The Strange Case of Pushkin as a Polyglot and Nabokov
Akiko Nakata
One of the things that may trouble readers of Nabokov’s commentary is his
underestimation of Pushkin’s knowledge of languages. Nabokov asserts,“When Pushkin tried to teach himself English at various odd moments fromthe early 1820’s to 1836, he never went beyond the beginner’s page” (162). Heillustrates how Pushkin did not master the language in several examples he has
found in Pushkin’s manuscripts. Edmund Wilson questions Nabokov’sunderrating of Pushkin’s knowledge of English: “Mr. Nabokov does not seemto admit that Pushkin’s competence in languages was considerable.”1 He also
produces some examples that testify to Pushkin’s competence in English,insisting that Nabokov must have been very well aware of them. To Wilson’schallenge, Nabokov only insists that Wilson should consult the examples hehas produced,2 which sounds far from persuasive, in contrast to his
counter-arguments on other issues raised by Wilson.
According to Brian Boyd, Nabokov originally “supposed that Pushkin had aperfect command, not only of Russian and French, but of English, Germanand Italian,” though in his finished commentary he asserts that Pushkin knew
no language well except Russian and French.3 Nabokov says that Pushkin
could not read Byron, Coleridge and other English Romantics in their original
language, but only read them in French translations. On the other hand, as
Boyd points out, Nabokov proves Pushkin’s command of English in his notes,
which obviously belies his assertion above.4 Nabokov seems to try to impress
upon readers by all means that Pushkin did not read Byron in his original
language, but in Amédée Pichot’s translation, which, however, Nabokovjudges to be inaccurate and just “readable.”
Nabokov’s evaluation of Pushkin’s French also puzzles readers. He affirmsthat Pushkin was a poor linguist: “[E]ven the fluent French . . . lacked
personal tang and, judging by his letters, remained throughout his life limited
to a brilliant command of eighteenth-century ready-made phrases” (162).
Wilson questions this judgment, too, but Nabokov says he can reply only “thatMr. Wilson’s notion of such competence and my notion of it are completelydissimilar.” 5 In the commentary, Nabokov often points out Pushkin’sGallicism. Sometimes a reader tends to doubt whether or not an expressionthat seems commonly used, should be defined as Gallicism. On one hand, itmay be understandable that Nabokov intends to intensify the importance ofFrench in Pushkin’s works by too nervously pointing out their Gallicism. On
the other hand, the reader suspects, Nabokov’s evaluation of Pushkin as aFrench writer was too strictly given.
The reader would like to naively ask: Who was better in French, Pushkin or
Nabokov? Indeed, Nabokov learned French in his childhood from a Swissgoverness (Cécile Miauton, aka “Mademoiselle O”), and sometimes spoke thelanguage with his family . In Paris he published a story and an essay in French,and even had the possibility of becoming a French writer. However, heactually grew up after the French era had ended in Russia, when aristocrats
usually talked, and students learned, in Russian. Growing up as a trilingual
child, Nabokov’s first language was nothing but Russian. On the other hand,Pushkin was raised at the time of the French language’s control over Russia.
Most of his childhood conversations with his family, and his studies, were inFrench. Being one of the first students accepted by the Tsarskoe Selo Lyceum,
he was educated in Russian exceptionally at that time, but he knew French
literature well and was so dedicated to it that he was both respected for andmade fun of his Francophilia. As almost all the books kept in the library at thePushkin Museum in Moscow are in French, this language can be considered
his substantial first language, even though it should not be called his “mothertongue.” Could it be possible that Pushkin had such a poor command ofFrench as Nabokov judges? As even a learner of a foreign language could
judge the quality of a native speaker’s writing style, it is natural that Nabokov,
who was extremely good in the language, could be critical of Pushkin’sFrench. On the other hand, Nabokov’s underrating might be due to his hope of
impressing upon the reader that Pushkin’s Russian was much superior to hisFrench. Still, we cannot help feeling something obscure in his underrating.
In his commentary to the eighth chapter, Nabokov seems to try to denounce
Pushkin’s dedication to French literature. He discusses that Pushkin’s
nickname, “the Frenchman,” comes from the metaphor for France, “monkeysand tigers,” rather than from Pushkin’s Francophilia, well known in his schooldays. To prove it, Nabokov brings up the fact that Pushkin added to hissignature, “the Frenchman,” in the minutes of the annual reunion of theLyceum alumni, “A cross between a monkey and a tiger” (135-36). His gloss
is interesting enough, but at the same time, it makes the reader wonder why
Nabokov should try to separate Pushkin from French literature. Nabokov’sassertion looks even more mysterious when we remember his desire toposition Pushkin in the tradition of European literature.
