No More Learning

"
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) ##########################################




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## 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.
Scene: Moscow, Schuisky's house. Present: Schuisky and numerous guests.
'Tis wondrous news my nephew writes me here.
The son of our Tzar Terrible - but wait,
[Goes to the door and looks about. ]
The royal child slain by Tzar Boris' rage.
―


## p. 11915 (#549) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
Schuisky-But that's no news.
Pushkin-
Dmitry lives.
Schuisky-
Pushkin
-
Pushkin
The heir alive!
Is that all?
Schuisky-It cannot be!
Pushkin
――――――
Defer your judgment:
Well, now, that's news!
That's marvelous, in sooth!
Wait till you hear the end:
Whoe'er he be,- the young Tzarévitch saved,
Or but a phantom in his semblance clad,
Or bold adventurer, aspirant without shame,—
The fact remains: Dmitry hath appeared-
Pushkin's own eyes have seen him,
When first he came there to the palace,
And entered in through ranks of Lithuanian nobles
Straight to the privy chamber of the King.
Schuisky Whence comes the man? Who is he?
Pushkin
-
11915
That none knows.
'Tis only known he was a serving-man
At Vishnevetzky's; on his bed of sickness
The menial told a priest, under confession's seal:
That haughty lord, learning this secret truth,
Went to him, raised him from his squalid bed,
And led him straight to Sigismund the King.
Schuisky All this, my friend, is such a tangled web,
That, struggle as one will, the brain doth reel.
We cannot doubt this man is a Pretender;
But I admit, the danger is not small.
Most weighty news, in sooth! And if the herd
Once come to hear it, great will be the crash!
- So great, indeed, that scarce can Tzar Borís
Retain the crown upon his clever head.
―――
And serve him right: doth he not rule us now
Like Tzar Ivan? (mention him not near night! )
What matters it that public executions cease?
That we, before the world, on bloody stake, no more
To the Lord Christ chant canons of the Church?
That we're not burned upon the public square
While the Tzar stirs the ashes with his staff?
What safety have we yet for our poor lives?
Exile awaits us every day that dawns,
Siberia, prison, fetters or the cowl of monk;
Then, in the wilds, starvation or a noose.


## p. 11916 (#550) ##########################################

11916
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
Scene: Castle of Voevod Mnishek, in Sambor. Night. A garden.
fountain. Present: The Pretender, Marina Mnishek.
Marina
Pretender
Marina
Pretender
Marina-
-
Pretender-
Hour by hour your difficulties, dangers,
Become more dangerous, more difficult.
Already many doubtful rumors fly about:
One novelty usurps another's place,
And Godunoff is active, takes his measures
What's Godunoff to me? Has Borís power
Over thy love, my only source of bliss?
No, no! Indifferently now I look
Upon his throne, upon his royal state.
Thy love what's life to me without it now,
And glory's halo and the Russian crown?
On the wild steppe, in poor mud-hovel, thou
Of royal diadem for me dost take the place;
Thy love-
Shame on thee! Dare not to forget
Thy lofty, holy, heavenly vocation!
Thy rank should be unto thee dearer far
Than any joy or flattering dreams of life.
With it there's nothing that thou mayest compare.
Not to the youth with foolish passion burning,
Not to the captive of my beauty's power,
But to the heir of Moscow's royal throne,
To the Tzarévitch, saved from death by fate,
This hand I'll give. Then hear, and mark me well.
Torture me not thus, my Marina fair;
Say not it is my rank and not myself
Which thou hast chosen! Dear, thou knowest not
How deeply thou dost wound my heart thereby.
What-what if-oh, cruel doubt most keen! -
Tell me if something less than royal purple
Had Fate the blind bestowed on me at birth,
And were I not in truth the son of Ivan,
Not that young child, by all men long forgot,
Then then-wouldst thou then love me still?
―
Thou art Dmitry and canst be no other;
None other can I love.
Nay, 'tis enough!
I will not share my mistress with the dead,
The mistress who belongs in truth to him.
No, I have feigned enough. Now will I tell
The truth, the whole! Thy Dmitry, heed me well,
A


