Poushkin’s parents, who had felt such anxiety as to his sluggish temperament, were now equally alarmed at “the spirit of unresting flame” which seemed to possess him. He threatened to become unmanageable on account of his quick temper and exuberant vitality, therefore it was decided to send him to school. In August, 1811, Poushkin entered the Lycée for the sons of the nobility, at Tsarsky Selo.
Like many another poet, Poushkin proved an unsatisfactory scholar. The director of the Lycée prophesied a poor future for the youth who neglected his legitimate studies for desultory reading in the school library, and wasted valuable hours in editing the school magazine. His earliest published verses appeared in the Europy Vestnik in 1814, over the signature “Alexander N. K.”; and the following year his full name was revealed to the literary world. In January, 1815, a public examination took place at the school, to which many important officials were invited. Among the visitors was Derjavin. The old poet’s attention was attracted to Poushkin when the latter came forward to recite his own verses, “Reminiscences of Tsarsky Selo.” He carried back to Petersburg a lively impression of the youth’s genius and a copy of the verses he had recited. From that moment Poushkin’s name became known to the chief literary men of the day. Joukovsky, then at the zenith of his popularity, conceived the highest hopes of Poushkin’s future; and such was his belief in the lad’s innate genius that he did not hesitate to submit his own poetry to this critic of sixteen. Henceforward Joukovsky showed a paternal affection and solicitude for Poushkin, who, in his turn, used to call the older man his “guardian angel.” The following year Karamzin settled for a time at Tsarsky Selo, and renewed his acquaintance with Poushkin, whom he had seen as a child at his father’s house in Moscow. Their relations became intimate, and chapter after chapter of the famous History was read aloud to Poushkin by the author. Encouraged by the appreciation of such authorities, the young man devoted himself almost entirely to the development of his poetic gift. At school he wrote about two hundred lyrics and epigrams, and the sketch of a longer poem, “Russian and Lioudmilla.”
Poushkin left school in 1817, and shortly afterwards entered a regiment of foot guards. Henceforth he embarked upon that strange dual existence which gives to his career an air of inconsistency, and makes many of his actions and opinions so difficult to interpret..He possessed a fine physique; was a keen sportsman, an excellent athlete, an accomplished horseman, and one of the best pupils of the famous fencing-master Belville. He had, in fact, all the qualities which contributed to make him popular in the fashionable military set in which he was now launched. The unsavoury chronicle of intrigues, duels, and excesses of all kinds in which he indulged at this period of his life has probably lost nothing in transmission. It is doubtful whether Poushkin or Byron were as black as they painted themselves and so induced others to paint them. Poushkin undoubtedly maintained a lofty and almost sacerdotal conception of the poet’s mission, and would break away suddenly from his unwholesome surroundings at some secret prompting of his inspiration. Like Dagonet, he “wallowed, then he washed” ; after which he would soar on wings apparently unsoiled to the rarefied atmosphere of the sublime.
The dualism of his moral life is equally apparent in his attitude towards social and political questions. He was a welcome member of the “Arzamas,” a society formed in support of such moderate literary and social reformers as Karamzin and Joukovsky, in opposition to the “Shish- kovists,” or blind adherents of past tradition. The period was marked by a craze for societies of every kind, open or secret, political, literary, masonic, or bacchanalian. In the last category we may place “the Society of the Green Lamp,” to which Poushkin and some of his brother officers belonged. But there were also other societies likely to prove still more dangerous to a hot-headed youth at the outset of his career. Such were the political unions, in which he imbibed ideas by no means in accordance with the liberal- conservativism of Joukovsky or Karamzin. The leading members of such secret organisations were Mouraviev, the two Ryleievs, Bestoujiev- Riumin, Pestel, and others; almost all involved in the unfortunate plot of December, 1825, and destined to end their days on the gallows or in Siberia.
