'
Hannibal
was
in reality a negro.
in reality a negro.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v20 - Phi to Qui
For here will dwell my heart of hearts,
Nor leave you till its life departs.
Ah, woe!
The warder cries impatiently,
"Up and begone! 'tis now bright day—
The dawn has passed away. "
Unless I soon to you can fly,
Dearest, I'll lay me down and die;
So soon will love my heart's springs dry.
Ah! soon will I return again—
Life without you is only pain.
Ah, woe!
Hark to the warder's louder cry!
"Up and begone! 'tis now bright day-
The dawn is passed away. "
-
Blackwood's Magazine, February 1836.
## p. 11891 (#521) ##########################################
11891
LUIGI PULCI
(1431-1486)
teenth century.
ITTLE creative work was done in Italian literature in the fif-
Students loved rather to revive the ancient
classics; and the Italian language came to be regarded as a
tongue too plebeian for the expression of lofty conceptions. Luigi
Pulci is one of the few poets of that century who held in honor the
Tuscan dialect.
-
Pulci was born in 1431, and died (according to most authorities) in
1486. His life seems to have had no importance in the political his-
tory of his times; but in literature he prepared the way for Berni
and for Ariosto, and established for himself a firm position as the
author of 'Il Morgante Maggiore' (Morgante the Giant), a burlesque
epic in twenty-eight cantos. He was a warm friend of Lorenzo de'
Medici, the Magnificent, whose mother, Lucrezia Tornabuoni, he
says, urged and inspired him in the composition of this work. The
romances of Carlovingian chivalry had acquired at the time wonderful
popularity in Italy; by which popularity Pulci was half maddened,
half amused. With infinite delight he gave his mocking imagination
free play; and in 'Il Morgante Maggiore' he turns into good-natured
ridicule the combats and exploits which form the scheme of the medi-
æval epic.
The poem has three heroes,- Roland, Rinaldo, and Charlemagne;
and a dramatis persona of such proportions that adventures become
as numerous as are the sands of the sea. Time and space are here
more successfully annihilated than in these days of steam and of
electricity. The journey to France from Persia or Babylon is accom-
plished with a speed which staggers the modern world.
'Il Morgante Maggiore' treats of the time when Roland, enraged
by the relations which have sprung up between Charlemagne and
Gano di Maganza, leaves the court of the Emperor, to which he is
bound as a paladin, and journeys in foreign lands. At the outset of
his trip he comes to a monastery assaulted by three giants of fabu-
lous proportions: Roland confronts two of these and kills them; the
third, Morgante, he converts to Christianity, and carries with him as
a companion. Though not its principal personage, this giant, Mor-
gante, gives his name to the epic. He and Roland proceed together;
## p. 11892 (#522) ##########################################
11892
LUIGI PULCI
but in Persia, Roland is taken prisoner. On his liberation he becomes
Sultan of Babylon, which empire he after a short time relinquishes,
mastered by his old hatred of Gano, to fight whom he returns to
France. Charlemagne, as soon as he learned of the flight of his dear
Roland, sends in quest of him Rinaldo, Ulivieri, and Dodoni, each of
whom has marvelous experiences. Ulivieri converts to Christianity
a Saracen princess, Meridiana, who falls in love with him; Rinaldo
wrests the throne from Charlemagne, and in deference to his advanced
years, returns it to him,-forgiving, on the ground of senility, his
faith in Gano. Morgante too has now set out in search of his lost
Roland, taking with him a giant called Margutte. Their congenial
companionship, however, is terminated by an unusual catastrophe.
Margutte, after a lavish feast, falls into a heavy sleep. Morgante, for
the sake of having a little sport when his companion wakes, takes off
Margutte's boots and hides them; but they are found by a monkey,
who, enchanted by this new toy, amuses herself by putting them on
and drawing them off. She continues this amusement so long that
Margutte wakes and sees her; at which he is attacked by such vio-
lent laughter that his body bursts open. Morgante dies a less hilarious
death, occasioned by the bite of a crawfish on his heel. This poem,
with the disconnected paths of its heroes and its isolated events, can
scarcely claim any unity of conception. The moving power of the
story is, however, the malignity of Gano di Maganza; and this holds
together with a slender thread the arbitrary incidents of the story,
weaving them into a fascinatingly bizarre pattern. The climax of the
poem is the death of Roland in the narrow valley of Roncesvalles,
and the death by torture of Gano, whose infidelity Charlemagne can
no longer doubt.
In the midst of extravagant buffooneries, Pulci often pauses, and
by a line of finest pathos reveals himself a true poet. While ridicul-
ing the troubadours with grotesque humor, he suddenly brightens his
descriptions by a gleam of human philosophy. He is the author of a
series of sonnets, of a parody on a pastoral poem written by Lorenzo
de' Medici, and also of a novel called 'A Confession to the Holy Vir-
gin. ' His reputation, however, lives entirely through his 'Morgante
Maggiore'; which is interesting as being the first romantic poem
which Italy produced, as well as through the variety of its incident
and the fascination of its style.
## p. 11893 (#523) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
11893
THE CONVERSION OF THE GIANT MORGANTE
From the 'Morgante Maggiore ›
B
UT watchful Fortune, lurking, takes good heed
Ever some bar 'gainst our intents to bring.
While Charles reposed him thus, in word and deed
Orlando ruled court, Charles, and everything;
Curst Gan, with envy bursting, had such need
To vent his spite, that thus with Charles the King
One day he openly began to say,—
"Orlando must we always then obey?
"A thousand times I've been about to say,
Orlando too presumptuously goes on.
