The Petty Demon

by Sologub, Fyodor

  The role of the poet was viewed in a similar way by many of the Symbolists. Theirs was not a passive function. They stood as intermediaries between two realms, as heralds of transformed existence, the travellers between worlds who beckoned to others to follow. Vyacheslav Ivanov, a classical scholar and Symbolist poet who drew many of his archetypes and inspiration from antiquity, stated this Symbolist role as inspired messenger:

  And thus I am not a Symbolist if in the heart of the listener I do not arouse with intangible nuance or influence those incommunicable sensations which resemble at time some primeval remembrance …

  I am not a Symbolist if my words do not summon forth in the listener sensations of the connection between that which is his “ego” and that which he calls his “non-ego” … if my words do not convince him immediately of the existence of a hidden life where his mind had not suspected life; if my words do not move in him the energy of love towards that which he was previously unable to love because his love did not know of the many abodes it possessed.

  (Thoughts on Symbolism, 1912)6

  Symbolism, as a vibrant, often chaotic force in Russian letters, lost ground with the approach of World War I and the Russian Revolution. Other -ism’s (Acmeism, Futurism, etc.), while less ambitious in their designs, eventually proved to be more vigorous and attractive. Even the most stalwart and hopeful grew weary of maintaining their vigil of faith atop deserted mountains in expectation of the dawning of the new age so often heralded by the Symbolists. Succeeding times and generations do not readily accept the proposals of their immediate predecessors.

  This, in brief and simplified terms, is the aesthetic landscape wherein the literary work and artistic sensibility of Fyodor Sologub blossomed and grew to prominence. While profoundly a part of that same Symbolist world, nevertheless he was at the same time a foreigner within it.

  Fyodor Kuzmich Sologub (pseud. of F.K. Teternikov, 1863–1927) was one of the most striking curiosities produced by Russian Symbolism. His background, his profession, his age, even his appearance, made him a very unlikely, even ridiculous figure among the Russian Symbolists and frequently deprived him of the respect which was his due. Especially for the younger poets, Symbolism was as much a lifestyle, an aesthetic pose, as it was a genuine literary pursuit. Flamboyant dress, exaggerated manners, verbal pyrotechnics and suspect behavior were liberally flaunted as proof of membership in what must have seemed a somewhat exclusive literary club. Moreover, most Symbolists came from the middle or upper classes with strong intellectual traditions. Yet, hovering on the fringes of this pride of lions was Sologub, the son of a former serf, a provincial teacher for most of his life, balding, rather insignificant and hapless in appearance, awkward, taciturn and touchy, and looking much older than his years. And who had conceived the somewhat absurd-sounding pseudonym of “Sologub” for him? While Sologub was almost a solitary figure, almost an outcast within the very Symbolist circles he moved in, nevertheless, his works were undeniably a reflection of and a resonant echo of that same world.

  Sologub was not an obliging person when pestered for biographical material. Perhaps his reticence was provoked as much by modesty or shyness as by embarrassment over his less-than-auspicious origins. Perhaps he sensed as well that people were more “curious” than “interested” in him. Critics frequently complained that he was a “Mister Incognito” or that he had no “genealogical table”. In fact, it was only when he had passed the age of fifty and his wife, Anastasia Nikolaevna Chebotarevskaya, published a brief biographical outline of her spouse in 1915 that the wider world became more familiar with the unremarkable origins of a very remarkable writer. Most of our information about the writer Sologub comes from eyewitness accounts of contemporaries, whereas the first thirty years or so of his life is still mainly locked up in Soviet archives. Some of that material has found its way into print and has been incorporated into M. Dikman’s introduction to the anthology of Sologub’s verse published in the Soviet Union in 1975.7

