A Note on the Internal Dynamics of the Dostoevskian Conclave

David K. Danow, University of South Carolina

Coined by Leonid Grossman, and now a commonly accepted critical term, the concept of the conclave evokes the sense of a "crowd scene" resulting in an inevitable scandal. In each of Dostoevsky's major novels there is a gathering of the principal characters, which precedes a climatic moment when certain secrets and half-truth are revealed, while further information may at times remain concealed. At such times, as will be shown, the conclave not only functions as a device to promote character interaction resulting in unexpected revelation, but may serve to generate further story as well.

The aim of the present study is to briefly demonstrate that since such scenes are structured in similar fashion, a minimal poetics can be elaborated to describe this standard Dostoevskian technique. The following points will serve to outline a basic descriptive model meant to encompass these prominent scenes.

1.     As the given presupposition, a collection of disparate individuals, whose interests and incendiary personalities are bound to clash, gather for a meeting of sorts.

2.     One/or more of these individuals come/s forward to demand "his/their rights".

3.     There follows an account of previously unknown events designed to provide greater information, allowing for a reconsideration of what has already      transpired. To this end, one or more characters will relate some real or fictive episode, the effect of which is to bring about the conclave's inevitably boisterous denouement.

4.     Finally, either someone appears in the crowd to resolve things in generally astounding fashion - or, if no resolution is forthcoming, the episode will of necessity generate further action until the matter is finally ended. If particular information is withheld, in other words, it will eventually be converted into more drama.

To demonstrate the applicability of the model, and thereby outline the internal dynamics of a typical Dostoevskian device, the following passages will be briefly discussed:

(a)     The Marmeladov funeral dinner ("Crime and Punishment")
(b)     The Burdovsky affair ("The Idiot")
(c)     "The Subtle Serpent" ("The Possessed")
(d)     "An Unfortunate Gathering" ("The Brothers Karamazov")

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As one further preliminary observation, it should be remarked that in each such instance the primary opposition established is between an initially stated lie and the truth as yet to be revealed. Presented in the form of a direct utterance, the lie is consistently - if not immediately - confronted by the truth, itself dramatized in the subsequent action of the novel. Thus, the final underlying principle - not only of the Dostoevskian conclave but of the novel form in general - is the opposition (resulting in complex interlarding) between projected utterance and dramatized events, or between the articulated word and the corresponding act. However, in the Dostoevsky novel in particular, the two are in large measure fused, for Dostoevskian dialogue is itself dramatic, while the verbal exchanges between interlocutors makes for the very action of the novels and is part and parcel of that action.

(a)     The central event at the Marmeladov funeral dinner is the accusation of theft which Luzhin levels at Sonja. Making his appearance in the guise of a would-be benefactor subjected to the humiliation of being robbed by the object of his good intentions, Luzhin has come to demand that the fabricated wrong done him be made right. Author and director (up to a point) of his own small drama within the greater work, his intent is to discredit Raskol'nikov for his association with Sonja, while attempting to strengthen his own position in his pursuit of Dunja. Seeking what he considers his by right - the betrothed he had calculated to buy -Luzhin goes about achieving his end in highly oblique, convoluted manner. Although doomed to failure, his efforts serve to form the principal knot -which must be unraveled - of the entire scene in which his account of things is embedded.

Intending to demonstrate that only Sonja could have been responsible for the alleged theft of a hundred roubles, Luzhin recounts in careful, minute, but false detail the events of his earlier interview with the girl. As a result of the elaborate reconstruction, Sonja appears condemned in advance by virtue of her profession alone, while the one-hundred rouble note which comes fluttering out of her pocket turned inside out would appear to settle the matter. However, Luzhin's account is yet to be countered by Lebezjatnikov's. When finally, as the sole witness to the meeting between the impoverished girl and calculating lawyer, the latter makes his own accusation ("What a foul trick!") within the general commotion, his words signal the necessary reversal of the hour glass. The lie has run its course, now the truth is slated to emerge. This is to be accomplished in bi-partite fashion through a dual, complementary series of related accounts. First, Lebezjatnikov exposes the lie by recounting the manner in which Luzhin "plants" the money on the unsuspecting girl, but at the same time he confesses his ignorance of the reason for Luzhin's doing so. The lacunae is immediately eliminated, however, by Raskol'nikov's subsequent recapitulation of the meeting between his family and the prospective bridegroom - ending with the latter having been driven from the scene by the outraged brother unwilling to see his sister sacrificed to a crafty schemer.

