A Survey of Russian Literature, with Selections
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Title: A Survey of Russian Literature, with Selections
Author: Isabel Florence Hapgood
Release date: April 3, 2007 [eBook #20980]
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Language: English
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Transcriber's notes
1. The Russian names normally do not have any accents; in this
book they appear to represent the emphasized syllable. The use
of accents has been standardized, with exception of Alexander
vs. Alexánder.
2. Corrected the division into stanzas for a poem "God" (O Thou
eternal One! whose presence bright) on page 94. The translator
used nine lines where ten lines were used in the original
Russian poem.
3. Several misprints and punctuation errors corrected. A list of
corrections can be found at the end of the text.
4. Footnotes moved to chapter-ends.
A SURVEY OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE, WITH SELECTIONS
by
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD
Author of
"Russian Rambles," and "The Epic Songs of Russia"
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS MONASTERY AT KIEV.]
[Illustration]
New York Chautauqua Springfield Chicago
The Chautauqua Press
MCMII
Copyright, 1902, by
The Chautauqua Press
The Lakeside Press, Chicago, Ill., U. S. A.
R. R. Donnelley & Sons Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ANCIENT PERIOD, FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE
INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY IN 988 1
II. THE ANCIENT PERIOD, FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY
TO THE TATÁR DOMINION, 988-1224 39
III. SECOND PERIOD, FROM THE TATÁR DOMINION TO THE TIME OF IVÁN
THE TERRIBLE, 1224-1330 47
IV. THIRD PERIOD, FROM THE TIME OF IVÁN THE TERRIBLE, 1530, TO
THE MIDDLE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 50
V. FOURTH PERIOD, FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
TO THE EPOCH OF REFORM UNDER PETER THE GREAT 61
VI. FIFTH PERIOD, THE REIGN OF PETER THE GREAT, 1689-1723 66
VII. SIXTH PERIOD, THE REIGN OF KATHERINE II. 1762-1796 80
VIII. SEVENTH PERIOD, FROM PÚSHKIN TO THE WRITERS OF THE FORTIES 123
IX. SEVENTH PERIOD: GONTCHARÓFF, GRIGORÓVITCH, TURGÉNEFF 161
X. SEVENTH PERIOD: OSTRÓVSKY, A. K. TOLSTÓY, POLÓNSKY,
NEKRÁSOFF, SHEVTCHÉNKO, AND OTHERS 181
XI. DOSTOÉVSKY 212
XII. SEVENTH PERIOD: DANILÉVSKY, SALTYKÓFF, L. N. TOLSTÓY,
GÓRKY, AND OTHERS 229
PREFACE.
In this volume I have given exclusively the views of Russian critics
upon their literature, and hereby acknowledge my entire indebtedness to
them.
The limits of the work, and the lack of general knowledge on the
subject, rendered it impossible for me to attempt any comparisons with
foreign literatures.
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD.
NEW YORK, June 6, 1902.
RUSSIAN LITERATURE
CHAPTER I
THE ANCIENT PERIOD, FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE INTRODUCTION OF
CHRISTIANITY IN 988.
Whether Russia had any literature, or even a distinctive alphabet,
previous to the end of the tenth century, is not known.
In the year 988, Vladímir, Grand Prince of Kíeff, accepted
Christianity for himself and his nation, from Byzantium, and baptized
Russia wholesale. Hence his characteristic title in history,
"Prince-Saint-equal-to-the-Apostles." His grandmother, Olga, had already
been converted to the Greek Church late in life, and had established
churches and priests in Kíeff, it is said. Prince Vladímir could have
been baptized at home, but he preferred to make the Greek form of
Christianity his state religion in a more decided manner; to adopt the
gospel of peace to an accompaniment of martial deeds. Accordingly he
compelled the Emperors of Byzantium, by force, to send the Patriarch of
Constantinople to baptize him, and their sister to become his wife. He
then ordered his subjects to present themselves forthwith for baptism.
Finding that their idols did not punish Vladímir for destroying them,
and that even great Perún the Thunderer did not resent being flung into
the Dniépr, the people quietly and promptly obeyed. As their old
religion had no temples for them to cling to, and nothing approaching a
priestly class (except the _volkhvýe_, or wizards) to encourage them in
opposition, the nation became Christian in a day, to all appearances. We
shall see, however, that in many cases, as in other lands converted from
heathendom, the old gods were merely baptized with new names, in company
with their worshipers.
Together with the religion which he imported from Byzantium,
"Prince-Saint" Vladímir naturally imported, also, priests, architects,
artists for the holy pictures (_ikóni_), as well as the traditional
style of painting them, ecclesiastical vestments and vessels, and--most
precious of all--the Slavonic translation of the holy Scriptures and of
the Church Service books. These books, however, were not written in
Greek, but in the tongue of a cognate Slavonic race, which was
comprehensible to the Russians. Thus were the first firm foundations of
Christianity, education, and literature simultaneously laid in the
cradle of the present vast Russian empire, appropriately called "Little
Russia," of which Kíeff was the capital; although even then they were
not confined to that section of the country, but were promptly extended,
by identical methods, to old Nóvgorod--"Lord Nóvgorod the Great," the
cradle of the dynasty of Rúrik, founder of the line of sovereign Russian
princes.
Whence came these Slavonic translations of the Scriptures, the Church
Services, and other books, and the preachers in the vernacular for the
infant Russian nation? The books had been translated about one hundred
and twenty-five years previously, for the benefit of a small Slavonic
tribe, the Moravians. This tribe had been baptized by German
ecclesiastics, whose books and speech, in the Latin tongue, were wholly
incomprehensible to their converts. For fifty years Latin had been used,
and naturally Christianity had made but little progress. Then the
Moravian Prince Róstislaff appealed to Michael, emperor of Byzantium, to
send him preachers capable of making themselves understood. The emperor
had in his dominions many Slavonians; hence the application, on the
assumption that there must be, among the Greek priests, many who were
acquainted with the languages of the Slavonic tribes. In answer to this
appeal, the Emperor Michael dispatched to Moravia two learned monks,
Kyríll and Methódy, together with several other ecclesiastics, in the
year 863.
Kyríll and Methódy were the sons of a grandee, who resided in the chief
town of Macedonia, which was surrounded by Slavonic colonies. The elder
brother, Methódy, had been a military man, and the governor of a
province containing Slavonians. The younger, Kyríll, had received a
brilliant education at the imperial court, in company with the Emperor
Michael, and had been a pupil of the celebrated Photius (afterwards
Patriarch), and librarian of St. Sophia, after becoming a monk. Later
on, the brothers had led the life of itinerant missionaries, and had
devoted themselves to preaching the Gospel to Jews and Mohammedans. Thus
they were in every way eminently qualified for their new task.
The Slavonians in the Byzantine empire, and the cognate tribes who dwelt
nearer the Danube, like the Moravians, had long been in sore need of a
Slavonic translation of the Scriptures and the Church books, since they
understood neither Greek nor Latin; and for the lack of such a
translation many relapsed into heathendom. Kyríll first busied himself
with inventing an alphabet which should accurately reproduce all the
varied sounds of the Slavonic tongues. Tradition asserts that he
accomplished this task in the year 855, founding it upon the Greek
alphabet, appropriating from the Hebrew, Armenian, and Coptic characters
for the sounds which the Greek characters did not represent, and
devising new ones for the nasal sounds. The characters in this alphabet
were thirty-eight in number. Kyríll, with the aid of his brother
Methódy, then proceeded to make his translations of the Church Service
books. The Bulgarians became Christians in the year 861, and these books
were adopted by them. But the greatest activity of the brothers was
during the four and a half years beginning with the year 862, when they
translated the holy Scriptures, taught the Slavonians their new system
of reading and writing, and struggled with heathendom and with the
German priests of the Roman Church. These German ecclesiastics are said
to have sent petition after petition to Rome, to Pope Nicholas I.,
demonstrating that the Word of God ought to be preached in three tongues
only--Hebrew, Greek, and Latin--"because the inscription on the Cross
had been written by Pilate in those tongues only." Pope Nicholas
summoned the brothers to Rome; but Pope Adrian II., who was reigning in
his stead when they arrived there, received them cordially, granted them
permission to continue their preaching and divine services in the
Slavonic language, and even consecrated Methódy bishop of Pannonia;
after which Methódy returned to Moravia, but Kyríll, exhausted by his
labors, withdrew to a monastery near Rome, and died there in 869.
The language into which Kyríll and Methódy translated was probably the
vernacular of the Slavonian tribes dwelling between the Balkans and the
Danube. But as the system invented by Kyríll took deepest root in
Bulgaria (whither, in 886, a year after Methódy's death, his disciples
were banished from Moravia), the language preserved in the ancient
transcripts of the holy Scriptures came in time to be called "Ancient
Bulgarian." In this connection, it must be noted that this does not
indicate the language of the Bulgarians, but merely the language of the
Slavonians who lived in Bulgaria. The Bulgarians themselves did not
belong to the Slavonic, nor even to the Indo-European race, but were of
Ural-Altaic extraction; that is to say, they belonged to the family now
represented in Europe by the Finns, Turks, Hungarians, Tatars, and
Samoyéds. In the seventh century, this people, which had inhabited the
country lying between the Volga and the Don, in southeastern Russia,
became divided: one section moved northward, and settled on the Káma
River, a tributary of the Volga; the other section moved westward, and
made their appearance on the Danube, at the close of the seventh
century. There they subdued a considerable portion of the Slavonic
inhabitants, being a warlike race; but the Slavonians, who were more
advanced in agriculture and more industrious than the Bulgarians,
effected a peaceful conquest over the latter in the course of the two
succeeding centuries, so that the Bulgarians abandoned their own
language and customs, and became completely merged with the Slavonians,
to whom they had given their name.
When the Slavonic translations of the Scriptures and the Church Service
books were brought to Russia from Bulgaria and Byzantium, the language
in which they were written received the name of "Church Slavonic,"
because it differed materially from the Russian vernacular, and was used
exclusively for the church services. Moreover, as in the early days of
Russian literature the majority of writers belonged to the
ecclesiastical class, the literary or book language was gradually
evolved from a mixture of Church Slavonic and ancient Russian; and in
this language all literature was written until the "civil," or secular,
alphabet and language were introduced by Peter the Great, at the
beginning of the eighteenth century. Books were written in "Kyríllian"
characters until the sixteenth century, and the first printed books
(which date from that century) were in the same characters. The most
ancient manuscripts, written previous to the fourteenth century, are
very beautiful, each letter being set separately, and the capital
letters often assuming the form of fantastic beasts and birds, or of
flowers, or gilded. The oldest manuscript of Russian work preserved
dates from the middle of the eleventh century--a magnificent parchment
copy of the Gospels, made by Deacon Grigóry for Ostromír, the
burgomaster of Nóvgorod (1056-1057), and hence known as "the Ostromír
Gospels."
