Pushkin and Byron

Внеклассное мероприятие (музыкальный альманах на английском языке)

We would like to tell you about Pushkin and Byron, the influence of Byron’s poetry on the great Russian poet. You will learn how Pushkin studied English and used it in his poems.

(Гаснет свет, слайд – морской пейзаж.)

Погасло дневное светило;
На море синее вечерний пал туман.
Шуми, шуми, послушное ветрило,
Волнуйся подо мной, угрюмый океан.

These words were Pushkin’s answer to the creative work of the great British poet George Gordon Byron.
On the 27th of February 1812, the House of Lords of the British Parliament was shocked. A young aristocrat in his first speech in the House of Lords accused the Government of exploiting the workers. The orator was G.G. Byron.
Byron was born in London on the 22nd of January, 1788, into an old aristocratic family. His father was a poor army officer who spent his wife’s money very soon and died when the boy was three years old.
“I spent my childhood in Scotland. There I went to grammar school. I liked history and read much about Rome, Greece and Turkey. I read eating, read in bed, read when no one read beginning when I was 5 years old”.
The boy was born partly lame, but he liked sports and trained every day. He could ride a horse very well, was a champion swimmer and boxer, and took part in athletic activities.
Scotland was his motherland. He loved its beautiful nature, the rocky coast and mountains of the country. Scotland was also the motherland of Robert Burns who devoted his poems to it.

(Звучит стихотворение на русском языке “В горах моё сердце”.)

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart’s not here
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe –
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, well to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth,
Wherever I wonder, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands forever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe –
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

Byron’s love of this scenery was reflected in many of his poems.
In 1798 Byron’s great uncle died and the boy inherited the title of Lord and the family estate. The family went to live there.
George was sent to Harrow School where boys of aristocratic families got their education. Byron’s first days at that school were unhappy. As he was lame, the children laughed at him. But soon the boys began to like him, because he read much and knew many interesting facts from history. He wrote poems and read them to his friends.

I WOULD I WERE...
I would I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave;
The cumbrous pomb of Saxon pride,
Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which love the mountains craggy side,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

Хочу я быть ребёнком вольным
И снова жить в родных горах,
Скитаться по лесам раздольным,
Качаться на морских волнах.
Не сжиться мне душой свободной
С саксонской пышной суетой!
Милее мне над зыбью водной
Утёс, в который бьёт прибой!

(Звучит “Соната 8” Бетховена.)

At 17 Byron entered Cambridge University and there his literary career began. It was the time after the first bourgeois revolution in France. European nations were struggling against Napoleon for their independence. Byron hated exploitation and sympathized with people fighting for freedom.
In 1808 Byron graduated from the University and the next year took his hereditary seat in the House of Lords. In 1809 he went travelling:

(Звучит мелодия Свиридова.)

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue,
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land – Good Night!

A few short hours and He will rise,
To give the Morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my Mother Earth.
Deserted is my own good Hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on wall,
My Dog howls at the gate.

Прощай, прощай, мой брат родной
В лазури вод поник
Вздыхает бриз, ревёт прибой,
И чайки вьётся крик.
Скрывают солнце волн хребты,
У нас одни пути.
Прощай же, солнце, с ним и ты,
Родной мой край, прости!
Недолог срок – и вновь оно
Взойдёт, а я привет
Лишь морю с небом шлю: давно
Земли родимой нет.
Пуст отчий дом, остыл очаг,
И вихрь золу разнёс:
На гребне стен пророс сорняк,
У входа воет пёс.

His “Grand Tour” took two years. The poet visited Spain, Portugal, Albania, Greece and Turkey. Byron described his travels in a long poem “Child Harold’s Pilgrimage”. It was received with enthusiasm and Byron became popular with the crowd in London. “Awoke one morning and found myself famous”, – wrote the poet about his success.
Byron wrote many poems. The hero of each poem is a rebel against society. He is a man of strong will and passion. Proud and independent, he rises against tyrany and injustice to gain his personal freedom. This new mode of thought and feeling was called “Byronism”.
Byron’s anti-government speeches in Parliament and his divorce from his wife helped the poet’s enemies attack him. He was accused of immorality and had to leave England for Switzerland. In 1817 Byron went to Italy which was under Austrian rule at that time. In Italy Byron joined a revolutionary organization. He wrote: “When a man has no freedom to fight for at home, let him fight for that of his neighbours”.
Byron hated war and proclaimed the people’s struggle against Napoleon and his defeat in Russia.

Moscow! Thou limit of his long career.
For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear.
To see in vain – he saw thee – how? With spire
And palace fuel to one common fire.
To this the solider lent his kindling match,
To this the merchant flung his hoarded store,
The prince – his hall – and Moscow was no more.

