Бележки

The paths by which a writer penetrates beyond the borders of his homeland are very different and complex. Having followed their winding paths, the artist often receives new dimensions from different eras and among different peoples, is "discovered by those who are not even aware of them in their time. There is something very characteristic of the fate of a writer in the way in which he is assimilated outside his homeland. Sometimes, having vividly expressed the trends of his time, having created a unique style and handwriting, the artist powerfully conquers the minds of his era, his work becomes a banner, a slogan, a platform, and often in the end - because the last stage of the rapid assimilation of a unique talent is almost always epigonism - and a literary fashion. Such is the fate of some great artists of the Western European classics of the last century (Byron, Schiller). There are also writers who remain almost undiscovered by their contemporaries, in order to measure their value from other eras or among other peoples. Such is the fate of Stenda Often literary fashion opens a green light for some unhealthy literary trends. The fame of such literary ephemera, the most characteristic example of which in our country is perhaps Przybyszewski, only testifies to the aesthetic level of famous circles during the era.

The editorial office received a letter from Dr. Penyo Rusev, which says: I would like to draw your attention to the following: 1. While examining the story "Andreshko", on page 51 (vol. 5, 1960 of the magazine "Literary Thought") M. Dragostinova writes that in my book "The Creativity of Elin Elin up to the Balkan War" a methodology was manifested that seeks to closely link the image with some real prototype; that in my opinion the spontaneous rebel Andreshko is a member of the Agricultural Union" and that by studying and observing the life and activities of this organization, Elin Pelin discovered his hero precisely in its ranks". By forcing and attributing all this to me, M. Dragostinova concludes: "Such an automatic application of historical facts will lead us to a completely empirical approach to literary phenomena". The statements attributed to me by M. Dragostinova are not in my book. On the contrary, in it I write: "The question of whether Andreshko belongs to the farmers or the socialists must be relegated to the circle of fortune-telling" (pp. 114-115). Moreover, I claim that "it is irrelevant" whether we attribute Andreshko to the farmers or the socialists of that time.

"Radyanske literaturoznavstvo" ("Soviet Literary Studies") is a bimonthly magazine, an organ of the T. G. Shevchenko Institute of Literature at the Academy of Sciences of the Ukrainian SSR and the Union of Ukrainian Writers. "Radyanske literaturoznavstvo" has been published since 1957. It is the peer of "Literary Thought". In nearly five years, the magazine has gained wide popularity, becoming a necessity for literary critics, teachers, students, and everyone interested in issues of literary studies. The magazine has attracted a large number of contributors from all over the country. Along with writers from Kiev, it also publishes lecturers from universities and pedagogical institutes in Lviv, Kharkov, Odessa, Kherson, Dnepropetrovsk, etc., teachers working in 130 different cities and villages of the republic, and contributors from abroad. On the pages of the magazine we find the names of prominent Ukrainian literary scholars, and alongside them the names of young, novice literary critics and historians. We will focus here on one anniversary of the magazine - the fourth, published in 1960. But since limiting ourselves to just one anniversary does not allow us to draw any conclusions about the nature of the magazine and the general directions of its development, we will refer to places and articles published in other anniversaries. At the same time, a more detailed examination of one of the anniversaries allows us to make the review more specific.

It is customary to say that the main questions that we should address when examining our contemporary literature are whether the writer is firmly connected to life, whether he stands on sincere party positions, whether he reflects in his work the problems and characters characteristic of our era, whether he transforms into an exciting work of art those incredible changes that have taken place in socio-political life, in the psychology of the people, in the landscape of the country. These should really be not only the main questions, but also the starting points in all discussions of our contemporary literature. But the more books are published, the more names of young poets, fiction writers or playwrights appear on the literary horizon, the more it becomes customary to raise alarming cries that the writer stands far behind life, that he is moving aside from the general victorious course of our communist times. We have a considerable annual production - an average of fifty books of short stories, novels, essays. Among them we will meet convincing works and inept attempts, works written with a sure pen and literary blunders, which in most cases delight with their unfeigned sincerity, inner excitement and noble ambition, rather than with their literary qualities. We will also meet with the incarnations of the scheme, with soulless and artisanal written books, with tedious repetitions that bring nothing new to our literature. But what we can safely say is that all these books recreate plots drawn from the time in which we live, they concern the problems of socialist man, the struggles of our people for the construction of the new society. Another question is what artistic power, internal scale, aesthetic suggestion these books possess. If we want to get to know this "united and multifaceted" world, about which we so often speak, we will not find it in just one author, nor in just one book. On the contrary, we will establish that in the problematics of our contemporary prose there are many gaps, many more and different aspects of life have not found artistic reflection in our literature. First of all, we will mention that there are no books about the life and way of life of people from socialist structures. We will constantly have to talk about these gaps, to direct our writer to the key themes of the time, to demand a full and deep artistic transformation of reality in literature.