But before we deal with the written and strictly speaking literary works
of Russia, we must make acquaintance with the oral products of the
people's genius, which antedate it, or at all events, contain traces of
such hoary antiquity that history knows nothing definite concerning
them, although they deserve precedence for their originality. Such are
the _skázki_, or tales, the poetical folk-lore, the epic songs, the
religious ballads. The fairy tales, while possessing analogies with
those of other lands, have their characteristic national features.
While less striking and original than, for example, the exquisite
Esthonian legends, they are of great interest in the study of
comparative folk-lore. More important is the poetical folk-lore of
Russia, concerning which neither tradition nor history can give us any
clue in the matter of derivation or date. One thing seems reasonably
certain: it largely consists of the relics of an extensive system of
sorcery, in the form of fragmentary spells, exorcisms, incantations, and
epic lays, or _bylíny_.
Song accompanies every action of the Russian peasant, from the cradle to
the grave: the choral dances of spring, summer, and autumn, the games of
the young people in their winter assemblies, marriages, funerals, and
every phase of life, the sowing and the harvest, and so forth. The kazák
songs, robber songs, soldiers' songs, and historical songs are all
descendants or imitators of the ancient poetry of Russia. They are the
remains of the third--the Moscow or imperial--cycle of the epic songs,
which deals with really historical characters and events. The Moscow
cycle is preceded by the cycles of Vladímir, or Kíeff, and of Nóvgorod.
Still more ancient must be the foundations of the marriage songs, rooted
in the customs of the ancient Slavonians.
The Slavonians do not remember the date of their arrival in Europe.
Tradition says that they first dwelt, after this arrival, along the
Danube, whence a hostile force compelled them to emigrate to the
northeast. At last Nóvgorod and Kíeff were built; and the Russians, the
descendants of these eastern Slavonians, naturally inherited the
religion which must at one time, like the language, have been common to
all the Slavonic races. This religion, like that of all Aryan races,
was founded on reverence paid to the forces of nature and to the spirits
of the dead. Their gods and goddesses represented the forces of nature.
Thus Ládo and Láda, who are frequently mentioned in these ancient songs,
are probably the sun-god, and the goddess of spring and of love,
respectively. Ládo, also, is mentioned as the god of marriage, mirth,
pleasure, and general happiness, to whom those about to marry offered
sacrifices; and much the same is said of the goddess Láda. Moreover, in
the Russian folk-songs, _ládo_ and _láda_ are used, respectively, for
lover, bridegroom, husband, and for mistress, bride, wife; and _lad_, in
Russian, signifies peace, union, harmony. Nestor, the famous old Russian
chronicler (he died in 1114), states that in ancient heathen times,
marriage customs varied somewhat among the various Slavonian tribes in
the vicinity of the Dniéster; but brides were always seized or
purchased. This purchase of the bride is supposed to be represented in
the game and choral song (_khorovód_), called "The Sowing of the
Millet." The singers form two choirs, which face each other and exchange
remarks. The song belongs to the vernal rites, hence the reference to
Ládo, which is repeated after every line--_Did-Ládo_, meaning (in
Lithuanian) Great Ládo:
First Chorus: We have sown, we have sown millet, Oï, Did-Ládo, we
have sown!
Second Chorus: But we will trample it, Oï, Did-Ládo, we will
trample it.
First Chorus: But wherewith will ye trample it?
Second Chorus: Horses will we turn into it.
First Chorus: But we will catch the horses.
Second Chorus: Wherewith will ye catch them?
First Chorus: With a silken rein.
Second Chorus: But we will ransom the horses.
First Chorus: Wherewith will ye ransom them?
Second Chorus: We will give a hundred rubles.
First Chorus: A thousand is not what we want.
Second Chorus: What is it then, that ye want?
First Chorus: What we want is a maiden.
Thereupon, one of the girls of the second choir goes over to the first,
both sides singing together: "Our band has lost," and "Our band has
gained." The game ends when all the girls have gone over to one side.
The funeral wails are also very ancient. While at the present day a very
talented wailer improvises a new plaint, which her associates take up
and perpetuate, the ancient forms are generally used.
From the side of the East,
The wild winds have arisen,
With the roaring thunders
And the lightnings fiery.
On my father's grave
A star hath fallen,
Hath fallen from heaven.
Split open, O dart of the thunder!
Damp Mother Earth,
Fall thou apart, O Mother Earth!
On all four sides,
Split open, O coffin planks,
Unfold, O white shroud,
Fall away, O white hands
From over the bold heart,
And become parted, O ye sweet lips.
Turn thyself, O mine own father
Into a bright, swift-winged falcon;
Fly away to the blue sea, to the Caspian Sea,
Wash off, O mine own father,
From thy white face the mold.
Come flying, O my father
To thine own home, to the lofty térem.[1]
Listen, O my father,
To our songs of sadness!
The Christmas and New-Year carols offer additional illustrations of the
ancient heathen customs, and mythic or ritual poetry. The festival which
was almost universally celebrated at Christmas-tide, in ancient heathen
times, seems to have referred to the renewed life attributed to the sun
after the winter solstice. The Christian church turned this festival, so
far as possible, into a celebration of the birth of Christ. Among the
Slavonians this festival was called _Kolyáda_; and the sun--a female
deity--was supposed to array herself in holiday robes and head-dress,
when the gloom of the long nights began to yield to the cheerful lights
of the lengthening days, to seat herself in her chariot, and drive her
steeds briskly towards summer. She, like the festival, was called
Kolyáda; and in some places the people used to dress up a maiden in
white and carry her about in a sledge from house to house, while the
_kolyádki_, or carols, were sung by the train of young people who
attended her, and received presents in return. One of the _kolyádki_
runs as follows:
Kolyáda! Kolyáda!
Kolyáda has arrived!
On the Eve of the Nativity,
We went about, we sought Holy Kolyáda;
Through all the courts, in all the alleys.
We found Kolyáda in Peter's Court.
Round Peter's Court there is an iron fence,
In the midst of the Court there are three rooms;
In the first room is the bright Moon;
In the second room is the red Sun;
And in the third room are the many Stars.
A Christian turn is given to many of them, just as the Mermen bear a
special Biblical name in some places, and are called "Pharaohs"; for
like the seals on the coast of Iceland, they are supposed to be the
remnants of Pharaoh's host, which was drowned in the Red Sea. One of the
most prominent and interesting of these Christianized carols is the
_Sláva_, or Glory Song. Extracts from it have been decoratively and most
appropriately used on the artistic programmes connected with the
coronation of the Emperor Nicholas II. This Glory Song is used in the
following manner: The young people assemble together to deduce omens
from the words that are sung, while trinkets belonging to each person
present are drawn at random from a cloth-covered bowl, in which they
have been deposited. This is the first song of the series:
Glory to God in Heaven, Glory!
To our Lord[2] on this earth, Glory!
May our Lord never grow old, Glory!
May his bright robes never be spoiled, Glory!
May his good steeds never be worn out, Glory!
May his trusty servants never falter, Glory!
May the right throughout Russia, Glory!
Be fairer than the bright sun, Glory!
May the Tzar's golden treasury, Glory!
Be forever full to the brim, Glory!
May the great rivers, Glory!
Bear their renown to the sea, Glory!
The little streams to the mill, Glory!
But this song we sing to the Grain, Glory!
To the Grain we sing, the Grain we honor, Glory!
For the old folks to enjoy, Glory!
For the young folks to hear, Glory![3]
Another curious old song, connected with the grain, is sung at the
New-Year. Boys go about from house to house, scattering grain of
different sorts, chiefly oats, and singing:
In the forest, in the pine forest,
There stood a pine-tree,
Green and shaggy.
O, Ovsén! O, Ovsén!
The Boyárs came,
Cut down the pine,
Sawed it into planks,
Built a bridge,
Covered it with cloth,
Fastened it with nails,
O, Ovsén! O, Ovsén!
Who, who will go
Along that bridge?
Ovsén will go there,
And the New-Year,
O, Ovsén! O, Ovsén!
Ovsén, whose name is derived from Ovés (oats, pronounced _avyós_), like
the Teutonic Sun-god, is supposed to ride a pig or a boar. Hence
sacrifices of pigs' trotters, and other pork products, were offered to
the gods at the New-Year, and such dishes are still preferred in Russia
at that season. It must be remembered that the New-Year fell on March
1st in Russia until 1348; then the civil New-Year was transferred to
September 1st, and January 1st was instituted as the New-Year by Peter
the Great only in the year 1700.
The highest stage of development reached by popular song is the heroic
epos--the rhythmic story of the deeds of national heroes, either
historical or mythical. In many countries these epics were committed to
writing at a very early date. In western Europe this took place in the
Middle Ages, and they are known to the modern world in that form only,
their memory having completely died out among the people. But Russia
presents the striking phenomenon of a country where epic song, handed
down wholly by oral tradition for nearly a thousand years, is not only
flourishing at the present day in certain districts, but even extending
into fresh fields.
It is only within the last sixty years that the Russians have become
generally aware that their country possesses this wonderfully rich
treasure of epic, religious, and ceremonial songs. In some cases, the
epic lay and the religious ballad are curiously combined, as in "The One
and Forty Pilgrims," which is generally classed with the epic songs,
however. But while the singing of the epic songs is not a profession,
the singing of the religious ballads is of a professional character, and
is used as a means of livelihood by the _kalyéki perekhózhie_,
literally, wandering cripples, otherwise known as wandering
psalm-singers. These _stikhí_, or religious ballads, are even more
remarkable than the epic songs in some respects, and practically nothing
concerning them is accessible in English.
In all countries where the Roman Church reigned supreme in early times,
it did its best to consign all popular religious poetry to oblivion. But
about the seventeenth century it determined to turn such fragments as
had survived this procedure to its own profit. Accordingly they were
written over in conformity with its particular tenets, for the purpose
of inculcating its doctrines. Both courses were equally fatal to the
preservation of anything truly national. Incongruousness was the
inevitable result.
The Greek, or rather the Russo-Greek, Church adopted precisely the
opposite course: it never interfered, in the slightest degree, with
popular poetry, either secular or religious. Christianity, therefore,
merely enlarged the field of subjects. The result is, that the Slavonic
peoples (including even, to some extent, the Roman Catholic Poles)
possess a mass of religious poetry, the like of which, either in kind or
in quantity, is not to be found in all western Europe.