Москва! Рубеж врагам непревзойдённый,
Лил слёзы каря, тобою побеждённый,
Наполеон вступил в тебя, но как?
Сплошным костром ты озарила мрак.
Огонь раздули русские солдаты,
Не пожалел крестьянин русской хаты,
Добром набитый склад поджёг купец,
Хоромы – князь. Москве настал конец.
Не так перед тобой пылает Этна,
Над Геклой зарево не так заметно,
Везувий столб возносит огневой,
Зевак, дивя, как фейерверк пустой,
Москве стоять, любви народной веря,
До грозного пожара всех империй!

After the suppression of the Italian movement for independence Byron went to Greece and supported the Greek people in their struggle for independence against Turkey.

(Исполняетсятанец “Сиртаки”.)

Sons of the Greeks, arise!
The glorious hour’s gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
Suns of Greeks! Let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet
Brave shades of chiefs and sages
Behold the coming strife!
Hellens of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!

О Греция, восстань!
Сиянье древней славы
Борцов зовёт на брань,
На подвиг величавый.
К оружию! К победам!
Героям страх неведом
Пускай за нами следом
Течёт тиранов кровь.
С презреньем сбросьте, греки,
Турецкое ярмо.
Кровью вражеской навеки
Сломайте рабское клеймо!
Пусть доблестные тени
Героев и вождей
Увидят возрожденья
Эллады прежних дней.

В 1824 году мир узнал о кончине Байрона. Об этом сообщил журнал “Вестник Европы”.
В декабре 1823 г., когда движение разрослось, Байрон решил высадиться на берег Греции. Пять дней, не раздеваясь, он провёл в ожидании безопасной высадки. Она была тяжёлой. Байрон бросился вплавь, в одежде, держа на плечах греческого ребёнка, которого он ещё на борту обещал доставить родителям. Так ночью, продрогший, измученный, он сидел на берегу и отогревал застывшие руки ребёнка.
In the Greek town of Missolongi, Byron fell ill with typhus and died on April 1, 1824. Byron’s heart was buried in Missolongi. His friends brought his body back to England. They wanted to bury him in Westminster Abbey, where many of England’s writers are buried, but the English government wouldn’t let them do it so Byron was buried in Newstead, his native home.
Many Russian poets and writers were fond of Byron’s works. Vyazemsky wrote: “What a poetic death! Ancient Greece and dead Byron... It’s an ocean of poetry... I hope on Pushkin”. And Pushkin devoted a part of his poem “K Mopю” to Byron as a poet of freedom. According to Pushkin’s contemporaries, Pushkin’s description of Byron was the best.

...Another genius was taken
From us, another mastermind
He flied by liberty lamented.
Heaving the world his laurel crown.
Roar, sea, and seeing the stormy weather:
Your bard he was, your very own.
Upon his brow was stample your image,
In spite from one mould you came:
He had your strength, your depth, your grimness,
His soul, like yours, nothing could tame.

During his southern exile when Pushkin lived in Kishinyov, he read Byron’s poems. His romantic poems “Бахчисарайский фонтан”, “Цыганы”, “Кавказский пленник” were written under the influence of Byron’s poetry. What attracted Pushkin in Byron? On the one hand, Byron was a great master at describing nature.

TWILIGHT
It is an hour when from the boughs
The nightingale’s high note is heard;
It is an hour when lovers’ vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met.
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf the browner flue,
And in the heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
Which follows the decline of day,
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

On the other hand, Byron was talented at describing a man’s soul.

MY SOUL IS DARK
My soul is dark – Oh, quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o’er my ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear
That sound shall charm it forth again;
If in these eyes there lurk a tear
Twill flow and cease to burn my brain.

Душа моя мрачна. Скорей, певец, скорей!
Вот арфа золотая:
Пускай персты твои, промчавшийся по ней,
Пробудят в струнах звуки рая.
И если не навек надежды рок унёс,
Они в груди моей проснутся,
И если есть в очах застывших капля слёз –
Они растают и прольются.

And at last it was Byron who taught Pushkin to depict the beauty of a woman.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

Она идёт во всей красе –
Светла, как ночь её страны
Вся глубь небес и звёзды все
В её очах заключены,
Как солнце в утренней росе,
Но только мраком смягчены.

Admiring Byron’s works Pushkin wrote in his letters:
Стихов! Стихов! Стихов!
“Байрон – это пища души”. (Льву Пушкину, 1821 г.)
“Нынче – день рождения Байрона. Я заказал с вечера обедню за упокой его души”.
Будучи глубоко тронутым романсом Глинки на стихи Байрона в переводе Козлова “Венецианская ночь” в исполнении Анны Петровны Керн, Пушкин написал ей: “Никак не ожидал, чародейка, что вы вспомните обо мне, от всей … благодарю вас за это... Байрон получил в моих глазах новую прелесть – все его герои примут в моём воображении черты, забыть которые невозможно.

(Звучит романс “Я помню чудное мгновенье”.)

TO...
A magic moment I remember:
I raised my eyes and you were here,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that’s beautiful and rare.

A prayer of 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 gray 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 were there,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that’s beautiful and rare.

And now my heart throbs with elation,
Hailing the resurrection of
Diving ideals, inspiration,
Life, tears and happiness, and love.

