Archive for 'Reading Together'

Sympathy for the Devil (or: A Look at Bulgakov’s Word Choices)

Posted on 09. Apr, 2013 by in Literature, Reading Together

During the recent Easter season, I found myself dipping into certain chapters from Bulgakov’s «Мастер и Маргарита» — after all, the master’s novel-within-a-novel retelling of key events from Страсти Христовы (“The Passion”) is quite central to the story . And, in fact, Bulgakov’s masterpiece was originally conceived as a short sketch in which the Devil debates a Soviet atheist as to whether Jesus actually existed — with Satan ironically taking the pro-Jesus side.

That short story was fleshed out into chapters 1-3 of the finished novel. Here, a Soviet man of letters (left) discusses theology with the Devil (center).

But at the same time, Bulgakov takes an intriguingly untraditional stance towards the Christian narrative. (In the master’s version, for instance, Jesus was orphaned in infancy, and the Last Supper is more or less a cocktail party hosted by Judas, who had only met Jesus the day before, and wasn’t an apostle.)

So, as a non-believer who also listens to Jesus Christ Superstar every Easter, I’m fascinated by the idiosyncratic theology of Bulgakov’s book — which, like the Webber/Rice rock opera, is in some ways highly “agnostic,” yet manages to be reverent at the same time. And this ambiguity is dramatically apparent when a certain Biblical figure pops out of a brick wall for a one-page cameo, in…

Глава 29: Судьба Мастера и Маргариты Определена
Chapter 29: The Fate of the Master and Margarita Is Determined

If you don’t know the backstory at all, here are the two key points for understanding this excerpt:

(1) The “Master” is an unnamed author in 1920s Moscow who has gotten into trouble with the authorities for writing a novel about a meeting between Pontius Pilate and one Иешуа Га-Ноцри (“Yeshua the Nazarene”). This Иешуа is, as noted above, a thoroughly “secularized” Jesus — a vagrant philosopher/rabbi who neither walks on water nor turns it into wine.

In one of the book’s many ironies, the master is denounced as a Воинствующий старообрядец (“militant Old Rite-ist” — in modern terms, a Bible-thumping fundamentalist) for making his Yeshua Ha-Notsri just as “historically realistic” as Pilate. (seen here in a miniseries adaptation from Russian TV)

(2) Meanwhile, Satan himself is visiting Moscow in the guise of a foreign professor named Woland, creating hilarious black-magic mischief that satirizes various hypocrisies and abuses in the Soviet system.

So one evening, Woland/Satan is hanging out on the high terrace of an apartment building, when there suddenly materializes a raggedy-looking guy in a Greek-style tunic.

This sudden arrival has already been introduced in the master’s manuscript as a fictionalized character, but this is the first and only time that he shows up “for real” in modern Moscow. And Woland seems to have anticipated him:

«Ты с чем пожаловал, незваный, но предвиденный гость?»
“With what purpose have you come, uninvited but foreseen guest?”

Note that незваный recalls the familiar saying «Незваный гость хуже татарина» — “an uninvited guest is worse than a Mongol invader”! And the gate-crasher evidently understands Woland’s snub, and is rude in return:

«Я к тебе, дух зла и повелитель теней» — ответил вошедший.
“I’ve [come] to you, spirit of evil and ruler of shadows” — answered the one who’d just entered.

Up to now, the reader may not be entirely sure of the guest’s identity, but Woland’s next line provides a clue. Christian tradition holds that Matthew the Gospelist had been a tax-collector who quit his job after meeting Jesus:

«То почему же ты не поздоровался со мной, бывший сборщик
податей?» — заговорил Воланд сурово.

“Then why didn’t you say ‘Good evening’ to me, former collector of taxes?” — said Woland sternly.

«Потому что я не хочу, чтобы ты здравстовал» — ответил дерзко вошедший.
“Because I don’t want you to have a good evening, or a good day, or a good anything,” replied the visitor insolently.

Also, note that (по)здороваться (“to greet, say hello”) and здравствовать (“to thrive, be healthy”) are obviously related to здоровье, “health”. (And поздравлять/поздравить, “to congratulate,” is also related — just be careful not to get these verbs confused!)

