which brought him more fame than all his previous work, being adapted to the spirit of the time, and followed it up with other effusions, which made much more impression on his contemporaries than they have on later readers. But even in his most brilliant period, the great defect of Zhukovsky's poetry was a total lack of coloring or close connection with the Russian soil, which he did not understand, and did not particularly love. His poetical "Epistle to Alexander I. after the Capture of Paris, in 1824," he sent in ma.n.u.script to the Emperor's mother, the Empress Marya Feodorovna. The result was, that the Empress ordered it printed in luxurious style, at government expense, had him presented to her, and made him her reader. He was regarded as a great poet, became a close friend of the imperial family, tutor to the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Alexandra Feodorovna (wife of Nikolai Pavlovitch, afterwards the Emperor Nicholas I.), and his fortune was a.s.sured. His career during the last twenty-five years of his life, beginning with 1817, belongs to history rather than to literature. In 1853, wealthy, loaded with imperial favors, richly pensioned, he went abroad, and settled in Baden-Baden, where he married (being at the time sixty years of age, while his bride was nineteen), and never returned to Russia. During the last eleven years of his semi-invalid life, with disordered nerves, he approached very close to mysticism.[9]

Batiushkoff, as a poet, was the exact opposite of Zhukovsky, being the first to grasp the real significance of the mood of the ancient cla.s.sical poets, and to appropriate not only their views on life and enjoyment, but even their plastic and thoroughly artistic mode of expression. While Zhukovsky removed poetry from earth and rendered it ethereal, Batiushkoff fixed it to earth and gave it a body, demonstrating all the entrancing charm of tangible reality. Yet, in language, point of view, and literary affiliations, he belongs, like Zhukovsky, to the school of Karamzin. But his versification, his subject-matter are entirely independent of all preceding influences. In beauty of versification and plastic worth, Batiushkoff had no predecessors in Russian literature, and no compet.i.tors in the school of Karamzin. He was of ancient, n.o.ble family, well educated, and began to publish at the age of eighteen.

We now come, chronologically, to a writer who cannot be a.s.signed either to the old sentimental school of Karamzin, or to the new romantic school of which Pushkin was the first and greatest exponent in Russian literature; to a man who stood apart, in a lofty place, all his own, both during his lifetime and in all Russian literary history; whose name is known to every Russian who can read and write, and whose work enjoys in Russia that popularity which the Odyssey did among the ancient Greeks. Ivan Andreevitch Kryloff (1763-1844) began his literary work almost simultaneously with Karamzin, but was not, in the slightest degree, influenced by the style which the latter introduced into Russian literature; and bore himself in no less distant and hostile a manner to the rising romantic school of Pushkin. He was the son of an army officer, who was afterwards in the civil service, a very competent, intelligent man, who left his family in dire poverty at his death. At the age of fifteen, Kryloff produced his first, and very creditable, specimen of his future talent, though obliged, by extreme need, to enter government service at the age of fourteen, at his father's death. He filled several positions in different places at a very meager salary, until the death of his mother (1788), when he resigned and determined to devote himself exclusively to literature. He engaged in journalistic work, became an editor, and soon published a paper of his own. But his real sphere was that of fabulist. In 1803 he offered his first three fables, partly translated, partly worked over from La Fontaine, and from the moment of their publication, his fame as a writer of fables began to grow. But he wrote two comedies and a fairy-opera before, in 1808, he finally devoted himself to fables, to which branch of literature he remained faithful as long as he lived. By 1811-1812 his fables were so popular that he was granted a government pension, and became a member of the Empress Marya Feodorovna's circle of court poets and literary men.