Pushkin believed that Don Juan was the greatest of Byron’s work. Pushkin paid special attention to the passages devoted to Russia (a place which Byron had never seen, but loved greatly). Being fond of Byron, Pushkin had an idea to write a biographical book about Byron: though he didn’t fulfill his plan.
French was the most popular language in Pushkin’s Russia, that’s why Pushkin read Byron’s poems in French translation. He had a desire to learn the language of Byron. Frankly speaking, at first his English was poor. One of Pushkin’s contemporaries wrote:
“С Пушкиным было много книг и в том числе Шекспир. Однажды он переводил в палатке брату и мне некоторые из него сцены. В чтении Пушкина английское произношение было до того уродливо, что я заподозрил его знание языка и решил подвергнуть его экспертизе. Для этого на другой день я зазвал к себе его родственника Захара Чернышёва, знавшего английский язык, как свой родной, и, предупредив его, в чём дело, позвал к себе и Пушкина с Шекспиром. Он охотно принялся переводить нам его. Чернышёв при первых же словах, прочитанных Пушкиным: “Ты скажи прежде, на каком языке читаешь?” Расхохотался, в свою очередь, и Пушкин, объяснив, что выучился по-английски самоучкой, а потому читает английскую грамоту как латинскую. Но дело в том, что Чернышёв нашёл перевод его совершенно правильным, понимание языка безукоризненным”.
Vyazemsky, Bestuzhev advised Pushkin to study English. Pushkin wrote: “I need English”.
By the end of 1820s, Pushkin had learned English and read the English text easily. We see English in Pushkin’s works. Chapter I of the novel “Евгений Онегин” begins with the words of the great English poet.

Fare thee well and if forever
Still forever, fare thee well.

Острижен по последней моде,
Как dandy лондонский одет –
И наконец увидел свет.

Пред ним roast-beaf окровавленный
И туфли, роскошь юных лет,
Французской кухне лучший цвет.

Затем, что не всегда же мог
Beaf-steaks и страсбургский пирог
Шампанской обливать бутылкой.
Как Child Harold, угрюмый, томный,
В гостиных появлялся он...

И долго сердцу грустно было,
“Poor Yorick” молвил он уныло.

Читай, вот Прадт, вот Walter Scott
Не хочешь – проверяй расход...

Того, что модой самовластной
В высоком лондонском кругу
Зовётся Vulgar.

Мертвеца вынесли на бурю...
... like a warrior taking his rest
with his martial cloak around him
положили его на арбу.

A lovely Georgian maid
With all the bloom, the freshen’d glow
Of her own country maiden’s looks
When warm they rise from Teflisi brooks.

Первый месяц the honey-moon, провёл я здесь, в этой деревне.
Вот уже не угадаешь, my dear...

So we see that, thanks to Byron, Pushkin learned English and it gave him a chance to study English literature and appreciate it.
Pushkin and Byron are genuises; they were contemporaries but never met each other. Pushkin wrote about Byron: “What a fantastic creature, what a great quick brush!” These words can also be said about Pushkin.

Байрон писал:
Но нечто есть во мне, что не умрёт,
Чего ни смерть, ни времени полёт,
Ни клевета врагов не уничтожит,
Что в эхо многократном оживёт...

Вспомним “Памятник” Пушкина:
Нет, весь я не умру – душа в заветной лире
Мой прах переживёт и тленья убежит –
И славен буду я, доколь в подлунном мире
Жив будет хоть один пиит.

Pushkin was right. Pushkin and Byron today belong to Mankind. Their feelings, ideals and thoughts are understood and shared by people all over the world.
Наш вечер мы заканчиваем любимой песней Пушкина “Вечерний звон”.

The words were written by Byron’s friend Thomas Moore and the song was translated by Pushkin’s friend Ivan Kozlov.

(Гаснет свет, хор исполняет песню, в руках участников – горящие свечи.)

Those evening bells! –
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home? And that sweet time,
When last, I heard their soothing chime.
Thous joyous hours are pass’d away;
And many a heart, that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hear no more those evening bells.
And so’t will be when I am gone;
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

Вечерний звон, вечерний звон!
Как много дум наводит он
О юных днях в краю родном,
Где я любил, где отчий дом,
И как я, с ним навек простясь,
Там слушал звон в последний раз!
Уже не зреть мне светлых дней
Весны обманчивой моей!
И сколько нет теперь в живых
Тогда весёлых, молодых!
И крепок их могильный сон,
Не слышен им вечерний звон.
Лежать и мне в земле сырой!
Напев унылый надо мной.
В долине ветер разнесёт
Другой певец по ней пройдёт,
И уж не я, а будет он.
В раздумье петь вечерний звон.

Использованная литература:
1. Димент А.Л. George Gordon Byron. ИЯШ №№ 2, 3. 1988
2. Семёнова Л.Н., Коренькова Л.В. Пушкин и Байрон. ИЯШ № 1. 1998