Woland responds with good-humored noblesse oblige to Matthew’s rudeness, but as we’ll see, his comments introduce a tantalizing philosophical question. Essentially, Woland takes the “Dualist” position that good and evil are natural counterparts, with the possible implication that God and Satan have shared co-sovereignty over the Universe. (Earlier in the book, Woland declines to show clemency towards a certain woman in Hell — explaining that forgiveness is handled by “a different department.”*)

The mainstream Christian view, of course, is that evil was an unplanned flaw introduced into God’s perfect world by Adam and Eve’s disobedience — and, furthermore, that Satan is himself merely a flawed and finite creation, not in any way an opposite-but-equal Yin to God’s Yang.

Thus, вопреки тому, что (“despite the fact that”) Bulgakov had a Russian Orthodox upbringing, the novel seems to reject some of most basic theological premises of православие, “Orthodox Christianity”.

Anyway, Woland says rather dualistically:

«Что бы делало твоё добро, если бы не существовало зла, и как бы выглядела земля, если бы с неё исчезли тени? Ведь тени получаются от предметов и людей.»
“What would your goodness do, if evil didn’t exist, and how would the Earth look, if shadows were to disappear from it? After all, shadows are produced by solid objects and people.”

Elaborating on this theme, Woland points out that a world full of light but without shadows would necessarily have to be as smooth as a billiard ball, with no trees or people or other living things. “And if you think that’s a good idea,” he adds to Matthew Levi, «ты глуп» (“you’re stupid”). A little more banter follows with Satan and the Gospelist trading insults, and finally Woland asks Matthew why he’s dropped by. Again, in my view, Bulgakov is carefully and deliberately “agnostic” in what follows, by using pronouns rather than nouns:

«Он прислал меня
“He sent me.”

«Что же он велел передать тебе, раб?»
“What [message] did he order you to convey, slave?”

«Я не раб,» — всё более озлобляясь, ответил Левий Матвей — «я его ученик
“I’m not a slave,” answered Matthew Levi, growing more and more irate, “I’m his disciple.”

Woland’s dry retort is, very loosely: “Slave, disciple — you say to-MAY-to, I say to-MAH-to!” But who is this «он» they speak of — is it God, or is it Yeshua Ha-Notsri? Or are they one and the same, as Christianity holds? Or perhaps Yeshua the Nazerene was a “major prophet” like Moses and Elijah, but not actually divine? Or, possibly, Yeshua and Satan are estranged twin brothers — sons of the actual Supreme Being, each governing different aspects of Creation?

Or maybe all this cosmological discussion is pointless because Behemoth dreamed the whole thing…

At any rate, the ambiguity isn’t cleared up as the conversation continues, and Matthew explains that he’s here to discuss the eternal destination of the Master and Margarita after they’ve died:

«Он прочитал сочинения мастера,» — заговорил Левий Матвей — «и просит тебя, чтобы ты взял с собою мастера и наградил его покоем.»
“He has read the master’s composition,” said Matthew Levi, “and asks you to take the master with you and reward him with peace.”

Note that verb просить — “to request, to ask for”! Earlier in the book*, someone says to Woland: «Так, я могу попросить об одной вещи?» (“So, I can request one thing?”), and Woland pointedly corrects the phrasing: «Потребовать одной вещи!» — “Demand one thing!” Or, Matthew could have used a verb like велеть (“to order; instruct to do”) or приказывать/приказать (“to command”). Instead, Matthew couches the message in the form of a polite request for a favor — which strikes me as an odd thing to do if Yeshua is actually God, and Satan is merely a creation subordinate to God.

Perhaps to underscore the odd point that Yeshua has sent Matthew with a request instead of an order, Woland asks:

«А что же вы не берёте его к себе, в свет?»
“And why don’t you lot take him to your side, into the light?”

«Он не заслужил света, он заслужил покой» — печальным голосом проговорил Левий.
“He hasn’t earned light, he has earned peace” — Levi said in a sad voice.

This place of “peace without light” is a reference to the highest circle of Hell as described in Dante’s Inferno — a relatively pleasant neighborhood that medieval Catholic theologians speculatively called “Limbo.”

«Передай, что будет сделано» — ответил Воланд — «и покинь меня немедленно.»
“Tell him it will be done,” answered Woland, “and now leave me this instant.”