  Sologub’s father was a former serf who died of tuberculosis in 1867, four years after the birth of Fyodor. The family had moved to St. Petersburg after the Emancipation where the father tried to eke out a living as a tailor. Fyodor’s mother was a peasant. The mother, completely without means, bundled up Fyodor and a younger sister, Olga, and went off to work as a servant in the home of a cultured, yet sympathetic family that also provided for the young Fyodor’s education. Fyodor’s family ties were very close but very oppressive at the same time. Although there was a good deal of affection between mother and son, she beat and punished him for every possible misdemeanor. Sologub frequently recalled those vicious whippings and said that his youth was composed of the “hell of thrashings and the paradise of dreams.” These beatings were administered by the mother well into Sologub’s manhood, according to material quoted by Dikman in the introduction cited above. Psychologists may find some interesting connection between this particular fact and the additional fact that Sologub never married until after the death of his mother and his sister—when he was already forty-five. These whippings—which occupy such a salient role in most of Sologub’s works, particularly in The Petty Demon and The Created Legend, permeated most of his earlier life, at home, in the parish school, even at the pedagogical school where he was regularly whipped at the request of his mother and his landlady even after the age of sixteen. School was not an entirely happy experience for the youthful Sologub. Although he was a diligent and excellent student, he felt awkward and isolated among his classmates who frequently made him the butt of their jokes. His readings during those years included the democratic critics like Belinsky, Dobrolyubov and Pisarev. His favorite Russian poet was Nekrasov; his favorite Russian novelist was Dostoevsky. In later years, he was to recall that the three works which had the most enduring impact on him had been Shakespeare’s King Lear, Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe and Cervantes’ Don Quixote.

  He completed his teacher training in 1882 and at the age of nineteen he took his family with him to his first post in the small provincial town of Krestsy (Novgorod Province). His mother died two years later. Sologub was convinced at a very early age that his genuine calling was literature. His first verses were written in 1875 and he even began a novel in 1879 which he never completed. He worked zealously at perfecting his literary skills and the sources for his inspiration were close at hand: the petty vulgarity of life in a small provincial town and the meddlesome incompetence and tyranny of school officialdom. Much of this material he was able to incorporate into a series of novels. His first novel, Bad Dreams (1894), depicts the life of a young provincial schoolteacher who experiences the same disparity between visions of a lyrical idealism and the nightmare of soul-destroying provincial life as did the youthful Sologub. During the three years he spent in Krestsy, Sologub began to submit the first specimens of his poetry to various publishers and he made a modest debut in print in 1884.

  During the years of vulgar existence in Krestsy and his subsequent provincial postings, Sologlub nurtured an almost escapist hope that literature would somehow deliver him from such a miserable existence which threatened to endure for the rest of his life. After three years in Krestsy he moved with his sister to Velikie Luki where he taught for four years. This represented little improvement over the coarse philistinism of his previous post. But Chebotarevskaya later claimed that the years in Velikie Luki provided the principal inspiration for the novel The Petty Demon. From all accounts, Sologub was a dedicated teacher and he had many altercations with the authorities on matters of curricula, pedagogical methodology and ethics. But tiring of the ceaseless conflicts there, he moved on to the Pedagogical Seminary in Vyterga. It was here that he became deeply interested in the French Symbolists and began to translate Verlaine.

  Bearing in mind his literary ambitions, Sologub always tried to keep abreast of the literary and artistic scene in the capital by subscribing to newspapers and journals. He was among those who were sensitive to the first echoes of the “new art” that
was poised to invade Russia from France and which had already begun to inspire the early prophets of Russian modernism, Merezhkovsky and Minsky. He made a special trip to St. Petersburg in 1889 to meet both Merezhkovsky and Minsky. On that occasion he did have a long conversation with Minsky on literary matters and Minsky invited Sologub to submit some verses for publication in The Northern Herald, the leading journal for modernism in those days.

  Sologub’s fondest dream now centered on moving to the capital in order to further his literary ambitions. In 1892 he received a teaching post in a St. Petersburg school and settled permanently in the city. Here he met frequently with Dmitri Merezhkovsky, Zinaida Hippius and Nikolai Minsky. Thanks to this connection he became a regular contributor to The Northern Herald. Both his first novel, Bad Dreams, and his first major story, “Shadows,” were printed in this journal. He also contributed poetry, articles and reviews. His literary pseudonym was conceived in the editorial offices of this same journal.