It is well to note, at this point, that the word _stikh_ (derived from
an ancient Greek word) is incorporated into the modern Russian word for
poetry, _stikhotvorénie_--verse-making, literally rendered--and it has
now become plain that Lomonósoff, the father of Russian Literature, who
was the first secular Russian poet, and polished the ancient tongue into
the beginning of the modern literary language, about the middle of the
eighteenth century, did not originate his verse-measures, but derived
them from the common people, the peasants, whence he himself sprang.
Modern Russian verse, therefore, is thus traced back directly, in its
most national traits, to these religious ballads. It is impossible to
give any adequate account of them here, and it is especially difficult
to convey an adequate idea of the genuine poetry and happy phrasing
which are often interwoven with absurdities approaching the grotesque.
The ballads to which we shall briefly refer are full of illustrations of
the manner in which old pagan gods became Christian deities, so to
speak, of the newly baptized nation. For example: Perún the Thunder-god
became, in popular superstition, "St. Ilyá" (or Elijah), and the day
dedicated to him, July 20th (old style), is called "Ilyá the
Thunder-bringer." Elijah's fiery chariot, the lightning, rumbling across
the sky, brings a thunder-storm on or very near that date; and although
Perún's name is forgotten in Russia proper, he still remains, under his
new title, the patron of the husbandman, as he was in heathen times. In
the epic songs of the Vladímir cycle, as well as in the semi-religious
and religious ballads, he figures as the strongest and most popular
hero, under the name of "Ilyá Múrometz (Ilyá of Múrom), the Old Kazák,"
and his characteristic feats, as well as those attributed to his "heroic
steed, Cloud-fall," are supposed, by the school of Russian writers who
regard all these poems as cosmic myths, rather than as historical poems,
to preserve the hero's mythological significance as the Thunder-god
Perún.
He plays a similar part in the very numerous religious ballads on the
Last Judgment. St. Michael acts as the judge. Some "sinful souls" commit
the gross error of attempting to bribe him: whereupon, Michael shouts,
"Ilyá the Prophet! Anakh! Take ye guns with great thunder! Move ye the
Pharaoh mountains of stone! Let me not hear from these sinners, neither
a whine nor a whimper!"
In Lithuania the Thunder-god's ancient name is still extant in its
original form of Perkun; the Virgin Mary is called, "Lady Mary
Perkunatele" (or "The Mother of Thunder"), according to a Polish
tradition; and in the Russian government of Vilna, the 2d of February is
dedicated to "All-Holy Mary the Thunderer." It is evidently in this
character that she plays a part similar to that of St. Michael and Ilyá
the Prophet combined, as above mentioned, in another ballad of the Last
Judgment. She appears in this ballad to be the sole inhabitant of
heaven, judge and executioner. With her "thundering voice" she condemns
to outer darkness all who have not paid her proper respect, promising to
bury them under "damp mother earth and burning stones." To the just,
that is, to those who have paid her due homage, she says: "Come, take
the thrones, the golden crowns, the imperishable robes which I have
prepared for you; and if this seem little to you, ye shall work your
will in heaven."
St. Yegóry the Brave--our St. George--possesses many of the attributes
of Perún. He is, however, a purely mythical character, and the extremely
ancient religious poems relating to him present the most amusing mixture
of Christianity and Greek mythology, as in the following example:
In the year 8008 (the old Russian reckoning, like the Jewish, began with
the creation of the world), the kingdoms of Sodom, Komor (Gomorrah), and
Arabia met their doom. Sodom dropped through the earth, Komor was
destroyed by fire, and Arabia was afflicted by a sea-monster which
demanded a human victim every day. This victim was selected by lot; and
one day the lot fell upon the king; but at the suggestion of the queen,
who hated her daughter, Elizabeth the Fair, the girl was sent in his
place, under the pretext that she was going to meet her bridegroom.
Yegóry the Brave comes to her assistance, as Perseus did to the
assistance of Andromeda, but lies down for a nap while awaiting the
arrival of the dragon. The beast approaches; Elizabeth dares not awaken
Yegóry, but a "burning tear" from her right eye arouses him. He attacks
the dragon with his spear, and his "heroic steed" (which is sometimes a
white mule) tramples on it, after the fashion with which we are familiar
in art. Then he binds Elizabeth's sash, which is "five and forty ells in
length," about the dragon's jaws, and bids the maiden have three
churches built in honor of her deliverance: one to St. Nicholas and the
Holy Trinity, one to the All-Holy Birth-giver of God, and one to Yegóry
the Brave. Elizabeth the Fair then returns to town, leading the tamed
dragon by her sash, to the terror of the inhabitants and to the disgust
of her mother. The three churches are duly built, and Christianity is
promptly adopted as the state religion of Arabia. In another ballad,
Yegóry is imprisoned for thirty years in a pit under the ground, because
he will not accept the "Latin-Mussulman faith."
Among the most ancient religious ballads, properly speaking, are: "The
Dove Book," "The Merciful Woman of Compassion" (or "The Alleluia
Woman"), "The Wanderings of the All-Holy Birth-giver of God," in
addition to the songs about Yegóry the Brave, already mentioned. The
groundwork of "The Dove Book" is of very ancient heathen origin, and
almost identical with the oldest religious songs of the Greeks. The book
itself is somewhat suggestive of the "little book" in Revelation. "The
Dove Book" falls from Alatýr, the "burning white stone on the Island of
Buyán," the heathen Paradise, which corresponds to our Fortunate Isles
of the Blest, in the Western Sea, but lies far towards sunrise, in the
"Ocean Sea." The heathen significance of this stone is not known, but it
is cleverly explained in "The Dove Book" as the stone whereon Christ
stood when he preached to his disciples. This "little book," "forty
fathoms long and twenty wide," was written by St. John the Evangelist,
and no man can read it. The prophet Isaiah deciphered only three pages
of it in as many years. But the "Most Wise Tzar David" undertakes to
give, from memory, the book's answers to various questions put to him by
Tzar Vladímir, as spokesman of a throng of emperors and princes. A great
deal of curious information is conveyed--all very poetically
expressed--including some odd facts in natural history, such as: that
the ostrich is the mother of birds, and that she lives, feeds, and rears
her young on the blue sea, drowning mariners and sinking ships. Whenever
she (or the whale on which the earth rests) moves, an earthquake ensues.
There are several versions of this ballad. The following abridged
extracts, from one version, will show its style. Among the questions put
to "the Most Wise Tzar David" by Prince Vladímir are some touching "the
works of God, and our life; our life of holy Russia, our life in the
free world; how the free light came to us; why our sun is red; why our
stars are thickly sown; why our nights are dark; what causes our red
dawns; why we have fine, drizzling rains; whence cometh our intellect;
why our bones are strong"; and so forth.
Tzar David replies: "Our free white light began at God's decree; the sun
is red from the reflection of God's face, of the face of Christ, the
King of Heaven; the younger light, the moon, from his bosom cometh; the
myriad stars are from his vesture; the dark nights are the Lord's
thoughts; the red dawns come from the Lord's eyes; the stormy winds from
the Holy Spirit; our intellects from Christ himself, the King of Heaven;
our thoughts from the clouds of heaven; our world of people from Adam;
our strong bones from the stones; our bodies from the damp earth; our
blood from the Black Sea." In answer to other questions, Tzar David
explains that "the Jordan is the mother of all rivers, because Jesus
Christ was baptized in it; the cypress is the mother of all trees,
because Christ was crucified on it; the ocean is the mother of all seas,
because in the middle of the ocean-sea rose up a cathedral church, the
goal of all pilgrimages, the cathedral of St. Clement, the pope of Rome;
from this cathedral the Queen of Heaven came forth, bathed herself in
the ocean-sea, prayed to God in the cathedral," which is a very unusual
touch of Romanism.
The ancient religious ballads have no rhyme; and, unlike the epic songs,
no fixed rhythm. The presence of either rhyme or rhythm is an indication
of comparatively recent origin or of reconstruction in the sixteenth
century.
"The Merciful Woman of Compassion," or "The Alleluia Woman," dates from
the most ancient Christian tradition, and is a model of simplicity and
beauty. It is allied to the English ballad of "The Flight into Egypt"
(which also occurs among the Christmas carols of the Slavonians of the
Carpathian Mountains), in which the Virgin Mary works a miracle with the
peasant's grain, in order to save Christ from the Jews in pursuit. The
Virgin comes to the "Alleluia Woman," with the infant Christ in her
arms, saying: "Cast thy child into the oven, and take Christ the Lord in
thy lap. His enemies, the Jews, are hastening hither; they seek to kill
Christ the Lord with sharp spears." The Alleluia Woman obeys, without an
instant's hesitation. When the Jews arrive, immediately afterwards, and
inquire if Christ has passed that way, she says she has thrown him into
the oven. The Jews are convinced of the truth of her statement, by the
sight of a child's hand amid the flames; whereupon they dance for joy,
and depart, after fastening an iron plate over the oven door. Christ
vanishes from the arms of the merciful woman; she remembers her own
child and begins to weep. Then Christ's voice assures her that he is
well and happy. On opening the oven door, she beholds her baby playing
with the flowers in a rich green meadow, reading the Gospels, or rolling
an apple on a platter, and comforted by angels.
"The Wanderings of the All-Holy Birth-giver of God," another very
ancient ballad, represents the Virgin Mother wandering among the
mountains in search of Christ. She encounters three Jews; and in answer
to her query, "Accursed Jews, what have ye done with Christ?" they
inform her that they have just crucified him on Mount Zion. She hastens
thither, and swoons on arriving. When she recovers, she makes her
lament, and her _plakh_, or wail, beginning: "O, my dear son, why didst
thou not obey thy mother?" Christ comforts her, telling her that he
shall rise again, and bidding her: "Do not weep and spoil thy beauty." A
form of the ballad which is common in Little Russia reverses the
situation. It is the Jews who inquire of Mary what she has done with her
son. "Into the river I flung him," she promptly replies. They drain the
river, and find him not. Again they ask, "Under the mountains I buried
him." They dig up the mountains, and find him not. At last they discover
a church, and in it three coffins. Over the Holy Virgin's, the birds are
warbling or flowers are blossoming; over John the Baptist's, lights are
burning; over Christ's, angels are singing.
As might be expected, the Holy Virgin is a very popular subject of song.
In numerous ballads she delivers a temperance lecture to St. Vasíly the
Great on his drunkenness, putting to him various questions, such as,
"Who sleeps through matins? Who walks and riots during the liturgy?"
[St. Vasíly being the author of a liturgy which is used on certain
important occasions during the church year.] "Who has unwashed hands?
Who is a murderer?" and so on, through a long list of peccadilloes and
crimes. The answer to each question is, "The drunkard." Poor St. Vasíly
dashes his head against a stone, and threatens to put an end to himself
on the spot, if his one lapse in five and twenty years be not forgiven.