But Matthew Levi isn’t quite done — and don’t miss the abrupt switch from ты to the polite/formal вы:

«Он просит, чтобы ту, которая любила и страдала из-за него, вы взяли бы тоже» — в первый раз моляще обратился Левий к Воланду.
“He requests that you, sir, also take that [woman] who loved him and suffered because of him” — for the first time Levi addressed Woland in a beseeching tone.

Woland’s reply mixes a grain of sincerity (he really is benevolently inclined towards the two lovers) with dripping sarcasm for Matthew:

«Без тебя бы мы никак не догодались об этом. Уходи
“Without you that never would have occurred to us. Go away.”

Левий Матвей после этого исчез, а Воланд подозвал к себе Азазелло и приказал ему: «Лети к ним и всё устрой.»
Matthew Levi disappeared after this, and Woland summoned Azazello and commanded him: “Fly to them and arrange everything.”

At the risk of a spoiler, let’s say that Azazello “arranges” for the Master and his Margarita to arrive in Limbo a bit sooner rather than later, if you get my drift. (But the good news is that, at least, it’s a deluxe ticket out of Stalin’s USSR!)

So, then, are Satan and Jesus simply two celestial “colleagues” who each works in a different ведомство (“bureaucratic division”), as Woland suggests in an earlier chapter*? Perhaps that’s what Bulgakov is suggesting.

Then again, in a passage from the master’s book*, Pilate ostensibly orders the Roman “secret service” to protect someone from vigilante revenge — but on a close reading of Pilate’s dialogue, he’s actually giving the go-ahead for a covert assassination! So if Pilate’s words didn’t always mean what they seemed to mean, then possibly the words of the devil should be taken with an especially large chunk of salt.

Still, this “agnostic ambiguity” in Master and Margarita never ceases to fascinate me. What do you think Bulgakov intended?

P.S. I made several references (marked with a red * звёздочка) to “earlier chapters” in Master and Margarita. A bag of all-black licorice jellybeans and a half-eaten milk chocolate bunny for you if you can ID these chapters and the characters involved!

“Dreamin’ is free…”

Posted on 10. Oct, 2012 by in language, Reading Together, Russian for beginners

So goes a line from an old Blondie song — you could translate it as можно видеть сны бесплатно (“one pays nothing to dream”).

And “dreams” are the theme for today, because позавчера мне снился странный-престранный сон. (“The day before yesterday I had an oh-so-strange dream.”) Although maybe кошмар, “nightmare,” would be more apt!

Во сне я видел, как агентство «NASA» собиралось запустить космический корабль с сотнями пассажиров на дальнюю звёздную систему. (“I dreamt that NASA was preparing to launch a spaceship with hundreds of passengers to a distant star system.”)

For some reason, they plotted the ship’s trajectory not with state-of-the-art computers, but with an огромный оррерий (“an enormous orrery”) made out of Legos — a weird detail that’s very characteristic of my own dreams. Я нередко вижу сны о сложных часовых механизмах с бесчисленными шестернями. (“I rather often dream about elaborate clockwork mechanisms with countless gears.”)

Wow, you really can find everything with Google — here’s a functioning, motorized “orrery” made from Legos! (But the one in my dream was about five stories tall and showed hundreds of planetary systems.)

Maybe they should’ve used computers instead of relying on Legos, because something went terribly wrong in the mission: Корабль неожиданно вернулся на Землю (“The ship unexpectedly returned to Earth”), почти все пассажиры вместе с экипажем исчезли неизвестным способом (“almost all the passengers, along with the crew, had mysteriously vanished”), и остался лишь десяток трупов, заражённых какими-то типа инопланетными паразитами (“and there remained only about ten corpses, infected with some sort of extra-terrestrial parasites”).

And this was just the beginning of a long and meandering dream. It soon became evident that the spaceship’s faster-than-light warp engine had accidentally opened a hole into an адское измерение (“hell-dimension”) — as in the Doom computer games — and things took a rather Lovecraftian turn. At one point, I was being chased by a huge and hungry reptile-spider with a plastic, Barbie-like face.

A bit like this, but much larger…

But then, without warning or fanfare, the dream turned “lucid” — which is to say that мне вдруг стало вполне понятно, что чудовище и всё остальлное только снятся (“I suddenly fully understood that the monster and everything else were only part of a dream.”)