It is not clear how far Poushkin was implicated in the doings of these secret societies. It is evident that for a time, at least, he was in sympathy with their designs and desired to take an active share in the liberal movement. His susceptible nature could not remain unaffected at a moment when “free thoughts like lightnings were alive” and running through all society. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that his aristocratic environment and a reputation for frivolity procured for him only a lukewarm reception among the conspirators. Partly from a real, but transient, enthusiasm, and partly for the sake of excitement and notoriety, he put his gifts at the service of the liberal cause. A number of his satirical verses were soon circulated in private, which increased his popularity, but placed him in a dangerous position with the Government. Two or three warnings and reprimands not having sufficed to teach Poushkin prudence, complaints of his conduct at length reached the ears of Alexander I, who threatened to send him to Siberia. Poushkin, now seriously alarmed, entreated Karamzin to intervene on his behalf. The historian promised, on condition that the young man ceased his attacks upon the higher powers. But even Karamzin’s influence could not entirely avert punishment. Poushkin was not sent to Siberia, but transferred from the Guards to serve on a council of administration in the southern provinces of Russia.
The penalty exacted for his youthful indiscretions was not very severe, and actually proved a blessing in disguise. But although sustained by the consciousness of the martyr’s role, and the knowledge that his friends at Court would do their best to shorten the period of his disgrace, Poushkin seems to have taken his exile in a bitter and resentful spirit.
No sooner had he arrived at Yekaterinoslav than he was laid up with a severe attack of fever. General Raevsky, the father of one of Poushkin’s school friends, chanced to be passing through the town on his way to take over a command in the Caucasus. Pitying the young man in his sickness and solitude, Raevsky obtained leave to take him up to the hills. The time which Poushkin spent with the Raevsky family was one of the happiest and most stimulating in his career.
The grandeur of the Caucasian scenery stirred his imagination and gave a new direction to his thoughts. At this time, too, he first became acquainted with Byron’s poetry. During this visit, and later on, while staying with the Raev- skys at their estate at Kamenka, he found himself in a circle of enthusiastic Byron worshippers. The circumstances of his own life at the time, his sense of rebellion against society, his resentful misanthropy, all contributed to make him fall an easy victim to the Byronic fascination. The Polish poet, Mickiewicz, describes this influence in picturesque, if somewhat exaggerated, terms. “Poushkin,” he says, “fell into Byron’s sphere of attraction, and revolved round this orb like a planet lighted by its rays. In the works of this period all is Byronic — the subjects, characters, ideas, and forms.” But Mickiewicz does not regard Poushkin as a mere imitator of the English poet; he considers him not so much a Byronist as a Byroniac — possessed by the spirit of Byron. Later on I shall endeavour to show the extent and intensity of Byron’s influence upon Poushkin’s works; for the present I am only concerned with its immediate effect upon his manner of life. The side of Byron which appealed most directly to Poushkin and to his generation was not so much his pessimism as his contempt for social observances; his rebellion against traditional and prescribed morality and his haughty individualism. Pypin thinks this side of Byronism was really of service to Russian society, since “it raised the tone of the intelligentsia and taught a man to be the master of his own individuality. Poushkin and his friends seemed as anti-Christ to the hypocrites of their day; not because they upheld in their writings any special political or philosophical ideas, but because of their whole mode of existence: their fantastic style of dress, the occasions they gave for scandal, and their passion for duelling.”
Fr
om Kamenka, Poushkin was recalled to accompany his chief to Kishiniev, in Bessarabia, where a picturesque and motley population, Greek, Moldavian, Turkish, and Italian, offered material which was not lost upon his artistic perception.
