According to an account in the Russian book The Fate of the
Silver Age Poets, in August of 1909, Russia’s preeminent literary arts
publication, Apollo, received a curious letter. The envelope contained poems
written in exquisite handwriting, on perfumed paper, signed only with the
Cyrillic letter Ч (che). The unsolicited submission raised the suspicions of
Apollo’s de facto publisher and noted Russian art scene figure, Sergey
Makovsky, until later that day, when the author called their office.
The woman on the phone identified herself as Cherubina de
Gabriak, an unknown poet, looking to find her break in Apollo. Makovsky, who
found the mystery poet’s voice quite charming, agreed to publish her work. In
the October issue of Apollo, 12 of de Gabriak’s poems were included.
While the author remained a near complete mystery, tidbits of
information about de Gabriak emerged through her poetry and correspondence.
Supposedly, she was a young girl of French-Polish descent who lived in an
oppressive Catholic household, which did not allow her to associate with the
outside world. Her admirers caught only glimpses of her life, such as a poem
that described her family’s coat of arms, but the riddles surrounding her past
just made her all the more alluring. Soon, she was being published in a number
of magazines, not just Apollo.
The mystique surrounding de Gabriak created quite a stir among
the Russian poets of the day, and a number of Apollo contributors fell in love
with her. Most famously, then up-and-coming poet Nikolay Gumilyov, who would go
on to become a giant of Russian Symbolist poetry, began a red-blooded
correspondence with de Gabriak, writing her a series of love letters.
Not everyone in the scene was quite convinced of the enigmatic
poet, however, noting that if she was such a talent, she had no reason to hide.
In November of 1909, it was finally revealed that (as you have
surely surmised) Cherubina de Gabriak was a fake persona. In reality, de
Gabriak’s true identity was Elizaveta Dmitrieva, a school teacher who had
worked with the poet Maximilian Voloshin to scam their contemporaries and get
her work noticed. The name Cherubina de Gabriak, was a combination of
references to a short story and a wooden imp that Voloshin had once given
Dmitrieva. Voloshin was also an editor at Apollo, and knew Makovsky well enough
to know what buttons to push to make their character appeal to him.
Dmitrieva had been stricken with tuberculosis at a young age,
leaving her with a lifelong limp that made it extremely difficult for her to
walk. Her brothers were known to taunt her by tearing one leg off of each of
her dolls. Far from being a poet princess cloistered in some far off tower,
Dmitrieva was a teacher and studied French and Spanish literature. She had been
trying to get her poetry published for some time, including sending
unsuccessful submissions to Apollo.
As Voloshin would tell it, when they first met in the summer of
1909, she was writing “simple, sentimentally sweet poems.” But over time, her
work evolved. Once the hoax was revealed, many found it hard to believe that
Dmitrieva’s talent could have sprung from obscurity, instead choosing to
believe that Voloshin must have been the true author. Both Voloshin and
Dmitrieva insisted that it was she who wrote the words, while Voloshin edited her
(today, it is widely accepted that Dmitrieva was the true author based on
comparisons with her later work).
Neither Makovsky nor Gumilyov took the news very well. Both men,
embarrassed at having been had, began publicly disparaging Dmitrieva. At one
point, Voloshin overheard Gumilyov talking rudely about his affair with
Dmitrieva “in the crudest sexual terms,” as 1994’s Dictionary of Russian Women
Writers puts it. Voloshin, who was equally enamored with Dmitrieva, decided
that enough was enough. He slapped Gumilyov in the face, inviting him to a
duel.
Dmitrieva truly did have feelings for Gumilyov, and Voloshin as
well. A critical analysis of her poetry from a 2013 issue of The Slavic and
East European Journal describes her as “a natural seductress who maintained
complex love relations with a number of Modernist poets, and was the cause of
the well-publicized duel between Voloshin and Gumilev, both contenders for her
heart and hand.”
Gumilyov agreed to the duel, and they met on the shore of the
Chernaya River on November 22, near the same spot where the famed Russian poet
and novelist Alexander Pushkin had been fatally wounded over half a century
earlier. Gumilyov, an excellent marksman, fired at Voloshin but missed,
possibly intentionally, and Voloshin’s gun repeatedly misfired. Both men walked
away with their lives, though animosity would characterize their relationship
for years to come.
Voloshin and Gumilyov went on to become some of the most
important Russian poets of their time. As for Dmitrieva, while she continued to
write, she was never able to reach the same level of fame during her lifetime
as she had when she was de Gabriak.
Today, Dmitrieva’s life and work is finally receiving some much
deserved attention. In addition to more academic explorations of her poetry, in
2008, the playwright Paul Cohen unveiled a poorly reviewed stage play based on
the story of the hoax, Cherubina. The Village Voice said that it “softened and
simplified the story […] bleaching it of much of its nuance and oddity.” Still,
critical analysis of Dmitrieva’s work is beginning to place her as a vital
member of the Symbolist movement, even if her story will always be tied to the
scandal that brought her into the light.