And I thought to myself, “if this is a dream, why shouldn’t I have superhuman abilities like flying and telekinesis?” I mean, во сне, всё что угодно — возможно (“in a dream, anything you like is possible”). И едва я это придумал, как я приобрёл суперспособности! (“And no sooner had I thought of this, than I acquired super-powers!”)

Which was bad news for my opponent, as you might imagine — просто мне было махнуть рукой, чтобы повалить чудовища с ног (“I merely had to wave my hand to knock the monster off his feet.”)

And that, I swear, was maybe only about halfway through my weird dream, but enough about that! Anyway, there are various ways that “to dream” can be expressed in Russian, as I did in explaining my dream.

The basic imperfective verb is сниться. (As an etymological note, don’t confuse сниться with the similar-looking but unrelated сниматься/сняться, which can mean “to come loose and fall off.” In that verb, the с- is really a motion-prefix and not part of the main root, but in сниться, the с- belongs to the root с(о)н-.) Anyway, it conjugates as follows:

сниться
Past снился, снилась, снилось, снились
  sing. pl.
1st снюсь снимся
2nd снишься снитесь
3rd снится снятся
Imperative сни(те)сь!

And the perfective присниться conjugates exactly the same way.

But here’s the part that can be confusing: this verb pair doesn’t mean “to have a dream about”; it means “to appear to someone in a dream,” with the “someone” who is having the dream expressed in the dative (кому-нибудь). Thus, я снюсь ему is NOT “I’m dreaming about him,” but “He’s dreaming about me,” or more literally “I am appearing to him in a dream.” To put it another way, the nominative subject of (при)сниться is not the dreamer, but the characters and objects within the dream, or the сон (“dream”) itself. And, quite often, the verb may be used impersonally in the 3rd person singular (neuter past), without a nominative subject at all. So you can say:

Ей снился покойный дедушка.
She was dreaming about her late/deceased grandfather.

«Вам очень часто снятся сны об акулах?» — спросила ЭЛИЗА.
“Do you very often dream dreams about sharks?” — asked ELIZA.

Однажды приснилось, что мы с тобой вальсируем…
♪♫ “I waltzed with you once upon a dream…” ♪♫

A кадр (“still frame”) from 1959′s Sleeping Beauty

Instead of сниться, you can also use the expression видеть сон о ком-н./чём-н., “to see a dream about someone/something,” or you can rearrange this grammatically and say видеть кого-н./что-н. во сне, “to see someone/something in a dream,” or “in one’s sleep.”

Which brings us to the point that the noun сон (gen. сна) doesn’t only mean “a dream”; it’s also “sleep”. And, correspondingly, сниться and видеть сон cannot refer to “dreams” that you have while awake. For instance, you can’t translate Martin Luther King’s words “I have a dream…” with Мне снилось…, because he wasn’t talking about a vision that came to him during REM sleep!

Instead, you can use the verb мечтать with the meaning “to have a dream while awake” — in fact, this word used in Russian translations of MLK’s speech:

Я мечтаю, что придёт день, когда [все] будут судимы не по цвету их кожи…
“I dream, that a day will come, when [everyone] will be judged not by the color of their skin…”

Here, мечтать signifies “to have deep hopes for the future,” but in other contexts it suggests “to fantasize” or “to daydream” or “to wish for” in a more trivial and frivolous way:

«Всё, о чём ты мечтаешь, я исполню, только скажи слово» — обещал джинн Алладину.
“Just say the word and I’ll fulfill everything that you daydream about” — the genie promised Alladin.

This range of meaning from profound to fairytale-ish is also found in the derived noun мечта and its synonym мечтание. King’s immortal speech is called «У меня есть мечта», but Alladin might respond to the genie: «Наконец, мои мечты сбываются (“Finally, my fantasies are coming true!”)

And, finally, as a little point of trivia: the common phrase «голубая мечта» — lit., “light-blue daydream” — might nowadays be (mis)understood as “a gay-male daydream.” But historically, the meaning was more like “a starry-eyed, pie-in-the-sky, unrealistic daydream”, and the phrase can still be used in this sense. (Though to say “pie-in-the-sky fantasy” without any double-entendre, you can say «лазурная мечта», “azure daydream,” instead!)

