Marko Vovchok, a high-profile figure in the Ukrainian literature of the late 1850s - early 1860s, passed away on August 10 (July 28 by the Julian calendar), 1907. She died far from Ukraine, in Nalchik (Kabardino-Balkaria). The news soon reached Kyiv, and the Rada newspaper published Serhiy Yefremov’s article “Marko Vovchok” as an obituary (1907, issues 206-208, 210-211).
Ivan Franko contributed his obituary “Mariya Markovych (Marko Vovchok). A Posthumous Note” to Literaturno-naukovy Visnyk [Literary Research Bulletin], (1907, vol. 39).
Yet these two obituaries are so different in their size, tone, range of ideological accents, and artistic observations.
Ivan Franko’s article was entirely positive, even full of piety toward Marko Vovchok. Back in 1903 he heartily complimented her on her short story The Devil’s Adventure published in 1902 in Kievskaya starina (October, 1902, pp. 141-156). In his view, it was the most interesting of all the works that came out in 1902. The writer displayed the talent of an ethnically expressive humorist like Gogol in Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka. Marko Vovchok earned the highest praise for the work’s language which is “brilliant, clear, and rich, as befits the old and well- known Marko Vovchok.” Another thing that adds value to Franko’s comments is raising the question of Marko Vovchok’s authorship of Narodni Opovidannia [Folk Stories]. Artistic intuition and the flair of an experienced literary critic enabled him to express his disagreement with the opinions of such experts as Panteleimon Kulish and Omelian Ohonovsky. Proceeding from Kulish’s “theory” expressed in a 1889 letter, Ohonovsky thus said in his History of Ruthenian Literature (1891, vol. III) about the joint authorship of Folk Stories, “Mariya painted pictures of social life in Ukraine, and Opanas himself decorated them with beautiful colors”. Franko did not accept this assumption for several reasons. First, because the judgments Kulish made and passed on to Ohonovsky were too categorical. Also well known are Franko’s critical remarks that Kulish was excessively ambitious and misanthropic (the review of Kulish’s collections Khutorna Poeziya [Rural poetry] — 1882, and Khutorni Nedoharky [Rural candle ends] — 1902). Second, in Franko’s view, Kulish’s unsubstantiated claims had to be thoroughly checked. And, most importantly, “Marko Vovchok’s oeuvre is too rich and broad to fit such a narrow formula”.
This shows a pronounced tendency toward recognizing Marko Vovchok’s indisputable talent as above all that of a Ukrainian writer.
Several years later in “Mariya Markovych (Marko Vovchok). A Posthumous Note,” Franko emphasizes again the artistic importance of her Ukrainian prose of the late 1850s - early 1860s, especially “the charm and magnificence of her wonderful language” and “profound and true-to-life psychological and social images.”
“A great force has broken down. A bright star of our literature has waned.” This beginning of the obituary became a new universally known winged phrase about the writer owing to its metaphoric imagery that in fact characterizes her Ukrainian prose.
The title of Yefremov’s article was somewhat different in its tone. Unlike Franko’s article, this one begins with a plain statement with no artistic or stylistic figures, “Marko Vovchok has died.” Prosaic enough. And then, “As a Ukrainian writer, Marko Vovchok died long ago (my italics — Author), so long ago that he turned into an almost mythic creature that does not arouse any deep feelings, whose death arouses no pity, and who can only be spoken of from the historical perspective.” Yefremov therefore emphasizes Marko Vovchok’s spiritual, rather than physical, death. What caused it and when did it occur? This is the gist of Yefremov’s article. Adhering consistently and tenaciously to the principle of ideology in literature and to the populist concept of the latter, the critic analyzes Marko Vovchok’s Folk Stories in terms of whether or not they convey the anti-serfdom idea, an issue so pressing in the days before the 1861 reform.