Here are we, counts, kings, dukes, to own thy sway;
Hamo and Otho, Ogier, Solomon,
Each have to honor thee and to obey:
But he has too much credit near the throne;
Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided
By such a boy to be no longer guided.
"And even at Aspramont thou didst begin
To let him know he was a gallant knight,
And by the fount did much the day to win;
But I know who that day had won the fight
If it had not for good Gherardo been:
The victory was Almonte's else; his sight
He kept upon the standard, and the laurels
In fact and fairness are his earning, Charles.
"If thou rememberest being in Gascony,
When there advanced the nations out of Spain,
The Christian cause had suffered shamefully,
Had not his valor driven them back again.
Best speak the truth when there's a reason why:
Know then, O Emperor! that all complain;
As for myself, I shall repass the mounts
O'er which I crossed with two-and-sixty counts.
"Tis fit my grandeur should dispense relief,
So that each here may have his proper part,
For the whole court is more or less in grief:
Perhaps thou deem'st this lad a Mars in heart? »
## p. 11894 (#524) ##########################################
11894
LUIGI PULCI
Orlando one day heard this speech in brief,
As by himself it chanced he sat apart:
Displeased he was with Gan because he said it,
But much more still that Charles should give him credit.
And with the sword he would have murdered Gan,
But Oliver thrust in between the pair,
And from his hand extracted Durlindan,
And thus at length they separated were.
Orlando, angry too with Carloman,
Wanted but little to have slain him there;
Then forth alone from Paris went the chief,
And burst and maddened with disdain and grief.
Then full of wrath departed from the place,
And far as pagan countries roamed astray,
And while he rode, yet still at every pace
The traitor Gan remembered by the way;
And wandering on in error a long space,
An abbey which in a lone desert lay,
'Midst glens obscure and distant lands, he found,
Which formed the Christian's and the pagan's bound.
The abbot was called Clermont, and by blood
Descended from Angrante; under cover
Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood,
But certain savage giants looked him over:
One Passamont was foremost of the brood,
And Alabaster and Morgante hover
Second and third, with certain slings, and throw
In daily jeopardy the place below.
The monks could pass the convent gate no more,
Nor leave their cells for water or for wood.
Orlando knocked, but none would ope, before
Unto the prior it at length seemed good;
Entered, he said that he was taught to adore
Him who was born of Mary's holiest blood,
And was baptized a Christian; and then showed
How to the abbey he had found his road.
Said the abbot, "You are welcome; what is mine
We give you freely, since that you believe
With us in Mary Mother's son divine;
And that you may not, cavalier, conceive
## p. 11895 (#525) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
11895
The cause of our delay to let you in
To be rusticity, you shall receive
The reason why our gate was barred to you;-
Thus those who in suspicion live must do.
"When hither to inhabit first we came
These mountains, albeit that they are obscure,
As you perceive, yet without fear or blame
They seemed to promise an asylum sure;
From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame,
'Twas fit our quiet dwelling to secure;
But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard
Against domestic beasts with watch and ward.
"These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch;
For late there have appeared three giants rough:
What nation or what kingdom bore the batch
I know not; but they are all of savage stuff.
When force and malice with some genius match,
You know they can do all-we are not enough;
And these so much our orisons derange,
I know not what to do till matters change.
"Our ancient fathers living the desert in,
For just and holy works were duly fed;
Think not they lived on locusts sole,- 'tis certain
That manna was rained down from heaven instead:
But here tis fit we keep on the alert in
[bread,
Our bounds, or taste the stones showered down for
From oft yon mountain daily raining faster,
And flung by Passamont and Alabaster.
"The third, Morgante, 's savagest by far: he
Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar-trees, and oaks,
And flings them, our community to bury;
And all that I can do but more provokes. "
While thus they parley in the cemetery,
A stone from one of their gigantic strokes,
Which nearly crushed Rondell, came tumbling over,
So that he took a long leap under cover.
"For God's sake, cavalier, come in with speed!
The manna's falling now," the abbot cried.
"This fellow does not wish my horse should feed,
Dear abbot," Roland unto him replied:
## p. 11896 (#526) ##########################################
11896
LUIGI PULCI
"Of restiveness he'd cure him had he need;
That stone seems with good will and aim applied. »
The holy father said, "I don't deceive:
They'll one day fling the mountain, I believe. »
Orlando bade them take care of Rondello,
And also made a breakfast of his own.
"Abbot," he said, "I want to find that fellow
Who flung at my good horse yon corner-stone. "
Said the abbot, "Let not my advice seem shallow,—
As to a brother dear I speak alone:
I would dissuade you, baron, from this strife,
As knowing sure that you will lose your life.
"That Passamont has in his hand three darts,-
Such slings, clubs, ballast-stones, that yield you must;
You know that giants have much stouter hearts
Than we, with reason, in proportion just:
If go you will, guard well against their arts,
For these are very barbarous and robust. "
Orlando answered, "This I'll see, be sure,
And walk the wild on foot to be secure. "
The abbot signed the great cross on his front:
"Then go you with God's benison and mine! "
Orlando, after he had scaled the mount,
As the abbot had directed, kept the line
Right to the usual haunt of Passamont;
Who, seeing him alone in this design,
Surveyed him fore and aft with eyes observant,
Then asked him "if he wished to stay as servant? "
And promised him an office of great ease.
But said Orlando, "Saracen insane!
I come to kill you, if it shall so please
God, not to serve as footboy in your train:
You with his monks so oft have broke the peace-
Vile dog! 'tis past his patience to sustain. »
The giant ran to fetch his arms, quite furious,
When he received an answer so injurious:
And being returned to where Orlando stood,
Who had not moved him from the spot, and swinging
The cord, he hurled a stone with strength so rude
As showed a sample of his skill in slinging;
## p. 11897 (#527) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
11897
It rolled on Count Orlando's helmet good
And head, and set both head and helmet ringing,
So that he swooned with pain as if he died,
But more than dead, he seemed so stupefied.