Accordingly the Holy Virgin steps down from her throne, gives him her
hand, and informs him that the Lord has three mansions: one is the House
of David, where the Last Judgment will take place; through the second
flows a river of fire, the destination of wizards, drunkards, and the
like; and the third is Paradise, the home of the elect. The imagery in
the very numerous and ancient poems on the Last Judgment, by the way, is
purely heathen in character. The ferryman over the river of fire
sometimes acts as the judge, and the punishments to which sinners are
condemned by him recall those mentioned in the Æneid, and in Dante's
Divina Commedia, the frescoes on the walls of churches bearing out the
same idea.
Adam and Eve naturally receive a share of the minstrel's attention, and
"Adam's Wail" before the gates of Paradise is often very touching. In a
ballad from White Russia, Adam begs the Lord to permit him to revisit
Paradise. The Lord accordingly gives orders to "St. Peter-Paul" to admit
Adam to Paradise, to have the song of the Cherubim sung for him, and so
forth; but not to allow him to remain. In the midst of Paradise Adam
beholds his coffin and wails before it: "O, my coffin, coffin, my true
home! Take me, O my coffin, as a mother her own child, to thy white
arms, to thy ruddy face, to thy warm heart!" But "St. Peter-Paul" soon
catches sight of him, and tells him that he has no business to be
strolling about and spying out Paradise; his place is on Zion's hill,
where he will be shown books of magic, and of life, and things in
general.
There is a great mass of poetry devoted to Joseph; and a lament to
"Mother Desert," uttered as he is being led away into captivity by the
merchants to whom his brethren have sold him, soon becomes the
groundwork for variations in which the Scripture story is entirely
forgotten. In these Joseph is always a "Tzarévitch," or king's son, his
father being sometimes David, sometimes "the Tzar of India," or of "the
Idolaters' Land," or some such country. He is confined in a tower,
because the soothsayers have foretold that he will become a Christian
(or because he is already a Christian he shuts himself up). One day he
is permitted to ride about the town, and although all old people have
been ordered to keep out of sight, he espies one aged cripple, and thus
learns that his father has grossly deceived him, in asserting that no
one ever becomes old or ill in his kingdom. He forthwith becomes a
Christian, and flees to the desert. Then comes his wail to "Mother
Desert Most Fair," as she stands "afar off in the valley": "O Desert
fair, receive me to thy depths, as a mother her own child, and a pastor
his faithful sheep, into thy voiceless quiet, beloved mother mine!"
"Mother Desert" proceeds to remonstrate with her "beloved child": "Who
is to rule," she says, "over thy kingdom, thy palaces of white stone,
thy young bride? When spring cometh, all the lakes will be aflood, all
the trees will be clothed with verdure, heavenly birds will warble
therein with voices angelic: in the desert thou wilt have none of this;
thy food will be fir-bark, thy drink marsh-water." Nevertheless, "Joseph
Tzarévitch" persists in his intention, and Mother Desert receives him at
last. Most versions of this ballad are full of genuine poetry, but a few
are rather ludicrous: for example, "Mother Desert" asks Joseph, "How
canst thou leave thy sweet viands and soft feather-beds to come to me?"
Of David, strange to say, we find very little mention, save in the "Dove
Book," or as the father of Joseph, or of some other equally preposterous
person.
Among the ballads on themes drawn from the New Testament, those relating
to the birth of Christ, and the visit of the Wise Men; to John the
Baptist, and to Lazarus, are the most numerous. The Three Wise Men
sometimes bring queer gifts. One ballad represents them as being
Lithuanians, and only two in number, who bring Christ offerings of
_botvínya_--a savory and popular dish, in the form of a soup served
cold, with ice, and composed of small beer brewed from sour, black, rye
bread, slightly thickened with strained spinach, in which float cubes of
fresh cucumber, the green tops of young onions, cold boiled fish,
horseradish, bacon, sugar, shrimps, any cold vegetables on hand, and
whatever else occurs to the cook. Joseph stands by the window, holding a
bowl and a spoon, and stares at the gift. "Queer people, you
Lithuanians," he remarks. "Christ doesn't eat _botvínya_. He eats only
rolls with milk and honey (or rolls and butter)." In one case, the Three
Wise Men appear as three buffaloes bringing gifts; in another as "the
fine rain, the red sun, and the bright moon," showing that nature
worship can assume a very fair semblance of Christianity.
Christ's baptism is sometimes represented by his mother bathing him in
the river; and this is thought to stand for the weary sun which is
bathed every night in the ocean. A "Legend of the Sun," whose
counterpart can be found in other lands, represents the sun as being
attended by flaming birds, who dip their wings in the ocean at night and
sprinkle him, and by angels who carry his imperial robe and crown to the
Lord's throne every night, and clothe him again in them every morning,
while the cock proclaims the "resurrection of all things." In the
Christmas carols, angels perform the same offices, and the flaming
phoenix-birds are omitted.
The Apostle Peter's timid and disputatious character seems to be well
understood by the people. One day, according to a ballad, he gets into a
dispute with the Lord, as to which is the larger, heaven or earth. "The
earth," declares St. Peter; "Heaven," maintains the Lord. "But let us
not quarrel. Call down two or three angels to measure heaven and earth
with a silken cord. So was it done; and lo! St. Peter was right, and the
Lord was wrong! Heaven is the smaller, because it is all level, while
the earth has hills and valleys!"
On another occasion, "all the saints were sitting at table, except the
Holy Spirit." "Peter, Peter, my servant," says the Lord, "go bring the
Holy Spirit." Peter has not traversed half the road, when he encounters
a wondrous marvel, a fearful fire. He trembles with fear and turns
back. "Why hast thou not brought the Holy Spirit?" inquires the Lord.
Peter explains. "Ho, Peter, that is no marvel! that is the Holy Spirit.
Thou shouldst have brought it hither and placed it on the table. All the
saints would have rejoiced that the Holy Spirit sat before them!"
The Lazarus ballads illustrate how the people turn Scriptural characters
into living realities, by incorporating their own observations on human
nature with the sacred text. According to them, Lazarus and Dives were
two brothers, both named Lazarus; the younger rich, the elder poor. Poor
Lazarus begs alms of his brother: "How dare you call me brother?"
retorts rich Lazarus. "I have brothers like myself--princes, nobles,
wealthy merchants, who fare sumptuously and dress richly. Even the
church dignitaries visit me. Your brethren are the fierce dogs which lie
under my table and gather up the fragments. I fear not God, I will buy
off intrusive death, I will attain to the kingdom of heaven; and if I
attain not thereunto, I will buy it!" Thereupon, he sets the dogs on his
brother, spits in his eye, locks the gates, and goes back to his
feasting. The dogs which are set upon poor Lazarus bring him their food,
instead of rending him. After three efforts to move his brother to
compassion, poor Lazarus entreats the Lord to let him die: "Send sudden
death, Lord, winged but not merciful," he prays. "Send two threatening
angels; let them take out my unclean soul through my side with a hook,
my little soul through my ribs, with a spear and with iron hooks; let
them place my soul under their left wing, and carry it to the nethermost
hell, to burning pitch and the river of fire. All my life have I
suffered hunger and cold, and my whole body hath been full of pains. It
is not for me, a poor cripple, to enter Paradise." (This is in
accordance with the uncomfortable Russian belief that a man's rank and
station in this life determine his fate in the other world.) But the
Lord gives orders to have everything done in precisely the opposite way.
Holy angels remove Lazarus's soul gently, through his "sugar mouth"
(referring, possibly, to the Siberian belief that the soul is located in
the windpipe) wrap it in a white cloth, and carry it to Abraham's bosom.
After a while rich Lazarus is overtaken by misfortune and illness, and
he, also, prays for speedy death, minutely specifying how his "large,
clean soul," is to be handled and deposited in Abraham's bosom. He
acknowledges that he has committed a few trivial sins, but mentions,
with pride, in extenuation, that he has never worn anything but velvet
and satin, and that he formerly possessed great store of "flowered
garments." Again the Lord gives contrary orders, and rich Lazarus
undergoes the treatment which his poor brother had indicated for his own
soul. When rich Lazarus looks up from his torment and beholds poor
Lazarus in Abraham's bosom, he addresses him as "Brother, my own
brother." Here one version comes to a sudden end, and the collector who
transcribed it, asked: "What?" "He repented," answered the peasant woman
who sang it, "and called him 'brother' when he saw that he was well
off." In other versions, a long conversation ensues, in the course of
which poor Lazarus reminds rich Lazarus of numerous sins of omission and
commission, and inquires, with great apparent solicitude, what has
become of all his gold, silver, flowered garments, and so forth, and
assures him that he would gladly give him not a drop but a whole
bucketful of water were he permitted to do so.
But to the share of no saint does a greater number of songs (and
festivals) fall than to that of John the Baptist. In addition to June
24th, which still bears the heathen name of _Kupálo_, in connection with
St. John's Eve, and which is celebrated by the peasants in as thoroughly
heathen a fashion as is the Christmas festival, in honor of the
Sun-goddess, Kolyáda, he has three special days dedicated to him. Two of
these deserve mention, because of a curious superstition attached to
them. On St. John's Day, May 25th, the peasants set out their cabbages;
but on the autumn St. John's Day, August 29th, they must carefully avoid
all contact with cabbages, because it is the anniversary of the
beheading of John; no knife must be taken in the hand on that day, and
it is considered a great crime to cut anything, particularly anything
round, resembling a head. If a cabbage be cut, blood will flow; if
anything round be eaten--onions, for example--carbuncles will follow.
In concluding this brief sketch of the religious ballads of the
Slavonians, I venture to quote at length, a masterpiece of the Wandering
Cripples' art. It is a Montenegrin version of a legend which is common
to all the Slavonic peoples, and contains, besides an interesting
problem in ethics, an explanation of the present shape of the human
foot. In some versions the emperor's crown is replaced, throughout, by
"the bright sun," thus suggesting a mythological origin. It is called
"The Emperor Diocletian and John the Baptist."
Two foster brothers were drinking wine,
On a sunny slope by the salt seaside;
One was the Emperor Diocletian,
The other, John the Baptist.
Then up spake John the Baptist
As they did drink the wine:
"Foster brother, come now, let us play.
Use thou thy crown; but I will take an apple."
Then up they jumped, began to play,
And St. John flung his apple.
Down in the depths of the sea it fell
And his warm tears trickled down.
But the emperor held this speech to him:
"Now weep not, dear my brother,
Only carry thou not my crown away
And I will fetch thy apple."
Then did John swear to him by God
That he would not steal the crown.
The emperor swam out into the sea,
But John flew up to heaven,
Presented himself before the Lord,
And held this speech to him:
"Eternal God, and All-Holy Father!
