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Essay: "The Tradition of 'Poor Folk' in Bykaŭ's Recent Short Stories"

by Zina Gimpelevich


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Notes:


Gogolian types of "poor folk" have become a tradition in many literatures. The notion of underprivileged but still worthy human beings, on the one hand; and of personalities dehumanized by circumstances, on the other, has penetrated all socially-aware Slavic literatures since the appearance of "The Overcoat." The core of this tradition lies in Gogol's assumption that a single passion that takes over the entire essence of human being will completely destroy that person's humanity. A personality captured by a passion (selfless love is not part of this notion) transforms itself into a dehumanized type. These ideas seem to have disappeared from literature following the Bolshevik Revolution. Nowadays they have visibly reappeared in the recent writing of Belarusian writer, Vasil' Bykaŭ. The goal of the present study is to investigate the treatment of the tradition of "poor folk" in Bykaŭ's most recent short stories, keeping in mind the ambiguity of the epithet "poor" and its various applications by authors at different times. Thus, Gogol and Dostoevsky often used a mixture of the two meanings of this epithet — financially and morally impoverished — while Bykaŭ has found use only for the latter.

In the literary dictionary, Belaruskiia pis'menniki (1917-1990). Vasil' Bykaŭ (b. 1924) stands out as the most prolific living Belarusian writer.(1)   For more than forty years, since he began to publish widely, Bykaŭ has enjoyed steady popularity, not only in Belaruś but internationally as well. His literary work has been adapted for film and stage. It has inspired at least two composers: Jaŭhien Hlebaŭ wrote a ballet, Al'piiskaia balada (Alpine Ballad) in 1967; and Henryk Vagner wrote an opera, Ściezkqju žyćcia (On the Path of Life) in 1980.

Vasil' Bykaŭ was never prosecuted by the Soviet system. His attitude towards the official political line, however, has not changed since the early 'seventies. The words "quiet resistance" would accurately describe his stance. A photograph of Vasil' Bykaŭ with Alexander Solzhenitsyn, taken in 1973, portrays an interesting similarity. Both writers look inquisitively into the camera, as if ready to face the world and fight it if need be.(2)   Each of them has, of course, faced the world differently. Bykaŭ never openly picked a fight with Soviet officialdom. He simply did not accept what seemed to him indecent in human behavior.

In his literary work, Bykaŭ continues that line of quiet resistance to indecency and deprivation of humanity in society that inevitably brings a person to Gogol's type of "poor folk", the type that — out of passion (and different forms of fear are the most common kinds of passion) — would lose its humanity. He often raises the question of whether a human being can survive an immoral deed without becoming one of the "poor folk" or a mere stereotype. This very question is constructed in Bykau's three most recent short stories "Na čornych liadach" ("On the Black Ice"), "Perad kancom" ("Before the End"), and "Bednyia liudzi" ("Poor Folk"), first published in Połymia.(3)   A similar question is raised in Dostoevsky' Poor Folk: viz., whether Varen'ka, who has decided to marry Bykov, is committing an immoral deed. Her act could be interpreted in two opposing ways. First, she has decided to release Makar from the obligation of supporting her. If this is so, she is only a sacrificial lamb and the innocent victim of a dirty scheme perpetrated by Bykov, who desires this marriage as a means of personal salvation. The second possibility is less flattering for Varen'ka and more in tune with Dostoevsky's ironic bitterness. Varen'ka chooses this marriage because she wants to get out of financial and social difficulties that are typical of penniless women of the 19th century. If this is the case, she might end up treating others who live in misery in exactly the same way she was treated when she was poor. By treating others badly Varen'ka would be degraded to a mere type, dehumanized through her passion to become rich. The reader of Dostoevsky's story must decide which of the two Varen'kas is likely to be most true. In Bykaŭ's stories such bewilderment does not take place. Bykaŭ is quite clear in his depiction of the moral nature of his characters, in particular the Belarusian rebels, his favorites from "Na čornych liadach".

Bykaŭ's life-long preoccupation with war literature continues with "Na čornych liadach". In this story, however, the setting is not the Second World War, neither the regular front nor the partisan forces. "Na čornych liadach" is the story of a Belarusian uprising against the Bolsheviks. This event, known as the Słucak Rebellion, took place in 1920 and lasted for almost a year. It united various democratic and monarchist forces, but did not muster adequate popular support among the Belarusian population to succeed. The story is about the last hours of a small group of survivors. The third-person narrator begins the story with a hopeless sigh, stating that everything that they have fought for has come to an end. The narration continues in a severe and solemn manner. It moves from the narrator to the interior monologue of each individual in the detachment and then tactfully back to the narrator who comments on the general details of the uprising. These comments carry a heavy burden of moral questions. The most difficult is why the population is supporting not them — the defenders of Belaruś with their high moral values — but the Bolsheviks, with their evil, immoral thirst for power.