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In essence, the extent to which the lawyer would scheme to achieve his ends is dramatized by the very scene under discussion. Hence, the epithets directed at him by an irate Raskol'nikov are immediately hypostatized and given credence in drama, where the word is converted into deed. For in this sense again, the word and dialogue are the plot of the Dostoevsky novel. The manner in which the conversion takes place, however, amounts to the special genius implanted in the structure of the novels, only to be surmised and hinted at by reader and critic.

The complexity of the given scene, for example, becomes evident at the realization that in the course of a mere few pages ostensibly devoted to rendering the climatic conclusion to the funeral dinner, Luzhin's false recapitulation of previous events is incorporated, and immediately followed by Lebezjatnikov's version, itself in turn complemented by Raskol'nikov's final account and summation of events. Hence, three separate accounts focusing on what is past are "framed" within the original, "present" account of the funeral dinner, as each successively functions in a cause and effect relationship, and where each of necessity leads to the next, until the matter is finally resolved.

In such fashion, the result is to allow Lebezjatnikov to expose the lie, while it is given to Raskol'nikov to provide the motive behind it. The entire scene is thus contrapuntal, depending clearly and overtly on a lie being ultimately confronted by the truth. And, in essence, the entire novel hinges on the same such opposition. For having lived a lie - that certain individuals might offer themselves dispensation to act solely according to their will in dealing with their fellow man - Raskol'nikov's entire odyssey through his own murky psychological depths amounts to a final recognition of the lie, coupled with a concomitant acknowledgement of the truth.

(b) Although envisioned quite differently in terms of plot and theme, the conclave, during which the "son of Pavlishchev" unexpectedly surfaces and quickly disappears, is nevertheless structured in parallel fashion to the scene just considered. First, the appearance of an individual seeking "his rights" (in this instance, with a number of supporters) again figures centrally. Moreover, the complex fashion in which the lie is confronted by the truth is accomplished in similar manner. Individual accounts are unobtrusively embedded within the greater plot as a series of complementary references to the past laid out syntagmatically - but with the diachronic element a predominant aspect.

Each account then serves to motivate or generate the next - all of which focus on the past in order to resolve the present, itself at the same time, bearing on future concerns. For the world of the novel - and the nineteenth-century novel in particular - models a deterministic universe governed by laws of cause and effect, where both past and present determine the future. As a principal device representing the various "causes" in the Dostoevsky novel, a polyphony of voices shares in a common effort to reconstruct the past in order to achieve some resolution

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to the present. The achievement o r failure of such resolution, needless to say, directly affects the novel's future course of events.

During the conclave set in Lebedev's dacha, as just noted, one account follows another - as a direct result of the inopportune appearance of the motley foursome leveling crude accusations at Myshkin, while demanding the "rights" of the callow Burdovskij. Formulated in coarse, insulting fashion, their demands are expressed in a published open letter, which Kolja Ivolgin is obliged to read at Mme. Epanchina's behest. Upon the conclusion to the reading, and after a period of considerable awkwardness, Myshkin addresses the company: "Friends, friends, allow me to speak at last...friends, it's all untrue, what is said in the article." (V1II,222) (1) His subsequent account of things points to the fact that Burdovskij is a poor simpleton taken in by schemers and that he is not a son of Pavlishchev at all. It is Myshkin, then, who gives the lie to the intruders' demands. But it is left to his agent to unravel the complex situation in detail. ("Listen to Gavril Ardalionovich, friends... Gavril Ardalionovich will explain everything to us directly..." VIII,230.)

Meanwhile Gavril Ardalionovich, who had hitherto stood on one side persistently silent, came forward at Myshkin's invitation, took up his stand beside him and began calmly and clearly giving an account of the case that had been entrusted to him by the prince. All talk was instantly silenced. (VIII, 230)

A brief recapitulation of off-stage events follows, which shatters all pretensions to the claimants' demands. Hence, the lie is again initially articulated - in this instance, by an unwilling Kolja, whose shame at what he has been obliged to recite is both a poignant and eloquent condemnation of the false intimations which represent the lie. At the same time, the truth is again presented in bi-partite, dual fashion by Myshkin who, in exposing the lie anticipates what is to come, and by Ganja, who details the facts which constitute the truth.

Moreover, further comment upon the whole scene which has just transpired is made by Mme. Epanchina, whose words amount to a final recapitulation, this time, of the immediate, most recent past. In excited, distracted fashion, she interprets the events she has just witnessed, and in doing so, provides an honest, direct response to what has taken place.

