Commentary: The Golden Cockerel, part II

Aleksandr Pushkin, Vasily Tropinin

The Princes, the Astrologer, and the Queen

What is the purpose of Dadone’s sons? There are no sons in the Washington Irving story; why has Pushkin added them, rather than have Dadone ride out to seek the danger?

Most fairy tales tell things in threes—three sons, three daughters, three attempts. Such adherence to perceived fairy tale structure is a strong feature of literary tales—consider the three episodes in d’Aulnoy’s The White Cat, or the use of time in Wilde’s The Nightingale. Although such structures are seemingly superficial, they result in a certain fairy tale tone, lending a story credence not only as a part of the fairy tale genre, but as a story that may be aged, and appreciated as such, rather than written off as new, nascent, and nothing.

In the Irving story, the King of Granada does not beat about the bush. The moment his advisors wake him, he is out of bed and dressing; soon after he is astride his horse, riding toward the source of the danger and his rendezvous with the Queen of Shamakhan. The plot is set. We know the danger. We know how it ends.

Seven days go by and more,
But no message from the corps:
Has the march been rough or quiet-
Naught to tell it or deny it.
Cockerel goes off once more!
Tracking down the elder's corps,
Rides the younger with another
To the rescue of his brother.
Presently subsides the bird;
And again no more is heard!
And again the people, troubled,
Wait a week, their fears redoubled.
Yet again the cock is heard…

“What could the matter?” we ask. “Why has the eldest not returned? Where is the youngest?” True, we know that both sons will fail, but the how, the why, and the who are drawn out, building to the climax of Dadone’s own trip.

Then it preys upon each mind:
Not a camp or battleground,
Not a warriors' burial mound,
Is encountered near or far.

The suspense builds—when Dadone finally comes upon the silken tent, the dead princes, and the Queen of Shamakhan, it is easy to fit the pieces together. And yet, “Numb he stands - her sight outstuns/Aye! the death of both his sons”. What can this mean? Is this woman, the Queen of Shamakhan, really so beautiful? Or is there more to her? The lines are a clue, a hint at the character and power of the Queen.

And how did the princes come to die?

Both his noble princes, slain,
Pierced each by the other's charge…

What could bring two brothers to such dangerous blows? Seven days, Pushkin tells us, pass before the younger sons sets out. Seven days pass before Dadone sets out. Seven days pass before Dadone returns home, the Queen of Shamakhan alongside. Might we imagine that the eldest son, like the Tsar, is welcomed by the Queen? And, if so, what of the youngest son? Surely he, too, cannot be immune to

“the prize of maidens,
Queen of Shamakhan, in radiance
Lambent like the morning star…”

After all, we know the Queen’s beauty is magical, for no right father is so easily distracted by the death of his only children. Although her motives remain unclear, the Queen’s character has become apparent in just a few lines; the princes’ death has given her depth.

Succour from a gelding sage,
Planet-reckoner and mage;
Sent a runner to implore him
And the magus, brought before him…

Who is this astrologer on whom the Tsar calls? In his preface to The Golden Cockerel, the librettist V. Belsky remarks upon “the way in which Pushkin has shrouded in mystery the relationship between his two fantastical characters: The Astrologer and the Queen. Did they hatch a plot against Dodon? Did they meet by accident, both intent on the king's downfall?[Abraham, p.53]”

Why, moreover, is he “gelded”? Is this a hint, a comment, that wise men are castrated by autocracy and stupidity? Certainly, Pushkin had experienced much to embitter him toward the Tsar. In a letter, he once wrote,

“I have seen three Tsars in my life. The first ordered me to take off my hat, and as I was too young to be scolded myself, he scolded my nurse instead. The second was hardly an admirer of mine, and although the third has raised me to the exalted rank of gentleman of the bedchamber in my dotage, I have no great desire to change him for a fourth. Let us leave well enough alone.”

Twice, Nicholas I had cuckolded the poet—first in 1826, then in 1834. In the first instance, the Tsar recalled Pushkin from exile—after the failure of the Decembrist revolt-- on the condition that he stop writing “subversive poetry”. The Tsar then continued, saying that from then on, he, and he alone, would edit and annotate Pushkin’s work. It was a great compliment, but a great insult, too: Nicholas I had, in essence, made Pushkin his pet protégé and captive, a bird in a gilded cage.[Massie, p.208]

In the second instance, the Tsar appointed the then 34 year old Pushkin to the post of gentlemen of the bedchamber. It was a clearly inappropriate appointment—gentlemen of the bedchamber were usually boys, aged between 15 and 18—because he wished Pushkin and pretty wife to attend court functions and balls. Early on, Nicholas I had become infatuated with Pushkin’s wife, riding by the house and inviting her often to court; seeing the state of affairs, Pushkin tried to keep away from the Tsar as much as possible. But the Tsar could not be deterred; Pushkin was soon stuffed into a page boy uniform and forced to partake in court duties, while his wife went about town with the Tsar.