May I swear falsely by thee?
May I steal the emperor's crown?"
The Lord replied:
"O John, my faithful servant!
Thrice shalt thou swear falsely by me,
Only, by my name must thou not swear."
St. John flew back to the sunny slope,
And the emperor emerged from the sea.
Again they played; again John flung his apple;
Again it fell into the depths of the sea.
But Diocletian, the emperor, said to him:
"Now, fear thou not, dear brother,
Only carry thou my crown not away,
And I will fetch thy apple."
Then did John swear to him by God,
Thrice did he swear to him by God
That he would not steal his crown.
The emperor threw his crown under his cap,
Beside them left the bird of ill omen,
And plunged into the blue sea.
St. John froze over the sea,
With a twelve-fold ice-crust he froze it o'er,
Seized the golden crown, flew on high to heaven.
And the bird of ill omen began to caw.
The emperor, at the bottom of the sea, divined the cause,
Raced up, as for a wager,
Brake three of the ice-crusts with his head,
Then back turned he again, took a stone upon his head,
A little stone of three thousand pounds,
And brake the twelve-fold ice.
Then unfolded he his wings,
Set out in pursuit of John,
Caught up with him at the gate of heaven,
Seized him by his right foot,
And what he grasped, he tore away.
In tears came John before the Lord;
The bright sun brought he to heaven,
And John complained unto the Lord,
That the emperor had crippled him.
And the Lord said:
"Fear not, my faithful servant!
I will do the same to every man."
Such is the fact, and to God be the glory!
"Therefore," say the Servians, in conclusion of their version of this
ballad, "God has made a hollow in the sole of every human being's foot."
The Epic Songs, properly speaking, are broadly divisible into three
groups: the Cycle of Vladímir, or of Kíeff; that of Nóvgorod; and that
of Moscow, or the Imperial Cycle, the whole being preceded by the songs
of the elder heroes. With regard to the first two, and the Kíeff Cycle
in particular, undoubtedly composed during the tenth, eleventh, and
twelfth centuries, authorities on the origin of Russian literature
differ considerably. One authority maintains that, although the Russian
epics possess a family likeness to the heroic legends of other Aryan
races, the Russians forgot them, and later on, appropriated them again
from Ural-Altaic sources, adding a few historical and geographical
names, and psychical characteristics. But this view as to the wholesale
appropriation of Oriental myths has not been established, and the
authorities who combat it demonstrate that the heroes are thoroughly
Russian, and that the pictures of manners and customs which they present
are extremely valuable for their accuracy. They would seem, on the
whole, to be a characteristic mixture of natural phenomena (nature
myths), personified as gods, who became in course of time legendary
heroes. Thus, Prince Vladímir, "the Fair Red Sun," may be the Sun-god,
but he is also a historical personage, whatever may be said as to many
of the other characters in the epic lays of the Vladímir cycle. "Sadkó,
the rich Guest of Nóvgorod," also, in the song of that title, belonging
to the Nóvgorod cycle, was a prominent citizen of Nóvgorod, who built a
church in Nóvgorod, during the twelfth century, and is referred to in
the Chronicles for a space of two hundred years. In fact, the Nóvgorod
cycle contains less of the personified phenomena of nature than the
cycle of the Elder Heroes, and the Kíeff cycle, and more of the genuine
historical element.
A regular tonic versification forms one of the indispensable properties
of these epic poems; irregularity of versification is a sign of decay,
and a complete absence of measure, that is to say, the prose form, is
the last stage of decay. The airs to which they are sung or chanted are
very simple, consisting of but few tones, yet are extremely difficult
to note down. The peasant bard modifies the one or two airs to which he
chants his lays with astonishing skill, according to the testimony of
Rýbnikoff, who made the first large collection of the songs, in the
Olónetz government (1859), and Hilferding, who made a still more
surprising collection (1870), to the north and east of Olónetz.
The lay of Sadkó, above mentioned, is perhaps the most famous--the one
most frequently alluded to in Russian literature and art. Sadkó was a
harper of "Lord Nóvgorod the Great." "No golden treasures did he
possess. He went about to the magnificent feasts of the merchants and
nobles, and made all merry with his playing." Once, for three days in
succession, he was bidden to no worshipful feast, and in his sorrow he
went and played all day long, upon the shore of Lake Ílmen. On the third
day, the Water King appears to him, and thanks him for entertaining his
guests in the depths. He directs Sadkó to return to Nóvgorod, and on the
morrow, when he shall be bidden to a feast, and the banqueters begin the
characteristic brags of their possessions, Sadkó must wager his
"turbulent head" against the merchants' shop in the bazaar, with all the
precious wares therein, that Lake Ílmen contains fishes with fins of
gold. Sadkó wins the bet; for the Tzar Vodyanóy sends up the fish to be
caught in the silken net. Thus did Sadkó become a rich guest (merchant
of the first class) of Nóvgorod, built himself a palace of white stone,
wondrously adorned, and became exceeding rich. He also held worshipful
feasts, and out-bragged the braggers, declaring that he would buy all
the wares in Nóvgorod, or forfeit thirty thousand in money. As he
continues to buy, wares continue to flow into this Venice of the North,
and Sadkó decides that it is the part of wisdom to pay his thirty
thousand. He then builds "thirty dark red ships and three," of the
dragon type, lades them with the wares of Nóvgorod, and sails out into
the open sea, via the river Vólkhoff, Lake Ládoga, and the Nevá. After a
while the ships stand still and will not stir, though the waves dash and
the breeze whistles through the sails. Sadkó arrives at the conclusion
that the Sea King demands tribute, as they have now been sailing the
seas for twelve years, and have paid none. They cast into the waves
casks of red gold, pure silver, and fair round pearls; but still the
ships move not. Sadkó then proposes that each man on board shall prepare
for himself a lot, and cast it into the sea, and the man whose lot sinks
shall consider himself the sacrifice which the Sea King requires.
Sadkó's lot persists in sinking, whether he makes it of hop-flowers or
of blue damaskeened steel, four hundred pounds in weight; and all the
other lots swim, whether heavy or light. Accordingly Sadkó perceives
that he is the destined victim, and taking his harp, a holy image of St.
Nicholas (the patron of travelers), and bowls of precious things with
him, he has himself abandoned on an oaken plank, while his ships sailed
off, and "flew as they had been black ravens." He sinks to the bottom,
and finds himself in the palace of the Sea King, who makes him play,
while he, the fair sea-maidens, and the other sea-folk dance violently.
But the Tzarítza warns Sadkó to break his harp, for it is the waves
dancing on the shore, and creating terrible havoc. The Tzar Morskóy then
requests Sadkó to select a wife; and guided again by the Tzarítza's
advice, Sadkó selects the last of the nine hundred maidens who file
before him--a small, black-visaged maiden, named Tchernáva. Had he
chosen otherwise, he is told, he would never again behold "the white
world," but must "forever abide in the blue sea." After a great feast
which the Sea King makes for him, Sadkó falls into a heavy sleep, and
when he awakens from it, he finds himself on the bank of the Tchernáva
River, and sees his dark red ships come speeding up the Vólkhoff River.
Sadkó returns to his palace and his young wife, builds two churches, and
roams no more, but thereafter takes his ease in his own town.
Between these cycles of epic songs and the Moscow, or Imperial Cycle
there is a great gap. The pre-Tatár period is not represented, and the
cycle proper begins with Iván the Terrible, and ends with the reign of
Peter the Great. Epic marvels are not wholly lacking in the Moscow
cycle, evidently copied from the earlier cycles. But these songs are
inferior in force. Fantastic as are some of the adventures in these
songs, there is always a solid historical foundation. Iván the Terrible,
for instance, is credited with many deeds of his grandfather (his father
being ignored), and is always represented in rather a favorable light.
The conquest of Siberia, the capture of Kazán and Ástrakhan, the wars
against Poland, and the Tatárs of Crimea, and so forth, are the
principal points around which these songs are grouped. But the Peter the
Great of the epics bears only a faint resemblance to the real Peter.
Perhaps the most famous hero of epic song in the seventeenth century is
the bandit-chief of the Volga, Sténka Rázin, whose memory still lingers
among the peasants of those regions. He was regarded as the champion of
the people against the oppression of the nobles, and "Ilyá of Múrom, the
Old Kazák" is represented as the captain of the brigands under him. To
Sténka, also, are attributed magic powers. From the same period date
also the two most popular dance-songs of the present day--the
"Kamarýnskaya" and "Bárynya Sudárynya," its sequel. The Kamarýnskaya was
the district which then constituted the Ukraína, or border-marches,
situated about where the government of Orél now is. The two songs
present a valuable historical picture of the coarse manners of the
period on that lawless frontier; hence, only a few of the lines which
still subsist of these poetical chronicles can be used to the
irresistibly dashing music.
The power of composing epic songs has been supposed to have gradually
died out, almost ceasing with the reign of Peter the Great, wholly
ceasing with the war of 1812. But very recently an interesting
experiment has been begun, based on the discovery of several new songs
about the Emperor Alexander II., which are sung by the peasants over a
wide range of country. All these songs are being written down with the
greatest accuracy as to the peculiarities of pronunciation and
accentuation. If, in the future, variants make their appearance,
containing an increasing infusion of the artistic and poetical elements,
considerable light will be thrown upon the problem of the rise and
growth of the ancient epic songs, and on the question of poetical
inspiration among the peasants of the present epoch. One of these
ballads, written down in the Province of the Don, from the lips of a
blind beggar, says that Alexander II., "burned with love, wished to give
freedom to all, kept all under his wing, and freed them from punishment.
He reformed all the laws, heard the groans of the needy, and himself
hastened to their aid." "So the wicked killed him," says the ballad, and
proceeds to describe the occurrence, including the way in which "the
black flag" was lowered on the palace, and "they sent a telegram about
the eclipse of our sun." In the far northern government of Kostromá, on
the Volga, two more ballads on the same subject have been taken down on
the typewriter, so that the bard could readily correct them. The first,
entitled "A Lay of Mourning for the Death of the Tzar Liberator,"
narrates how "a dreadful cloud of black, bloodthirsty ravens assembled,
and invited to them the underground, subterranean rats, not to a
feast-ball, not to a christening, but to undermine the roots of the
olive-branch." Naturally this style demands that the emperor be
designated as "the bright falcon, light winged, swift eyed." It
describes the plot, and how the bombs were to be wrapped up in white
cloths, and the conspirators were "to go for a stroll, as with
watermelons." When the bombs burst, "the panes in the neighboring houses
are shattered," and "the dark blue feathers" of the "bright falcon" are
set on fire. "As there were no Kostromá peasants on hand to aid the
emperor--no Komisároffs or Susánins," adds the ballad, with local pride
(alluding to the legend of Iván Susánin saving the first Románoff Tzar
from the Poles in 1612, which forms the subject of the famous opera by
Glínka, "Life for the Tzar"), "he laid himself down in the bosom of his
mother (earth)." The second ballad is "The Monument-Not Made-with-Hands
to the Tzar Liberator"--the compound adjective here referring to that in
the title of a favorite _ikóna_, or Holy Picture, which corresponds to
the one known in western Europe as the imprint of the Saviour's face on
St. Veronica's kerchief. There are four stanzas, of six lines each, of
which the third runs as follows:
He is our Liberator and our father!
