolizm. M., 1910. Reprint. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1969. Benstock, Shari. "At the Margin of Discourse: Footnotes in the Fictional Text." PMLA 98,

no. 2 (1983):204-25.




Bugaeva, Klavdija. Vospominanija o Belom. Ed. John E. Malmstad. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Slavic Specialties, 1981.

Cooke, Olga Muller. "The Humorous Profanation of the Sacred in Belyj's Moscow Novels." Russian Literature 21, no. 3 (1987):217-32.

El'sberg, Z. "Tvoriestvo Andreja Belogo-prozaika." Na literaturnom postu, 11-12 (June 1929):34-52.

Hamsun, Knut. Hunger. Trans. R. Bly. London: Pan Books, 1981. Harpham, Geoffrey Galt. On the Grotesque: Strategies of Contradiction in Art and Literature.

Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1982. Hbnig, Anton. Andrej Belyjs Romane: Stil und Gestalt. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1965. Janecek, Gerald. "Andrey Bely." In his The Look of Russian Literature, 25-67. Princeton:

Princeton Univ. Press, 1984. Joyce, James. Finnegan's Wake. N. Y.: Viking Press, 1958. Joyce, James. Ulysses. N. Y.: Vintage Books, 1961. Kayser, Wolfgang. The Grotesque in Art and Literature. Trans. Ulrich Weisstein. N. Y.:

McGraw-Hill, 1966. Kofevatyj, N. "Vstredi s Andreem Belym." Grani 17 (1953):91-98. Ko'evnikova, N. A. "Zametki o sobstvennyx imenax v proze Andreja Belogo." In Onomastika

i grammatika, ed. L. P. Kalakuckaja, 222-59. M.: Nauka, 1981. Modul'skij, Konstantin. Andrej Belyj. Paris: YMCA Press, 1955. Pozner, Vladimir. Panorama de la littirature russe contemporaine. Paris: Kra, 1929. Reeve, F. D. "A Geometry of Prose." Kenyon Review 25, no. 1 (1963):9-25. Rice, James L. "Andrej Belyj's Silver Dove: The Black Depths of Blue Space, or Who Stole the

Baroness's Diamonds." In Mnemozina. Studia litteraria russica in honorem Vsevolod Setchkarev, ed. Joachim T. Baer and Norman W. Ingham, 301-15. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1974.

Ruskin, John. "Grotesque Renaissance." In his The Stones of Venice, vol. 3, 135-95. N. Y.: John Wiley, 1960.

?klovskij, Viktor. "Ornamental'naja proza. Andrej Belyj." In his O teorii prozy, 205-25. M., 1929.

Steinberg, Ada. Word and Music in the Novels of Andrey Bely. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1982.

Stepun, Fedor. Mystische Weltschau. Munich: Carl Hanser, 1964. Struve, Gleb. "Andrey Bely Redivivus." In Andrey Bely. A Critical Review, ed. Gerald Janecek,

21-43. Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1978. Thomson, Philip John. The Grotesque. London: Methuen, 1972. Wright, Thomas. A History of Caricature and Grotesque in Literature and Art. Reprint. N. Y.:

Frederick Ungar, 1963.



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The Grotesque Style of Belyj's Moscow Novels

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