  Almost from the very beginning, Sologub seemed to be a curious phenomena in Russian Symbolism, for reasons other than his background, profession or appearance. While other modernists like Bely, Blok, Bryusov and Balmont were to trace meteoric trajectories across the heavens in their pursuit of everything from Aestheticism to Zoroastrianism, Fyodor Sologub seemed to remain the fixed star, introverted, isolated and immutable.

  His verse was not experimental in form, but tended to be almost “classical” in its technical clarity, restraint and immaculateness. The content of those same verses did not vary greatly over the succeeding years. Rather they were seemingly subjected to endless variations on the same themes: rejection of this vulgar world of time and space, escapism into artificial realms fashioned in the poet’s own fantasy and the desire to transform earthly existence. Such were the abiding leitmotifs of Sologub’s verse:

  From the worlds’ decrepit misery

  Where women wept and children babbled,

  Into the clouded distances I flew

  In the embrace of joyful fantasy.

  And from the wondrous height of soaring flight

  The earthly realm I did transform,

  And thus it gleamed as bright before me

  As darkly golden fabric spread.

  And when aroused from dreaming vision

  By life’s befouling touch,

  Back to the torments of my native land

  I bore the unfathomed mystery

  (1896)

  A heavy pall of gloom and the inescapable odor of death clung to most of Sologub’s verse. Death seemed the one noble consolation in a life often portrayed by Sologub as a vulgar and hideous, yet seductive wench, who lured man to the false charms of this world:

  Cherishing my somber thoughts

  Deep in waking, melancholy dream,

  I have no remorse for this dark life

  And I rent the transparent fabric,

  The fabric of youthful expectations

  And misty childlike reveries;

  Far removed from vain desires.

  Long prepared for death am I.

  Deep in melancholy dream, cherishing pain,

  I rent life’s web assundez,

  And know not how to conclude

  For what purpose and by what means I live.

  (1895)

  So overpowering was the scent of death and decay in Sologub’s verse, so complete the depressing aura of pessimism, that many years later, Maxim Gorky wrote what many critics took to be a most biting parody of Fyodor Sologub’s preoccupation with death. The hero of Gorky’s “Fairy Tale” was a certain Mister “Smertyashkin” (Mister Death) who makes his living at first by writing gloomy verses for obituaries and in memoria. However, his talent for somber verse is exploited by his wife and her enterprising paramour to make a sensation and a financial fortune on the literary scene. Subsequently, the term “Smertyashkiny” became synonymous in Russian literature with the “dealers-in-death,” namely those writers and poets who during the pre-revolutionary era seemed to trade on the general pessimism and gloom of society to make a living.8

  Sologub did not give up his teaching responsibilities as he began to move in the glittering circles of young aspiring poets, writers and artists in St. Petersburg through the later 1890’s. Particularly with the publication of his first book of verse in 1896, there seemed little doubt that Sologub had become heir to the French decadent tradition in Russia.

  In 1899 Sologub received a promotion as school-inspector for the Andreyevsky Civic School in the capital. Despite his acquaintanceship with the leading representatives of literary and aesthetic modernism in Russia, Sologub, withdrawn, and somehow ridiculous (after all, he was not only a decadent poet, but a teacher and a school-inspector as well!) never seemed to be entirely accepted by his literary colleagues who often made fun of him behind his back. His regular Sunday receptions, hosted by himself and his chronically-ill sister, Olga, were something of a contrast with those of other patron-practitioners of the arts:

  At the Merezhkovskys’ everyone spoke loudly, at Sologub’s in a hushed voice; at the Merezhkovskys’ people argued excitedly and even passionately about the church, at Sologub’s they deliberated over verses with the impartiality of masters and connoisseurs of the poetic craft. In the host’s study, where stood somber, somewhat cold, leather furniture, the poets sat decorously, obediently read their verses at the behest of the host and then humbly listened to the master’s judgments which were precise and stern, but almost always benevolent, yet at times cutting and merciless if the versifier had dared to come forth with frivolous and imperfect verses. This was the Areopagus of the Petersburg poets.9

  If the person of Sologub was ignored or belittled by many, then the name was certainly to be reckoned with increasingly after the turn of the century. His poems, in particular, appeared in all of the leading Symbolist journals of the era, including The Scales, The New Path, Questions of Life, World of Art and The Golden Fleece. Despite the pejorative epithets leveled at him by Gorky and others, Sologub was also a frequent contributor of works to the popular political and satirical feuilletons of the day (The Spectator, The Hammer, The Devil’s Post, etc.). In addition, he was always prepared to contribute appropriate works to miscellanies and anthologies in benefit of various charitable and humanitarian cause, in particular the struggle against antisemitism and the campaign for women’s rights. This meddling of a decadent poet and “pornographer” in political and social questions no doubt contributed to the general confusion surrounding Sologub.

