THE GREATEST PUSHKIN
If you had been born in Russia, you would certainly have met Pushkin''s poetry in childhood and grown up with it. Starting with the learned cat, who walked round and round the oak-tree, singing songs as he circled right, and telling tales as he circled left. You might then have encountered the exiled Prince, who was turned into a bumble-bee so that he could fly to his father''s court and sting his wicked aunt on the nose. You would have moved on to the little boy who got a frost-bitten finger through playing too long in the snow and ignoring his mother calling him indoors. And then you would be experiencing Onegin''s boredom, Tatiana''s unrequited love, Godunov''s uneasy conscience, Hermann''s tension at the gaming table, Salieri''s jealousy of Mozart, and hearing the dread steps of the Stone Guest and the thundering hooves of the Bronze Horseman. You would have discovered that, like Shakespeare, Pushkin could always find the right words for everything.Pushkin''s appearance would also be very familiar to you, for there is no shortage of statues and portraits of him. There he stands, head thrown back, arm extended, reciting poetry; or there he sits, head on hand, no doubt composing poetry. He may not have been particularly striking to look at - fairly short, with curly dark hair and a longish nose, to judge by the sketches of himself which he scribbled on his manuscripts - but this did not prevent him from winning ladies'' hearts.
Pushkin was proud of his ancestry: his parents were members of the Old Russian gentry and he had one Ethiopian great-grandfather, who had served at Peter the Great''s court. He was sent to a privileged boarding school at Tsarskoe selo, with no going home for the holidays. He grew to love it and made life-long friends, but his reports were not very complimentary. For example, «sharp wits used only for idle chatter, very lazy and bumptious in class. Indifferent progress» or «more talent than application, does not concentrate». But at his final school examination, when called upon to recite one of his own poems, he made the leading poet of the day Gavrila Derzhavin jump up from his seat in astonished admiration. Russia''s national poet had stepped out before his public.
Hardly out of school, he soon irritated the authorities with his political views and was exiled to the south of Russia. There he became enthusiastic about Byron''s poetry and Caucasian mountain scenery. He formed an over-close relationship with the Governor General''s wife. He was sent off again, this time to his parents'' country estate at Mikhailovskoye. There he lived with only his old nanny to keep him company and she enriched his store of folk-tales, with which he was later to delight generations of Russian children.
Eventually, he was allowed to return to St. Petersburg. Soon, marriage to one of the leading beauties of society brought its problems and he had to write hard to support his growing family, sometimes escaping back to the country for quiet concentration. When he was thirty-seven he was killed in a duel, defending his wife''s honour. In Russia his popularity as a writer was well established in his lifetime and it has never been surpassed.
Interesting Facts About the Park at Mikhailovskoe and Pushkin''s Meeting With Anna Kern
The park at Mikhailovskoe occupies about nine hectare and is almost inseparable from the forest.
Pushkin called it «The abode of pensive driads». It has a fruit orchard, fanciful beehives, and bright flowerbeds. A shady linden walk called «Kern walk» runs along the boundary between the park and the orchard: these old trees keep the memory of a moonlit night when Pushkin showed the park to Anna Kern, to whom he was strongly attracted.
Anna Kern later recalled: «My aunt (Praskovya Osipova) suggested we all take a stroll at Mikhailovskoe after dinner. Never before nor after had I seen Pushkin so kind-hearted, merry and attentive. The next day I was getting ready to leave for Riga with my sister, Anna Wolf, and Pushkin came in the morning and brought me, as a parting gift, a copy of the second chapter of Onegin. Between the pages I found a piece of writing paper folded in four with the verses:
That magic moment I remember...
Pushkin A.S. «К..»
A magic moment I remember:
I raised my eyes and you were there,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that’s beautiful and rare.
A prey to mute despair and anguish,
To vain pursuits the world esteems,
Long did I hear your soothing accents,
Long did your features haunt my dreams.
Time passed. A rebel storm-blast scattered
The reveries that once were mine
And I forgot your soothing accents.
Your features gracefully divine.
In dark days of enforced retirement
I gazed upon grey skies above
With no ideals to inspire me,
No one to cry for, live for, love.
Then came a moment of renaissance,
I looked up - you again are there,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence,
Of all that’s beautiful and rare.
P. Tempest
Я помню чудное мгновенье;
Передо мной явилась ты,
Как мимолетное виденье,
Как гений чистой красоты.
В томленьях грусти безнадежной,
В тревогах шумной суеты,
Звучал мне долго голос нежный,
И снились милые черты.
Шли годы, бурь порыв мятежный
Рассеял прежние мечты,
И я забыл твой голос нежный,
Твои небесные черты.
В глуши, во мраке заточенья
Тянулись тихо дни мои
Без божества, без вдохновенья,
Без слез, без жизни, без любви.
Душе настало пробужденье;
И вот опять явилась ты,
Как мимолетное виденье,
Как гений чистой красоты.