Then Passamont, who thought him slain outright.
Said, "I will go; and while he lies along,
Disarm me: why such craven did I fight? "
But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long,
Especially Orlando, such a knight
As to desert would almost be a wrong.
While the giant goes to put off his defenses,
Orlando has recalled his force and senses.
And loud he shouted, "Giant, where dost go?
Thou thought'st me doubtless for the bier outlaid:
To the right about! — without wings thou'rt too slow
To fly my vengeance, currish renegade!
'Twas but by treachery thou laid'st me low. "
The giant his astonishment betrayed,
And turned about, and stopped his journey on,
And then he stooped to pick up a great stone.
Orlando had Cortana bare in hand;
To split the head in twain was what he schemed.
Cortana clave the skull like a true brand,
And pagan Passamont died unredeemed;
Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he banned,
And most devoutly Macon still blasphemed:
But while his crude, rude blasphemies he heard,
Orlando thanked the Father and the Word,-
Saying, "What grace to me thou'st given!
And I to thee, O Lord, am ever bound.
I know my life was saved by thee from heaven,
Since by the giant I was fairly downed.
All things by thee are measured just and even;
Our power without thine aid would naught be found.
I pray thee take heed of me, till I can
At least return once more to Carloman. "
And having said thus much, he went his way;
And Alabaster he found out below,
Doing the very best that in him lay
To root from out a bank a rock or two.
## p. 11898 (#528) ##########################################
11898
LUIGI PULCI
Orlando, when he reached him, loud 'gan say,
"How think'st thou, glutton, such a stone to throw? »
When Alabaster heard his deep voice ring,
He suddenly betook him to his sling,
And hurled a fragment of a size so large,
That if it had in fact fulfilled its mission,
And Roland not availed him of his targe,
There would have been no need of a physician.
Orlando set himself in turn to charge,
And in his bulky bosom made incision
With all his sword. The lout fell; but, o'erthrown, he
However by no means forgot Macone.
Morgante had a palace in his mode,
Composed of branches, logs of wood, and earth;
And stretched himself at ease in this abode,
And shut himself at night within his berth.
Orlando knocked, and knocked again, to goad
The giant from his sleep; and he came forth,
The door to open, like a crazy thing,
For a rough dream had shook him slumbering.
He thought that a fierce serpent had attacked him,
And Mahomet he called; but Mahomet
Is nothing worth, and not an instant backed him;
But praying blessed Jesu, he was set
At liberty from all the fears which racked him.
And to the gate he came with great regret:
"Who knocks here? " grumbling all the while, said he.
"That," said Orlando, "you will quickly see.
"I come to preach to you, as to your brothers,
Sent by the miserable monks-repentance;
For Providence divine, in you and others,
Condemns the evil done by new acquaintance.
'Tis writ on high, your wrong must pay another's;
From heaven itself is issued out this sentence:
Know, then, that colder now than a pilaster
I left your Passamont and Alabaster. »
Morgante said, "O gentle cavalier!
Now by thy God say me no villainy;
The favor of your name I fain would hear,
And if a Christian, speak for courtesy. "
## p. 11899 (#529) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
11899
Replied Orlando, "So much to your ear
I by my faith disclose contentedly,
Christ I adore, who is the genuine Lord,
And if you please, by you may be adored. "
The Saracen rejoined in humble tone:
"I have had an extraordinary vision;
A savage serpent fell on me alone,
And Macon would not pity my condition.
Hence to thy God, who for ye did atone
Upon the cross, preferred I my petition;
His timely succor set me safe and free,
And I a Christian am disposed to be. "
―
Orlando answered, "Baron just and pious,
If this good wish your heart can really move
To the true God, who will not then deny us
Eternal honor, you will go above.
And if you please, as friends we will ally us,
And I will love you with a perfect love.
Your idols are vain liars full of fraud;
The only true God is the Christian's God.
"The Lord descended to the virgin breast
Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine;
If you acknowledge the Redeemer, blest,
Without whom neither sun nor star can shine,
Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test,
Your renegado God, and worship mine,-
Baptize yourself with zeal, since you repent. "
To which Morgante answered, "I'm content. "
And then Orlando to embrace him flew,
And made much of his convert, as he cried,
"To the abbey I will gladly marshal you. "
To whom Morgante "Let us go" replied:
"I to the friars have for peace to sue. "
Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride,
Saying, "My brother, so devout and good,
Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would;
"Since God has granted your illumination,
Accepting you in mercy for his own,
Humility should be your first oblation. "
Morgante said, "For goodness's sake make known -
-
## p. 11900 (#530) ##########################################
11900
LUIGI PULCI
Since that your God is to be mine-your station,
And let your name in verity be shown;
Then will I everything at your command do. "
On which the other said, he was Orlando.
"Then," quoth the giant, "blessed be Jesu,
A thousand times with gratitude and praise!
Oft, perfect baron! have I heard of you
Through all the different periods of my days;
And as I said, to be your vassal too
I wish, for your great gallantry always. "
Thus reasoning, they continued much to say,
And onwards to the abbey went their way.
Then to the abbey they went on together,
Where waited them the abbot in great doubt.
The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither
To their superior, all in breathless rout,
Saying, with tremor, "Please to tell us whether
You wish to have this person in or out? »
The abbot, looking through upon the giant,
Too greatly feared, at first, to be compliant.