Here he reverted to the disorderly life which had so nearly proved his ruin in Saint Petersburg. Poushkin’s intrigues and duels became the talk of the town. In the autumn of 1822, having been engaged overnight in an unusually fierce quarrel at the card tables, he was ordered by his long- suffering chief to repair to the neighbouring town of Ismail until the scandal had blown over. On the road Poushkin fell in with a band of gipsies and joined them for a time in their wandering life. The outcome of this episode was his poem The Gipsies, with its misanthropical hero, Aleko — the type of social exile Poushkin would naturally create at the height of his Byronic infatuation. From Kishiniev he was transferred to Odessa, where he found himself under Veron- tsiev, a far more exacting chief, who treated him merely as an official and made no allowances for the aberrations of genius. At Odessa Poushkin fell under the influence of an Englishman who seems to have been a disciple of Shelley. Having imbibed the principles of “the only intellectual atheist I ever met,” he wrote to a friend announcing the result of these “lessons in pure atheism.” The letter was intercepted, and Poushkin, now convicted of irreligion, besides being suspected of disloyalty, fell once more under the displeasure of the Government. His official career, which must have been as perplexing to his superiors as Shelley’s brief university life to his college authorities, was prematurely cut short. He was ordered to set out immediately for his father’s property at Mikhailovsky, in the Government of Pskov, where he arrived in August, 1824. His position was virtually that of a prisoner on the paternal estate. Rumours of his lawless excesses, and, worse still, of his atheism, had preceded him, and his father, afraid of the moral contamination for his other children, forbade all intercourse between them and the returned prodigal. That Poushkin suffered very keenly under the parental suspicion is evident from a letter written to Joukovsky shortly after his arrival at Mikhailovsky. “Dear friend, I take refuge with you. Judge of my situation. When first I came here I was well received; but soon everything changed. My father, alarmed at my banishment, keeps on repeating that he expects to share the same fate. At first his irascibility and anger gave me no opportunity of explaining myself. I decided to say nothing. Then he began to reproach my brother, saying I was teaching him my atheism; but still I kept silence. Finally, wishing to extricate myself from such a sad position, I asked leave to speak out frankly — nothing more. My father lost his temper, sent for my brother, and told him not to associate avec ce monstre de fils dénaturé. Joukovsky, think of my situation and advise me! My head reels when I realise all this. I went again to my father; I found him in his bedroom, and poured out all that had been weighing on my heart for the last three months; I ended by saying that I spoke to him for the last time. Taking advantage of there being no witness of our interview, my father rushed from the room and declared to the whole household that I wished to kill him.... What is the object of this criminal accusation? To send me dishonoured to the mines of Siberia?... Save me from prison, or the Monastery of Solovets! Save me once more! Make haste, for my father’s accusation is known to every one in the house. No one believes it, but they all gossip. The neighbours know it. Soon it will reach the Government: you know what will happen. For me there is no court of justice. I am hors les lois.”
Joukovsky proved once again the “good angel” of the younger poet. The painful tension of the situation gradually relaxed, and Poushkin’s father returned to the capital, leaving his son in the position of a prisoner on parole.
The winter of 1824-5 was spent in solitude at Mikhailovsky. We may accept the fourth chapter of Eugene Oniegin as a fairly accurate picture of his life at this time. The enforced quiet, the long hours of reflection, followed by days of steady work, were not without a beneficial effect upon Poushkin’s moral and intellectual development. He now entered upon a new and more mature phase of life. The lessons in pure atheism were counteracted by assiduous study of the Scriptures, the results of which we see in some of the works of this period, especially in that fine paraphrase of the sixth chapter of Isaiah, known to every educated Russian as “The Prophet.” Byron’s influence began to wane perceptibly, and that of Shakespeare to become paramount. Finally, the one thing most needful to his independent development began to show itself in his work — the element of nationality. In this remote country place, where his old nurse, Arina Rodionova, was often his sole companion, Poushkin’s mind reverted to those treasures of folk-lore which she had instilled into him in childhood. This was undoubtedly the most important transition period in Poushkin’s career. He now cast aside all that was vague and exotic in his work and began to concern himself with the actualities of contemporary life.
Eugene Oniegin, a novel in verse, begun under Byronic influences in South Russia, was continued at Mikhailovsky in a new spirit of unconscious realism.
