In spite of the great privileges which verse-makers enjoy (we must confess that, except the right of using the accusative instead of the genitive, and other so-called poetical1 licenses2 of a similar kind, we fail to see what are the particular privileges of Russian poets), in spite of their every possible privilege, these persons are compelled to endure a great deal of unpleasantness. The bitterest misfortune of all, the most intolerable for the poet, is the appellation3 with which he is branded, and which will always cling to him. The public look upon him as their own property; in their opinion, he was created for their especial benefit and pleasure. Should he return from the country, the first person who meets him accosts4 him with:
"Haven't you brought anything new for us?"
Should the derangement5 of his affairs, or the illness of some being dear to him, cause him to become lost in thoughtful reflection, immediately a trite6 smile accompanies the trite exclamation7:
"No doubt he is composing something!"
Should he happen to fall in love, his beauty purchases an album at the English warehouse8, and expects an elegy9.
Should he call upon a man whom he hardly knows, to talk about serious matters of business, the latter quickly calls his son and compels him to read some of the verses of so-and-so, and the lad regales the poet with some of his lame10 productions. And these are but the flowers of, the calling; what then must be the fruits! Charsky acknowledged that the compliments, the questions, the albums, and the little boys bored him to such an extent, that he was constantly compelled to restrain himself from committing some act of rudeness.
Charsky used every possible endeavour to rid himself of the intolerable appellation. He avoided the society of his literary brethren, and preferred to them the men of the world, even the most shallow-minded: but that did not help him. His conversation was of the most commonplace character, and never turned upon literature. In his dress he always observed the very latest fashion, with the timidity and superstition11 of a young Moscovite arriving in St. Petersburg for the first time in his life. In his study, furnished like a lady's bedroom, nothing recalled the writer; no books littered the table; the divan12 was not stained with ink; there was none of that disorder13 which denotes the presence of the Muse14 and the absence of broom and brush. Charsky was in despair if any of his worldly friends found him with a pen in his hand. It is difficult to believe to what trifles a man, otherwise endowed with talent and soul, can descend15. At one time he pretended to be a passionate16 lover of horses, at another a desperate gambler, and at another a refined gourmet17, although he was never able to distinguish the mountain breed from the Arab, could never remember the trump18 cards, and in secret preferred a baked potato to all the inventions of the French cuisine19. He led a life of unbounded pleasure, was seen at all the balls, gormandized at all the diplomatic dinners, and appeared at all the soirees as inevitably20 as the Rezan ices. For all that, he was a poet, and his passion was invincible21. When he found the "silly fit" (thus he called the inspiration) coming upon him, Charsky would shut himself up in his study, and write from morning till late into the night. He confessed to his genuine friends that only then did he know what real happiness was. The rest of his time he strolled about, dissembled, and was assailed22 at every step by the eternal question:
"Haven't you written anything new?"
One morning, Charsky felt that happy disposition23 of soul, when the illusions are represented in their brightest colours, when vivid, unexpected words present themselves for the incarnation of one's visions, when verses flow easily from the pen, and sonorous24 rhythms fly to meet harmonious25 thoughts. Charsky was mentally plunged26 into a sweet oblivion... and the world, and the trifles of the world, and his own particular whims27 no longer existed for him. He was writing verses.
Suddenly the door of his study creaked, and the unknown head of a man appeared. Charsky gave a sudden start and frowned.
"Who is there?" he asked with vexation, inwardly cursing his servants, who were never in the ante-room when they were wanted.
The unknown entered. He was of a tall, spare figure, and appeared to be about thirty years of age. The features of his swarthy face were very expressive28: his pale, lofty forehead, shaded by dark locks of hair, his black, sparkling eyes, aquiline29 nose, and thick beard surrounding his sunken, tawny30 cheeks, indicated him to be a foreigner. He was attired31 in a black dress-coat, already whitened at the seams, and summer trousers (although the season was well into the autumn); under his tattered32 black cravat33, upon a yellowish shirt-front, glittered a false diamond; his shaggy hat seemed to have seen rain and bad weather. Meeting such a man in a wood, you would have taken him for a robber; in society—for a political conspirator34; in an ante-room—for a charlatan35, a seller of elixirs36 and arsenic37.
"What do you want?" Charsky asked him in French.
"Signor," replied the foreigner in Italian, with several profound bows: "Lei voglia perdonar mi, si ..." (Please pardon me, if....)
Charsky did not offer him a chair, and he rose himself: the conversation was continued in Italian.
"I am a Neapolitan artist," said the unknown: "circumstances compelled me to leave my native land; I have, come to Russia, trusting to my talent."