Orlando, seeing him thus agitated,
Said quickly, "Abbot, be thou of good cheer:
He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated,
And hath renounced his Macon false;" which here
Morgante with the hands corroborated,-
A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear:
Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored,
Saying, "Thou hast contented me, O Lord! »
He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated,
And more than once contemplated his size;
And then he said, "O giant celebrated,
Know that no more my wonder will arise,
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,
When I behold your form with my own eyes. "
And thus great honor to Morgante paid
The abbot: many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both strayed,
And sauntered here and there where'er they chose,
The abbot showed a chamber where arrayed
Much armor was, and hung up certain bows;
## p. 11901 (#531) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.
There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
Morgante, I could wish you in this case
To go for water. " "You shall be obeyed
In all commands," was the reply, "straightway. "
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,
And went out on his way unto a fountain,
Where he was wont to drink below the mountain.
Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares
An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head:
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours,
So that the giant's joined by all the boars.
Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,
Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear,
And passed unto the other side quite through,
So that the boar, defunct, lay tripped up near.
Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,
Against the giant rushed in fierce career,
And reached the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.
11901
Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head
As floored him so that he no more arose,
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,
Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook.
The tun was on one shoulder and there were
The hogs on t'other, and he brushed apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear
With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
## p. 11902 (#532) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
11902
Marveled to see his strength so very great;
So did the abbot, and set wide the gate.
The monks, who saw the water fresh and good,
Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork.
All animals are glad at sight of food.
They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work
With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood
That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork;
Of rankness and of rot there is no fear,
For all the fasts are now left in arrear.
As though they wished to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,
Perceiving that they all were picked too clean.
The abbot, who to all did honor great,
A few days after this convivial scene
Gave to Morgante a fine horse well trained,
Which he long time had for himself maintained.
The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,
Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, "Get up, thou sulky cur! "
And still continued pricking with the spur.
But finally he thought fit to dismount,
And said, "I am as light as any feather,
And he has burst: to this what say you, count? »
Orlando answered, "Like a ship's mast rather
You seem to me, and with the truck for front:
Let him go; fortune wills that we together
Should march, but you on foot, Morgante, still. "
To which the giant answered, "So I will.
"When there shall be occasion, you shall see
How I approve my courage in the fight. "
Orlando said, "I really think you'll be,
If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight;
Nor will you napping there discover me
But never mind your horse, though out of sight
## p. 11903 (#533) ##########################################
LUIGI PULCI
'Twere best to carry him into some wood,
If but the means or way I understood. "
The giant said, "Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack,—
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back. "
Orlando answered, "If my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who
As you have done to him will do to you.
"Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead,
As Nessus did of old beyond all cure;
I don't know if the fact you've heard or read,
But he will make you burst, you may be sure. "
"But help him on my back," Morgante said,
"And you shall see what weight I can endure.
In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey,
With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry. "
The abbot said, "The steeple may do well,
But for the bells, you've broken them, I wot. "
Morgante answered, "Let them pay in hell
The penalty, who lie dead in yon grot. "
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, "Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force; " —
And then he made two gambols with the horse.
Morgante was like any mountain framed;
So if he did this, 'tis no prodigy:
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,
Because he was one of his family;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maimed,
Once more he bade him lay his burthen by:
"Put down, nor bear him further the desert in. "
Morgante said, "I'll carry him for certain. ”
11903
He did; and stowed him in some nook away,
And to the abbey then returned with speed.
Orlando said, "Why longer do we stay,
Morgante? here is naught to do indeed. "
Translation of Lord Byron.
## p. 11904 (#534) ##########################################
11904
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
(1799-1837)
BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD
OREIGNERS who begin their acquaintance with the modern
Russian novelists, the generation of the "sixties," and with
no preliminary knowledge of Russian literature in the last
century, will find it difficult to appreciate in due measure the serv-
ices which Pushkin rendered to both language and literature. Push-
kin may be said to have completed the task begun by Lomonosoff:
of molding into an exquisite instrument, fitted for every service of
poetry and prose, the hitherto unwieldy, uncouth forms of the lan-
guage. That glory in a measure, therefore, he shares with Lomono-
soff. In the realm for which Russian modern literature holds the
palm,- simplicity, realism, absolute fidelity to life,- Pushkin was the
forerunner of the great men whose names are synonyms for those
qualities. In this domain he should share the fame of the acknowl-
edged father of the school, Gogol. He was the first Russian writer
to wage battle against the mock classicism of France which then
ruled Europe, and against the translations and servile copies of
foreign literature to which almost every writer who preceded him
had been wholly devoted. He placed Russian literature firmly on
Russian soil; utilizing her rich national traditions, sentiments, and
life, in a manner which is as full of life and truth as it is of the
highest art.
His powers were due possibly to the mixture of blood, added to
a richly endowed nature. His early education most assuredly was
not adapted to produce anything new, national, or profound. His
father was the scion of a noble family, whose ancestors had occupied
positions of importance under the father of Peter the Great, in the
seventeenth century. His mother was the granddaughter of Abram
Hannibal, the famous godchild and favorite of Peter the Great, of
whom Pushkin wrote in 'Peter the Great's Arab.