Considering these events, it is not particularly surprising that Pushkin has painted the tale’s authority figure, Tsar Dadone, as a careless, thoughtless, and cruel fool. The Astrologer, meanwhile, seems a fair portrait of the poet himself: as we have seen, like the poet, he is gelded; like the poet, he is clever; like the poet, he has been mistreated by the Tsar. But Pushkin has also implied that the Astrologer may have more than simple greed in his mind when he asks for the Queen of Shamakhan. As the Tsar asks the eunuch, “And - what use is she to you?”

What use indeed? Why would the Astrologer ask for a woman when he lacks will and means? Is it possible that the Astrologer has recognised his like in the Queen of Shamakhan? Could he be seeking to rid the Tsardom of an evil influence? Did Pushkin the political, subversive, popular poet see himself in such a light? There is no clear answer, of course, except that which the long-dead poet would give us—none, to be exact. But the idea of a linkage between these two characters is not new. As noted above, the librettist Belsky also wonders about the pair. “Did they hatch a plot against Dodon?” he writes. ”Did they meet by accident, both intent on the king's downfall?[Abraham, p. 53]”

I wonder.

When I first read the story, I was taken with it; every now and then I would pluck the book from the shelf and leaf through it, my eyes lingering upon Zvorykin’s bright, illumination-style illustrations, my mind picking at, playing with, rearranging words upon the page. Posting the story for Fairy Tale Fridays seemed a good thing to do—certainly, if I loved the tale so much, wouldn’t other people? And then came the commentary.

Pushkin, his work, his influences, and, of course, “The Golden Cockerel”, provides a lot of reading material. To be sure, I have ploughed through it eagerly, learning and laughing and almost wishing that I had been alive at a time play tickets were so coveted they were sold on the black market, a time when the ideas of liberty and love were carried upon the breath of every person. Here, I have tried to present what seemed the most pertinent facts, the most interesting scholarship, and a few of my own views and interpretations—but I recommend that any and every reader I am fortunate enough to have engage in some research of their own, for, limited by time and words, I am certain that I have done neither the author nor his time justice.


References:

Fiske, J. C., “The Soviet Controversy over Pushkin and Washington Irving”, Comparative Literature, Vol 7., No. 1 (Winter, 1955), pp. 25-31.
http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0010-4124%28195524%297%3A1%3C25%3ATSCOPA%3E2.0.CO%3B2-M

Abraham, G., “Satire and Symbolism in 'The Golden Cockerel'”, Music & Letters, Vol. 52, No. 1 (Jan., 1971), pp. 46-54.
http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0027-4224%28197101%2952%3A1%3C46%3ASASI%27G%3E2.0.CO%3B2-W

Massie, S., 1980, “Land of the Firebird: The Beauty of Old Russia”, Hearttree Press, n.p.

Commentary: The Golden Cockerel, part I

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

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Golden Cockerel, Aleksandr Pushkin

