For Us, Descendants
Quotes from Anatoly Mariengof's book
Hello,
This post is written for the Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) Symposium. This month’s theme is “Perspective”, and I couldn’t think of a better representation of this theme than by sharing with you another person’s perspective.
So, I decided to take a page from
‘s book (soon, hopefully, quite literally!) and translate one of the buried Russian gems. This time, I chose something from the relatively unknown in the West poet and writer Anatoly Mariengof. Specifically, from his memoir-like book "For You, Descendants!". This is not a “No Oblivion” per se, because I am not reviewing it, merely translating passages that resonated. But anything of his, especially the novel “Cynics”, is worthy of reading. The latter describes a piercing and tragic love story during the first years of the Soviet state. Joseph Brodsky called it the best novel written in Russian."For You, Descendants!" is a book of memoirs styled as short diary entries with the author’s daily occurences, observations, and thoughts. In our time, it would have probably been Mariengof’s twitter. Hopefully, unlike twitter, it will live forever as a historical and cultural treasure. The book was written in the 50s and 60s but was published in Russian only in 1994, for reasons that would be clear if you read on.
Anatoly Mariengof, For You, Descendants!
We were walking through the Moscow Zoo. On the iron cages for not-so-noble animals, metal plaques sometimes read: "Adapts well to captivity."
That is true of us as well.
General Ridgeway, the head of the American General Staff, recounts: There was a meeting before a major operation; a general, bending over a map, said, "I would give ten thousand men for this height."
The room fell silent. Then from the back, a calm voice said, "A generous bastard."
Stalin was a generous bastard too. I think—probably the most generous among those remembered by history.
Leo Tolstoy in 1850 (diary entry), set himself three goals to "put his affairs in order":
Enter the circle of gamblers and play when money was involved.
Enter high society and marry under certain conditions.
Find a profitable place for service.
Aristotle said, "slaves and other animals." As if he were speaking about us. That’s exactly right—trained animals.
At the Tairovs'1 dinner table, a conversation about democracy began, about our understanding of the word and the American one. Sarcastically scratching his red sideburns, Karl Radek2 said, "Of course, we can have two parties too—one in power, the other in jail."
And the dining room fell silent. No one wanted to talk about democracy anymore.
Petrarch, as is well known, serenaded Laura for twenty-one years. And all that time, she kept bearing children for her husband—some guy from Avignon. Eleven in total. A simple, understandable situation for us. After all, Petrarch was our brother from the poets’ guild. He needed a theme, not a woman.
In the twenties in Moscow, one could ask again, "Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia?3"
And one would answer, "Maxim Gorky4 in Sorrento."
A prominent 17th-century physician, Sydenham, claimed that a clown's arrival in town did more for the residents' health than a dozen mules loaded with medicines.
I decided to buy myself a cane. I enter the store, ask, "Please show me that one."
The clerk extends it. I try it, lean on it.
"Too short! Please, a longer one."
"All canes, citizen, are standard."
"What are you talking about! But God makes people non-standard."
Adjusting his glasses on his nose, the clerk asks me with stern irony, "Does your God work better than the Soviet state?"
I bravely reply, "A little bit."
Under Stalin, after such an answer, the clerk would have already called the GPU5, and at night, a "black raven"6 would have come for me. My descendant will probably say: "Unbelievable! Impossible!" Believe me, dear descendant, under Stalin, I would never have been so brave in a store.
Yesenin7 said, "Don't worry, Tolya, everything will sort itself out." Life passed, and nothing sorted itself out.8
Stalin knew not only Machiavelli but also Aristotle very well. Here's what the ancient Greek wrote about measures "to preserve tyranny":
"It is necessary — to oppress those who rise above the common level, to displace thinking people... strict surveillance over everything that excites enterprise and mutual trust among the citizens, prohibition of all societies where thoughts might be exchanged; on the contrary, permission of everything that leads to the greatest possible disunity of the citizens... Not to remain ignorant of what the subjects say or do, but to have spies... to sow discord and instill enmity among the citizens... to set friends against each other... and so that the subjects, busy with daily work, have no discussions."