' Hannibal was
in reality a negro. He was captured on the shores of Africa, and
sent to Constantinople as a slave. The Russian Ambassador bought
him and sent him to Peter the Great, who had him baptized. Later
on, when Hannibal's brother came to St. Petersburg to ransom him,
Peter refused to part with his friend. Peter sent him, at the age
of eighteen, to France for his education; and on his return to Russia,
## p. 11904 (#535) ##########################################
## p. 11904 (#536) ##########################################
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## p. 11904 (#537) ##########################################
100
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ALEXANDER PUSHKIN.
od Day
Or
## p. 11904 (#538) ##########################################
## p. 11905 (#539) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11905
kept him constantly beside him. During the reign of the Empress
Anna, Hannibal, as the personal enemy of Biron, was banished to
Siberia; but he soon returned in secret, and hid himself on his estate
until the accession to the throne of the Empress Elizabeth, who
loaded him with favors. His son, Pushkin's grandfather, was a dis-
tinguished general of Katherine II. 's time, and died shortly after
the poet's birth, which occurred on June 7th, 1799. Though Pushkin
had blue eyes, a very fair skin, and in youth very light hair, his lips
and the whole cast of his countenance betrayed the negro blood. His
father, on retiring from the military service, settled in Moscow, and
became a thorough exemplar of the gallicized Russian,— pleasure-
loving, wholly devoted to society and amusement,- of which there
were but too many instances in the Russia of that epoch. French
was the language of the family, and of Alexander Sergyéevitch's
education. His mother, who aimed at making of him a brilliant
society man, on the pattern of his father, took him as a little boy
everywhere with her in society, and he was well acquainted with the
literary men of the time; Moscow being as yet the centre of that
life. As a child he was neither clever nor studious, but he was an
omnivorous reader. Had he been receptive, his French tutors would
undoubtedly have deprived Russia of incalculable treasures.
At the age of ten he began to write amateur plays and imita-
tions of French verse, all in French. At the age of twelve he was
placed in the famous Lyceum of Tzarskoe Selo, then just opened;
and it was the wise rule of that institution which saved him for his
country. The aim of this Lyceum, which succeeded in turning out
many distinguished men for its country's service, was to develop
the individual powers of the pupil - especially in the line of inde-
pendence and morals-to the highest degree. A great deal of lib-
erty was allowed the boys out of school, and they used it for literary
purposes; publishing several manuscript journals, and devoting their
evenings to the intellectual amusement of story-telling. Under these
auspices, Pushkin began to write in Russian, beginning with biting
epigrams. At the public examination in 1815, he aroused the en-
thusiastic admiration of the aged poet Derzhavin by his wonderful
facility and mastery of poetic forms, though there was very little
originality of thought in his poem. Karamzin the historian, and
Zhukovsky the poet, also divined the lad's wonderful gifts; and the
latter soon began to submit his poems to Pushkin for the judgment
of the boy's wonderfully developed taste. The admiration of the
great literary lights at last convinced his parents that dissatisfaction
with his school reports as to diligence and the acquisition of general
knowledge must be set aside for pride in his future greatness. The
important points about his poetry at this epoch were the marvelous
1
XX-745
## p. 11906 (#540) ##########################################
11906
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
variety of subject and the astonishing delicacy with which he imi-
tated various poetical forms and yielded to varying poetical moods.
But at this very time, before he left the Lyceum, he had entered on
the new path: he had begun to write his romantic-fantastic poem,
'Ruslan and Liudmila,' in which, for the first time in history, Rus-
sian poetry dealt with strictly national themes, on native soil, ex-
pressed in a free, natural, narrative style, which was utterly opposed
to the prevailing rhetorical school, both in irregularity of movement
and diversions from the theme. This no doubt was the fruit of his
child's-fondness for popular tales, which his maternal grandmother
had told him; and the startled critics were at a loss what to say
when it was published later on in 1820.
Pushkin's talent, added to his birth and family connections, gave
him immediate access to the gayest society of St. Petersburg, when
he left the Lyceum; and he plunged so wildly into dissipation that
many were seriously alarmed as to the possible effect on his liter-
ary future. Intoxicated by his gifts and admiration, he openly and
sharply attacked, in clever epigrams, everybody and everything which
did not please him. At last he was called to account by the gov-
ernor of the city, and frankly furnished copies, from memory, of all
the offensive couplets. Touched by this, the governor confined his
punishment to measures which proved the salvation of the poet, in
a literary sense. He was transferred from the ministry of Foreign
Affairs (into which the students of the Lyceum all graduated) and
sent to southern Russia, provided with traveling expenses, and given
a suitable rank in another department of the service; and all possi-
ble precautions were taken to administer the lesson without injur-
ing his feelings or dignity. During this period, between 1820 and
1824, he lived chiefly in the south,-first in Kishineff, then in Odessa;
made a trip to the Caucasus, whose impressions are recorded in his
'Prisoner of the Caucasus'; visited the Crimea, which resulted in
the rendition of the Tatar idyl in 'The Fountain of Baktchisarai';
and strolled for a time with the gypsies, imbibing ideas which he
put into The Gypsies. ' During this period he fell greatly under the
influence of Byron, as the portions of 'Evgenie Onyegin' written in
Odessa, as well as the poems just mentioned, and short lyric pieces
like The Nereid,' plainly show. This influence ceased, however, in
1824, after which there is hardly a trace of it; the poet's return to
the north being coincident with his return to his true national sub-
jects and style, which he developed with increased power, and never
again abandoned. The manner in which he was returned to the
place and material which suited his talent is as amusing as it is
instructive. He did not get on well with his chief in Odessa, Count
M. S. Vorontzoff, whom he displeased by his mode of life, his sharp
## p. 11907 (#541) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11907
utterances, and his heedlessness of public opinion. The end came
when Pushkin launched his epigram on Vorontzoff: "Half my-lord,
half trader, half wise man and half dunce; half rascal- but there
are hopes of his becoming a whole one yet. " Count Vorontzoff dealt
as gently as possible with his intractable subordinate, and made a
curious report to the government, with the object of not prejudicing
the authorities against him. "There are many people here," ran
the official document,-" and at the bathing season their number is
greatly augmented,-who, being enthusiastic admirers of Pushkin's
poetry, display their sympathy by exaggerated laudations, and there-
by render him an inimical service; since they contribute to obscure
his mind, and enhance his opinion of himself as a great author,
while in reality he is only a weak imitator of a not very respect-
able model Lord Byron. " The Count wound up by suggesting that
only in some other government could less dangerous society, and the
leisure for perfecting his rising talent, be assured to the young
poet. As he had been guilty of another indiscretion at this precise
moment, he was retired from the service, and ordered to live on the
estate of Mikhailovskoe, Pskoff government, which belonged to his
parents. His father was invited by the local authorities to under-
take his surveillance, in order to obviate the appointment of any
other superintendent; but he exercised his office in such an intoler-
ably oppressive manner as though his son were a criminal of the
deepest dye that Pushkin appealed to the poet Zhukovsky, who
was powerful at court, to free him from this persecution. Thanks
to Zhukovsky's intervention, matters were improved; the elder Push-
kin withdrew in disgust from the estate, leaving his son to the
care of the Marshal of Nobility, and to the peace of mind which he
required for his work. His solitude was fruitful. Through the influ-
ence and folk-tales of his famous old nurse, Arina Rodionovna, he
became more and more imbued with the spirit of his native land,
more zealous in his studies of it, more enthusiastic in the artistic
prosecution of his true vocation. He called listening to his nurse
"making up for the defects in his accursed education," - meaning
thereby the French influence. All the folk-tales which he published
were derived from Arina Rodionovna, and his study of Shakespeare,
undertaken at this time, finally freed him from the influence of
Byron.