Yefremov writes, “This oeuvre of his combines all of the following: a nice and attractive artistic form, a beautiful and truly conversational language, a deep and serious meaning, the ability to touch the most sensitive chords in the reader’s heart, knowledge and life experience, liberal and humane views.” This opinion of the critic reveals not only his political and social bias but also his adherence to the esthetic principle. It is clear from this perspective why he so highly esteems the artistic form of Marko Vovchok’s works, especially their Ukrainian language. This being important, Yefremov goes on telling about somewhat different things. He thoroughly analyzes the short stories Kozachka [Cossack’s Wife], Horpyna, Dva syny [Two Sons], Ledashchytsia [Lazy girl], the novelette Instytutka [Female student] and, proceeding from the stories’ ideological content, he draws a conclusion that they are “true documents of paramount importance from the terrible epoch of human enslavement.”
According to Yefremov, anti- serfdom as the overriding idea in fiction was of great importance in those days (1907, the year of reprisals after the defeat of the 1905 revolution — Author). The critic maintains (as Nikolai Dobroliubov did before him) that this importance is manifested in that Marko Vovchok propagated the idea of freedom. “All the stories by our author are like a call to liberate people from captivity,” Yefremov says in conclusion. At the end of his article, Yefremov calls upon the contemporary Ukrainian writers to follow the example of Marko Vovchok, namely “to serve the cause of today — struggle against the current forms of enthrallment and work toward the liberation of our own people.”
So Yefremov the critic is inseparable from Yefremov the citizen and political figure. As M. Hnatiuk rightly observed, this personality is unique, above all in that it “boldly asserts the Ukrainian national idea by force of his tremendous contribution to literary criticism and cultural studies.” This was fully proved in the article analyzed. Perhaps by force of his national oversensitivity, he calls Marko Vovchok “an alien person” and says her heroes are devoid of national traits.
What is by far the most glaring defect in Yefremov’s article is his interpretation of the pen name Marko Vovchok. He shares the viewpoint of Kulish and Ohonovsky that Marko Vovchok is a combined pseudonym of Opanas and Mariya Markovych. As he also tended to revel in the mystery of this name, he quoted Mariya Zahirna (wife of Borys Hrinchenko) as saying in her Afanasiy Vasilyevich Markovych (Chernihiv, 1896) that Opanas Markovych “took the pseudonym’s secret to his grave.”
It was Vasyl Domanytsky who earnestly took up the question of, as Mykola Zerov put it, “the Marko Vovchok firm,” and finally dispelled all doubts about the authorship of Folk Stories. He effectively proved Marko Vovchok’s authorship in his articles “Mariya Oleksandrivna Markovych, Author of Folk Stories (Based on New Materials)” (Literaturno-naukovy visnyk, vol. XLI, 1908, book 1) and “Marko Vovchok’s Authorship” (appearing in Zapysky naukovoho tovarystva im. Shevchenka [Notes of the Shevchenko Scholarly Association], vol. 84, 1908, book 4).
Interestingly enough, Domanytsky began his first article with responding to Yefremov’s obituary (Rada, September 12, 1907, No. 206). First of all, the critic does not accept Yefremov’s claim that Marko Vovchok was “alien” to Ukrainians. “It would seem that in stating so categorically that Marko Vovchok is ‘alien’ to us Yefremov should rely on some facts unknown to anyone, but he does not provide such facts (my italics — Author) and says himself that ‘indeed, someone, but no one knows who exactly, has died: so confusing is the simple phrase ‘Marko Vovchok has died.’ This means Yefremov knows more than others before him,” Domanytsky says indignantly. He then adds that Yefremov made judgments about the writer, particularly as far as her authorship of Folk Stories is concerned, based on Kulish’s 1889 letter to Ohonovsky and the latter’s History of Ruthenian Literature (vol. 3, 1891). Domanytsky offers his own view of the authorship problem on the basis of the new materials made available to him by Marko Vovchok’s legal executor, her son Bohdan, such as manuscripts, letters, and ethnographic materials.
What is new in Vasyl Domanytsky’s affirmations?