It's chaos, infamy. It's worse than a dream. (V1II,237) They don't believe in God, they don't believe in Christ! Why, you are so eaten up with pride and vanity that you'll end by eating up one another. ...isn't that chaos, isn't it infamy? (VIII,238)

Hence, on this occasion, it is given to an hysterical, eccentric old woman to pronounce the final verdict - to offer, in summation, what amounts to the novelist's truth: that if humanity does not conduct its individual, private affairs in humane fashion, the result can only be regarded as "chaos" and "infamy". That these observations are uttered in such distraught manner only testifies to the terrible immediacy of the problem.

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(c)     The last two instances to be considered, like the first, are family gatherings, again with both families in states of precarious dissolution. The first such meeting takes place at the manorial estate of Varvara Petrovna Stavrogina where, among others, are gathered her son's lawful but unacknowledged wife, an uncertain prospective bride on the verge of hysterics, and a former mistress, herself a prospective companion and nurse. Another of those present is the dissolute Captain Lebjadkin. Ostensibly considering himself dishonored by Stavrogin's secret marriage to his sister, he makes an initial feeble attempt at securing her rights, which he equates materially with his own. But it is the poor cripple herself who, in wishing to be given her due recognition, makes her "demand" according to the dictates of her own humble nature by submissively inquiring of Stavrogin: "But may I...kneel down...to you now?" (X,146) unwilling in this tacit manner to acknowledge any role of authority or dominance in her life, he refuses her request but then gives the lie to the girl's situation explicitly as well.

Only think that you are a girl, and that though I'm your devoted friend I'm an outsider, not your husband, nor your father, nor your betrothed. (X, 146)

The cripple is central to the entire meeting. Virtually everyone gathered has some vested interest in learning the truth: Varvara Petrovna, who is concerned with her son's future; Praskovja Ivanovna, who is concerned with her daughter's; Petr Verkhovenskij, who has his own plans for Stavrogin; and Liza, who has hers. But the initial lie uttered by Stavrogin must - in the view of its propagators - be expanded upon in order to convincingly and permanently bury the truth. To this end , Petr Verkhovenskij takes the floor and elaborates in some clever detail upon Stavrogin's exploits in a Petersburg tavern years ago, events which endear him to the sick woman who, according to the presumptuous, young orator, has allowed her imagination to fabricate an impossible fantasy. For how could Stavrogin marry a demented cripple? Through his truncated, highly selective (and therefore, inherently false) reconstruction of events, the teller intends at one and the same time to legitimize the question - and nullify it by rendering its premise inconceivable.

In this instance, then, it is the lie which is elaborated in dual complementary fashion. Initially articulated by Stavrogin, it is detailed and expanded upon by Petr Verkhovenskij. The truth is thus not yet slated to emerge. Later, Verkhovenskij's initial account of the Petersburg episode will be complemented by a further, more accurate presentation of events in Stavrogin's "Confession". At present, however, there is only an inarticulate response to the lie forthcoming within the context of the conclave itself. Accomplished in mute, "innocent" fashion by an outraged soul incapable of expressing itself in any other manner, Shatov strikes Stavrogin. (2) In a certain sense the blow is itself a form of nonverbal communication - expressing disappointment and disillusionment with Stavrogin, who had himself given utterance to the lie and had subsequently allowed its further elaboration to go unchallenged. For as Stavrogin coyly observes with regard to Petr Verkhovenskij;

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He's such a realist, you know, that he can't tell a lie, and prefers truthfulness to effect...except, of course, in special cases when effect is more important than truth. (X,156)

Such a "special case" has, of course, just transpired.

While a primitive form of communication to be sure, Shatov's blow - performed in a trance-like state which seems to have transcended the limits of fear - is itself a legitimate response to the mentor's failure to accept responsibility for his actions. Yet it offers no resolution to the matter at hand. For while the problems raised during the conclave are offered some partial, implicit form of resolution during the subsequent action of the novel, the work's own unique poetics demand that there be no real, explicit resolution to the mysteries surrounding the character of Stavrogin prior to the single conclusive act of suicide at the end. At the same time, it should be observed that while Shatov's nonverbal "response" fails to generate any further action in the novel, and thus remains an isolated act, its impact, nevertheless, remains powerful and fresh in the mind of the reader for whom it affords further interest and suspense. But for a counter-instance in which certain veiled, fragmented information serves to generate further plot, another family meeting - within the pages of "The Brothers Karamazov" - must be considered.