-
-
He lived at Mikhailovskoe until the autumn of 1826, writing
with fully matured talents, in the style which constitutes his chief
merit. Harmony of versification which has never since been ap-
proached, except in a measure by Lermontoff; vivid delineation of
character; simple but wonderfully truthful description of every-day
life, which all Russian writers had scorned down to that time,- such
## p. 11908 (#542) ##########################################
11908
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
are Pushkin's indestructible claims to immortality. In the autumn of
1826 he was summoned to Moscow, to an interview with the Emperor
Nikolas I. , who thereafter undertook to be the censor of the poet's
writings. This return to the society and dissipations of the capitals,
in which the greater part of his remaining life was spent, acted as
a whole unfavorably on his talent. Nevertheless, he wrote many fine
things during his occasional retreats to the country, including 'Boris
Godunoff,' which marked an epoch in Russian dramatic literature
and historical treatment; 'Poltava'; and a mass of shorter pieces.
Early in 1831 he married Natalya Nikolaevna Gontcharoff, and
what we may designate as his prose period began. He and his fam-
ily were loaded with Imperial favors, pensions, and honors. But his
own taste for aristocratic society, and lavish expenditure, coincided but
too well with the thoughtless demands of his young and beautiful
wife, who was a reigning belle. Anxiety about money haunted the
poet during the brief remainder of his life; his father, whom he gen-
erously tried to aid, ungratefully accused him of dishonesty; debts
accumulated; all inclination to write poetry fled before these dis-
heartening facts, and he plunged into the study of historical docu-
ments in the State Archives, to which he was allowed access. This
study resulted in 'The History of Pugatcheff's Rebellion'; and in his
celebrated story from the same period (Katherine II. ), The Captain's
Daughter,' in which he, almost simultaneously with Gogol, laid the
firm foundations of the modern, the true Russian school.
In 1836
Petersburg society began to gossip about the lovely Madame Push-
kin; and Baron George Hekkeren-Dantes, natural son of the minister
from Holland to the Russian court, and a boastful officer in the Che-
valier Guards, began to persecute her with his attentions. Pushkin,
though he entirely absolved his wife from blame in the matter, felt
compelled to challenge Dantes to a duel, because of the anonymous
letters sent to him and his relatives. Dantes averted the duel
by marrying Pushkin's sister, which offered an apparent excuse for
his previous attentions. Nevertheless the gossip continued; Pushkin
refused to receive his brother-in-law, and the latter, abetted by his
father, persisted in their persecution of Madame Pushkin. At last
Pushkin challenged the elder Hekkeren to a duel; the younger
Hekkeren (Dantes) adopted the quarrel, and the duel resulted in the
death of Pushkin (at St. Petersburg, January 29th, 1837). So great
was public indignation against Dantes, that the authorities feared a
riot at the poet's funeral, and a catastrophe to the Hekkerens. Ac-
cordingly the funeral was appointed to take place in secret, by night,
and guards were stationed to insure safety. The Emperor assigned
150,000 rubles for the payment of the poet's debts and the publication
of his works, and bestowed a generous pension on his family.
## p. 11909 (#543) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11909
Pushkin cannot be regarded as having derived from abroad his in-
spiration to turn Russian literature into a new path, in spite of the
admitted influence of Lord Byron and his later assiduous study of
foreign writers. All the Continental literatures were striving to free
themselves from the bonds of servitude to French pseudo-classicism
by working out their several national themes; and that was the
course which Pushkin instinctively adopted while still a schoolboy,
in 'Ruslan and Liudmila. ' Moreover, he was the first man who fully
realized for Russians the poetic ideal, in his absolute freedom of
relations to society and his own work, and in his character and tem-
perament. For all these things, and for his appeal to their national
sentiments, his fellow-countrymen adored him. The element of roman-
ticism which complicated his realism in no wise hindered, but rather
increased this adoration; though there came a time when it was
considered rather blameworthy to read his poetry. But his incom-
parable union of inward force with beauty and elegance of out-
ward expression was universally recognized by the name of "the
Pushkin style of poetry. " The special direction in which Pushkin
surpasses all other Russian poets is in his marvelously harmonious
blending of truth, beauty, delicate appreciation of the fundamental
characteristics of the national life, unsurpassed clearness in setting
them forth, with a simplicity which enhances but does not exclude
the most satisfying completeness. Unfortunately for foreigners, it is
impossible to reproduce the melody of his versification; and he suf-
fers accordingly, as all poets must suffer, in any attempt to render
his work into another language. It is unlikely that his work as a
whole will ever be accessible to foreigners; though in all directions
lyrical pieces, historical and dramatic fragments, prose tales, and cor-
respondence—it is invaluable to the student of the Russian literary
movement in this century. 'Ruslan and Liudmila' was used as the
libretto for an opera by Glinka, and Dargomishsky made a similar
use of the dramatic fragment The Water Nymph' ('Rusalka'). Both
operas are still included in the repertory of the Imperial Russian
Theatre.
