Eugene Oneguine [Onegin]
General Inzoff. I found him already here when I arrived, the General
having placed him at my disposal, though he himself was at Kishineff. I
have no reason to complain about him. On the contrary, he is much steadier
than formerly. But a desire for the welfare of the young man himself, who
is not wanting in ability, and whose faults proceed more from the head
than from the heart, impels me to urge upon you his removal from Odessa.
Pushkin’s chief failing is ambition. He spent the bathing season here, and
has gathered round him a crowd of adulators who praise his genius. This
maintains in him a baneful delusion which seems to turn his head—namely,
that he is a “distinguished writer;” whereas, in reality he is but a
feeble imitator of an author in whose favour very little can be said
(Byron). This it is which keeps him from a serious study of the great
classical poets, which might exercise a beneficial effect upon his talents—which
cannot be denied him—and which might make of him in course of time a
“distinguished writer.”
The best thing that can be done for him is to remove him hence....
The Emperor Nicholas on his accession pardoned Pushkin and received him
once more into favour. During an interview which took place it is said
that the Tsar promised the poet that he alone would in future be the
censor of his productions. Pushkin was restored to his position in the
Foreign Office and received the appointment of Court Historian. In 1828 he
published one of his finest poems, _Poltava_, which is founded on
incidents familiar to English readers in Byron’s _Mazeppa_. In 1829
the hardy poet accompanied the Russian army which under Paskevitch
captured Erzeroum. In 1831 he married a beautiful lady of the Gontchareff
family and settled in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburg, where he
remained for the remainder of his life, only occasionally visiting Moscow
and Mikhailovskoe. During this period his chief occupation consisted in
collecting and investigating materials for a projected history of Peter
the Great, which was undertaken at the express desire of the Emperor. He
likewise completed a history of the revolt of Pougatchoff, which occurred
in the reign of Catherine II. [Note: this individual having personated
Peter III, the deceased husband of the Empress, raised the Orenburg
Cossacks in revolt. This revolt was not suppressed without extensive
destruction of life and property.] In 1833 the poet visited Orenburg, the
scene of the dreadful excesses he recorded; the fruit of his journey being
one of the most charming tales ever written, _The Captain’s Daughter_.
[Note: Translated in _Russian Romance_, by Mrs. Telfer, 1875.]
The remaining years of Pushkin’s life, spent in the midst of domestic
bliss and grateful literary occupation, were what lookers-on style “years
of unclouded happiness.” They were, however, drawing rapidly to a close.
Unrivalled distinction rarely fails to arouse bitter animosity amongst the
envious, and Pushkin’s existence had latterly been embittered by
groundless insinuations against his wife’s reputation in the shape of
anonymous letters addressed to himself and couched in very insulting
language. He fancied he had traced them to one Georges d’Anthés, a
Frenchman in the Cavalier Guard, who had been adopted by the Dutch envoy
Heeckeren. D’Anthés, though he had espoused Madame Pushkin’s sister, had
conducted himself with impropriety towards the former lady. The poet
displayed in this affair a fierce hostility quite characteristic of his
African origin but which drove him to his destruction. D’Anthés, it was
subsequently admitted, was not the author of the anonymous letters; but as
usual when a duel is proposed, an appeal to reason was thought to smack of
cowardice. The encounter took place in February 1837 on one of the islands
of the Neva. The weapons used were pistols, and the combat was of a
determined, nay ferocious character. Pushkin was shot before he had time
to fire, and, in his fall, the barrel of his pistol became clogged with
snow which lay deep upon the ground at the time. Raising himself on his
elbow, the wounded man called for another pistol, crying, “I’ve strength
left to fire my shot!” He fired, and slightly wounded his opponent,
shouting “Bravo!” when he heard him exclaim that he was hit. D’Anthés was,
however, but slightly contused whilst Pushkin was shot through the
abdomen. He was transported to his residence and expired after several
days passed in extreme agony. Thus perished in the thirty-eighth year of
his age this distinguished poet, in a manner and amid surroundings which
make the duel scene in the sixth canto of this poem seem almost prophetic.
His reflections on the premature death of Lenski appear indeed strangely
applicable to his own fate, as generally to the premature extinction of
genius.
Pushkin was endowed with a powerful physical organisation. He was fond of
long walks, unlike the generality of his countrymen, and at one time of
his career used daily to foot it into St. Petersburg and back, from his
residence in the suburbs, to conduct his investigations in the Government
archives when employed on the History of Peter the Great. He was a good
swordsman, rode well, and at one time aspired to enter the cavalry; but
his father not being able to furnish the necessary funds he declined
serving in the less romantic infantry. Latterly he was regular in his
habits; rose early, retired late, and managed to get along with but very
little sleep. On rising he betook himself forthwith to his literary
occupations, which were continued till afternoon, when they gave place to
physical exercise. Strange as it will appear to many, he preferred the
autumn months, especially when rainy, chill and misty, for the production
of his literary compositions, and was proportionally depressed by the
approach of spring. (Cf. Canto VII st. ii.)