There are three masters of the short story in our literature: Vazov, Elin Pelin and Yovkov. How do they write? How are they made? "Is it possible?" and "All Souls' Day", "A Bulgarian Woman" and "Shibil", "Andreshko" and "Midnight Guest"? It is a banal truth to say that the question is very interesting and that it has a bearing on all aspects of a writer's work, not least of which is style. Practically, what is more interesting is that it is preceded by another question: where to begin to unravel the figurative fabric of a story in order to see how it is "made". Undoubtedly, a work of art is an organic whole - wherever you start, you will reach everything, you will encompass the whole. But each genre has its own specific structure, and when you take it into account, the work is made much easier. Alexei Tolstoy says that architecturally the short story should be built on the fifth and "but" (..., but...). And indeed, in Vazov - grandfather Yotso goes blind, but the liberation of Bulgaria gives him a second set of eyes; in Elin Pelin - the bailiff is preparing to rake the barn of the poor man Stoichko, but Andreshko plays the judge and saves his life; in Yovkov - Sali Yashar wants to do something, but he understands that "the cars he makes, do something". The formula is not only witty: it hits the heart of the short story as a genre - its structure, its plot-composition scheme. The short story takes the incident - the character - the problem at the moment when the incident occurs, the character changes, the problem is resolved - at the turning point, when one thing turns into another. Alexei Tolstoy's comma and the note express precisely this "contrapuntal" structure of the story. That is why the short story is eventful and when it is only psychology, epic and without a particular plot, it is conflictual, without being a drama: it gives the setting, illuminates the intersection, reveals the change. That is why, perhaps, in no other literary genre does the question - how the work is constructed - acquire such specific importance.

How does Vazov - this master painter of the visible world - paint what is invisible? How does he convey the soul movements of the characters and the atmosphere of the event, in other words - the lyrical-psychological filling of the story, in comparison with the other two narrators and especially with Elin Pelin? - In principle, in the same way: as a witness and observer. When the "soul" of the character, of the event or of the landscape needs to be revealed, the author takes the floor to describe and explain it. Naturally, before the author, the characters themselves do this, insofar as they are characterized by their actions and lines: Vazov is the master of lines and dialogue and would remain untouchable if Elin Pelin were not his equal rival in this respect. Both of them master the characterological possibilities of lines to perfection. But not all mental movements can receive adequate expression in the replica, not to mention the ideological-emotional, spiritual filling and meaning of the situations, actions, the moment, especially in the short story with its strictly defined possibilities. What and how much can characters like grandfather Yotso or grandmother Iliytsa, or Stancho and Stoilka, or Lisichkata say about themselves, even when they are Elin Pelinovi villagers? As for nature, objects and animals, they are silent at all. The author must help them. The question here is – how?

The interest in the issues of Bulgarian-Serbian and Bulgarian-Croatian literary, cultural and ideological-political relations in the past is conditioned primarily by the rich content of these relations, by their scientific significance. Not only neighboring, but also with a relatively equal political fate, Bulgarians, Serbs and Croats followed very similar directions and traditions in their spiritual development for nearly a century. Even in the conditions of their political slavery they managed to use each other's experience and achievements in the field of culture to create original artistic values. The informed reader knows how characteristic in this respect is the literary activity of writers such as Konstantin Ognjanović, Petko Slavejkov, Ljuben Karavelov and Hristo Botev, Jovan Raič, Dositej Obradović, Vuk Karadžić, Jovan Sterija Popović, Ivan Kukuljević-Sakčinski, Petar Preradović, August Harambašić and others, whose works penetrated all South Slavic countries, accelerating the process of the formation and development of South Slavic literatures.

