In Pushkin, to quote his own lines on Walter Scott, ‘we get to know past times not with the enflure of French tragedy, not with the primness of the sentimental novel, not with the dignité of history, but as though we were living a day-to-day life in them ourselves.’ In thus widening the social basis of literature itself by introducing into it a great variety of characters from Peter the Great and Catherine II to the unassuming Captain Mironov Pushkin proves himself to be the cultural complement of Peter who, just over a century previously, had opened his ‘window on to Europe’. Pushkin filled the gap between the literature of his country and that of the world.
Pushkin’s plots move forward irresistibly, only very occasionally interrupted by a brief passage of description, such as that of the storm in Chapter 2 of The Captain’s Daughter. Rarely does he introduce any personal idea, and then never to the detriment of the action. A short paragraph gives us his views on the use of torture, and a single sentence sums up his whole political philosophy – ‘The best and most enduring of transformations are those which proceed from an improvement in morals and customs, and not from any violent upheaval.’ (In this connexion we may quote the last lines of the same work: ‘Heaven send that we may never see such another senseless and merciless rebellion à la russe! Those who plan impossible revolutions in Russia are either youngsters who do not know our people or positively heartless men who set little value on their own skins and less still on those of others.’)
‘Precision and brevity are the principal merits of prose,’ wrote Pushkin in 1822, five years before he himself launched into ‘humble prose’. ‘Prose calls for ideas and more ideas, without which brilliant expressions avail nothing.’ He demanded of the writer ‘philosophy, objectivity, the statesman-like ideas of the historian, shrewdness, vivid imagination, absence of bias for favourite thoughts, freedom.’ In his works the Russian literary language reached its perfection. His prose is as disciplined and mathematical as a Bach fugue. His sentences are short and splendidly chiselled. There is never a blurred outline, never a single superfluous word or unwarranted punctuation mark. He had no taste for ‘shabby ornaments’. (‘The charm of naked beauty is still so incomprehensible to us that even in prose we pursue shabby ornaments,’ he wrote in 1828.)
Pushkin gave the heavy, archaic, uncertain language of his predecessors the purity, elegance and precision of a classical language, creating forms and rhythms for centuries to come.
London, October 1957 ROSEMARY EDMONDS
and October 1960
The footnotes throughout have been added by the translator
The Negro of Peter the Great
1
ONE of the young men sent abroad by Peter the Great to acquire the learning needed by a country in the course of reorganization was his godson, the negro Ibrahim. Ibrahim studied at the Military School in Paris, passed out with the rank of artillery captain, distinguished himself in the Spanish war and, after being dangerously wounded, returned to Paris. In the midst of his voluminous labours the Tsar never failed to inquire after his favourite, and always received flattering reports of Ibrahim’s progress and conduct. Peter was exceedingly pleased with him and more than once called him back to Russia, but Ibrahim was in no hurry. He found various excuses for not returning: now it was his wound, now a wish to complete his education, now lack of money – and Peter indulgently complied with his requests, begging him to look after his health, thanking him for his zeal in the pursuit of knowledge, and (although extremely parsimonious over his own expenditure) did not spare his exchequer where his favourite was concerned, the ducats being accompanied with fatherly advice and words of caution.
According to the testimony of all the historical memoirs nothing could equal the frivolity, folly and luxury of the French of that period. The closing years of Louis XIV’s reign, which had been distinguished for the strict piety, gravity and decorum of the Court, had left no trace whatsoever. The Duc d’Orléans,1 who combined many brilliant qualities with all kinds of vices, unfortunately did not know what it was to dissemble. The orgies of the Palais-Royal were no secret in Paris; the example was infectious. At this time Law1 appeared upon the scene; greed for money was united to a thirst for pleasure and dissipation; estates were squandered, morals foundered; the French laughed and speculated – and the State was going to ruin to the lively refrain of satirical vaudevilles.
Meanwhile, society presented a most remarkable picture. Culture and the craving for amusement had brought all ranks together. Wealth, charm, renown, talent or mere eccentricity – everything that fed curiosity or promised amusement was received with equal favour. Writers, scholars and philosophers left the quiet of their studies and appeared in high society, to do homage to fashion and to dictate to it. Women reigned, but no longer demanded adoration. Superficial gallantry replaced the profound respect formerly shown to them. The pranks of the Duc de Richelieu,2 the Alcibiades of the modern Athens, belong to history, and give some idea of the morals of the day.
Temps fortuné, marqué par la licence,
Où la folie, agitant son grelot,
D’un pied léger parcourt toute la France,
Où nul mortel ne daigne être dévot,
Oü l’on fait tout excepté pénitence.3
Ibrahim’s arrival, his looks, culture and natural intelligence, attracted wide attention in Paris. All the ladies were anxious to see le nègre du Czar at their houses, and vied with each other in his pursuit. More than once he was invited to the gay evening parties of the Regent; he attended suppers enlivened by the presence of the young Arouet4 and the old Chaulieu,5 by the conversations of Montesquieu1 and of Fontenelle;2 he did not miss a single ball, fête or first performance; and abandoned himself to the general whirl with all the ardour of his years and temperament. But it was not only the thought of exchanging this dissipation, these brilliant pastimes, for the simplicity of the Petersburg Court that dismayed Ibrahim: other and more powerful bonds attached him to Paris: the young African was in love.
The Countess L—, although no longer in the first bloom of youth, was still renowned for her beauty. On leaving the convent at the age of seventeen she had been given in marriage to a man with whom she had had no time to fall in love and who afterwards made no effort to win her affection. Gossip ascribed several lovers to her but thanks to the tolerant attitude of society she enjoyed a good reputation, for she could not be reproached with any ridiculous or scandalous adventure. Her house was the most fashionable in town, and the best Parisian society made it their place of rendeZ-vous Ibrahim was introduced to the Countess by young Merville, who was generally regarded as her latest lover and used every possible means to confirm the report.
The Countess received Ibrahim courteously but without any particular mark of attention: this captivated him.
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