## p. 11917 (#551) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
Marina -
Pretender-
Marina
Is dead, is buried, will not rise again;
But wouldst thou know who I am?
So be it! hark! A poor monk, nothing more.
Tired of imprisonment, of monastery life,
A daring thought beneath my sombre cowl
Engendered; I prepared the world a marvel—
And fled from out my cell, fled forth at last.
Within their camp the riotous men of Ukraine
Taught me to ride a horse and wield the sword;
I came to you and called myself Dmitry,
And so did fool them all, these witless Poles.
Haughty Marina, what is thy verdict now?
Doth my confession satisfy thy heart?
Why art thou dumb?
Oh, shame and woe to me!
What if to all I show thy insolent deceit ?
Think'st thou I fear thee?
That men will rather trust a Polish maid
Than Russian Tzarévitch? Nay, you must know
That neither king nor noble nor grandee
Careth one jot for truth of that I say.
I am Dmitry, or I'm not-what's that to them?
Still, I'm a pretext for their strife, for war:
That's all they need or reck; and as for you,
Trust me, rebellious maid, they'll silence you.
Farewell!
Nay, stay, Tzarévitch! Now
At last I hear the man speak, not the boy.
Heed me: awake! 'tis time; delay not!
Lead thy troops quickly into Moscow town,
Clear out the Kremlin, mount the Moscow throne-
Then send for me the wedding messenger;
But — God in heaven hears me- till thy foot
-
11917
Upon the steps of that great throne doth rest,
And Godunoff hath been dethroned by thee,
I'll listen to no further word of love. Enough. [Exit


## p. 11918 (#552) ##########################################

11918
ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
EVGENY ONYEGIN
[As it is not possible to reproduce both sense and rhyme, I have attempted
only to give a correct translation, and to preserve the simple rhythm where I
could, in my lack of poetic powers. I have indicated the scheme of rhyme by
numbers attached to the first stanza. I. F. H. ]
I.
2.
I.
2.
3.
3.
4.
4.
5.
6.
6.
5.
7.
7.
-
Another trouble I foresee:
To save the honor of my land
I shall be forced, without a doubt,
To translate Tatyana's letter.
She hardly knew her native Russian,
Our newspapers she never read,
And could express herself but badly
In her own mother tongue.
Accordingly, she wrote in French. -
What's to be done, again I say?
Down to this day a lady's love
In Russian ne'er hath been expressed.
Down to this day our haughty tongue
To prose of letters is not used.
And God forbid that I should meet,
At ball, or parting on the porch,
A yellow-shawled seminarist,
Or Academic in a cap!
Like rosy lips without a smile,
Without grammatical mistakes
I do not love the Russian tongue.
And yet it may be, to my grief,
Of beauties a new generation,
Heeding entreaties of the journals,
To correct speech will make us used.
TATYANA'S LETTER TO ONYEGIN
I WRITE to you. - What can I more?
What is there left for me to say?
And now, I know, upon your will
Depends my chastisement with scorn.
But if to my unhappy lot
You but one drop of pity spare,
You will not now abandon me.
1


## p. 11919 (#553) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
At first I vowed I would not speak:
Trust me, you ne'er had heard my shame,
Might I at least have had the hope
To see you rarely, -once a week,-
To see you in our village here;
If I might listen to your speech,
Utter a word to you, and then
Think, ever think, of but one thing,
Both day and hight until we met.
But you love solitude, they say:
All's dull here in our rural wilds;
And we,-in no way do we shine,
Though truly glad to welcome you.
Why did you ever come to us?
In this remote, deserted spot
Forsaken, then I ne'er had known you,
Nor known this bitterness of pain,-
The tumult of soul untaught.
I might have tamed, in time, no doubt;
Have found another to my heart
Perchance, and been a faithful wife,
A virtuous, loving mother.
Another! nay, to none on earth
Could I have given e'er my heart.
Heaven's counsel then hath thus decreed;
This is its will, and I am thine.
All, all my life hath been a pledge
Of faithful meeting thus with thee;
I know that God hath sent thee to me;
My guardian unto death art thou.
In dreams I long ago beheld thee,
And, still unseen, I found thee dear.
I languished 'neath thy wondrous glance,
Thy voice rang sweetly through my soul,
Long, long ago,-nay, 'twas no dream! -
Thou cam'st, and in a glance I knew thee;
I was benumbed, yet filled with flame.
My soul within me cried, "'Tis he! "
'Tis true, is't not? I listened to thee;
Thou spak'st with me in silent watches
When I to aid the needy sought,
Or sweetened, by my fervent prayers,
The languors of my troubled soul.
And was't not thou, beloved vision,
11919