If we look at the stories published in the literary press over the past few years, what is striking is the fact that young authors are less and less satisfied with bare declarations, with the noisy and placard expression of ideas, that the tendency to call things by their real names, to bring the writer closer to reality, is becoming more and more necessary. Approaching life is no longer a slogan, but a starting, artistic ideological position, without which a real work of art cannot be created. Far behind are the fictional, sugar-coated heroes, the dead virtues. The optimism in a number of stories about everyday work is born as a result of a more concrete look at reality. More and more sought-after, exceptional conflicts give way to characters and experiences, to heroism that is born in everyday life, in the sphere of small, everyday incidents, in the ordinary working life of people. Two main starting points move the young people on their creative path: personal observation, the desire to gather direct life material, and a great faith in man, in socialist justice. On the basis of this realistic view, the combination between the truthful reflection of difficulties and the heroism of labor, between realism and romantic pathos, is increasingly clearly outlined.

The collection "From the History of World Literature" (edited by Prof. Emil Georgiev and Dr. Georgi Dimov, Publishing House of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia 1962), conceived around 1959, has finally come out of print. Regardless of the delay, this is a good event. And it would be even better if the Literary Institute decided to make a non-periodical edition of similar collections, which would be published once or twice a year. Our literary research activity has good traditions in the field of Western European, ancient and Slavic literatures - it is enough to remember the names of Shishmanov, Krastev, Mich. Arnaudov, Al. Balabanov. And in recent years, work in this area has not subsided, but remains, unfortunately, limited to university publications. Finding readers outside the university environment is, however, vital for literary scholars who do not get space for their special studies in literary journals, which are limited in scope and related to more topical issues. So the question of contact with a wider audience remains unresolved for the time being.

The extremely interesting work of G. D. Gachev "Accelerated Development of Literature" gives us the opportunity to look at it and evaluate it in a broader perspective, not directly related to the problems of Bulgarian Renaissance literature. The author's main concept of accelerated development poses contemporary questions that have the prospect of becoming increasingly contemporary. Every new generation and every individual who has appeared in this world must undergo accelerated development in order to be able to perceive in a concise, abbreviated form the experience of humanity gained in its centuries-old development. That is why the author's concept is very relevant, fruitful and of great importance for those who work on the work of individual writers. For my personal work, for example, on M. Tchaikovsky's Sadyk Pasha, Gachev's book with the problems posed and solved in it is extremely useful. Because I too am faced with a vivid case of accelerated development. The ideological formation of Polish emigration to France in the 19th century poses this question with all its acuteness. Polish emigrants arrived in Paris - the most elevated cultural center of Europe at that time, from a feudal country, some even, like Tchaikovsky, from distant Ukraine, where in both everyday life and in the worldview of the people there is still too much of the folklore-epic stage of human development. And they must catch up at an accelerated pace with the level of the most advanced human thought in the fields of politics, sociology and literature, each proceeding in the perception of the new from his own unique personal experience and personal knowledge and understanding of the world, brought from his homeland.

Returning to Yovkov - after Vazov and Elin Pelin - always awakens a keen sense of his unique character as an artist. When we compare Vazov and Elin Pelin, it is natural to deal with similarities and differences, to speak of a natural step forward in the development of the short story. When we get to Yovkov, all this starts to sound too general and approximate. The step forward is present here too. But with him it is not only a step forward, but also a step "aside". The similarities and differences here turn out to be more indirect and deeper, precisely because they are intricately mediated by Yovkov's artistic individuality. Indeed, Yovkov also relied on Vazov - at least to the extent that Elin Pelin also relied on him. And Yovkov, although he writes stories about ten years after Elin Pelin, strictly speaking, has no other national school and no other heritage behind him, except the Vazovs, and no other example alongside him - except Elin Pelin. And yet Yovkov stubbornly, centimeter by centimeter, for twenty years in a row, breaks his artistic path further and further away from the Vazov-Elin Pelin highway. And the reader feels that the separate comparisons between them and him would yield even less than between Vazov and Elin Pelin, if they had not gone through the understanding of the whole; that before being decomposed into similarities and differences, - precisely Yovkov more than anyone else - must be felt in his peculiarly secluded, in comparison with the first Two, almost closed artistic system.