  The year 1907 witnessed a turning-point in Sologub’s life for several reasons. He suffered a personal tragedy in the death of his sister to whom he had been very devoted. The same year, however, Sologub’s reputation reached its zenith with the complete publication of his novel, The Petty Demon, which met with almost universal acclaim in Russia. Like his earlier novel, Bad Dreams, The Petty Demon drew on Sologub’s pedagogical experiences in the provincial backwoods of Russia. In the “hero” of the novel, Peredonov, a rural teacher, Sologub incorporated all the vicious and petty vulgarity imaginable. Few characters in Russian fiction can even pretend to the ignoble and spiritual void represented by Peredonov who endowed Russian literature and social criticism with the term of “Peredonovshchina” (i.e., “Peredonovism”). In 1907, Sologub also completed twenty-five years of pedagogical service and retired, now able to devote himself entirely to literary activity thanks to a state pension and the critical acclaim accorded The Petty Demon. Rumors circulated to the effect, however, that his resignation was forced on him because of the apparent erotic motifs in the novel which included hints of the seduction of a young schoolboy by the beautiful and sensuous Lyudmila.

  About the same time, Sologub added to his laurels in prose and poetry by developing an interest in theater and drama, writing half-a-dozen or so popular plays during the inter-revolutionary period for the leading theaters and directors (including Meyerhold). In 1908, Sologub’s personal fortunes rose as well, for at the not-so-tender age o
f forty-five he became acquainted with and married the writer-critic, Anastasia Nikolaevna Chebotarevskaya. Young, vivacious, extremely eccentric, Chebotarevskaya took Sologub’s career in hand, actively aiding him with his literary work and doing her utmost to promote his literary fortunes. In fact, in 1911, she gathered together and edited a number of critical reviews and articles on Sologub’s work (mostly favorable!) and published it under her own name.

  With his marriage to Chebotarevskaya, Sologub’s formerly restrained and almost austere life-style altered, at least externally. At her insistence a larger apartment was rented, visitors now included not merely poets, but politicians, artists and entrepreneurs. Noisy parties and masquerades, at which Sologub, sad and perplexed, wandered about like a lost sheep, appeared to be his wife’s inspiration, Chebotarevskaya suffered from some psychological malady early on in their marriage and her condition deteriorated over the years. Thus, Sologub had to care for her, just as he earlier had cared for his invalid mother and his sick sister.

  In 1907, after the enormous success of his novel The Petty Demon, Sologub began the serialization of his greatest and most bizarre work, The Created Legend (1907–1913).10 During its serialization The Created Legend provoked the critics’ ire as few other novels ever did in the history of Russian literature. Initial perplexity gave way to general dismay and eventually ended in universal outrage. Many readers attacked Sologub for turning his back on the earlier brilliant portrayal of Peredonovism to indulge himself in his own willful fantasies: “[Russian social thought] … has lost a great master who, after Gogol, represents the most remarkable portrayer of that entire astounding slime of triviality of which Russian life is composed.”11 Gorky was in a perfect frenzy over Sologub’s novel. Struggling for social conscience in literature, Gorky felt that writers like Sologub were anathema to the moral dignity and political future of society in Russia. He promptly cut off his affiliations with the journal that began the serialization of the novel, calling it “indecent”. His letters were filled with expressions of disgust over the content of Sologub’s work and he was particularly horrified at what he was later to call, in his address at the 1934 Congress of Writers, the presence of “eros in politics”. This deviation was best exemplified in Sologub. Several letters to Lunacharsky in December of 1907 highlight his reactions and explain some of the origins for the animosity between Sologub and Gorky: