1937
9th February
To Nikolai Bulgakov
Dear Kolya!
[…] Fischer Verlag* have written to say they’ve broken with Kagansky, and that the Ladyzhnikov Publishing House is planning to start legal proceedings against Kagansky because of Zoyka’s Apartment. However, he is still behaving as if he is a representative of Fischer-Ladyzhnikov.
I’m hurrying to finish this letter so I can send it off. I’m continuing to look in the archives and will send the next letter to you very soon.
I think the most important point is that, as a result of an oversight in my letter to Ladyzhnikov of 8th October 1928, there’s no mention of any termination date. It seems absolutely clear to me that it’s null and void. (Otherwise what would we be left with? A never-ending binding obligation?) But if this fact is not acknowledged in Paris and if the battle for my full rights does not meet with success, we must at the very least make sure that that part of my royalties which is recognized as being irrefutably mine should not be sent to Berlin (to Fischer). Please tell the Société that I cannot do business with the people in Berlin, as they are not sending me any money. In other words, my royalties will disappear altogether. The fight with Kagansky must be to the death: it’s monstrous to think that a notorious scoundrel like this can get hold of literary royalties. If the worst comes to the worst and he nonetheless succeeds in passing himself off as a “representative”, we need to do everything possible to ensure he doesn’t get his hands on at least that part of the royalties which is clearly mine.
I understand how difficult and how confusing everything is! But it’s all so difficult for me too! Kisses.
11th February
To Nikolai Bulgakov
Dear Kolya!
I don’t possess, and have never possessed, any contract in French between M.P. Reinhardt and myself. On 5th July 1933 she sent me a letter in French, which I am enclosing with this letter, and to which I replied with two letters of my own, copies of which I am also enclosing. In addition I am enclosing Fischer’s letter to me of 20th October 1933, in which they say the following: “Ferner haben wir zur Kenntnis genommen, dass Ihr Herr Bruder für Ihr Stück Zoykas Wohnung Vollmacht besitzt”, meaning: “In addition, we have been made aware that your brother possesses the rights to your play Zoyka’s Apartment.” It’s clear from this that I had told Fischer I had given you the rights relating to the play. And this is what I had said:
“I am writing to inform you that all rights relating to the staging and protection of my play Zoyka’s Apartment outside the borders of the USSR, together with the receipt of all royalties for this play, have been granted in full under power of attorney to my brother Nikolai Afanasyevich Bulgakov, residing at 11 Rue Jobbé Duval, Paris, XVe, a member of the French Society of Playwrights and Composers. M. Docteur M. Boulgakow. You will need to address all questions relating to the staging of Zoyka’s Apartment abroad to N.A. Bulgakov.” (My letter of 6th October 1933, paragraph 2.)
I ought to add that, in a later letter to me of 21st February 1934, the Fischer company told me that they had understood my declaration as meaning you had been granted the rights to a share of the proceeds deriving from the performances. As far as I can remember, I didn’t reply to this.
That’s all I can say for the moment.
Yours,
M. Bulgakov
13th February
To B.V. Asafyev*
Dear Boris Vladimirovich!
A young composer called Petunin* has approached me saying he would like to compose an opera about Peter the Great,* for which he would like me to write the libretto.
I replied that I had had such an idea in my head for a long time, and that I intended to write one. But at the same time I said that this theme had been one of your ideas as well, and that if you wanted to compose an opera about Peter I would write the libretto for you.
And so would you like to do Peter, or do you want to focus on something else, something which you and I can think about doing?
If you don’t want to do Peter I shall tell Petunin that he will be free to write the opera if he wishes, and since I will, I imagine, be writing the libretto in any case (if the Bolshoi accept the subject), he should start negotiating with the Bolshoi and see how it goes, particularly since he’s pinning all his hopes on this opera.
Please write and let me know as soon as possible.
Greetings to your wife and yourself.
M. Bulgakov
22nd March
To P.M. Kerzhentsev*
To the Chairman of the All-Union Committee on Cultural Matters of the USSR Council of Peoples’ Commissars Platon Mikhailovich Kerzhentsev.
From Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov, playwright and consultant librettist, Bolshoi Theatre.
I am writing to you to complain about certain actions that the Kharkov Theatre of Russian Drama (director: Ya. Teatralov) have taken concerning me.
On 18th November 1936 I concluded an agreement with said Theatre for the staging of the play Alexander Pushkin written by me* in conjunction with V.V. Veresayev.
Today I received a summons from the Theatre to appear at the Moscow City Court with the aim of recovering the sum of 3,038 roubles from V.V. Veresayev and myself, which had been paid to the authors according to the agreement.
According to the Theatre’s written statement, the basis for the action was that “M.A. Bulgakov offered his play Alexander Pushkin to the Theatre without first obtaining permission to stage the play from the State Repertory Committee, and that he thereby misled the Theatre of Russian Drama, causing the theatre a loss of 3,038 roubles”.
