res and kills, falls in love. But it is in reality
the epic of Peter the Great.[3] When the poem was published, it
disconcerted the critics and the public. It revealed an entirely new
phase of Pushkin's style, and it should have widened the popular
conception of the poet's powers and versatility. But at the time the
public only knew Pushkin through his lyrics and his early tales;
_Boris Godunov_ had not yet been published; moreover, the public of
that day expected to find in a poem passion and the delineation of the
heart's adventures. This stern objective fragment of an epic, falling
into their sentimental world of keepsakes, ribbons, roses and cupids,
like a bas-relief conceived by a Titan and executed by a god, met with
little appreciation. The poet's verse which, so far as the public
knew it, had hitherto seemed like a shining and luscious fruit, was
exchanged for a concentrated weighty tramp of ringing rhyme, _martele_
like steel. It is as if Tennyson had followed up his early poems in a
style as concise as that of Pope and as concentrated as that of
Browning's dramatic lyrics. The poem is a fit monument to Peter the
Great, and the great monarch's impetuous genius and passion for
thorough craftsmanship seem to have entered into it.

In 1829 Pushkin made a second journey to the Caucasus, the result of
which was a harvest of lyrics. On his return to St. Petersburg he
sketched the plan of another epic poem, _Galub_, dealing with the
Caucasus, but this remained a fragment.

In 1831 he finished the eighth and last canto of _Onegin_. Originally
there were nine cantos, but when the work was published one of the
cantos dealing with Onegin's travels was left out as being irrelevant.
Pushkin had worked at this poem since 1823. It was Byron's _Beppo_
which gave him the idea of writing a poem on modern life; but here
again, he made of the idea something quite different from any of
Byron's work. _Onegin_ is a novel. Eugene Onegin is the name of the
hero. It is, moreover, the first Russian novel; and as a novel it has
never been surpassed. It is as real as Tolstoy, as finished in
workmanship and construction as Turgenev. It is a realistic novel; not
realistic in the sense that Zola's work was mis-called realistic, but
realistic in the sense that Miss Austen is realistic. The hero is the
average man about St. Petersburg; his father, a worthy public servant,
lives honourably on debts and gives three balls a year. Onegin is
broug