The members of the Belaruś uprising decide to commit suicide rather than be captured by their enemies in the Red army. Bykaŭ makes no comment about the similarity of the decision made by the members of the detachment and a similar decision made by the Jews of Masada over two thousand years ago. The decision is unanimous and does not depend on the diverse social status of members of the group. It ranges from a regular officer in the tsar's army to a high-school graduate and a landless peasant. None of them welcomes death. In fact, each individual fears its approach very deeply. There is something else, however, that they dread even more than death: the fear of being captured, alive or dead. Experience has taught these rebels that capture of any sort would bring grief and misfortune to their close ones.

And here is the difference between the defenders of Masada and the defenders of Belaruś: the Jews of Masada did not bury each other. They intended to impress the Romans with their desire for freedom by exhibiting their dead bodies as a sign of their recalcitrance. In other words, their last show was intended to evoke respect from the mighty Romans. And it did. The Romans, who respected the spirit of individuality, were able to appreciate the martyrs' deed.

The Belarusian rebels were dealing with a very different sort of enemy. The Bolsheviks are shown in the story to be dehumanized, unable to exercise any kind of respect towards fellow human beings because they do not believe in the decency of the individual. Edmund Heier convincingly describes the creation of a type as a literary device: "The typing of characters is in fact a process of depriving an individual of his freedom, his uniqueness; indeed, it is reduction of a human being to something less than an individual — to a mere type."(5)   There are a few Bolsheviks in the story, but not a single one of them is granted an interior monologue. Instead, they are shown as ridiculous, cartoon-like characters. One of them accepts a resolution to shoot a person in quite an amicable manner. The other, called "kamisarčyk" because of his small height, shows an extreme aggressiveness together with a ridiculous inability to accomplish anything. He cannot even assault a prisoner on his own, but as a part of a collective. The commissar gains back his power and, with a lot of help from others, beats his prisoner mercilessly.

While Bykaŭ gives quite an objective description of the rebels, he is moving towards subjectivity in his depiction of the Bolsheviks. They are shown as types in whom the process of dehumanization is fully completed. Bolsheviks from "Na čornych liadach" are merely puppets who, through loss of individuality, are deprived of humanity. This deprivation is also shown in their complete lack of identity; while every rebel has a proper name or at least a nickname, neither of the Bolsheviks has one.

The middle story, entitled "Perad kancom", continues this tendency. The only protagonist who is clearly respected by his creator has a proper name from the very beginning of the story. In "Pierad kancom" he is given not only a name but a military rank as well: Lieutenant Hłushkevich. The lieutenant (the actual rank at that time was known as Paruchnik) is taken away by the Cheka, the secret police, at the railway station. The functionaries of the secret police, noticing Hłushkevich's bearing and assuming his origins from it, take him to prison and throw him into a small, dark cell that is already overcrowded with prisoners. He is at first rudely greeted by his nearest neighbor who, by all indications, is a criminal and a simpleton. Hłushkevich listens to the others and little by little begins to understand who his cellmates are. Each one is different. The Criminal (he is actually Blatniak) is not on good terms with any of them. The member of the Socialist Revolutionary Party (Eser) is characterized by a lisping speech and a mixture of respect for and fear of the Bolsheviks. He is visibly jealous of the Bolsheviks' success and agrees in general with their policies. The second person who takes part in the conversation is given the affectionate sobriquet "the Elder" by Hłushkevich. The lieutenant is quite familiar with people of this type — people who were white-collar workers before the Revolution. Many of them, members of the intelligentsia, had served as provincial doctors, teachers, or postal workers.

The last person in the cell has a nickname, the Silent One (Maŭchun). He almost never participates in conversations and Hłushkevich does not, at first, notice his presence. When he finally does, the lieutenant does not trust him. As a matter of fact, in the beginning he has more faith in the Criminal (Blatniak) than in Maŭchun. Hłushkevich changes his attitude towards Maŭchun when he finds out the reason for his arrest. Maŭchun was a watchman at an office and, when a group of Bolsheviks came to remove the tsar's portrait, he took an axe and tried to protect it. During the ensuing struggle, he killed one of them.