(d) The whole town shakes and echoes with his debaucheries. And where he was stationed before, he several times spent a thousand or two for the seduction of some respectable girl... he has captivated the heart of the most honorable of young ladies of good family and fortune, daughter of a gallant colonel... He compromised the girl by his promise of marriage, now she is an orphan and here; she is betrothed to him, yet before her very eyes he is dancing attendance on a certain enchantress. And although this enchantress has lived in, so to speak, civil marriage with a respectable man, yet she is of an independent character, an unapproachable fortress for everybody, just like a legal wife - for she is virtuous, yes... she is virtuous. Dmitrij Fedorovich wants to open this fortress with a golden key, and that's why he is insolent to me now, trying to get money from me though he had wasted thousands on this enchantress already. (XIV.66-7)

Fedor Pavlovich's vociferous outcry in the elder's cell contains in embryo several of the major themes of the novel, including accusatory references to Dmitrij's broken betrothal and all-encompassing carnal love - both of which anticipate the rivalry between father and son for the love of the same woman. During the conclave at the beginning of the work, the two compete for their conflicting, mutually exclusive "rights" - to their eventual, mutual disadvantage.

By contrast to all three previously cited instances, the "Unfortunate Gathering" of "The Brothers" juxtaposes the claims made by Fedor Pavlovich and Dmitrij in such manner as to lay the groundwork for

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virtually the entire plot of the novel. Unlike the other works considered in which relatively minor characters are seen to voice their demands (Luzhin, Burdovskij and company, Lebjadkin/his sister), here the clash represents the fundamental opposition and primary dramatic premise of the entire novel. Furthermore, again by contrast, the kernels of information planted in Fedor Pavlovich's diatribe represent - according to Tomashevskij's distinction -"dynamic" motifs. (3) For each buried detail gives rise to the later development and dramatization of the work's most crucial themes. Hence, whether Luzhin successfully makes his cruel point; whether Burdovskij manages to attain his mercenary aim; or if Lebjadkina is recognized as the lawful wife of Stavrogin would, in each instance, conceivably affect the ultimate resolution of the novel only to some slight degree. Perhaps Raskol'nikov would have lost some stature in the eyes of his mother and sister, Myshkin may have remained something less than a millionaire, Liza may not have spent that fateful night with Stavrogin - but the course of each novel would have remained essentially unchanged. In the case of "The Brothers", however, what is at stake between Fedor Pavlovich and his oldest son represents the very dramatic core of the entire work - only lightly sketched during the early climactic conclave, but designed to generate large portions of the novel nevertheless. (4)

To his father's bare imputations, Dmitrij desperately replies: It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie! (XIV,67)

In essence, it takes the entire novel to unravel truth from lie, or better, to get from some "outward", apparent level of truth to a deeper, more incisive plane. Thus, the concerns of the early conclave - artfully articulated by Fedor Pavlovich - are still being developed in dramatic detail in the epilogue ("For a Moment the Lie Becomes Truth"). Dostoevsky's last novel, in fact, attempts in concentrated effort to artistically represent the related ideas that truth may exist on many levels (as does, conversely, the lie); that controlled, careful application of sophisticated psychological analyses may leave the deepest truth unrecognized; and, finally, that the answer to such disturbing questions as the one expressed by Ivan at his brother's trial - "Who doesn't desire his father's death?" - exist on numerous planes analogous to levels of the responsibility for the murder extending to each of the sons. (5) Hence, in this final novel where "Pro and Contra" refers to the seemingly endless conflict between God and the Devil, the work may simply be interpreted as the artistic representation of the eternal conflict between Truth and Lie.

To conclude, in each instance considered, essentially the same structure - outlined according to our model - has been revealed to function in like manner in highly differing plot situations, where the conclave leads to an increase in tensions and accompanying suspense. Moreover, it establishes the necessity for further plot to unfold that more information be revealed of both a psychological and dramatic nature. For the internal dynamics of the Dostoevskian conclave demand that seemingly unmotivated events take place, which then require further explication and development through subsequent drama in highly complex effort to get at the truth.

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References

1. References to the novels are to F.M.Dostoevskij, "Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v tridcati tomax" (Leningrad, 1976).
2. The act is accomplished in like fashion to Billy Budd's desperate attack on Claggart in Melville's novella.
3. "Teorija literatury" (Moscow, 1928), p. 139. Tomashevskij defines the dynamic motif as one which changes the situation in the given work.
4. For a more detailed discussion, see David K. Danow, "Notes on Generating a Text: 'The Brothers Karamazov'," Modern Language Studies, XI:1 (Winter 1980-81), pp. 75-95.
5. See S. I. Gessen, "Tragedija dobra v 'Brat'iakh Karamazovykh' Dostoevskogo," O Dostoevskom, Stat'i (Providence, 1966), pp. 199-229.