And we will erect a monument of hearts
Whose cross, by its gleaming 'mid the clouds,
Shall transmit the memory to young children and the babes in arms,
And this shall be unto ages of ages
So long as the world and man shall exist!
In southwestern Russia, where the ancient epic songs of the Elder Heroes
and the Kíeff Cycle originated, the memory of them has died out, owing
to the devastation of southern Russia by the Tatárs in the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries, and the decay of its civilization under
Lithuanian sway in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In the
sixteenth century the population of southern Russia reorganized itself
in the forms of kazák communes, and fabricated for itself a fresh cycle
of epic legends, which replaced those of Kíeff; and there the _kobzárs_
(professional minstrels who accompany their songs on the _kábza_, a
mandolin-like, twelve-stringed instrument) celebrate the deeds of a new
race of kazák heroes. But in the lonely wildernesses of the northeast,
whither the Tatár invasion drove the descendants of those who composed
and sang the great epic songs, no more recent upheavals have brought
forward heroes to replace the historic paladins, who there hold
undisputed sway to the present time.
Of the songs still sung by the people, the following favorite (in the
version from the Olónetz government) may serve as a sample. It is not
rhymed in the original.
Akh! Little guelder-rose, with pinkish azure bloom,
And merry little company, where my dear one doth drink;
My darling will not drink, until for me he sends.
When I, a maiden, very young did dally,
Tending the ducks, the geese, the swans,
When I, a young maid, very young, along the stream-bank strolled,
I trampled down all sickly leaves and grass,
I plucked the tiny azure flowerets,
At the swift little rivulet I gazed;
Small was the hamlet there, four cots in all,
In every cot four windows small.
In every little window, a dear young crony sits.
Eh, cronies dear, you darlings, friends of mine,
Be ye my cronies, one another love, love me,
When into the garden green ye go, then take me, too;
When each a wreath ye twine, twine one for me;
When in the Danube's stream ye fling them, drop mine, too;
The garlands all upon the surface float, mine only hath sunk down.
All your dear lover-friends have homeward come, mine only cometh not.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. How was Christianity introduced into Russia?
2. In what two important centers was it finally established?
3. How was the Greek Church able to supply these converts with
a Slavonian translation of the Bible?
4. Who were Kyríll and Methódy? Describe their work.
5. Why was "Ancient Bulgarian" not the original language of the
Bulgarians?
6. In what language was Russian literature written up to the
time of Peter the Great?
7. Where, according to tradition, did the early Slavonians
settle in Europe?
8. How are the forces of nature represented in the ancient
marriage songs?
9. What custom is illustrated in "The Sowing of the Millet"?
10. What connection is there between the funeral wails of
modern and of ancient Russia?
11. What was the festival of Kolyáda?
12. What Christian character has been given to the ancient
"Glory Song"?
13. Why is pork commonly used at the Russian New-Year?
14. What different dates have been observed for the opening of
the New-Year?
15. What remarkable fact is true of the preservation of the
Russian epic songs?
16. How were the religious ballads brought before the people?
17. Describe some of the characteristics of these ballads.
18. Into what three groups do the epic songs naturally fall?
19. What is the Lay of Sadkó?
20. What are the favorite subjects of the songs of the
"Imperial Cycle"?
21. What interesting discovery of modern epic songs has
recently been made?
22. Why have the songs of the Kíeff Cycle died out in their own
country?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
_The Epic Songs of Russia._ Isabel F. Hapgood.
_Myths and Folk-Tales of Russians, Western Slavs, and Magyars._
Jeremiah Curtin.
_Cossack Fairy-Tales._ R. Nisbet Bain.
_Sixty Folk-Tales from Exclusively Slavonic Sources._ A. H.
Wratislaw.
_Russian Fairy-Tales._ R. Nisbet Bain.
_Fairy-Tales of the Slav Peasants and Herdsmen._ From the
French of Alexander Chodsko.
_Songs of the Russian People and Russian Folk-Tales._ W. R. S.
Ralston.
_Slavonic Fairy-Tales._ M. Gastner.
_Slavonic Literature and its Relations to the Folk-Lore of
Europe._ M. Gastner.
_Russian Folk-Songs as Sung by the People._ Mme. Eugenie
Lineff.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A Tatár word, signifying "tower"; used to mean the part of the house
where the women were secluded, in Oriental fashion.
[2] Lord, in the original, is Gosudár, the word which, with a capital,
is applied especially to the emperor.
[3] The dramatist Ostróvsky has made effective use of this game, and the
more prophetic couplets of the song, in his famous play: "Poverty is not
a Vice." Other national customs and songs are used in his play.
CHAPTER II
THE ANCIENT PERIOD, FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY TO THE TATÁR
DOMINION, 988-1224.
As soon as Prince Saint Vladímir introduced Christianity into Russia, he
and his sons began to busy themselves with the problem of general
education. Priests came from Greece and Bulgaria to spread the Gospel in
Russia; but they thought only of disseminating Christianity, and were,
moreover, not sufficiently numerous to grapple with educational
problems. Accordingly, Vladímir founded schools in Kíeff, and ordered
that the children of the best citizens should be taken from their
unwilling parents, and handed over to these schools for instruction. His
son, Yároslaff I. ("the wise"), pursued the same policy, in Kíeff and
elsewhere--the schools being attached to the churches, and having for
their chief object the preparation of ecclesiastics. The natural result
was, that in ancient Russia, most people who could read and write were
ecclesiastics or monks, and religious literature was that most highly
prized. Even so-called worldly literature was strongly tinctured with
religion. The first Russian literary compositions took the form of
exhortations, sermons, and messages addressed by the clergy to their
flocks, and the first Russian authors were Ilarión, metropolitan of
Kíeff (beginning in 1051), and Luká Zhidyáta, appointed bishop of
Nóvgorod in 1036. The latter's "Exhortation to the Brethren" has come
down to us, and is noteworthy for the simplicity of its language, and
its conciseness of form. From Ilarión we have, "a Word Concerning the
Law" (meaning, the Law of God), which deals with the opposing character
of Judaism and Christianity. It proves not only that he was a cultivated
man, capable of expressing himself clearly on complicated matters, but
also that his hearers were capable of comprehending him. Other good
writers of that period were: Feodósiy, elected in 1062, abbott of the
Monastery of the Catacombs in Kíeff (which was fated to become one of
the most important nurseries of enlightenment and literature in Russia);
Nestor, who left a remarkable "Life of Feodósiy"; Nikifór, a Greek by
birth, educated in Byzantium, who was metropolitan of Kíeff, 1104-1121;
and Kyríll, bishop of Nóvgorod, 1171-1182.
Thus, it will be seen, events took their ordinary course in Russia as in
other countries: learning was, for a long time, confined almost
exclusively to the monasteries, which were the pioneers in education and
culture elements, such as they were. Naturally the bulk of the
literature for a long time consisted of commentaries on the Holy
Scriptures, translations from the works of the fathers of the church
(Eastern Catholic), homilies, pastoral letters, and the like. But in the
monasteries, also, originated the invaluable Chronicles; for not only
did men speedily begin to describe in writing those phenomena of life
which impressed them as worthy of note, but ecclesiastics were in a
position to learn all details of importance from authoritative sources,
and were even, not infrequently, employed as diplomatic agents, or acted
as secretaries to the ruling princes. The earliest and most celebrated
among these ancient Russian historical works is the Chronicle of
Nestor, a monk of the Catacombs Monastery in Kíeff (born about 1056),
the reputed author of the document which bears his name. Modern
scientists have proved that he did not write this Chronicle, the
earliest copy of which dates from the fourteenth century, but its
standing as a priceless monument of the twelfth century has never been
impunged, since it is evident that the author gathered his information
from contemporary eye-witnesses. The Chronicle begins by describing how
Shem, Ham, and Japhet shared the earth between them after the flood, and
gives a detailed list of the countries and peoples of the ancient world.
It then states that, after the building of the Tower of Babel, God
dispersed all the peoples into seventy-two tribes (or languages), the
northern and western lands falling to the tribe of Japhet. Nestor
derives the Slavonians from Japhet--describes their life, first on the
banks of the Danube, then their colonization to the northeast as far as
the River Ílmen (the ancient Nóvgorod), the Oká, in central Russia, and
the tributaries of the Dniépr, delineating the manners and customs of
the different Slavonic tribes, and bringing the narrative down to the
year 1110, in the form of brief, complete stories. The style of the
Chronicle is simple and direct. For example, he relates how, in the year
945, the Drevlyáns (or forest-folk) slew Ígor, prince of Kíeff, and his
band of warriors, who were not numerous.
Then said the Drevlyáns, "Here we have slain the Russian
Prince; let us now take his wife, Olga, for our Prince Malo;
and we will take also Svyátoslaff (his son), and will deal with
him as we see fit"; and the Drevlyáns dispatched their best
men, twenty in number, in a boat, to Olga, and they landed
their boat near Borítcheff, and Olga was told that the
Drevlyáns had arrived, and Olga summoned them to her. "Good
guests are come, I hear"; and the Drevlyáns said: "We are come,
Princess." And Olga said to them, "Tell me, why are ye come
hither?" Said the Drevlyáns: "The land of the Drevlyáns hath
sent us," saying thus: "We have slain thy husband, for thy
husband was like unto a wolf, he was ever preying and robbing;
but our own princes are good. Our Drevlyán land doth flourish
under their sway; wherefore, marry thou our Prince, Malo" for
the Drevlyán Prince was named Malo. Olga said to them: "Your
speech pleaseth me, for my husband cannot be raised from the
dead; but I desire to show you honor, to-morrow, before my
people; wherefore, to-day, go ye to your boat, and lie down in
the boat, exalting yourselves; and to-morrow I will send for
you, and ye must say: 'we will not ride on horses, we will not
walk afoot, but do ye carry us in our boat.'" Thus did she
dismiss them to the boat. Then Olga commanded a great and deep
pit to be digged in the courtyard of the palace, outside the
town. And the next morning, as Olga sat in her palace, she sent
for the guests, and Olga's people came to them, saying: "Olga
biddeth you to a great honor." But they said: "We will not ride
on horses, nor on oxen, neither will we walk afoot, but do thou
carry us in our boat." And the Kievlyáns said: "We must,
perforce, carry you; our prince is slain, and our princess
desireth to wed your prince," and they bore them in the boat,
and those men sat there and were filled with pride; and they
carried them to the courtyard, to Olga, and flung them into the
pit, together with their boat. And Olga, bending over the pit,
said unto them: "Is the honor to your taste?" and they made
answer: "It is worse than Ígor's death"; and she commanded that
they be buried alive, and they were so buried.