What did Stalin miss from this? Nothing. He used it all. Remarkable!
A girl, about twelve years old, came to the city to visit her mother. She really liked it: lanterns, buses, shop windows, cinema... After two weeks, the mother sent the girl back — "to keep the house safe". She returned and, a few days later, burned down the entire village — so there would be nothing to keep and to live in the city.
Not a joke. They're transporting a corpse; a passerby asks, "How did he die? Cancer?"
"No."
"Heart attack?"
"No."
"Tuberculosis?"
"No, from the flu."
The passerby waves his hand, "Ah! That's nothing, then!"
"What a crude, immoral, vulgar, and meaningless piece of work—'Hamlet'."
That was Tolstoy's opinion of 'Hamlet'! My 'Hamlet'! The 'Hamlet' I consider the pinnacle of world dramatic art. Well?.. And who is right—me or Tolstoy? Worst of all, he wasn't posturing, he wasn't being shocking; he really thought so.
Finally, under Monomakh9, the Russians threw a stone idol into the Dnieper. Then, realizing their mistake, they began to shout, "Float up, Perun10! Float up!.."
Thank God, Perun did not float. The same with Stalin. However, he might still resurface in history. But as what kind of monster of bloody despotism!
He graduated from four different universities. And... for two hours, I was bored to death talking to him. And in my head, a phrase from Chekhov spun, "University develops all talents, including stupidity."
Viktor Shklovsky was a noble man, though not overly courageous. Revolutionary blood ran in his veins. Yet for some reason, Stalin didn't imprison him. In the late thirties, this surprised both the unimprisoned himself and his friends. With his eyes already round, the subdued formalist whispered: "I feel like a live sable in a fur shop in our country."
In that era, rightly named the Stalin era, death for the immortals was quite standard: in prison (like Babel11), en route to (like Mandelstam12), in a cellar with a hole in the back of the head (like Meyerhold13) or in an insane asylum (like Belyi14).
End of translation. Thanks for reading!
This newsletter may feel like a downer, but I find consolation in the fact that the Stalin era has ended and the book was written, and then published, and then read. Perun might bop his head out of the water again a couple of times, but no matter what happens, he will be taken downstream and eventually meet his end in the waterfall that is us.
This newsletter was written for the Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) Symposium. The STSC is a small, exclusive online speakeasy where a dauntless band of raconteurs, writers, artists, philosophers, flaneurs, musicians, idlers, and bohemians share ideas and companionship. Each month, STSC members share something around a set theme. This cycle, the theme was “Perspective”.
If you are a writer, you might consider joining us.
Best,
K.
Alexander Tairov was a renown theater director in Russian Empire and Soviet Union
A revolutionary and writer, an International leader after the Russian Revolution.
An epic unfinished poem by Nikolai Nekrasov, 1876–1877
A prominent Soviet writer.
State Political Directorate, the secret police in the early days of the USSR
A nickname for the prisoner transfer cars used by GPU, KGB, and now FSB
Sergei Yesenin, a prominent Russian and Soviet poet, one for Mariengof’s closest friends
Yesenin shot himself in 1925, aged 30.
A Russian Czar, one of the early adopters of Christianity
A Slavic god of thunder
A writer, died in 1940, aged 45 years
A poet, died in 1938, aged 47 years
A theater director, died in 1940, aged 66 years
A writer, died in 1934, aged 53 years
Thanks for this post, put a smile on my face.
Could choose any of the quotes to illustrate our day and age, like nothing has essentially changed in the world.
" In the twenties in Moscow, one could ask again, "Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia?"
And one would answer, "Maxim Gorky in Sorrento." "
A winning formula, minus being Gorky (what a bastard).
Tolstoy didn't live long enough to read Pasternak's Hamlet.