Suddenly setting aside the promised history of Peter the Great, Pushkin rather quickly wrote “The History of Pugachev,” based on classified materials at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The topic was still too hot—it wasn’t even sixty years since the bloody uprising of Cossacks and peasants led by Pugachev had been suppressed ruthlessly, shocking Russia in the reign of Catherine the Great, and some witnesses of the events were still around. Therefore Pushkin presented the completed manuscript for Nicholas’s examination with trepidation.
Contrary to expectations, the emperor was satisfied and made only a few corrections (which Pushkin characterized as to the point)—for example, revising the manuscript’s title, “The History of the Pugachev Rebellion.”
Moreover, Nicholas ordered that the state printing press publish the book, thus giving the author a chance to earn some 30,000 rubles, Pushkin calculated, and “live the sweet life.” (The book, however, was a flop.)
As for the history of Peter the Great, Pushkin continued working on it intermittently until his death, but he left nothing but two dozen notebooks with notes and extracts from numerous documents and books. Nicholas read that manuscript, too, after the poet’s death, and at first did not recommend it for publication, but finally agreed with Zhukovsky’s arguments that it should be printed. Still, no publisher for this project was found. Pushkin’s manuscript was returned to the poet’s widow, and the tsar hired a professional historian for a book about Peter I.
In 1831, Pushkin married a Moscow beauty from a once wealthy but now bankrupt family, the eighteen-year-old Natalie Goncharova. The tsar was pleased that “his” Pushkin was settling down. Pushkin seemed happy. They had children: between 1832 and 1836 two girls and two boys. There were no signs that this marriage would start a chain of events that would lead to the poet’s tragic death.
There is no more famous mythos in Russian culture than the story of Pushkin’s marriage, duel, and death. Many books and innumerable articles have appeared on the subject, presenting starkly different interpretations. The more we learn of the events, the more inexplicable they seem.
Here is a brief summary. The marriage sharply exacerbated Pushkin’s chronic lack of funds; he always lived beyond his means and gambled at cards, as well. He had hoped to improve his financial affairs by publishing
Pushkin managed to put out four issues of
Nicholas I became Pushkin’s major benefactor: he gave the poet two loans (totaling 50,000 rubles).17
All around, at the end of his life Pushkin owed a vast amount of money: around 140,000 rubles.18This made his position very vulnerable in late 1833 when Nicholas granted him the court title of gentleman of the chamber, with required attendance at court ceremonies and balls. This was the lowest court title, formally in strict accordance with Pushkin’s low civil rank. The vain poet was furious.
Zhukovsky barely restrained his impulsive friend (literally pouring cold water on him) from “speaking rudely” with Nicholas himself. The irony is that Pushkin brought upon himself the appointment that he felt was so incommensurate with his achievements and therefore so humiliating.
Once Natalie was taken to a court party without Pushkin’s knowledge, and she pleased the empress very much. Angry, Pushkin declared, “I do not wish my wife to go where I do not go.” A contemporary reported, “His words were passed along, and Pushkin was made a gentleman of the chamber.”
Pushkin tried to retire, but his desire contradicted Nicholas’s fundamental belief in service for everyone. Avoiding service made a man suspect. The emperor threatened to take away Pushkin’s salary and end his access to the archives. This would have made further work as a state historian impossible and imperiled his livelihood. Pushkin had to give in.
There was one more point: Pushkin thought (or needed to think) that Natalie’s beauty was so overwhelming that even the emperor could not resist her. The poet thought the court title was forced on him so that Nicholas could see Natalie at court balls.
In a letter dated October 11, 1833, he warned his wife, “Don’t flirt with the tsar.” And a few weeks later, “You’re happy that dogs run after you like a bitch, their tails erect and sniffing your ass; a fine thing to be happy about! … Alas, that’s the whole secret of coquetry: as long as there’s a trough, pigs will come.”