From 1812-1840, or later, Kryloff had an easy post in the Imperial Public Library, and in the course of forty years, wrote about two hundred fables. He is known to have been extremely indolent and untidy; but all his admirers, and even his enemies, recognized in him a power which not one of his predecessors in the literary sphere had possessed--a power which was thoroughly national, bound in the closest manner to the Russian soil. His fables bear an almost family likeness to the proverbs, aphorisms, adages, and tales produced by the wisdom of the ma.s.ses, and are quite in their spirit. All the Russian poets had tried their hand at that favorite form of poetic composition--the fable--ever since its introduction from western Europe, in the eighteenth century; and Kryloff's success called forth innumerable imitators. But up to that time, out of all the sorts of poetry existing in Russian literature, only the fable, thanks to Kryloff, had become, in full measure, the organ of nationality, both in spirit and in language; and these two qualities his fables possess in the most profound, national meaning of the term. His language is peculiar to himself. He was the first who dared to speak to Russian society, enervated by the harmonious, regular prose of Karamzin, in the rather rough vernacular of the ma.s.ses, which was, nevertheless, energetic, powerful, and contained no foreign admixture, or any exclusively bookish elements. One of the most popular of his fables, to which allusion is often made in Russian literature and conversation, is "Demyan's Fish-Soup." The manner in which the lines are rhymed in the original is indicated by corresponding figures.

DEMYaN'S FISH-SOUP

"Neighbor, dear, my light! (1) Eat, I pray thee." (2) "Neighbor, dear, I'm full to the throat,"--"No matter. (1) Another little plateful; hearken: (2) This fish soup, I a.s.sure you, is gloriously cooked." (3) "Three platefuls have I eaten."--"O, stop that, why keep count, (4) If only you feel like it, (4) Why, eat and health be yours: eat to the bottom! (3) What fish-soup! and how rich in fat (3) As though with amber covered. (3) Enjoy yourself, dear friend! (5) Here's tender bream, pluck, a bit of sterlet here!

Just another little spoonful!

Come, urge him, wife!"

In this wise did neighbor Demyan neighbor Foka entertain.

And let him neither breathe nor rest; But sweat from Foka long had poured in streams.

Yet still another plateful doth he take, Collects his final strength--and cleans up everything.

"Now, that's the sort of friend I like!"

Demyan did shout: "But I can't bear the stuck-up; come, eat another plateful, my dear fellow!"

Thereupon, my poor Foka, Much as he loved fish-soup, yet from such a fate, In his arms seizing his girdle and his cap-- Rushed madly, quickly home, And since that day, hath never more set foot in Demyan's house.

Writer, thou art lucky if the real gift thou hast, But if thou dost not know enough to hold thy peace in time, And dost not spare thy neighbor's ears, Then must thou know, that both thy prose and verse, To all will prove more loathsome than Demyan's fish-soup.

Another good specimen is called:

THE SWAN, THE PIKE, AND THE CRAB

When partners cannot agree, their affair will not work smoothly, And torment, not business, will be the outcome.

Once on a time, the Swan, the Crab, and the Pike, Did undertake to haul a loaded cart, And all three hitched themselves thereto; They strained their every nerve, but still the cart budged not.

And yet, the load seemed very light for them; But towards the clouds the Swan did soar, Backwards the Crab did march, While the Pike made for the stream.

Which of them was wrong, which right, 'tis not our place to judge.

Only, the cart doth stand there still.

We have seen that Lomonosoff began the task of rendering the modern Russian language adaptable to all the needs of prose and verse; and that the writers who followed him, notably Karamzin, contributed their share to this great undertaking. Pushkin practically completed it and molded the hitherto somewhat harsh and awkward forms into an exquisite medium for every requirement of literature. Alexander Sergyeevitch Pushkin (1799-1837), still holds the undisputed leadership for simplicity, realism, absolute fidelity to life, and he was the first worthy forerunner of the great men whose names are world-synonyms at the present day for those qualities. Almost every writer who preceded him had been more or less devoted to translations and servile copies of foreign literature. Against these, and the mock-cla.s.sicism of the French pattern, which then ruled Europe, he waged relentless battle. He vitalized Russian literature by establishing its foundations firmly on Russian soil; by employing her native traditions, life, and sentiment as subjects and inspiration, in place of the worn-out conventionalities of foreign invention. The result is a product of the loftiest truth, as well as of the loftiest art.