"If They Could Speak" perhaps more directly than any other of Yovkov's works confronts the reader with a peculiarity, mentioned several times recently as the "objectivity" of the depiction, of the verbal drawing. In fact, this so-called by us objectivity represents one of the aspects of the question of the structure and functions of the verbal image in Yovkov. The resolution that he gives it is as important as it is characteristically Yovkovian. And an analysis that has affected in one way or another the structure and composition of the work as a whole (the "macro-image") cannot fail to focus on the structure of the "micro-image" - of the individual linguistic image and its function in the whole. These are questions of the verbal fabric of the artistic work, taken from their specifically stylistic side. While the composition and the general structure of Yovkov's story undergoes a relatively more complex development, Yovkov's verbal pattern develops, so to speak, in an ascending line: this is the progressive unfolding of the same pictorial tendency from "Ovcharova's Complaint" to "If They Could Talk". The path is long - from 1910 to 1936 - but straight; the difference is enormous, but natural and inevitable.

Dimcho Debelyanov established himself in our poetry as the continuator of a poetic tradition, established through the work of Vazov, Pencho Slaveykov, Yavorov, Kiril Hristov. At the time when Debelyanov began his career as a poet, poems were written in the usual rhythms of the syllabic system. Vazov had already imposed it and had used all its rhythmic schemes, trying not to go beyond their framework. He had, to a certain extent, "engraved the word in the step". Most of the poets of that time did not seem to feel that the accepted rhythmic schemes could be diversified. We leave aside, of course, Yavorov, who was a true innovator in terms of the technique of verse. He not only did not allow the usual stress of the word to be changed because of its place in the verse, nor did he allow it to be damaged, but he was the first to consciously and with a swing begin to diversify the rhythm of his verse and made the rhythmic movement an expression of the deepest inner content. Yavorov pointed out the entire musical wealth of Bulgarian poetic speech and the possibilities for the rhythmic refreshment of the syllabic system. The path that D. Debelyanov bravely set out on had already been paved. Debelyanov's creative period closed between the years 1906-1916. This was the time when in our country a struggle was waged in poetry against realism, accepted as obsolete, and when the belated echoes of French symbolism is making its way.

As often happens in the history of our new culture, we are in a paradoxical situation: we declare ourselves the heirs of the classical Bulgarian culture of the Middle Ages, the center of Slavic culture in general for certain historical periods, but we do not know it well. We are simply proud of the alphabet and old literature, we use catchphrases to prove that in the history of human culture we did not exist yesterday, and in our veins there is something of the blue blood of ancient cultural dynasties. But what do we know about Old Bulgarian literature? At school we learned about Presbyter Kozma, who "delivered some kind of discourse against the Bogomils (he was a reactionary and an obscurantist, because the Bogomils are progressive), and about Chernorizets Hrabar (he wrote something about the features and letters). Scientists argue about him whether he was not Tsar Simeon (this somewhat influenced our imagination - a great king, brilliant like Solomon, ruler of nations, but he puts on black hair and writes some writings in dark cells!). But in general, there is hardly a more boring subject at school. At university we learn the conjugations of verbs, we even try to spell the letters from some gospel (those terrible letters!). That is, so to speak, all our education on Old Bulgarian literature. We are so uninterested in it that we have even thrown out everything that reminds us of the Old Bulgarian language from spelling and orthography. We want to say, what do we care about various Nosovk and Ierov, there is no such thing in our modern language, let's leave them to the priests and philologists; our culture is folk, democratic, everyone should have easy access to it, it would be a manifestation of conservatism to treat a dead language and incomprehensible letters with care, even if our own history is reflected in this language and these letters!

When Bulgaria was completely liberated in 1878, the Croats also exclaimed with joy and gradually began to come to the liberated land as artists, teachers, merchants and tourists. A large number of Bulgarians, especially during the period between the two world wars, studied at the University of Zagreb, and many of them visited Croatia throughout our century. There are two main reasons for these mutual visits: first - the beauty of the two lands, second - the feeling of Slavic solidarity. The Croatian writer Franjo Horvat-Kiš (1876-1924) visited Bulgaria in mid-July 1911 and about this trip he left a very interesting but little-known travelogue entitled "Seen and Unseen", Zagreb, 1911. Since I, more than half a century after him, spent in Bulgaria not two days, like Horvat-Kiš, but three months, I would like to present to the readers Horvat's travel notes with a few of my explanations and additions. His and my attitude towards this sympathetic country is the same: objective, mixed with elements of sincere sympathy.