“Mournful is thine approach to me,
O Spring, thou chosen time of love,” etc.
He usually left St. Petersburg about the middle of September and remained
in the country till December. In this space of time it was his custom to
develop and perfect the inspirations of the remaining portion of the year.
He was of an impetuous yet affectionate nature and much beloved by a
numerous circle of friends. An attractive feature in his character was his
unalterable attachment to his aged nurse, a sentiment which we find
reflected in the pages of _Eugene Onéguine_ and elsewhere.
The preponderating influence which Byron exercised in the formation of his
genius has already been noticed. It is indeed probable that we owe _Onéguine_
to the combined impressions of _Childe Harold_ and _Don Juan_
upon his mind. Yet the Russian poem excels these masterpieces of Byron in
a single particular—namely, in completeness of narrative, the plots
of the latter being mere vehicles for the development of the poet’s
general reflections. There is ground for believing that Pushkin likewise
made this poem the record of his own experience. This has doubtless been
the practice of many distinguished authors of fiction whose names will
readily occur to the reader. Indeed, as we are never cognizant of the real
motives which actuate others, it follows that nowhere can the secret
springs of human action be studied to such advantage as within our own
breasts. Thus romance is sometimes but the reflection of the writer’s own
individuality, and he adopts the counsel of the American poet:
Look then into thine heart and write!
But a further consideration of this subject would here be out of place.
Perhaps I cannot more suitably conclude this sketch than by quoting from
his _Ode to the Sea_ the poet’s tribute of admiration to the genius
of Napoleon and Byron, who of all contemporaries seem the most to have
swayed his imagination.
Farewell, thou pathway of the free,
For the last time thy waves I view
Before me roll disdainfully,
Brilliantly beautiful and blue.
Why vain regret? Wherever now
My heedless course I may pursue
One object on thy desert brow
I everlastingly shall view—
A rock, the sepulchre of Fame!
The poor remains of greatness gone
A cold remembrance there became,
There perished great Napoleon.
In torment dire to sleep he lay;
Then, as a tempest echoing rolls,
Another genius whirled away,
Another sovereign of our souls.
He perished. Freedom wept her child,
He left the world his garland bright.
Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild,
To sing of thee was his delight.
Impressed upon him was thy mark,
His genius moulded was by thee;
Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark
And untamed in his majesty.
Note: It may interest some to know that Georges d’Anthés was tried by
court-martial for his participation in the duel in which Pushkin fell,
found guilty, and reduced to the ranks; but, not being a Russian subject,
he was conducted by a gendarme across the frontier and then set at
liberty.
EUGENE ONÉGUINE
Pétri de vanité, il avait encore plus de cette espèce d’orgueil, qui fait
avouer avec la même indifference les bonnes comme les mauvaises actions,
suite d’un sentiment de supériorité, peut-être imaginaire.— _Tiré
d’une lettre particulière_.
[Note: Written in 1823 at Kishineff and Odessa.]
CANTO THE FIRST
‘The Spleen’
‘He rushes at life and exhausts the passions.’
Prince Viazemski
Canto the First
I
“My uncle’s goodness is extreme,
If seriously he hath disease;
He hath acquired the world’s esteem
And nothing more important sees;
A paragon of virtue he!
But what a nuisance it will be,
Chained to his bedside night and day
Without a chance to slip away.
Ye need dissimulation base
A dying man with art to soothe,
Beneath his head the pillow smooth,
And physic bring with mournful face,
To sigh and meditate alone:
When will the devil take his own!”
II
Thus mused a madcap young, who drove
Through clouds of dust at postal pace,
By the decree of Mighty Jove,
Inheritor of all his race.
Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,(1)
Let me present ye to the man,
Who without more prevarication
The hero is of my narration!
Onéguine, O my gentle readers,
Was born beside the Neva, where
It may be ye were born, or there
Have shone as one of fashion’s leaders.
I also wandered there of old,
But cannot stand the northern cold.(2)
[Note 1: _Ruslan and Liudmila_, the title of Pushkin’s first
important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures
of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who
has been carried off by a _kaldoon_, or magician.]
[Note 2: Written in Bessarabia.]
III
Having performed his service truly,
Deep into debt his father ran;
Three balls a year he gave ye duly,
At last became a ruined man.
But Eugene was by fate preserved,