Two versts from his father’s property lay the estate of Trigovsky, the home of a charming family named Ossipov. In this quiet and gracious domestic circle Poushkin was a welcome guest. The two elder daughters of Madame Ossipov, by her first husband, Anna and Eupraskya Wulf, offered as piquant a contrast as the sisters Olga and Tatiana in Eugene Oniegin, and it is generally conjectured that Poushkin sketched the two heroines of his poem from these actual types of Russian womanhood.
Poushkin’s art undoubtedly gained by his intercourse with this typically virtuous and cultured family. But it was impossible that his active mind and restless ambition should continue to be content within such a narrow social circle. At times he found the monotony of Mikhailovsky unbearable; and then he would indulge in wild schemes for making his escape abroad. In the autumn of 1825 he laid his plans, with the connivance of young Wulf, a student at the University of Dorpat. But in December, just as their scheme was ripe for action, one of the servants at Trigovsky returned from Saint Petersburg with the startling news of the “Decembrist” revolt. The roads, he said, were blocked by soldiers, and he had had some difficulty in making his way through the military cordon.
Poushkin was violently agitated by this intelligence. His exile at Mikhailovsky had sobered what was, after all, only a transient enthusiasm for the cause of rebellion. His midsummer madness of liberalism had certainly begun to wane. On the other hand, these men had been his associates, and he felt impelled by a generous feeling of comradeship to take part in the plot which he had had no hand in preparing. Early the next morning he started, determined to reach Petersburg at all risks. It is said that native superstition saved him from a tragic fate. Before he reached the first post-house he received warnings too dire to be disregarded by Russian credulity: first he met a priest; and in the fields a hare crossed his path three times. The former disciple of “pure atheism” retraced his steps, and well it was for Russian literature that he did so. It was enough that one poet of promise was actually offered on the gallows, a victim to his ill-devised and untimely attempt to give Russia a constitution. Poushkin, with his previous record, could hardly have hoped for a more merciful doom than that of Ryleiev. A few days later came tidings of the complete failure of the plot and the arrest of the leaders. Looking back upon his narrow escape, Poushkin seems to have undergone a sudden revulsion of feeling. He hastened to burn all his compromising letters and the autobiography on which he was engaged.
Exceedingly weary of his sixteen months’ banishment, and moved by that opportunist spirit which is one of Poushkin’s least explicable characteristics, he was quick to see that his one chance of escape lay in a reconciliation with the new Government of Nicholas I. Early in 1826, therefore, Poushkin approached his influential friends in the capital in the hopes of being received once more into favour. In judging of his apparent inconsistency at this crisis of his life, we must make allowance for the fact that when he was associated with the Radical party, before his exile to South Russia, he was
only twenty years of age, a time at which few men have formed settled convictions; and while there seems little doubt that Poushkin believed most sincerely in his own liberalism, it appears equally clear to us, who overlook his entire career, that the associations of birth and position were stronger than his youthful enthusiasms, and that he never was, by temperament or conviction, a true democrat. He had certainly travelled far from his immature views of 1820 when, six years later, he attempted this compromise with the Government. His firm belief in his vatic mission, and in the sacred personality of the Poet, gave keenness to his longing for a wider sphere of influence. We must agree with Pypin that at least “his was not that narrow opportunism without sense of honour,” but rather an intense desire for activity which enabled him to bend himself to circumstances rather than stand aside in misanthropic idleness.
Early in September, 1826, Poushkin’s old nurse arrived one morning at Trigovsky, where the poet was spending the night, with the startling intelligence that an imperial courier was awaiting him at Mikhailovsky. A post carriage was standing at his door, and Poushkin, without any explanation, was carried off, full gallop, to Moscow. He was driven direct to the Kremlin, and, still bespattered with the mud of his long, swift journey, was hurried into the presence of Nicholas I. Poushkin gives the following account of his interview: —
The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection) Page 92
