The William Roberts Society

John David Roberts (ed.):

from

Selected Tales of Ivan Bizárrov

© The Estate of John David Roberts. Reproduced with the permission of the William Roberts Society.

Prologue by John David Roberts | The Sensitive Ghost

PROLOGUE

Ivan Vassilievitch Bizárrov was born about the turn of the century in the little town of Stary Novgorod, in the heart of Kazan province. He came of modest stock, his father being a veterinary surgeon, combining this occupation with a minor Government post. He finished his studies in Kazan University, and we first hear of him in St Petersburg as a member of the group, chiefly of the Liberal Centre, which surrounded Suvorin and his periodicals, and included such names as Rozanov, Ossiepsky, and Nemirovitch-Danchenko. Like Rozanov, he took part in the stirring events leading up to the Soviet regime; and like Rozanov he decided that his role was that of the observer, critic and historian, rather than of the man of action.

In the short-lived wave of idealism that followed 1917, Bizárrov was invited to contribute in his own special way to the solution of the problems that beset the new government on every side. But disillusionment soon set in; Bizárrov was not the man for the compromises and half measures so necessary a constituent of the real world. He retired to earn a modest living by teaching and occasional periodical writing, there having been struck between himself and the Government a gentleman's agreement that neither of them would molest the other.

His first book of tales, The Vastness of Russia, however, brought him recognition and a small stipend from the Government, both very necessary. So skilfully written that you could not determine whether they were set in the present or the past, or in a wholly imaginary region, they dealt with the day to day problems of the lower middle classes, containing little of his later fantasy.

Succeeding books of tales, more rarefied in approach, only confirmed his fame. The distinguished critic, Semeon Petrovitch Gagabin, has written: 'Bizárrov is essentially of our age; no other time could have produced him, no other time has needed him so much' (New Essays, p. 73).

The sequence of tales was interrupted only by two volumes of philosophical sketches and essays; and finally, the three volumes of the Bohemian Nights' Entertainments called forth Gagabin's matured opinion that 'in the representation of Bohemia, Bizárrov is without equal' (New Essays, p. 116).

Latterly, Bizárrov has retreated to a village near his birthplace in Kazan (now an Autonomous People's Republic), and there, living on a simple diet of buttermilk and horsebeans, he is hard at work on a great book which will, he hopes, astonish the critics'. He hopes, by this diet and steady work, to pass his century.

The distribution of the following tales among the different volumes may be of interest. I should mention that I have not scrupled on occasion to change the localities of certain stories, where I have thought it would make them more comprehensible to English readers. I have omitted entirely those in the Vastness of Russia, as requiring too particular a knowledge of the Russia of the transition period. From Beards, not all of which are in fact about beards, I have chosen six tales; from the Tales of Fat Vladimir, fifteen; from Mad about Music, eight tales. The remainder are from the Bohemian Nights' Entertainments. Bizárrov has claimed that after the publication of the second-named volume above, there was never a beard to be seen in Moscow, for years.' How true this is I am unable to say.

Space prevents any aphorisms from the two volumes entitled Meditations on the Hammer of Nietzsche, a reference to this writer's description, as 'The Philosopher with the Hammer'. I am preparing a complete translation of these, shortly to be published by the Avemon Press.

I have followed the text of the complete works, 11 vols., Riga, 1963–77. Odd volumes of these, in a distinctive mottled binding, were at one time frequently to be seen on the booksellers' shelves; with the growth of the knowledge of Russian as a literary language, they have tended to disappear. Copies of the complete set are rare, owing to the absurd customs regulations of the Latvian government.

Of other Russian tale writers, Bizárrov most resembles, I think, Leskov. However, to quote once more the distinguished critic S. P. Gagabin: 'The fantasy of Bizárrov is peculiarly his own, and ours also. It is not the fantasy of the French, which is a fairy-tale; nor of the Germans, which is a parade of learning; nor of the English, which is a succession of good meals; nor of the Americans, which is a mass of machinery; nor of the Spaniards, which is the adventure of a rogue. No; the more closely we examine the origins of his fantasy, the more closely do we approach to the foundations of real life. In this, Bizárrov is typically and happily Russian, Slav of the Slavs' (Further Essays, p. 217).

In conclusion, I hope that if it has no other merit, this selection of the tales of Ivan Bizárrov will have that of introducing him to wider readers.

J. D. R.

THE SENSITIVE GHOST

As Nicholas Pennycups was returning home, he heard behind him a slight titter. Being used to such manifestations of human stupidity, he paid no attention until the titter became a suppressed gurgle and finally an open guffaw.

. . . There was no one behind him. Alarmed, he ran back. The laughter, still behind him, passed through the whole gamut of mirth, and having reached the limits of risibility, began again as a slight titter.

Nicholas was a poet of promise, and also of a certain amount of will power. He withstood the mirthful manifestations for a week, and then consulted a psychiatrist. The eminent man, having heard the symptoms, looked puzzled. He thumbed his way slowly through an impressive volume, and looked more puzzled. Finally he placed the tips of his fingers together, tilted back his chair, and pierced Pennycups with one of his celebrated glances.

– Demons. We must use strong measures. I suggest you have a hair-cut.

Nicholas was back next day with the encouraging news that, following his hair-cut, the laughter had indeed diminished, as if disheartened.

– We are on the right track. Next, I prescribe a pin-stripe suit, new shoes, and a steady job. I have a friend who is a bank manager.

Nicholas was horrified. His tresses he could spare, but what, in a steady job, would become of his epic poem 'The Russians at Byzantium', his Odes, his long studies of Coventry Patmore, of Abraham Cowley, of James Elroy Flecker?

– Very well, you can tolerate the laughter.

Finally Nicholas saw reason, and took the proffered job.

The prescriptions of the psychiatrist were completely successful. Within a fortnight of starting work at the bank, the laughter had dwindled to a feeble and unconvincing gurgle. In another fortnight it had completely disappeared.

In another fortnight Nicholas was back at the psychiatrist's. He was tormented by the sound of weeping.

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