'Evgenie Onyegin' is rightly regarded as Pushkin's greatest work.
The fact that it was written at intervals, during the period from
1822 to 1829, affords us an opportunity to watch the poet's growth
from the days when he was willing to pose, in literature and life, as
"the Russian Byron," to the epoch, which he herein inaugurated, of
vigorous nationality in thought and expression. Evgenie begins as
the Byronic young society man, recalled from his city dissipations
and pleasures to the country by his father's death. Here he lives,
for a long time avoiding all contact with his neighbors, whose social
experiences and culture are not on the level of his sympathies.
## p. 11910 (#544) ##########################################
11910
ALEXANDER SERGYEEVITCH PUSHKIN
Vladimir Lensky, a young poet, the son of one of these landed gen-
try families, returns from abroad, and a friendship of congenial minds
and tastes springs up between him and Onyegin. Lensky has long
been betrothed to Olga Larin, and induces Onyegin to call upon her
family with him. Olga's elder sister, Tatyana, immediately falls in
love with Onyegin, and writes him a letter which is a famous liter-
ary piece. Onyegin preaches her a fatherly sermon, and the inci-
dent remains unknown to every one except themselves and Tatyana's
rather dull old nurse. Shortly afterwards, Lensky persuades Onyegin
to go to the Larins on the occasion of Tatyana's Name-day festival.
Onyegin, for the sake of keeping up appearances in that gossipy
country district, yields and goes. He is placed, at dinner, directly
opposite to Tatyana, by the innocent machinations of her family; and
finds the situation so embarrassing that he determines, in dull wrath,
to revenge himself on the perfectly innocent Lensky by flirting with
Olga, who is to become Lensky's wife within a fortnight. Olga, a
pretty but weak-natured girl, accepts his attentions at dinner, and the
dance which follows, with such interest that Lensky sends Onyegin
a challenge to fight a duel. Onyegin, appalled at the results of his
momentary unjust anger, would gladly withdraw and apologize, were
it not that Lensky has chosen as the bearer of his challenge a local
fire-eater and tattler who would misrepresent his motives. Accord-
ingly he accepts-and Lensky falls under his bullet. He then goes
off on his travels; Olga soon consoles herself with a handsome offi-
cer, and goes with him to his regiment shortly after their marriage.
Tatyana, who is of a reserved, intense character, pines under these
conditions, refuses all offers of marriage, and is at last, by the advice
of friends, taken to Moscow for the winter. There, as a wall-flower
at her first ball, she captivates a prince from St. Petersburg, who is
also a general, and of high social importance. She obeys the desire
of her parents, and marries him. When Onyegin returns to the cap-
ital a couple of years later, he finds, to his intense astonishment,
that the little country girl whom he has patronized, rejected, almost
scorned, is one of the great ladies of the court and society. He falls
madly in love with her, in his turn, but receives not the slightest
sign of friendship from her. Driven to despair by her cold indiffer-
ence, he writes her three letters, to which she does not reply; and
then, entering her boudoir unexpectedly through the carelessness of
her servants, he finds her reading his letter, in tears. To his con-
fession of love, she replies that she loves him still, but will be true
to her kind and noble husband. Tatyana, with her reserved power,
her frank, deep expression of her passion, her fidelity in love and
duty, is regarded as one of the noblest and most profoundly faith-
ful pictures of the genuine Russian woman to be found in Russian
## p. 11911 (#545) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11911
literature, as Onyegin, Lensky, and Olga are also considered typical
in their several ways,- Onyegin ranking almost on a level with
Tatyana in sympathy, quite on a level as a type. Tschaikovsky has
used 'Evgenie Onyegin' for an opera, which is a favorite in Russia.
Pushkin's other epoch-making work, Boris Godunoff,' is a drama
of the period which immediately followed the death of Ivan the Ter-
rible's son, Feodor, and the ensuing troublous time. Boris Godunoff,
brother to Tzar Feodor's wife, and favorite of the late Ivan the Ter-
rible, has had the latter's youngest son, Dmitry, murdered, and is
bent on seizing the throne. He forces the nobles, ecclesiastics, and
populace of Moscow to entreat his acceptance of that coveted throne
with tears. He reigns. In the Tchudoff (Miracles) Monastery, which
stands near the Tzar's palace in the Kremlin, a young monk conceives
the project of representing himself as the dead Tzarevitch Dmitry,
escaped from his murderers, and of wresting the throne from the
"usurper. " The idea is suggested to him by his conversation with an
aged monk (who has written the Chronicles and seen the murdered
Dmitry), wherein he learns that his age corresponds to that which
Dmitry would have attained, and deplores his own lack of stirring
adventure before he immured himself in the monastery. This Grigory
Otrepieff, the first of the many Pretenders who racked Russia with
suffering in their claims to be the dead Tzarevitch, makes good his
escape to Poland; wins the support of the King and nobles, who do
not believe in him, but grasp eagerly at the pretext to harass their
ancient enemy; and eventually reigns for a short time in Moscow.