1. About the authorship of Folk Stories.
Having analyzed Marko Vovchok’s letters dating from 1850- 1851, 1859, and 1860, all written in Ukrainian, the 1853-1854 ethnographic notes she made in Kyiv, and her work on a Ukrainian dictionary in 1880-1890 in Kaniv and Bohuslav, Domanytsky claimed that Marko Vovchok “had command of that inimitable language” long before (and after) the publication of Folk Stories in 1857. He writes, among other things, “You see in these letters the same wonderful language, the same tenderness and fragrance, the same uneven, but as transparent as glass, way of writing. In general, I would recommend those, who are still in doubt or are inclined to think that the Stories were written by Opanas Markovych, to read — in contrast to Mariya’s letters — those of Opanas, heavy, verbose, and dry, without the tender feeling that pervades every line of Marko Vovchok’s writings, be it stories or as yet unpublished letters.” He quotes, “Stopping over at Kozelets, we saw the station master, a picture to draw indeed! A short, dark-haired, proud-looking, cheerful, talkative, and jocund man who looks like a cart-driver and an alderman at the same time.” Or, “M. D. (Mykola Bilozersky — Author) had invited us to dinner, so we went over. There was hetman- style borsch and buckwheat varenyky, God knows what style, perhaps hetman’s, for we, ordinary people, had never eaten this before. Bohdas was eating next to me, so when I was about to take the borsch, he burst into tears... Well, says P. A. (Panteleimon Kulish — Author), he relishes it best of all, for he feels this is a hetman kind of borsch.”
According to Domanytsky, Marko Vovchok had “an unusual linguistic talent.” The French would not believe she was not one of their folk; a Polish historian Semewski marveled at Marko Vovchok’s command of Polish (Warsaw dialect), she had learned Czech from Polish and Czech emigrants in Paris; staying abroad, she learned German and English (in the last years of her life, whenever she felt sad, she read Charles Dickens in the original). Small wonder, Domanytsky emphasizes, Marko Vovchok could have perfect command of the Ukrainian language as well. So Domanytsky makes a quite logical conclusion that she, and not Opanas Markovych, was the author of Folk Stories. “This gentleman,” the critic notes, “only supplies the material, and none of the people who know him consider him the author, perhaps except for the critic (Kulish).” Therefore, the pen name Marko Vovchok belongs to her, Mariya Oleksandrivna Markovych. In contrast to Yefremov (who called her “an alien”), Domanytsky refers to Marko Vovchok as “a great Ukrainian writer” and expresses a feeling of guilt (on behalf of the progressive Ukrainian public) for not having praised her deservedly in her lifetime, “That we failed to show due veneration when we were paying our last respects to her was not our fault. But now it is the duty of each of us not to sin against her in the times to come and remember and revere no other than Mariya Oleksandrivna Markovych, our unforgettable writer Marko Vovchok.”
2. Second, Domanytsky dispels the theory that Marko Vovchok was a purebred Russian (a katsap, to quote Olena Pchilka). She was not one either by origin or by education. The writer added in pencil to her biography reprinted by a newspaper from the Brockhaus and Ephron Encyclopedia, “My maternal grandmother was Polish-Lithuanian, father came from the Western provinces.” Her son Bohdan admitted to Domanytsky that his grandmother belonged to the Radziwill clan and bore their coat of arms. She went to a private boarding school in Kharkiv, not in Orel or Moscow, as was supposed before. It is perhaps here that she mastered the Ukrainian language. “This language,” Domnytsky maintains, “was not foreign (my italics — Author) either to Marko Vovchok or to her Polish-Russian (to be more exact, Lithuanian-Ukrainian) family.” She wrote in a letter to her husband from Orel, where she was visiting her relatives in 1857, well before the publication of Folk Stories, “I am also sending you the song, A Tiny Nightingale, which my grandfather learned from an old Cossack in a military expedition and loved to sing.” In another letter sent in the same year, she says her uncle Mykola Petrovych is also visiting Orel and “speaks our tongue very well,” although she admits she “has not known this before.”