His ancestors were n.o.bles who occupied important posts under Peter the Great. His mother was a granddaughter of Hannibal, the negro of whom Pushkin wrote under the t.i.tle of "Peter the Great's Arab." This Hannibal was a slave who had been brought from Africa to Constantinople, where the Russian amba.s.sador purchased him, and sent him to Peter the Great.

The latter took a great fancy to him, had him baptized, and would not allow his brothers to ransom him, but sent him, at the age of eighteen, abroad to be educated. On his return, Peter kept his favorite always beside him. Under the reign of the Empress Anna Ioannovna he was exiled to Siberia, in company with other court favorites of former reigns; and like them, returned to Russia, and was loaded with favors by Peter's daughter, the Empress Elizabeth. His son was a distinguished general of Katherine II.'s day. Pushkin, the poet, had blue eyes, and very fair skin and hair, but the whole cast of his countenance in his portraits is negro. His father was a typical society man, and in accordance with the fashion of the day, Pushkin was educated exclusively by French tutors at home, and his first writings (at the age of ten) were in French, and imitated from writers of that nation. When his father retired from the military service, he settled in Moscow, and the boy knew all the literary men of that day and town before he was twelve years of age, and there can be no doubt that this literary atmosphere had a great influence upon him. When, at the age of twelve, he was placed in the newly founded Lyceum,[10] at Tzarskoe Selo (sixteen miles from St.

Petersburg), whence so many famous men were afterwards graduated, he and the other pupils amused themselves in their play hours by writing a little newspaper, and by other literary pursuits. Here the lad was compelled to learn Russian, and the first use he made of it was to write caustic epigrams. At the school examination in 1815, the aged poet Derzhavin was among the visitors; and when he heard the boy read his "Memories of Tzarskoe Selo," he at once predicted his coming greatness.

As is natural at his age, there was not much originality of idea in the poem; but it was amazing for its facility and mastery of poetic forms.

Karamzin and Zhukovsky were not long in adding their testimony to the lad's genius, and the latter even acquired the habit of submitting his own poems to the young poet's judgment.

Pushkin was an omnivorous reader, but his parents had never been pleased with his progress in his studies, or regarded him as clever. The praise of competent judges now opened their eyes; but he had a good deal to endure from his father, later on, in spite of this. At this period, Pushkin imitated the most varied poetical forms with wonderful delicacy, and yielded to the most diverse poetical moods. But even then he was entering on a new path, whose influence on later Russian literature was destined to be incalculably great. While still a school-boy, he began to write his famous fantastic-romantic poem, "Ruslan and Liudmila" (which Glinka afterwards made the subject of a charming opera), and here, for the first time in Russian literary history, a thoroughly national theme was handled with a freedom and naturalness which dealt the death-blow to the prevailing inflated, rhetorical style. The subject of the poem was one of the folk-legends, of which he had been fond as a child; and when it was published, in 1820, the critics were dumb with amazement. The gay, even dissipated, society life which he took up on leaving the Lyceum came to a temporary end in consequence of some biting epigrams which he wrote. The Prefect of St. Petersburg called him to account for his attacks on prominent people, and transferred him from the ministry of foreign affairs to southern Russia--in fact, to polite exile--giving him a corresponding position in another department of the government.

For four years (1820-1824) he lived chiefly in southern Russia, including the Crimea and the Caucasus, and wrote, "The Prisoner of the Caucasus," "The Fountain of Baktchesarai," "The Gypsies," and a part of his famous "Evgeny Onyegin," being, at this period, strongly influenced by Byron, as the above-mentioned poems and the short lyrics of the same period show. Again his life and his poetry were changed radically by a caustic but witty and amusing epigram on his uncongenial official superior in Odessa; and on the latter's complaint to headquarters--the complaint being as neat as the epigram, in its way--Pushkin was ordered to reside on one of the paternal estates, in the government of Pskoff.

Here, under the influence of his old nurse, Arina Rodionovna, and her folk-tales, he became thoroughly and definitively Russian, and entered at last on his real career--poetry which was truly national in spirit.