Hłushkevich's appearance in the cell stops the conversation among the cellmates for a while, but it soon resumes and continues almost flawlessly:

This feeling of a common destiny unites all the men in the cell and brings them together in a conspiracy. They decide to use any opportunity to escape. The plan is very simple: at the moment when their guards enter the cell, they will disarm them and then try to flee. Hłushkevich is designated the chief executor of the plan, which is never realized. When a guard finally pops in and brings them half a bucket of pearl barley porridge, Blatniak first, and then Eser, start to lap it up with their hands (spoons were not provided), scarfing it up like animals. The Elder comes over to them after a moment's hesitation and cautiously begins to eat. Maŭchun and Hłushkevich never join the party, despite an invitation.

After having eaten, Blatniak, Eser, and the Elder continue their conversation. Blatniak and Eser support each other, hoping that since they were given food, the Bolsheviks have decided to spare them. They are interrupted by the Elder who reproaches them for their betrayal, saying that one of them, the officer, will be shot. This ignites an argument as Blatniak, turning things around, says that he is not going to die just for the sake of an officer. Eser joins him. Maŭchun unexpectedly joins the conversation with one word: "animals!"(8)   When Blatniak addresses him, asking for support, Hhishkevich cannot believe his ears. These people, who involved him in a conspiracy against his will, now deny him — and consequently, themselves — the freedom to proceed. At first he does not answer and, when this behavior angers Blatniak, Hłuishkevich replies forcefully:

Blatnik and Eser decide to denounce the lieutenant and Maŭchun. Though he has been crippled during interrogations, Maŭchun makes a desperate effort to reach for Blatniak and strangle him. Hłushkevich orders him to stop. Blatniak, however, manages to attract the attention of the guards and, when they come to the cell, he denounces Hłushkevich and Maŭchun. As he leaves the cell, Hłushkevich considers the people whom he has left behind. The narrator's voice and the lieutenant's are in harmony when a description of the half-bucket of pearl barley porridge — the niggardly reward for their dehumanized behavior — comes back into the picture. The Elder continues to lament and, although Hłushkevich hears his voice down the corridor, it does not matter any longer. The Elder also a type, a Belarusian intelligent. As often happens in the case of members of the intelligentsia, they never fail to judge events or people involved, but they do fail to act. Hłushkevich faces death on his own and the only consolation he has as he faces his end is that this will be the last time he is disappointed in people.

All the characters depicted in the story are more real than the stereotyped Bolsheviks: the Elder and Maŭchun even have episodic, personal histories. This does not save them, however, from being transformed into mere types — one for his inability to act; and the other for becoming a murderer.

The last story in this cycle of three, bears precisely the same title as Dostoevsky's story, Poor Folk. In the case of Bykaŭ's short story, however, the title does not convey any kind of ambiguity. After reading Dostoevsky's story, one can scarcely detect the author's intention. The reader has at least two positions to choose from and must decide whether the protagonists are 'poor' simply because of financial circumstances or because they are dehumanized. Bykaŭ's setting is depicted realistically. The author feels sorry for his "poor folk" who are poor, first of all, because of their single passion — a fear of the regime under which they are forced to live, a regime that dehumanizes them and creates a very characteristic type: the well-educated informer.

The plot of this story is not complicated: it describes the psychological torment of a person who, in the end, becomes an informer. The story starts quite innocently. Professor Skvarysh, who teaches Marxist and Leninist theory to graduate students at the Belarusian University, is about to see off his Ph.D. student, Krasniansky. The omniscient narrator describes in meticulous detail the swarm of feelings this visit has evoked. The kinds of emotions are most pronounced. The first is gratitude to another human being who is trying to reach out and help in difficult emotional situation. The other is the fear that Krasniansky is an agent provocateur. The fact of the matter is that at present Professor Skvarysh is — for no good reason — considered a dissident and is under considerable pressure from the authorities. He has not participated in any particular civic action and is not known for being free or outspoken in his opinions. Skvarysh's problem originates in a single conversation, or rather monologue, that he allowed himself to have with two of his close friends, after they had drunk a bottle of cognac and spent a mellow afternoon in a sauna. In that conversation, he related to his long-time friends the content of a BBC program he had listened to the night before. In addition to the impressive data he gleaned from the program, Skvarysh adds a couple of his own ideas and condemns the regime and the war in Afghanistan. His friends did not take any real part in the conversation, listening gloomily as they chain-smoked. Now the professor cannot decide which of the two is an informer. In the end he realizes that both of his friends could have done it.

