From The Golden Cockerel, illustrated by Ivan Bilbin
Some time ago, I stumbled upon “The Golden Cockerel and Other Fairy Tales”, written by Aleksandr Pushkin, illustrated by Boris Zvorykin, published by Doubleday. It was a used bookstore find; the golden spine drew my attention; the name drew my interest.
Like most people, I had heard of Pushkin, read criticism of Pushkin, even read some of the writers he was to influence (most notably Tolstoy and Gogol, though Turgenev has a home on my computer also). One day, I had planned to trudge[1] through the English translation of Eugene Onegin; I had never dreamt that my introduction to Russia’s best beloved poet would be a fairy tale.
In the introduction to my copy, Rudolf Nureyev writes that “The Golden Cockerel”, along with others, is “derived from folktales told by peasant from time immemorial, they are the oldest voice of Mother Russia.” Although the origin of “The Golden Cockerel” is somewhat murky, I wholeheartedly agree with Nureyev’s sentiment. The sense of everyday, even in the court of the Tsar, is not only unmistakable—it is unmistakably fairy tale, unmistakably Pushkin.
Sometimes called the “Byron of Russia”, Aleksandr Sergei Pushkin was born to a boyar[2] family in Moscow. As the old story goes, his lineage was noble, but his parents were impoverished, often borrowing serving ware from neighbours on which to serve their guests. Pushkin’s parents, like many of the time, took little interest in their son, leaving him to the care of his grandmother and his nurse, Arina Rodionova A serf woman who had refused the offer of freedom, Rodionova would become an essential component of and advisor to Pushkin’s work.
Analysis
Because it is a literary fairy tale, analysis of the elements within “The Golden Cockerel” is difficult. The story does not conform to standard tropes and paradigms; its origin is a point of some contention. Let’s begin with an overview of the story’s history.
In 1832, the American author Washington Irving published a collection of short stories, essays, and verbal sketches, called “Tales of the Alhambra”. Two chapters of the work tell of “The House of the Weathercock” and “The Arabian Astrologer”, in which the King of Granada, wishing to retire, finds himself oft-besieged and unable to protect his country. Soon, an astrologer visits the King, offering to fashion a weathercock which will alert him to approaching danger. The story continues, detailing the astrologer’s greed and the discovery of a “beautiful Christian princess”, whom the astrologer warns may be an evil sorceress.
Pushkin’s story, “The Golden Cockerel” was written in 1834.
At first, this seems unremarkable--two writers, from two continents, two entirely separate cultural backgrounds-- stumble upon a certain piece of folklore. Irving’s tale is written in a somewhat dense, imitative style, drawing on Arabian histories, folklore, and legends; Pushkin’s is concise and uncluttered, eliminating many plot elements in Irving’s telling, while adding the episode of Dadone’s sons. Irving’s astrologer survives. Pushkin’s does not. But it must be noted that by 1830, Washington Irving was well-known in Russia, and Pushkin is known to have owned a French copy of “Tales of the Alhambra”.
The idea of Pushkin “borrowing” from Irving is a controversial one. The link was first discovered in 1933, by Anna Akhmatova. Though it is now widely accepted within the Western World, several Russian scholars have taken exception to this idea. In a chapter about Irving for the “History of American Literature” A.A. Eilstratova “remarks that ‘The Tale of the Golden Cockerel’ might be shown to have a relationship with ‘The Legend of the Arabian Astrologer’ in Irving’s ‘Alhambra’”[Fiske, p.30]. The scholar’s notes are cautious and not inflammatory but “History of American Literature” still received a scathing attack from A. Tarasenkov, who also listed Elistratova as a groveler before the West[Fiske, p.30]. It is always hard to please everybody; where Pushkin is concerned, it is impossible.
Akhmatova added to the controversy of her discovery by suggesting that Pushkin may have over-simplified Irving’s tale, leaving characters and motivations under-developed, thereby rendering his work in some ways inferior in some ways to Irving’s[Fiske, p.29]. Other scholars, such as B. Tomasevskij, also “acknowledged Irving’s legend as the source of Pushkin’s tale, but [stressed] the extent to which Pushkin had departed from the original[Fiske, p.29].” The merit of each work remains subjective, though many have weighed on the side of Pushkin. Interestingly, Akhmatova’s criticism of Pushkin focuses on fairy tale elements—most notably the lack of motivation and characters playing on the reader’s pre-conceived stereotypes. To me, these elements are part of what makes Pushkin’s work a fairy tale, and Irving’s a short story.
As to the actual origin of the story? It still remains unclear. When Pushkin published “The Golden Cockerel”, it was generally accepted to be a piece of Russian folklore. Other evidence, also brought to light by Akhmatova, suggests that Irving’s story was most likely his own creation, not at all based on earlier legend. Who’s to say which is which and what is what? Not me, that’s for sure.
Elements
As noted above, analysis of the elements within “The Golden Cockerel” is difficult. Certainly, parts of it most likely refer to political tensions, the relationship between Pushkin and the Tsar, and Pushkin’s view of the aristocracy. There is a political element, but what can it be? Surely not the most obvious elements—Pushkin’s other work is far too subtle for that[Abraham, p.47].
But is it? Fairy tales, though complex affairs, are not prized for their subtlety. And Pushkin, who had grown up steeped in the old words, would know this.
Tsar Dadone
Dadone wages war, then is surprised when other rulers wage war in return. Dadone sends his sons, one after another, to fight an unknown enemy. Dadone sees his sons dead, then takes up with the Princess camped by their cooling corpses. Dadone reneges on his promise. Dadone kills the astrologer.
Is Dadone evil? No, not really.
Thoughtless? Yes. Uncaring? Yes. Stupid? Yes. But he’s not evil.
Pushkin’s Russia was an autocratic one. Nicholas I, the Iron Tsar, was a strict conservative and expansionist; said expansionism led to the Crimean War. Coming to power in a post-Decembrist state, Nicholas established a body of police, the Corps de Gendarmie, to put down the spirit of revolution. But political fervour continued to surge through the streets as everyday Russians grew tired of Tsarist rule. Subversive literature, much of it by Pushkin, was spread about St. Petersburg and Moscow (eventually leading to Pushkin’s six year exile). Is Dadone, stupid and uncaring, representative of Nicholas and his unyielding policies and attitudes? Is he “a symbol of stupid autocracy[Abraham, p. 46]”?
Like Nicholas, Dadone is an expansionist; like Nicholas, Dadone bites off more than he can chew; and, like Nicholas[3], Dadone goes back on his promises.
Footnotes
[1] My choice of verb is no reflection on the quality of Pushkin’s work, but rather on the difficulty of translating that which is complex and subtle into a second language, particularly a one such as English to whom it bears little familial feeling.
[2] Old aristocracy, next in rank to a prince.
[3] See Pushkin's biography for more
Tomorrow: Commentary, part II
0 comments:
Post a Comment