His talents were now completely matured. His wonderfully developed harmony of versification has never been approached by any later poet, except, in places, by Lermontoff. Quite peculiar to himself, at that day--and even much later--are his vivid delineations of character, and his simple but startlingly lifelike and truthful pictures of every-day life. If his claim to immortality rested on no other foundation than these, it would still be incontestable, for all previous Russian writers had scorned such commonplaces.

In 1826 he returned to the capital, having been restored to favor, and resumed his gay life, which on the whole, had a deleterious influence on his talents. In 1831 he married a very beautiful and extravagant woman, after which he was constantly in financial distress, his own social ambitions and lavish expenditure being equally well developed with the same tastes in his wife. His inclination to write poetry was destroyed.

He took to historical research, wrote a "History of Pugatcheff's Rebellion," and a celebrated tale, "The Captain's Daughter" (the scene of the latter being laid in the same epoch), and other stories. In these, almost simultaneously with Gogol, he laid the foundations for the vivid, modern school of the Russian novel. He was killed in a duel with Baron George Hekkeren-Dantes, who had been persecuting his wife with unwelcome attentions, in January, 1837. Baron Hekkeren-Dantes died only a year or two ago.

As a school-boy he had instinctively turned into a new path, that of national Russian literature. For this national service, and because he was the first to realize the poetic ideal, his countrymen adored him. To the highest external elegance and the most exquisite beauty, he fitly wedded inward force and wealth of thought, in the most incomparable manner. His finest effort, "Evgeny Onyegin" (1822-1829), exhibits the poet in the process of development, from the Byronic stage to the vigorous independence of a purely national writer. The hero, Evgeny Onyegin, begins as a society young man of the period; that is to say, he was inevitably a Byronic character. His father's death calls him from the dissipations of the capital to the quiet life of a country estate.

He regards his neighbors as his inferiors, both in culture and social standing, and for a long time will have nothing to do with them. At last, rather accidentally, he strikes up a friendship with Lensky, a congenial spirit, a young poet, who has had the advantage of foreign education, the son of one of the neighbors. Olga Larin, the young daughter of another neighbor, has long been betrothed to Lensky, and the latter naturally introduces Onyegin to her family. Olga's elder sister, Tatyana, promptly falls in love with Onyegin, and in a letter, which is always quoted as one of the finest pa.s.sages in Russian literature, and the most perfect portrait of the n.o.ble Russian woman's soul, she declares her love for him. Onyegin politely snubs her, lecturing her in a fatherly way, and no one is informed of the occurrence, except Tatyana's old nurse, who, though stupid, is absolutely devoted to her, and does not betray the knowledge which she has, involuntarily, acquired. Not long afterwards, Tatyana's name-day festival is celebrated by a dinner, at which Onyegin is present, being urged thereto by Lensky.

He goes, chiefly, that no comment may arise from any abrupt change of his ordinary friendly manners. The family, ignorant of what has happened between him and Tatyana, and innocently scheming to bring them together, place him opposite her at dinner. Angered by this, he revenges himself on the wholly innocent Lensky, by flirting outrageously with Olga (the wedding-day is only a fortnight distant), and Olga, being as vain and weak as she is pretty, does her share. The result is, that Lensky challenges Onyegin to a duel, and the seconds insist that it must be fought, though Onyegin would gladly apologize. He kills Lensky, unintentionally, and immediately departs on his travels. Olga speedily consoles herself, and marries a handsome officer. Tatyana, a girl of profound feelings, remains inconsolable, refuses all offers of marriage, and at last, yielding to the entreaties of her anxious relatives, consents to spend a season in Moscow. As a wall-flower, at her first ball, she captivates a wealthy prince, of very high standing in St.

