BULGAKOV AND THE APOCALYPSE. THE GREAT PLOT TO END THE ROMANOVS

 

What will the end times be like? Who will be the antichrist… a real person or a political system? Ukraine, the fertile land where the plows sank up to three meters deep into the soil of the black lands, the granary of Europe, and all that silt of civilization that drags its two great rivers, the Don and the Dnieper, towards Kiev, the holy, the mother of Russian cities with the great cross of Saint Vladimir presiding over the mouth is going to end in the Chernobyl catastrophe that the white guard Mixail Bulgakov seems to announce and foresee in his great novel, almost a herald of the end of time. And in his approach he coincides with what Bertrand Russel says, who in 1918 visits the USSR and assures that the Bolshevik revolution was the work of Americanized Russian Jews and the events of this novel take place in that tragic winter of 1918 and in Kiev between great squalls of snow .

 The fertile land is transformed into a fierce wasteland. The fountains dry up, the giants are resurrected, lack of love spreads, customs are corrupted. The forests are burning... the whole of Russia was on fire that summer of 1918, the year in which this novel takes place.

 Throughout its chapters you can hear the tinkling of the spurs of the Cossacks who stand at attention before their hetman and the ringing-singing-metallic of mobile phones the irruption of the talking heads that indulge in a vacarme or drunkenness of insufferable litanies to tell the news with a mephistophelian smile on their faces, perfectly dapper, their faces washed but their black souls insensitive to other people's pain, great representatives of the systems, as if announcing everyone, you have to jump through hoops, you will kiss my whip and all that without breaking the gesture of men-ads and the blue gaze of the new sibyls on TV.

The sibyls return and it is a sibylline world of great technological advances and great spiritual poverty dominated by the techniques of propaganda that the Russians who lived or told about those October days intuited.

The Americans have won, emphasizes an artillery captain who awaits the Bolsheviks' attack on the Liceo building where supporters of autocracy and orthodoxy have become strong. However, the colonel who commands the position, in view of the numerical inferiority, orders the raising of the white flag.

 The cries of betrayal sound... betrayal but no one dares to disobey the accomplished facts. Nothing can be done. Break ranks.

 The white guard is disbanded and the cadets, the dragoon officer, the hussars and the Alans return home with their burnished boots, silver spurs, gleaming sabers and impeccable dolmans on their epaulettes. All of this is no longer useful. After surrendering, the cuirassiers ask for vodka to mitigate the effects of the sub-zero weather and indulge in an orgy, but there is no brandy in the world that can soothe the wounds of the frozen soul.

 It's the meltdown. It's the end of an era. Without cavalry, wars are neither wars nor are they anything. Gone are the honours, the nobility, the exquisite manners and that caste concept that allowed us to conceive of existence from an aesthetic point of view. Literature is over. What is coming is the class struggle, the vulgarity, the flat encephalogram.

The sindios arrive who bring their own prophets, their writers, their panegyrists and publicists. The dialectical materialism of Marx that allowed at least the education of the most disadvantaged classes will lead to the materialism of the globalizers where the human person is nothing more than a number, a consumer unit under the control of the network of networks.

 In short, Bulgakov predicts a happy world just like the great English utopians but insufferable. A Jew caught with his hands in the drawer during a pogrom begs a hussar who has drawn his sword all the money I'll give you all this will be yours and points to the safe if you spare my life. grace denied. The Uhlan plunges his saber into the rabbi's neck, lopping off his head. The rabbi dies a martyr for the cause invoking Yahweh.

 Chema Israel but we have to settle accounts while the horses of the Apocalypse gallop along the banks of the Dnieper. The world that we thought was better is over. Break ranks, save yourself who can. The watchword of the end times is that charity grows cold, words no longer mean what they used to mean.

There is no canon or measure. Piotr's boat sinks while the Volga boatmen row and row waving their hats, boiled with vodka, to the one who is to come. This is Petliura. Who is Potliura? According to Bulkgakov, the one who is to come is the interposed who they say they have seen staying in room number 666 in a hotel on Lovitskaya Street, but this presence is ghostly or by hearsay.

 It is narrated by hearing not by sight and for this reason my