According to Yu. M. Lotman, Russian aristocrats of Pushkin’s era generally
wrote their private letters in French, often quoting French literary works.5 This
convention looks to be a form of aristocratic sophistication; on the other hand,
it may suggest a kind of limitation in their French as their “native” tongue,
caused by the fact that it was not the language that had come down from theirancestors from generation to generation. That the social elegance of thearistocrats was imported from France, and denied Russian convention,suggests a kind of defection of Russian culture. Similarly, the prototype of
Onegin can be found in European Romantic heroes, as Nabokov defines them.
In the commentary to the first chapter Nabokov spends six pages on thethemes of “spleen” and “ennui,” which have been so enthusiastically
discussed by Russian and Soviet critics as particular to Onegin’s distemperthat they invented a special term, “Oneginstvo [Oneginism],” and spent
thousands of pages on him as a “type.” Nabokov proves that Onegin’s mental
malady was not particular to an era of Russia, but was widespread in Western
Europe from the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries, by carefully tracing
its first appearances; definitions; and various usages in Voltaire, Boswell, La
Fontaine, Sainte-Beuve, Stendhal, Chateaubriand, Byron and other Romantics.
Moreover, he introduces how “spleen” spread over to Europe so that many
English tourists tried to commit suicide from such a distemper, how “spleen”
marked the characters in nineteenth century English and French novels, andhow they were mentally and medically treated in these works. Nabokov shows
Onegin’s personality as generated not only from Byron’s Childe Harold, butalso from the Romanticism of Western Europe. However, Nabokov does nothighly value such a “type” inflicted by the “spleen” popular in English andFrench Romantic novels. He considers that Onegin should be separated fromthose clichéd characters because Onegin was recomposed in a unique way byPushkin, who could create characters from both life and literature. Then hediscusses how Pushkin’s genius could create Onegin, such a vivid and uniquecharacter, from the pale European prototype. Then, we suspect again, there
would be no problem if Nabokov would admit that Pushkin had betterknowledge of French and English.
Throughout his commentary Nabokov engages the reader by his exact
verification of facts. He estimates the time when Onegin and Pushkin walked
on the Neva embankment according to the climate chart from Pushkin’slibrary. He also entertains the reader by describing how delicious Europeanbeefsteak used to be, and then shows the price of such a dish compared to a
yearly subscription to a weekly magazine; and tells how many bottles ofchampagne were imported from France at that time. However, we find no such
positivism in his underestimation of Pushkin’s languages. Pushkin’s
knowledge of English probably was not enough to allow him to read Byron’s
works with ease, but at least he must have had some English comprehension,and somehow could have appreciated Childe Harold even partially. Why doesNabokov persist in asserting that Pushkin could not read Byron, except in animperfect French translation?
It could be assumed that Nabokov needs to distance Pushkin from Byron soas to connect Pushkin and himself over a century. Pushkin, who stayed inRussia his whole life while longing to leave it, and Nabokov, who often
visited Europe during his childhood and lived in Europe and the US as anémigré, do not seem to share much background. However, in Nabokov’sworks, the places he has known in Russia, Europe and the US are notdescribed as they were, but always appear before the reader’s eye via his“invention.” All his protagonists have experienced serious loss anddesperately struggle to fill the gaps between something precisous that has been
lost and themselves. The struggles are in the center of Nabokov’s world, andthey are done as extremely complicated maneuvers. Nabokov seems intent on
finding and representing the same in Pushkin. The latter’s genius, Nabokov
asserts, made it possible for him to appreciate Byron even by Pichot’sinaccurate and mediocre translation, by which we may imagine the complexrelationship between Pushkin and European literature. Nabokov quotes fromCuriosities of Literature by Isaac D’Israeli, the French translation of which
Pushkin had, adding his comments:. . . their [the gondoliers of Venice] sounds were hoarse and screaming . . .
[but at a great distance, the vocal performance is] inexpressibly charming,
as it only fulfils its design in the sentiment of remoteness [as Pushkinheard it—from Pichot’s gondola, across a wilderness of liberty] (184-85).
This Pushkin reminds us of Humbert Humbert, who sees in the Americancountryside the trees he has viewed in René and Atala, described byChateaubriand, who had never visited America before he wrote those novels.
Commenting on Pushkin, Nabokov secretly but assertively suggests to thereader some clues to his own works and himself. It may be one of the greatest

thrills the reader is given while reading his commentary.
1

Edmund Wilson, “The Strange Case of Pushkin and Nabokov,” A Window on Russia: for the Use of
Foreign Readers (New York: Farrar, 1972), 225.
2Vladimir Nabokov, Strong Opinions (New York: Vintage, 1990), 265.
3
Brian Boyd, Vladimir Nabokov: The American Years (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1991), 350.
4Boyd, 351-352.
5Strong Opinions, 265.
6Yu. M. Lotman, Besedï o russkoy kul'ture: bït i traditsii russkogo dvoryanstva (XVIII-nachalo XIXveka). (St. Petersburg: Iskusstvo-SPB, 1994), 70-72.