The Golden Cockerel, Boris Zvorykin

In the realm of Threeteenseventy,
Commonwealth of Thriceleventy,
Lived the famous Tsar Dadon.
Fierce he was from boyhood on,
And when scarcely more than twenty
Wrought his neighbors wrongs aplenty.
Aging now, he changed in mind,
Would give up the warlike grind
For a life serene and festive.
But his neighbors, growing restive,
Caused the grizzled Tsar alarm,
Dealing him a world of harm.
To protect the tsardom's borders
From the raids of bold marauders,
He was forced to raise and post
An unconscionable host.
Field commanders, never drowsing,
Still would scarce have finished dousing
Flames at left when, ho! at right
Hostile banners hove in sight.
These fought off, some visitation
Came by sea. The Tsar's frustration
Drove him wild enough to weep
And forgo the balm of sleep.
Who could thrive when thus infested?
So he pondered and requested
Succour from a gelding sage,
Planet-reckoner and mage;
Sent a runner to implore him
And the magus, brought before him,
From beneath his ample frock
Drew a golden weathercock.
"Let this golden bird," he chanted,
"High atop the spire be planted,
And my clever Cockerel
Be your faithful sentinel.
While there's naught of martial riot,
He will sit his perch in quiet;
Let there be on any side
Signs of war to be espied,
Of some squadron border-poaching,
Or some other ill approaching,
Straight my bird upon the dome
Will awaken, perk his comb,
Crow and veer, his ruff a-fluffing,
Point where harm is in the offing."
Rapt, the Tsar allowed the sage
Heaps of gold for ready wage.
"Such momentous boon afforded,"
He rejoiced,"shall be rewarded
By a wish, to be fulfilled
Like my own as soon as willed."
Cockerel atop the spire
Started guarding march and shire,
Scarce a danger reared its head,
Up he perked as though from bed,
Slewed about, his collar ruffled,
To that side and, wings unshuffled,
Crew aloud "Keeree-kookoo!
Reign abed, your guard is true."
Kings, the Tsar's domains investing,
Henceforth never dared molest him:
Tsar Dadon on every hand
Hurled them back by sea and land!
One year, two, the shrewd informant
Had been roosting all but dormant,
When one morning they broke in
On Dadon with fearful din.
"Tsar of ours! The realm's defender!"
Cries the household troop's commander,
"Majesty! Wake up! Alert!"
"Eh? . . .what's up? . . .Is someone hurt?"
Drawled the Tsar amid a double
Yawn, "who is this? What's the trouble?"
Answered him the Captain thus:
"Hark, the rooster's warning us;
Look below and see the people
Mill in fear, and on the steeple
See the rooster, ruffle-fleeced,
Crowing, pointing to the East."
"Up! No time to lose!" their Master
Spurred them on, "mount horses! Faster!'
Eastward thus a force he sped,
With his eldest at its head.
Cockerel gave over screaming,
And the Tsar continued dreaming.
Seven days go by and more,
But no message from the corps:
Has the march been rough or quiet-
Naught to tell it or deny it.
Cockerel goes off once more!
Tracking down the elder's corps,
Rides the younger with another
To the rescue of his brother.
Presently subsides the bird;
And again no more is heard!
And again the people, troubled,
Wait a week, their fears redoubled.
Yet again the cock is heard,
And Dadon sends out a third
Host, himself commander of it,
Though unsure what this might profit.
Day and night the columns wind,
Then it preys upon each mind:
Not a camp or battleground,
Not a warriors' burial mound,
Is encountered near or far.
"Strange and stranger," thinks the Tsar.
One week gone, the country changes,
Rising, high through hills and ranges,
Then, amid the peaks ahead,
Look! a silken tent is spread.
Wondrous hush enfolds the scene
Round the tent; a gaunt ravine
Cradles hosts in battle rent.
Now Dadon has reached the tent.. .
Staggers backward: sight appalling,
Hard before his eyes lie fallen,
Stripped of helm and armour chain,
Both his noble princes, slain,
Pierced each by the other's charge;
And their wandering mounts at large
On the mead all stamped and scored,
On the bloodied meadow-sward . . .
"Boys . . .my boys . . ." the father groaned,
"Strangled both my hawks," he moaned,
"Life is forfeit - woe is me . . .
Here were killed not two but three."
Wail of men and master merges
Soon resound with heavy dirges
Gorge and cliff, the mountain's heart
Shakes. Behold, the curtains part
On the tent. . .The prize of maidens,
Queen of Shamakhan, in radiance
Lambent like the morning star,
Quietly salutes the Tsar.
Silenced by her brilliant gaze
Like a nightbird by the day's,
Numb he stands - her sight outstuns
Aye! the death of both his sons.
Now she looked at him, beguiling,
Swept a graceful bow and, smiling,
Took his hand and drew him on
To her tent came Tsar Dadon.
At her table did she seat him,
To all sorts of victuals treat him,
And for rest his body laid
On an othman of brocade.
Thus full seven days he lavished,
All enslaved by her and ravished,
On delight and merriment
In the royal maiden's tent.
At long last, though, forth he sallied,
His surviving forces rallied,
And, the maiden in his train,
Led his army home again.
Rumor started to outspeed him,
Tales of hap and no-hap breeding . . .
Throngs of subjects small and great
Swirl beyond the city gate
Round the coach of Tsar and Empress,
Fabled Shamakhanian temptress;
Tsar Dadon salutes them there . . .
All at once he is aware
Of his friend, the wise old eunuch,
In his white tarboosh and tunic,
Snowy-thatched now, like a swan.
"Father mine," exclaimed Dadon,
"Hail! How fare you? At your leisure Come and speak; what is your pleasure?"
"Tsar!" replied the aged mage,
"Now we square desert and wage.
For the aid I once accorded,
You recall, I was awarded
My first wish - to be fulfilled,
Like your own, as soon as willed.
Let this maid be what I won,
This young queen of Shamakhan."
"What?" Dadon fell back, amazed.
"What possessed you? Are you crazed?
Does some wicked demon ride you?
Have your wits dried up inside you?
What's your game, in heaven's name?
Pledge I did; but all the same
There are limits, well you knew;
And - what use is she to you?
Kindly lodge it in your head
Who I am! Why, ask instead
For my mint, a magnate's sable,
Stallion from the royal stable,
Half my tsardom if you please!"
"No, I wish for none of these!
Just you give me what I won,
This young queen of Shamakhan,"
Piped the sage in former fashion.
"No!" the Tsar spat, in a passion;
"You yourself have brought this on!
You'll have nothing! There! Be gone
While you're in one piece! I say!
Drag the scarecrow from my way!"
Whitebeard wanted to pursue it,
But with some, you're apt to rue it;
With an angry scepter blow
Tsar Dadon has laid him low,
Not to breathe again. - The city
Gave a shudder, but our pretty:
"Ha-ha-ha" and "hi-hi-hi,"
Not a pious thought, you see.
Tsar Dadon, though greatly flustered, at her, Smiled as soft as custard,
And proceeded cityward.
Then a tiny sound was heard,
And in sight of all the people,
Look! The cock whirred off the steeple,
Swooped upon the coach of state,
Perched upon the monarch's pate,
Fluffed his ruff and pecked and clink!
Soared aloft. . .Without a blink
Tsar Dadon slid off his seat,
Gave a wheeze and stretched his feet.
Gone the empress sight unseen,
Just as though she'd never been.
Tale of sense, if not of truth!
Food for thought to honest youth.


1834
Translated by Walter Arndt