To his betrothed, Marina Mnishek, the ambitious daughter of one of
his noble Polish supporters, he confesses the falsity of his claims.
Godunoff and his children naturally suffer at the hands of the fickle
multitude which had besought him to rule over them; but this is
hinted at, not shown, in the piece. This drama is not only of the
greatest interest in itself, and as an absolute novelty,—the foundation
of a style in Russian dramatic writing, but also as showing the
genesis of Count Alexei K. Tolstoy's famous 'Dramatic Trilogy' from
the same historical epoch written forty years later.
Isabel 7. Hapgood
## p. 11912 (#546) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11912
FROM BORIS GODUNOFF›
Time, 1603. Night. Scene: A cell in the Tchudoff (Miracles) Monastery.
Father Pimen, and Grigory asleep.
FA
ATHER PIMEN-Only one more, one final narrative,
And then my chronicle is ended;
The duty laid on me, a sinful man,
By God, is done. Not vainly did the Lord
For many years set me as witness,
And give me understanding of the bookish art.
I live a new, fresh life in ancient days;
The vanished past flits clear before my eyes:
Some men, a few, my memory hath retained,
Some words, few also, have come down to me;
The rest is lost, lost irretrievably.
But dawn draws nigh; my shrine-lamp waxes dim:
Now one last record, and the very last.
Grigory [waking]
Pimen-
Grigory-
Pimen-
Pimen-
-
That dream again! Is't possible? For the third time.
That cursed dream! And still before his lamp
The old man sits and writes, and all the night
He has not closed an eye in doze or slumber.
How I do love his tranquil mien,
When, buried in the past, with all his soul
He writes his chronicles; and often, often
I have so longed to guess of what he writes.
Thou hast awakened, brother?
Bless me, reverend father.
May the Lord bless thee
Both now and ever and forever more.
Grigory Most reverend father, lo, this many a day
I have desired to ask thee of the death
Of Dmitry the Tzarévitch; at that time
'Tis said, thou wert in Uglitch.
Ah, I remember: God let me see a crime,
A bloody deed. That day I was in Uglitch,
In distant Uglitch, sent upon a mission.
At night I came: at morn, when mass was due,
I heard the sudden bells; they pealed alarm:
Shouts, noise,-out ran the royal maidens;
Out ran I also; all the town was there.
## p. 11913 (#547) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
Grigory-
Pimen-
I look with gaping throat there lies
The dead Tzarévitch. Then the crowd pursued
The three assassins fleeing,
.
And brought them to the still, wan body of the child;
Whereon a marvel,-the dead body quivered.
"Repent, confess! " the people roared at them;
And in their terror, there beneath the axe,
The villains spoke and said Borís had sent them.
What age had then the slain Dmitry?
Seven years he would be now
(Ten years have passed since then- nay, more:
Twelve years)—he'd be about thy age,
――――――――
And now would reign; but God willed otherwise. —
But I must rest,- 'tis time,—
And quench my lamp. The bells are calling
To matin prayers. May the Lord bless
His servants. Give me my crutch, Grigory.
The Tzar [entering]-
Grigory Borís, Borís, all trembles now before thee,
And not one dares so much as hint to thee
The fate of that unhappy lad.
Yet here, in his dark cell, the anchorite
Records a fearful charge against thee,
And thou shalt not escape the blame of men,
As thou from God's just wrath shalt not escape.
[Exit.
Scene: The Imperial Palace.
11913
I've reached the highest power;
'Tis six years now that I have reigned in peace;
But there's no happiness within my soul.
Is't not thus in youth we thirst and crave
The joys of love; but once we've quenched
Our hungry heart with brief possession,
We're tired, and cold, and weary on the spot!
The sorcerers in vain predict long life,
And promise days of undisturbed power.
Nor power, nor life, nor aught doth cheer my heart;
My soul forebodeth heaven's wrath and woe.
I am not happy. I did think to still
With plenty and with fame my people here;
To win for aye their love with bounties free.
But wasted are my cares and empty toils:
## p. 11914 (#548) ##########################################
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11914
A living power is hated by the herd;
They love the dead alone, only the dead.
What fools we are when popular applause
Or the loud shout of masses thrills our heart!
God sent down famine on this land of ours;
The people howled, gave up the ghost in torture:
I threw the granaries open, and my gold
I showered upon them; sought out work for them:
Made mad by suffering, they turned and cursed me!
By conflagrations were their homes destroyed;
I built for them then dwellings fair and new;
And they accused me― said I set the fires!
That's the Lord's judgment;-seek its love who will!
Then thought I bliss in my own home to find;
I thought to make my daughter blest in wedlock:
Death, like a whirlwind, snatched her betrothed away,
And rumor craftily insinuates
That I am author of my child's widowhood,—
I, I, unhappy father that I am!
Let a man die-I am his secret slayer:
I hastened on the end of Feódor;
Pushkin-
I gave my sister, the Tzaritza, poison;
I poisoned her, the lowly nun—still I!
Ah, I know it: naught can give us calm
Amid the sorrows of this present world;
Conscience alone, mayhap:
Thus, when 'tis pure it triumphs
O'er bitter malice, o'er dark calumny;
But if there be in it a single stain,
One, only one, by accident contracted,
Why then, alas! all's done; as with foul plague
The soul consumes, the heart is filled with gall,
Reproaches beat like hammers in the ears,
The man turns sick, his head whirls dizzily,
And bloody children float before my eyes.
I'd gladly flee-yet whither ? - horrible!
Yea, sad his state whose conscience is not clean.