## p. 11920 (#554) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11920
Who, at that instant as I prayed,
Didst flit in transparent darkness past me,
And to my pillow gently steal?
And didst thou not, in love and gladness,
Drop in my ear sweet words of hope?
Who art thou then? my guardian angel,
Or crafty tempter of my heart?
I pray thee now, disperse my doubts.
Perchance all this is but the empty
Deception of an untried soul,
And God hath willed quite otherwise:
So be it! From this hour my fate
I trustfully to thee commit;
Before thee burning tears I weep,
And for thy safeguard thee entreat.
Bethink thee, here I stand alone,
And no one here doth comprehend.
My judgment weakens, reason reels,
And I must perish dumb, unheard.
I wait for thee; I pray thee, quicken
With but a look of hope my heart,
Or break at least the numbing dream
With well-deserved reproof - alas!
I'm done! 'Tis terrible to read-
I faint with terror and with shame -
Your honor is my only pledge;
To it I boldly thus confide.
For a brief space they stood in silence;
And then Onyegin, drawing near,
Spake thus:-
"A while agone you wrote me:
Deny it not, I pray. I read
That sweet outpour of innocent love,
Confession of confiding soul.
To me your frankness is most precious,
And it has roused within my heart
Feelings which long have sleeping lain:
But not for that will I extol you;
And yet for this I will requite
With a confession, artless too.
Accept, I pray, this my confession,
And sit in judgment over me.


## p. 11921 (#555) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
"Had I desired my life to limit
Within the bounds of hearth and home;
Had kindly Fate to me dictated
Husband and father e'er to be;
Had family bliss, as a fair vision,
One moment e'er my sense beguiled:
Assuredly I should have chosen
No other bride than you, I vow.
Without a shade of flattery
I say, you'd be my only choice.
In you I'd find my sweet ideal
As partner of my gloomy life,
A pledge of all that is most fair;
And then be happy-if I could!
"But I for bliss was not created;
To that my soul is foreign still:
In vain, in vain are your perfections;
Of them I count myself unworthy.
Believe (I pledge my word upon it),
Marriage for us would torture be.
However much at first I loved you,
At once, with custom, I should hate;
Straightway you'd weep-but could not touch,
With all your tears, my hardened heart,
Which would but more inflame my hate.
Judge for yourself what kind of roses
Hymen would thus for us prepare,-
And, it might chance, for many a day!
-
"What can be worse in all creation
Than household where the wretched wife
Her thankless spouse doth mourn and grieve,
Sitting alone by day and night;
While weary husband, her worth knowing
(Yet cursing his untoward fate),
Is always taciturn and gloomy,
Enraged, yet coldly jealous still!
And such am I. Is't this thou soughtest
In the love-flame of thy pure soul,
When with such simple innocence
Thou wrot'st so cleverly to me?
And can it be that such a lot
Hath been assigned to thee by fate?
11921
xx-746


## p. 11922 (#556) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11922
"Our dreams, our years we cannot call back;
My soul I never can renew; —
I love you with a love fraternal-
And tenderer yet, perchance: who knows?
Then listen to me without anger:
Often, I think, in young maids' minds,
Slight dreams succeed to dreams as slight,
As a young tree bears leaves in spring;
And this, it seems, is heaven's will.
Again you'll give your love - and yet
You'll learn of self-control the art.
Not every man will understand you;
And innocence oft leads to woe. "
Oh, who could not, in that swift flash,
Have read the tale of her dumb pain?
Who, in the princess, could not see
Our Tanya of those former days?
In frantic grief of his compassion,
Onyegin fell low at her feet.
She trembled, but was silent still,
And fixed her eyes upon Onyegin
Without surprise, yet without wrath.
To her his dim and tortured gaze,
Beseeching mien and dumb reproach,
Made all things clear. The simple girl,
With dreams and heart of former days,
Had waked once more within her breast.
She did not raise him to his feet,
But with her eyes still fixed on him,
She lets her senseless fingers lie
Beneath his thirsting, burning lips.
What is it that she dreams of now?
A long, long silence follows then;
And at the last, she softly says:-
"Enough - arise: it is my part
To speak to you quite frankly now.
Onyegin - you recall the hour
When, in our garden in the walk,
Fate made us meet, how meekly I
Gave ear to all your lessons stern?
To-day it is my turn to speak.
-


## p. 11923 (#557) ##########################################

ALEXANDER SERGYÉEVITCH PUSHKIN
11923
«<
Onyegin, I was younger then;
I think that I was better, too;
I loved you truly. What of that?
What was't I found within your heart,
What answer? Sternness; naught but that.
'Tis true, is't not?