I wish to let it be known that, as is evident from the agreement, I never undertook to offer the Theatre a play for which permission had already been granted, and that I, in accordance with the law, have the right to recover money from the Theatre for not staging the play, rather than the Theatre seeking to recover any sum from me. I strongly refute therefore the defamatory claim that I “misled the Theatre”, for I have never misled any theatre in my life.
More generally, from my perspective, my position is becoming more and more difficult. I am not referring to the fact that I am not able to put onto the Russian stage a single one of the plays that I have written over the last few years; I have become totally reconciled to that. But now, as if to reward me in some way for my labours as a playwright, including my play about Pushkin, I have not only been forced to defend myself against baseless attempts to demand money from me (the case I have described here is not the first), but have also been subjected to defamation of my literary name.
This is the basis of the complaint I am addressing to you.
M. Bulgakov
22nd March 1937
24th March
To Pavel Popov
I haven’t written to you before this because we are so frantically busy the whole time, rushing about in the most trying and unpleasant circumstances. Many people told me that the signs were that 1936 was not good for me, as it was a leap year. But the signs were wrong: I can now see that, in so far as I am concerned, 1937 is no better than its predecessor.
Amongst other things, I have to go to court on 2nd April – smart operators from the Kharkov Theatre are attempting to force some money out of me, taking advantage of the unhappy fate of Pushkin. I can’t hear the name Pushkin now without shuddering, and I constantly curse myself for conceiving the ill-fated idea of writing a play about him.
Some well-meaning people have chosen a rather strange means of attempting to console me. More than once I’ve heard suspiciously unctuous voices saying, “Don’t worry – everything will be published after your death!” I am of course very grateful to them!
I would like there to be an entr’acte. Yelena Sergeyevna and I invite Anna Ilinichna and you to come and have tea with us on the 28th at ten o’clock in the evening. Drop me a line or give me a ring and let us know whether you can come.
Greetings, kisses!
Yours,
M. Bulgakov
18th June
To S.A. Yermolinsky
Dear Seryozha!
[…] This is how things are with us: Sergei is at his music teacher’s dacha in Lionozovo* with Yekaterina Ivanovna. He’s already gashed his leg on a nail, hurt his eye fencing and cut his hand with a pen-knife. To my great joy, he lost his knife after that happened, and I hope he won’t be allowed to slink off to the pond again any more.
We’re sitting here in Moscow, settled once and for all like flies in jam, and without hope. I no longer have any hope of travelling anywhere, unless there is some sort of miracle. But, as every grown-up person will understand, there won’t be a miracle.
So I take advantage of every opportunity to get to the River Moscow, where I can do some rowing and swimming… Otherwise, everything will come to a sticky end: life is impossible without being able to rest.
I have a pile of material relating to Peter the Great on my desk – I’m beginning work on the libretto. I know for certain that, in any event, nothing will come of it, and that it won’t survive, just as Minin and The Black Sea have not survived,* but I cannot refrain from writing. In any case, I will always be aware that I have always done my duty with regard to the Bolshoi Theatre to the very best of my ability, and it’s up to them to decide what to do when I stop being interested not only in the libretto, but in anything else.
What else is there to report? Well, all kinds of life’s boring and stupid problems of course.
Kuza came round with an absurd proposal to adapt Nana or Bel-Ami for the stage.*
I was tempted at first, but came to my senses after I’d reread the novels. Really! Just to be able to go to the seaside somewhere for two weeks and burden oneself with a mass of difficult backbreaking work which will come to nothing in the end! No, that is too high a price to pay!
Lyusya and I sit up until daybreak, always talking about the same topic: the end of my literary life. We’ve considered every possible way out, and there are no means of salvation left.
It’s impossible to undertake anything – it’s all totally hopeless.
So there’s a cheerful letter for you!
I wish you success in your work, and I hope Marika will fully recover very soon.
Come and see us, and don’t forget that there are people in Nashchokinsky who love you.
I embrace you in friendship – twice, once from me and once from Lyusya. Please kiss Marika twice for me and write, if you are able to find the time.
Yours,
Mikhail
17th July
To Ya.L. Leontiev
Zhitomir, Bogunya, Tarasevich’s dacha*
Dear friends,
It’s so lovely here! Here I am, enjoying the sun, the little river, the acacias, the lime trees, the sweet-smelling air, and basking in the hope that I can recover from my exhaustion. Lyusya and I send you tender kisses, and we’ll write a detailed letter too.
Yours,
M. Bulgakov
16th August
To the Board of the Playwrights’ Section of the Union of Soviet Writers
Dear comrades!
I returned to Moscow to find a letter of 29/7/37 from the Board of the Playwrights’ Section waiting for me. In this letter the Board asks me how my work on a play to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the October Revolution is progressing.
To my great regret I have to inform the Board that I have not been writing plays for the theatre for more than a year now.
The reason for this is as follows: at the beginning of 1936 all the theatres suddenly withdrew all the plays that I had written during the last few years. After a number of performances the Moscow Arts Theatre took off my Molière; the Moscow Theatre of Satire withdrew my comedy Ivan Vasilyevich* after the first dress rehearsal; and the Vakhtangov Theatre stopped the work that was just beginning on my play Alexander Pushkin.