Dramatic poetry reading: «Багаж» (“Luggage”)

Posted on 29. Aug, 2012 by in Culture, language, Literature, Reading Together, Russian humor

I’ve been wanting for a while to make a video for the blog, but it took me a while to get over my camera-shyness — not to mention, fix some technical problems with my camcorder and figure out how to (sorta) use video-editing software.

As my debut ролик (“video clip”) for the blog, I decided to take a stab at a famous children’s poem: Багаж (“baggage; luggage”) by Самуил Яковлевич Маршак (S.Y. Marshak), first published circa 1926.

The humorous plot is straightforward enough: a дама (“genteel lady”) decides to take a train trip — her destination is the Ukrainian city of Житомир, and since the town of Дно is along the route, we can assume that she probably started from Ленинград:

Anyway, she checks in seven items of luggage, one of which is a very small pet dog. But the little poochy manages to escape during the trip, and the railway employees attempt to pull a fast one by substituting a huge, shaggy, stray mutt. So without further ado, here’s me reciting Багаж:

YouTube Preview Image

And here’s the complete text in Russian to help you follow along. If you read my post on Monday about verbs derived from давать/дать (“to give”), that’ll give you some help, and I’ve also included translations for some of the more colloquial vocabulary that you may not know — hover over the yellow-highlighted terms.

Дама сдавала в багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картину,
Корзину,
Картонку
И маленькую собачонку.

Выдали даме на станции
Четыре зелёных квитанции
О том, что получен багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картина,
Корзина,
Картонка
И маленькая собачонка.

Вещи везут на перрон.
Кидают в открытый вагон.
Готово. Уложен багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картина,
Корзина,
Картонка
И маленькая собачонка.

Но только раздался звонок,
Удрал из вагона щенок.
Хватились на станции Дно:
Потеряно место одно.
В испуге считают багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картина,
Корзина,
Картонка…
– «Товарищи!
Где собачонка?»

Вдруг видят: стоит у колёс
Огромный взъерошенный пёс.
Поймали его – и в багаж,
Туда, где лежал саквояж,
Картина,
Корзина,
Картонка,
Где прежде была собачонка.

Приехали в город Житомир.
Носильщик пятнадцатый номер
Везёт на тележке багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картину,
Корзину,
Картонку,
А сзади ведут… “собачонку.”

Собака-то как зарычит.
А барыня как закричит:
– «Разбойники! Воры! Уроды!
Собака — не той породы

Швырнула она чемодан,
Ногой отпихнула диван,
Картину,
Корзину,
Картонку…
– «Отдайте мою собачонку!»

– «Позвольте, мамаша! На станции,
Согласно багажной квитанции,
От вас получили багаж:
Диван,
Чемодан,
Саквояж,
Картину,
Корзину,
Картонку
И маленькую собачонку.
Однако
За время пути
Собака
Могла подрасти

* * *

A few more comments about the vocabulary: The word барыня also, historically, referred to an aristocratic lady — more specifically, the wife of a барин, an affluent gentleman who belonged to “the nobility” and/or “the landed gentry.”

And let’s take a closer look at the lady’s hysterical cry of «Разбойники! Воры! Уроды!» The word разбойник specifically means “armed robber” or “highway bandit” — i.e., someone who threatens Жизнь или кошелёк, “Your wallet or your life!”. But вор means “thief” in a much more general sense that covers non-violent pickpockets and shoplifters. And урод, at least originally, referred to someone with a severe physical deformity — cf. Tod Browning’s Freaks or David Lynch’s The Elephant Man. But nowadays, урод may mean, depending on context: (A) a medically normal person who’s simply ugly; or (B) a person who might be good-looking but has an off-putting “weirdo” personality; or (C) a “creepy scumbag loser,” which is what the дама intends!

And she follows this with «Собака — не той породы!» (“the dog is the wrong breed”). What you should note here is the use of не + the demonstrative pronoun тот — very literally translatable as “not that one,” but it expresses the idea of “the wrong one” Similarly, не туда (lit., “not to there”) is “to the wrong place,” не тогда (lit., “not at that time”) is “at the wrong time,” and не там is “in the wrong place.” For example, one way to say “You’ve reached the wrong number” to someone on the phone is Вы не туда попали — literally, “You’ve ended up not-there.”