The narrative goes on to state that Olga sent word to the Drevlyáns,
that if they were in earnest, their distinguished men must be sent to
woo her for their prince; otherwise, the Kievlyáns would not let her go.
Accordingly, they assembled their best men, the rulers, and sent them
for her. Olga had the bath heated and ordered them to bathe before
presenting themselves to her, and when they began to wash, Olga had the
bath-house set on fire, and burned them up. Then Olga sent again to the
Drevlyáns, demanding that they collect a vast amount of hydromel in the
town where her husband had been slain, that she might celebrate the
ancient funeral feast, and weep over his grave. So they got the honey
together, and brewed the hydromel (or mead), and Olga, taking with her a
small body-guard, in light marching order, set out on the road and came
to her husband's grave and wept over it; and commanded her people to
erect a high mound over it; and when that was done, she ordered the
funeral feast to be celebrated on its summit. Then the Drevlyáns sat
down to drink, and Olga ordered her serving-boys to wait on them. And
the Drevlyáns asked Olga where was the guard of honor which they had
sent for her? And she told them that it was following with her husband's
body-guard. But when the Drevlyáns were completely intoxicated, she
ordered her serving-lads to drink in their honor, went aside, and
commanded her men to slay the Drevlyáns, which was done, five hundred
dying thus. Then Olga returned to Kíeff, and made ready an army against
the remaining Drevlyáns. Such is one of the vivid pictures of ancient
manners and customs which the chronicle of Nestor furnishes.
The descendants of Prince-Saint Vladímir were not only patrons of
education, but collectors of books. One of them, in particular, Vladímir
Monomáchus, is also noted as the author of the "Exhortation of Vladímir
Monomáchus" (end of the eleventh century), which he wrote for his
children, in the style of a pastoral address from an ecclesiastic to
his flock--a style which, in Russia, as elsewhere, was the inevitable
result of the first efforts at non-religious literature, in the eleventh
and twelfth centuries. "Chiefest of all," he writes, among other things,
"forget not the poor, and feed them according to your powers; give most
of all to the orphans, and be ye yourselves the defenders of the widows,
permitting not the mighty to destroy a human being. Slay ye not either
the righteous or the guilty yourselves, neither command others to slay
them. In discourse, whatsoever ye shall say, whether good or evil, swear
ye not by God, neither cross ye yourselves; there is no need of it....
Reverence the aged as your father, the young as brethren. In thy house
be not slothful, but see to all thyself; put not thy trust in a steward,
neither in a servant, that thy guests jeer not at thy house, nor at thy
dinner.... Love your wives, but give them no power over you. Forget not
the good ye know, and what ye know not, as yet, that learn ye," and so
forth.
The beginning of the twelfth century witnessed other notable attempts at
secular literature. To the twelfth century, also, belongs Russia's
single written epic song, "The Word (or lay) Concerning Ígor's Raid,"
which contains an extremely curious mixture of Christianity and heathen
views. By a fortunate chance, this epic was preserved and was
discovered, in 1795, by Count Músin-Púshkin, among a collection which he
had purchased from a monastery. Unhappily, Count Músin-Púshkin's
valuable library was burned during the conflagration of Moscow, in 1812.
But the _Slóvo_ had been twice published previous to that date, and had
been examined by many learned paleographists, who decided that the
chirography belonged to the end of the fourteenth century or the
beginning of the fifteenth century.
Ígor Svyátoslavitch was the prince of Nóvgorod-Syéversk, who in 1185,
made a raid against the Pólovtzy, or Plain-dwellers, and the Word begins
thus:
Shall we not begin our song, oh brothers,
With the story of the feuds of old;
Song of the valiant troop of Ígor,
And of him, the son of Svyátoslaff,
And sing them as men now do sing,
Striving not in thought after Boyán.[4]
Making this ballad, he was wont the Wizard,
As a squirrel swift to flit about the forest,
As a gray wolf o'er the clear plain to trot,
And as an eagle 'neath the clouds to hover;
When he recalleth ancient feuds of yore,
Then, from out the flock of swans he sendeth
In pursuit, ten falcons, swift of wing.
The whole expedition is described in this poetical style, in three
hundred and eighty-four unrhymed lines, with a curious mingling of
heathen beliefs and Christian views. God shows Ígor the road "to the
land of Pólovetzk, to the Russian land," and on his return from
captivity, Ígor rides to Kíeff to salute the Holy Birth-giver of God of
Pirogóshtch, while the Pólovtzy are called "accursed," in contrast with
the orthodox Russians. But the winds are called "the grandchildren of
Stribog," and the Russian people are alluded to as "the grandsons of
Dázhbog," both heathen divinities, and other mythical and obscure
personages are introduced.
With this epic lay, the first period of Russian literature closes.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. How did Vladímir and his son provide for the education of
their people?
2. What kind of literature naturally grew out of the learning
of the monasteries?
3. What was the chronicle of Nestor? What special interest has
it?
4. Quote some of the precepts from the "Exhortation of
Monomáchus."
5. By what good fortune has "Ígor's Raid" been preserved?
6. What is the character of this Epic Song?
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Evidently an ancient epic bard.
CHAPTER III
SECOND PERIOD, FROM THE TATÁR DOMINION TO THE TIME OF IVÁN THE TERRIBLE,
1224-1330.
During the Tatár Dominion, or yoke (1224-1370), Kíeff lost its
supremacy, and also ceased to be, as it had been up to this time, the
center of education and literature. The dispersive influence of the
Tatár raids had the effect of creating centers in the northeast, which
were, eventually, concentrated in Moscow; and in so far it proved a
blessing in disguise for Russia. The conditions of life under the Tatár
sway were such, that any one, man or woman, who valued a peaceful
existence, or existence at all, was driven to seek refuge in
monasteries. The inevitable consequence was, that a religious, even an
æsthetic, cast was imparted to what little literature was created. One
celebrated production, dating from about the middle of the fourteenth
century, will serve to give an idea of the sort of thing on which men
then exercised their minds and pens. It is the Epistle of Archbishop
Vasíly of Nóvgorod to Feódor, bishop of Tver, entitled, "Concerning the
Earthly Paradise," wherein the author discusses a subject of contention
which had arisen among the clergy of the latter's diocese, as to
"whether the earthly paradise planted by God for Adam doth still exist
upon the earth, or whether not the earthly but only an imaginary
paradise doth still exist." The worthy archbishop, with divers
arguments, defends his position, that the earthly paradise does still
exist in the East, and hell in the West: which latter proposition is not
surprising when we recall the historical circumstances under which it
was enounced.
The monks continued to be the leaders in the educational and literary
army, and under the stress of circumstances, not only won immense
political influence over the life of the people, but also developed a
new and special type of literature--political sermons--which attained to
particular development in the fourteenth century. Another curious
phenomenon was presented by the narratives concerning various prominent
personages, which contain precious facts and expressions of contemporary
views. The authors always endeavored, after the time-honored fashion of
biographers, to exalt and adorn their subjects; so that "decorated
narratives," a most apt title for that sort of literature in general,
was the characteristic name under which they came to be known. One
peculiarity of all of these, it is worth noting, including that which
dealt with the decisive battle with the Tatárs on the field of Kulikóvo,
on the Don, in 1370, under Dmítry Donskóy (Dmítry of the Don), Prince of
Moscow, is, that they are imitated, in style and language, from the
famous "Word Concerning Ígor's Raid."
Among the many purely secular tales of the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries preserved in manuscript, not one has anything in common with
Russian national literature. All are translations, or reconstructions of
material derived from widely divergent sources, such as the stories of
Alexander of Macedon, of the Trojan War, and various Oriental tales.
About the middle of the sixteenth century, Makáry, metropolitan of
Moscow, collected, in twelve huge volumes, the Legends (or Spiritual
Tales) of the Saints, under the title of Tchetyá Mináya--literally,
Monthly Reading. It was finished in 1552, and contains thirteen hundred
Lives of Saints.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. What was the effect of the Tatár raids upon Kíeff?
2. What striking illustration have we of the weak religious
literature of this time?
3. What were the "decorated narratives"? To what famous epic
are they similar in style?
4. What foreign character have the secular tales of this
period?
5. What famous collection of Legends of the Saints was made in
the sixteenth century?
CHAPTER IV
THIRD PERIOD, FROM THE TIME OF IVÁN THE TERRIBLE, 1530, TO THE MIDDLE OF
THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
Political events had tended to concentrate absolute power in the hands
of the Grand Princes of Moscow, beginning with Iván III. But no
counterbalancing power had arisen in Russian society; there was no
independent life, no respect for the individual, no public opinion to
counteract the abuse of power. In the beginning of the sixteenth
century, Russian society had reached the extreme limits of development
possible to it under its unfavorable conditions. The time for the
Russian Renaissance had arrived. It is well to remember that at this
time in other parts of Europe also the spirit of despotism and
intolerance was holding individual liberty in check. This was the age of
Henry VIII., of Catherine de Medici, of the Inquisition, and of the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew.
In this century of transition, the sixteenth, the man who exerted over
the spirit of the age more influence than any other was Maxím the Greek
(1480-1556), a learned scholar, a monk of Mt. Athos, educated chiefly in
Italy. He was invited to Russia by Grand Prince Vasíly Ivánovitch, for
the purpose of cataloguing a rich store of Greek manuscripts in the
library of the Grand Prince. To his influence is due one of the most
noteworthy books of the sixteenth century, the "Stogláva," or "Hundred
Chapters," a set of regulations adopted by the young Tzar Iván
Vasílievitch (afterwards known as Iván the Terrible), the son of Vasíly,
and by the most enlightened nobles of his time at a council held in
1551. Their object was to reform the decadent morals of the clergy, and
various ecclesiastical and social disorders, and in particular, the
absolute illiteracy arising from the lack of schools. Another famous
work of the same century is the "Domostróy," or "House-Regulator,"
attributed to Pope (priest) Sylvester, the celebrated confessor and
counselor of Iván the Terrible in his youth. In an introduction and
sixty-three chapters Sylvester sets forth the principles which should
regulate the life of every layman, the management of his household and
family, his relations to his neighbors, his manners in church, his
conduct towards his sovereign and the authorities, his duties towards
his servants and subordinates, and so forth. The most curious part of
the work deals with the minute details of domestic economy--one
injunction being, that all men shall live in accordance with their means
or their salary--and family relations, in the course of which the
position of woman in Russia of the sixteenth century is clearly defined.