The removal of these plays of different genres from the repertoire was accompanied by the appearance of articles in the press, the character of which indicated to me with absolute clarity that any further attempt on my part to write plays or to offer them to theatres would be totally pointless.
I have been forced to switch to other work and to become an opera librettist. At present I am completing a libretto for the opera Peter the Great.
The Bureau asks me whether I need any help from them. In reply I will tell them that I do need it. The Board would help me in my literary work if they
(1) (immediately) supported me in my hitherto unsuccessful and repeated requests to be offered an apartment on Lavrushinsky Alley, an apartment that is more spacious than my present one at No. 3 Furmanov Street, for in the latter I am quite unable to engage in literary work because of the cramped circumstances, and
(2) supported me as a matter of urgency in my request to the Directorate of Authors’ Rights to release an advance of three thousand roubles on my author’s royalties. The fact that my plays have been taken off the stage as described above has made my material circumstances extraordinarily more complicated and has therefore proved to be a hindrance to my work.
With comradely greetings
M. Bulgakov
2nd October
To B.V. Asafyev
Please forgive this typed letter, dear Boris Viktorovich. I have a cold, and I’m just lying here, dictating.
I haven’t written to you before now because, until very recently, I didn’t actually know what would happen to my Peter. And then, suddenly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a whole mass of urgent work which has taken up all my time recently.
I’ll begin with the end: my Peter is now no more – that is to say, it’s lying here in front of me revised and rewritten, but there’s hardly any sense left in it, as they say.
And now, in the right order: when I had completed the libretto I submitted one copy to the Bolshoi and, to speed matters up, I sent another copy to Kerzhentsev. Kerzhentsev then sent me a critical ten-point analysis of my work. The main thing to say about these ten points is that they would be extraordinarily difficult to carry out, and that, in any case, they would mean I would have to start the whole thing from the beginning again, burying my head in the historical material.
Without any further ado, Kerzhentsev says in his letter that much more work needs to be done and that what I had done so far was simply a “first approximation to the topic”.
So now I find myself at a crossroads. Should I redo it, not redo it, start on something else or abandon it altogether? I will probably be forced to redo it out of necessity, but I cannot guarantee at all whether I will be successful.
Pashayev* has read through the libretto, and I agree with much of what he says: there are faults of a purely operatic nature. But, I would suggest, they can be corrected. So we are left only with the points in Kerzhentsev’s letter.
Now with regard to the composer. The Theatre has told me that I must submit the libretto, and that the question of the choice of a composer is a matter for the Committee and the Theatre. I said as forcefully as I could just how desirable it would be if you could be the composer. I couldn’t do any more. But this of course will be a matter that will be decided by the Committee.
It seems to me that, once the libretto has been completed and accepted, you should approach the Committee yourself. And I would of course be genuinely happy if this were to result in success!
I’m now sitting here looking for a solution to this, and I don’t seem to have one. It’s not simply a question of trying to decide about Peter. In the course of the last seven years I have produced sixteen pieces in various different genres and they have all bitten the dust. Such a situation is impossible, and our household is sunk in gloom and despair.
Irrespective of Peter, I would be very pleased to get a letter from you. Yelena Sergeyevna and I send our greetings to Irina Stepanovna.*
Yours,
M. Bulgakov
18th December
To B.V. Asafyev
Dear Boris Vladimirovich!
I have received your letter of the 15th; I found it astonishing. Your idea that people have suggested to me that I should not have any dealings with you has no foundation whatever. Nobody has made any such suggestion to me, and if anyone were to take it into their head to do so, then I’m hardly the sort of person who would obey! But, in any case, I was convinced you knew me well enough to know I’m not like other people. Shame on you!
Now I have some important news for you concerning Minin. On 14th December I was invited to a meeting with Kerzhentsev, who told me that he had given his progress report on Minin, and there and then asked me, as a matter of urgency, to start work on amendments to the libretto, which he insisted needed to be done. […]
So what do I do about it? I immediately start work on the amendments and, at the same time, try to get Kerzhentsev to listen to the latest version on the piano. […]
I don’t know what the future has in store for Minin, but at this moment I have the clear impression that it has been restored to life. In the light of past events, I suppose I can understand the reaction of the All-Union Committee towards the staging. Of course I know you didn’t write Minin when you were asleep, any more than I wrote the libretto when I was asleep, but for its part the Committee considers that work on the opera is proceeding. The opera is being put on as a major work; and since, in the Committee’s opinion, it can proceed, not in its original form, but with the necessary amendments which I have referred to above, then it’s quite natural that they aren’t giving the go-ahead for the staging and that they’re replying that it’s “not yet confirmed” and is “in the process of being written” and so on.
So that’s the main thing I wanted to say, and I’m now in a hurry to send the letter off (the haste explains why I’m dictating it – my apologies). Have you got my telegram, which I sent yesterday?
I will of course keep you informed about any future events, but I would ask you please to write to me immediately should you have any questions about what I have written here. Greetings to your wife.
Yours,
M. Bulgakov