In Forever Flowing, Vasily Grossman introduces four types of informers in Stalinist Russia.(10)   The chapter in Grossman's novel where those types are described is written in a different mode of narration. The novel as a whole is done in a traditional realistic manner. The chapter about types of informers uses a typically Gogolian mixture of styles and artistic devices. The grotesquerie, irony, and mockery are mixed together with tragic and sometimes melodramatic elements. Grossman calls the informers Judas, and numbers them Judas Number One, Judas Number Two, etc. Out of four, only Judas Number One becomes an informer because of the pressure of the NKVD. The other three choose this way of life on their own. In the end, the narrator proposes that all four types are nothing but "poor folk" who are merely victims of the fear imposed on them by the regime.

Vasil' Bykaŭ does not change the mode of narration in "Poor Folk". It is evenly realistic and descriptive of the psychological changes and moral torture that Skvarysh is going through. During the course of this transformation, Skvarysh demonstrates some characteristics, described by Heier as typical for the process of dehumanization. The most prominent of these, Heier avers, is a person's animalistic behavior. On his way to becoming a type — as in Gogol's Dead Souls, where almost every protagonist reminds the reader of an animal — Skvarysh behaves like a bear. His situation is more tragic, however, than Gogol's characters because of the professor's clear vision of the circumstances surrounding him:

After comparing himself with an animal, the professor's train of thought goes straight to his graduate student, Krasniansky. At first Skvarysh cannot decide who this student is — a compassionate man or an agent provocateur. All his previous experience prompts the professor to believe that Krasniansky is the latter — and he denounces his student. Skvarysh informs the KGB authorities about Krasniansky's visit and his mode of thinking.

The transformation of an average human being into a type, an informer, indicates a number of similarities in Grossman's and Bykaŭ's works. Like Judas Number Two, Judas Number Three, and Judas Number Four, Skvarysh semingly denounces his student of his own will. Nothing and no one threatens his phisical safety. Skvarysh, hawever, not unlike his predecessors from the Stalin era, is under so much pressure, accumulated from that period, that his fear becomes an unbearable burden and breaks his will. Grossman and Bykaŭ are both sympathetic toward the fear experienced by their protagonists. They feel sorry for these people, but at the same time they pass a very severe moral judgment on them. Thus, Grossman ends his exploration into the nature of informers with the following emotional phrase: "But how shamed and how pained we must remain, face to face with our human indecency, unworthiness, obscenity!"(12)   Bykaŭ ends his story with two similar and very compassionate phrases: "Бедны, няшчасны аспірант Краснянскі. Бедны, няшчасны прафэсар Скварыш" (Poor, unfortunate graduate student Krasniansky. Poor, unfortunate Professor Skvarysh).(13)   With these phrases, Bykaŭ gives the reader a recipe, long-forgotten by Soviet and post-Soviet literature, that one finds first in Gogol's literary kitchen. This recipe consists of only one ingredient: an unconditional compassion for one's fellow men. According to Bykaŭ, this compassion, given freely as a gift to another human being, is the only quality that is able to prevent men from becoming mere types, or from being dehumanized.


Notes

  1. Belaruskiia pis'mienniki (1917-1990) Davednik (Minsk: Mastackaia litaratura, 1994) 77-78.

  2. Vasil' Bykaŭ, Zbor tvoraŭ (Minsk: Mastackaia litaratura, 1994, v. 5) 2.

  3. Vasil' Bykaŭ, "Na čornych liadach" ("On the Black Ice"), "Perad kancom" ("Before the End"), and "Bednyja liudzi" ("Poor Folk") Połymia 1, studzien (1994) 3-42.     [Web update: These stories are also published as part of the collection, Сьцяна, Наша Ніва, Менск, 1998 (The Wall, Nasha Niva, Mensk)]

  4. "Na čorhych liadach," 4.

  5. Edmund Heier. "The Process of Dehumanization in Gogol's Literary Portraits," Russian Literature, XVII (1985) 270.

  6. "Na čornych liadach," 9.

  7. "Perad kancom," 20. 63

  8. "Perad kancom," 28.

  9. "Perad kancom," 28.

  10. Vasily Grossman, Forever Flowing (New York: Harper and Row, 1972) 68-83.

  11. "Bednyja liudzi," 35.

  12. Vasily Grossman, op. cit., 83.

  13. "Bednyja liudzi," 42.


Source:   Zapisy, print edition only, vol. 22 ((BINIM, New York, 1996): "The Tradition of "Poor Folk" in Bykaŭ's Recent Short Stories," by Zina Gimpelevich, pages 59-67.


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