Charsky thought that the Italian was preparing to give some violoncello concerts and was disposing of his tickets from house to house. He was just about to give him twenty-five roubles in order to get rid of him as quickly as possible, but the unknown added:
"I hope, signor, that you will give a friendly support to your confrère, and introduce me into the houses to which, you have access."
It was impossible to offer a greater affront38 to Charsky's vanity. He glanced haughtily39 at the individual who called himself his confrère.
"Allow me to ask, what are you, and for whom do you take me?" he said, with difficulty restraining his indignation.
The Neapolitan observed his vexation.
"Signor," he replied, stammering40: "Ho creduto ... ho sentito ... la vostra Eccelenza ... mi ferdonera..." (I believed ... I felt ... Your Excellency ... will pardon me....)
"What do you want?" repeated Charsky drily.
"I have heard a great deal of your wonderful talent; I am sure that the gentlemen of this place esteem41 it an honour to extend every possible protection to such an excellent poet," replied the Italian: "and that is why I have ventured to present myself to you...."
"You are mistaken, signor," interrupted Charsky. "The calling of poet does not exist among us. Our poets do not solicit42 the protection of gentlemen; our poets are gentlemen themselves, and if our Maecenases (devil take them!) do not know that, so much the worse for them. Among us there are no ragged43 abbés, whom a musician would take out of the streets to compose a libretto44. Among us, poets do not go on foot from house to house, begging for help. Moreover, they must have been joking, when they told you that I was a great poet. It is true that I once wrote some wretched epigrams, but thank God, I haven't anything in common with messieurs les poètes, and do not wish to have."
The poor Italian became confused. He looked around him. The pictures, marble statues, bronzes, and the costly45 baubles46 on Gothic what-nots, struck him. He understood that between the haughty47 dandy, standing48 before him in a tufted brocaded cap, gold-embroidered nankeen dressing-gown and Turkish sash,—and himself, a poor wandering artist, in tattered cravat and shabby dress-coat—there was nothing in common. He stammered49 out some unintelligible50 excuses, bowed, and wished to retire. His pitiable appearance touched Charsky, who, in spite of the defects in his character, had a good and noble heart. He felt ashamed of his irritated vanity.
"Where are you going?" he said to the Italian. "Wait ... I was compelled to decline an unmerited title and confess to you that I was not a poet. Now let us speak about your business. I am ready to serve you, if it be in my power to do so. Are you a musician?"
"No, Eccelenza," replied the Italian; "I am a poor improvisatore."
"An improvisatore!" cried Charsky, feeling all the cruelty of his reception. "Why didn't you say sooner that you were an improvisatore?"
And Charsky grasped his hand with a feeling of sincere regret.
His friendly manner encouraged the Italian. He spoke51 na?vely of his plans. His exterior52 was not deceptive53. He was in need of money, and he hoped somehow in Russia to improve his domestic circumstances. Charsky listened to him with attention.
"I hope," said he to the poor artist, "that you will have success; society here has never heard an improvisatore. Curiosity will be awakened54. It is true that the Italian language is not in use among us; you will not be understood, but that will be no great misfortune; the chief thing is that you should be in the fashion."
"But if nobody among you understands Italian," said the improvisatore, becoming thoughtful, "who will come to hear me?"
"Have no fear about that—they will come: some out of curiosity, others to pass away the evening somehow or other, others to show that they understand Italian. I repeat, it is only necessary that you should be in the fashion, and you will be in the fashion—I give you my hand upon it."
Charsky dismissed the improvisatore very cordially, after having taken his address, and the same evening he set to work to do what he could for him.
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1
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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2
licenses
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| n.执照( license的名词复数 )v.批准，许可，颁发执照( license的第三人称单数 ) | |
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appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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accosts
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的第三人称单数 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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7
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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8
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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9
elegy
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| n.哀歌，挽歌 | |
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10
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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13
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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14
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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15
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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16
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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17
gourmet
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| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
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18
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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22
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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23
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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24
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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25
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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26
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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27
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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28
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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29
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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30
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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31
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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33
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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34
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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35
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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36
elixirs
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| n.炼金药，长生不老药( elixir的名词复数 )；酏剂 | |
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37
arsenic
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| n.砒霜，砷；adj.砷的 | |
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38
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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39
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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40
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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41
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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42
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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43
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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44
libretto
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| n.歌剧剧本，歌曲歌词 | |
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45
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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46
baubles
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| n.小玩意( bauble的名词复数 )；华而不实的小件装饰品；无价值的东西；丑角的手杖 | |
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47
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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53
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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54
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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