Petersburg, and is persuaded by her parents to marry him. When Onyegin returns to the capital he finds the little country girl, whose love he had scorned, one of the greatest ladies at the court and in society; and he falls madly in love with her. Her cold indifference galls him, and increases his love. He writes three letters, to which she does not reply. Then he forces himself into her boudoir and finds her reading one of his letters and weeping over it. She then confesses that she loves him still, but dismisses him with the a.s.surance that she will remain true to her n.o.ble and loving husband. Tatyana is regarded as one of the finest, most vividly faithful portraits of the genuine Russian woman in all Russian literature; while Olga is considered fully her equal, as a type, and in popular sympathy; and the other characters are almost equally good in their various lines.

Besides a host of beautiful lyric poems, Pushkin left several dramatic fragments: "The Rusalka" or "Water Nymph," on which Dargomzhsky founded a beautiful opera, "The Stone Guest,"[11] "The Miserly Knight," and chief of all, and like "Evgeny Onyegin," epoch-making in its line, the historical dramatic fragment "Boris G.o.dunoff." This founded a school in Russian dramatic writing. It is impossible to do justice in translation to the exquisite lyrics; but the following soliloquy, from "Boris G.o.dunoff," will serve to show Pushkin's power in blank verse. Boris G.o.dunoff, brother-in-law to the Tzar Feodor Mikhailovitch, has at last reached the goal of his ambition, and mounted the throne, at what cost his own speech shows: Scene: The Imperial Palace. The Tzar enters:

I've reached the height of power; 'Tis six years now that I have reigned in peace; But there's no happiness within my soul.

Is it not thus--in youth we thirst and crave The joy of love; but once that we have quenched Our hungry heart with brief possession, We're tired, and cold, and weary on the instant!

The sorcerers in vain predict long life; And promise days of undisturbed power.

Nor power, nor life, nor aught can cheer my heart; My soul forebodeth heaven's wrath and woe.

I am not happy. I did think to still With plenty and with fame my people here; To win for aye their love by bounties free.

But vain are all my cares and empty toils: A living power is hated by the herd; They love the dead alone, only the dead.

What fools we are, when popular applause, Or the loud shout of ma.s.ses thrills our heart!

G.o.d sent down famine on this land of ours; The people howled, gave up the ghost in torment; I threw the granaries open, and my gold I showered upon them; sought out work for them.

Made mad by suffering, they turned and cursed me!

By conflagrations were their homes destroyed; I built for them their dwellings fair and new; And they accused me--said I had set the fires!

That's the Lord's judgment;--seek its love who will!

Then dreamed I bliss in mine own home to find; I thought to make my daughter blest in wedlock: Death, like a whirlwind, s.n.a.t.c.hed her betrothed away, And rumor craftily insinuates That I am author of my own child's widowhood:-- I, I, unhappy father that I am!

Let a man die--I am his secret slayer.

I hastened on the death of Feodor; I gave my sister, the Tzaritza, poison; I poisoned her, the lovely nun,--still I!

Ah, yes, I know it: naught can give us calm, Amid the sorrows of this present world; Conscience alone, mayhap: Thus, when 'tis pure, it triumphs O'er bitter malice, o'er dark calumny; But if there be in it a single stain, One, only one, by accident contracted, Why then, all's done; as with foul plague The soul consumes, the heart is filled with gall, Reproaches beat, like hammers, in the ears, The man turns sick, his head whirls dizzily, And b.l.o.o.d.y children float before my eyes.[12]

I'd gladly flee--yet whither? Horrible!

Yea, sad his state, whose conscience is not clean.

QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW

1. How did the reign of Katherine II. mark a distinct advance in the development of Russian literature?

2. Describe the literary activities of Katherine II.

3. Who was Princess Dashkoff?

4. Describe the early life and character of Von Vizin.

5. What qualities did he show in his play "The Brigadier"?

6. How did the characters in his "The Hobbledehoy" compare with those in the plays of Katherine II.?

7. Give an account of this play.

8. Give the chief events in the life of Derzhavin.

9. Why is he especially worthy to be remembered?

10. What are some of the beautiful thoughts in the ode "G.o.d"?

11. How was Kheraskoff regarded in his own day?

12. What was the character of Bogdanovitch's poem, "Dushenka"?

13. What influence had the fables of Khemnitzer?