This portion is also of interest as the forerunner of a whole series of
articles in Russian literature on women, wherein the latter are depicted
in the most absurd manner, the most gloomy colors--articles known as
"About Evil Women"--and founded on an admiration for Byzantine
asceticism. In his Household Regulations Sylvester thus defines the
duties of woman:
"She goeth to church according to opportunity and the counsel of her
husband. Husbands must instruct their wives with care and judicious
chastisement. If a wife live not according to the precepts of her
husband, her husband must reprove her in private, and after that he hath
so reproved her, he must pardon her, and lay upon her his further
injunctions; but they must not be wroth one with the other.... And only
when wife, son, or daughter accept not reproof shall he flog them with a
whip, but he must not beat them in the presence of people, but in
private; and he shall not strike them on the ear, or in the face, or
under the heart with his fist, nor shall he kick them, or thrash them
with a cudgel, or with any object of iron or wood. But if the fault be
great, then, removing the offender's shirt, he shall beat him (or her)
courteously with a whip," and so forth.
We have seen that Iván IV. (the Terrible) took the initiative in
reforms. After the conquest of Kazán he established many churches in
that territory and elsewhere in Russia, and purchased an immense
quantity of manuscript service-books for their use, many of which turned
out to be utterly useless, on account of the ignorance and carelessness
of the copyists. This circumstance is said to have enforced upon Iván's
attention the advisability of establishing printing-presses in Russia;
though there is reason to believe that Maxím the Greek had, long before,
suggested the idea to the Tzar. Accordingly, the erection of a
printing-house was begun in 1543, but it was only in April, 1563, that
printing could be begun, and in March, 1564, the first book was
completed--The Acts of the Apostles. The first book printed in Slavonic,
however, is the "Októikh," or "Book of the Eight Canonical Tones,"
containing the Hymns for Vespers, Matins, and kindred church services,
which was printed in Cracow seventy years earlier; and thirty years
earlier, Venice was producing printed books in the Slavonic languages,
while even in Lithuania and White Russia printed books were known
earlier than in Moscow. After printing a second book, the "Book of
Hours" (the Tchasoslóff)--also connected with Vespers, Matins, kindred
services, and the Liturgy, in addition--in 1565, the printers, both
Russians, were accused of heresy, of spoiling the book, and were
compelled to flee from Moscow. In 1568 other printers produced in Moscow
the Psalter, and other books. In 1580, in Ostróg, Government of
Volhýnia, in a printing-house founded by Prince Konstantín
Konstantínovitch Ostrózhsky, was printed the famous Ostrózhsky Bible,
which was as handsome as any product of the contemporary press anywhere
in Europe.
Nevertheless, manuscripts continued to circulate side by side with
printed books, even during the reign of Peter the Great.
During the reign of Iván the Terrible, secular literature and authors
from the highest classes of society again made their appearance; in
fact, they had never wholly disappeared during the interval. Iván the
Terrible himself headed the list, and Prince Andréi Mikháilovitch
Kúrbsky was almost his equal in rank, and more than his equal in
importance from a literary point of view. Iván the Terrible's writings
show the influence of his epoch, his oppressed and agitated childhood,
his defective education; and like his character, they are the perfectly
legitimate expression of all that had taken place in the kingdom of
Moscow.
The most striking characteristic of Iván's writings is his malicious,
biting irony, concealed beneath an external aspect of calmness; and it
is most noticeable in his principal works, his "Correspondence with
Prince Kúrbsky," and his "Epistle to Kozmá, Abbot of the
Kiríllo-Byelózersk Monastery." They display him as a very well-read man,
intimately acquainted with the Scriptures, and the translations from the
Fathers of the Church, and the Russian Chronicles, as well as with
general history. Abbot Kozmá had complained to the Tzar concerning the
conduct of certain great nobles who had become inmates of his monastery,
some voluntarily, others by compulsion, as exiles from court, and who
were exerting a pernicious influence over the monks. Iván seized the
opportunity thus presented to him, to pour out all the gall of his irony
on the monks, who had forsaken the lofty, spiritual traditions of the
great holy men of Russia.
Of much greater importance, as illustrating Iván's literary talent, is
his "Correspondence with Prince Kúrbsky" (1563-1579), a warrior of birth
as good as Iván's own, a former favorite of his, who, in 1563, probably
in consequence of the profound change in Iván's conduct, which had taken
place, and weighed so heavily upon the remainder of his reign, fled to
Iván's enemy, the King of Poland. The abuses of confidence and power,
with the final treachery of Priest Sylvester (Iván's adviser in
ecclesiastical affairs), and of Adásheff (his adviser in temporal
matters), had changed the Tzar from a mild, almost benevolent,
sovereign, into a raging despot. On arriving in Poland, Prince Kúrbsky
promptly wrote to Iván announcing his defection, and plainly stating the
reasons therefor. When Iván received this epistle--the first in the
celebrated and valuable historical correspondence which ensued--he
thrust his iron-shod staff through the foot of the bearer, at the bottom
of the Red (or Beautiful) Staircase in the Kremlin, and leaning heavily
upon it, had the letter read to him, the messenger making no sign of his
suffering the while. Kúrbsky asserted the rights of the individual, as
against the sovereign power, and accused Iván of misusing his power.
Iván, on his side, asserted his omnipotent rights, ascribed to his own
credit all the noteworthy events of his reign, accused Kúrbsky of
treason, and demonstrated to the Prince (with abundant Scriptural
quotations), that he had not only ruined his own soul, but also the
souls of his ancestors--a truly Oriental point of view. "If thou art
upright and pious," he writes, "why wert not thou willing to suffer at
the hands of me, thy refractory sovereign lord, and receive from me the
crown of life?... Thou hast destroyed thy soul for the sake of thy body
... and hast waxed wroth not against a man, but against God."
Kúrbsky's letters reveal in him a far more cultivated man, with more
sense of decency and self control, and even elegance of diction, than
the Tzar. He even reproaches the latter, in one letter, for his
ignorance of the proper way to write, and for his lack of culture, and
tells him he ought to be ashamed of himself, comparing the Tzar's
literary style with "the ravings of women," and accusing him of writing
"barbarously."
In addition to these letters, Kúrbsky wrote a remarkable history of Iván
the Terrible's reign, entitled, "A History of the Grand Principality of
Moscow, Concerning the Deeds Which We Have Heard from Trustworthy Men,
and Have also Beheld with Our Own Eyes." It is brought down to the year
1578. This history is important as the first work in Russian literature
in which a completely successful attempt was made to write a fluent
historical narrative (instead of setting forth facts in the style of
the Chronicles), and link facts to preceding facts in logical sequence,
deducing effects from causes.
To the reign of Iván the Terrible belong, also, "A History of the
Kingdom of Kazán," by Priest Ioánn Glazátly; and the "Memoirs of Alexéi
Adásheff"--the most ancient memoirs in the Russian language.
In the mean time, during this same sixteenth century, a new culture was
springing up in southwestern Russia, and in western Russia, then under
the rule of Poland, and under the influence of the Jesuits. Many
Russians had joined the Roman Church, or the "Union" (1596), by which
numerous eastern orthodox along the western frontier acknowledged the
supremacy of the Pope of Rome, on condition of being allowed to retain
their own rites and vernacular in the church services. In the end, they
were gradually deprived of these, almost entirely; and curiously enough,
the solution of this problem has been found, within the last decade, in
the United States, where the immigrant Uniates are returning by the
thousand to the Russian Church. In order to counteract the education and
the wiles of the Jesuits, philanthropic "Brotherhoods" were formed among
the orthodox Christians of southwest Russia, and these brotherhoods
founded schools in which instruction was given in the Greek, Slavonic,
Latin, and Polish languages; and rhetoric, dialectics, poetics,
theology, and many other branches were taught. One of these schools in
Kíeff was presided over by Peter Moghíla (1597-1646), the famous son of
the Voevóda of Wallachia, who was brilliantly educated on the Continent,
and at one time had been in the military service of Poland. Thus he
thoroughly understood the situation when, later on (1625), he became a
monk in the Kíeff Catacombs Monastery, and eventually the archimandrite
or abbot, and devoted his wealth and his life to the dissemination of
education among his fellow-believers of the Orthodox Eastern Catholic
Church. The influence of this man and of his Academy on Russia was
immense. The earliest school-books were here composed. Peter Moghíla's
own "Shorter Catechism" is still referred to. The Slavonic grammar and
lexicon of Lavrénty Zizánie-Tustanóvsky and Melénty Smotrítzky continued
in use until supplanted by those of Lomonósoff one hundred and fifty
years later. The most important factor, next to the foundation of the
famous Academy, was, that towards the middle of the seventeenth century
learned Kievlyanins, like Simeón Polótzky, attained to the highest
ecclesiastical rank in the country, and imported the new ideas in
education, which had been evolved in Kíeff, to Moscow, where they
prepared the first stable foundations for the future sweeping reforms of
Peter the Great.
Literature continued to bear an ecclesiastical imprint; but there were
some works of a different sort. One of the compositions which presents a
picture of life in the seventeenth century--among the higher and
governing classes only, it is true--is Grigóry Kotoshíkin's "Concerning
Russia in the Reign of Alexéi Mikháilovitch." Kotoshíkin was well
qualified to deal with the subject, having been secretary in the foreign
office, and attached to the service of Voevóda (field marshal), Prince
Dolgorúky, in 1666-1667. Among other things, he points out that the
"women of the kingdom of Moscow are illiterate," and deduces the
conclusion that the chief cause of all contemporary troubles in the
kingdom is excessive ignorance. He declares, "We must learn from
foreigners, and send our children abroad for instruction"--precisely
Peter the Great's policy, it will be observed.
Another writer, Yúry Krizhánitz, must have exerted a very considerable
influence upon Peter the Great, as it is known that the latter owned his
work on "The Kingdom of Russia in the Middle of the Seventeenth
Century." This book contains a discussion as to the proper means for
changing the condition of affairs then prevailing; as to the degree in
which foreign influence should be permitted; and precisely what measures
should be adopted to combat this or that social abuse or defect. The
programme of reforms, which he therein laid down, was, to proceed from
the highest source, by administrative process, and without regard to the
opposition of the masses. This programme Peter the Great carried out
most effectually later on.
Battle was also waged with the old order of things in the spiritual
realm by the famous Patriarch Níkon (1605-1681), who, as a peasant lad
of twelve, ran away from his father's house to a monastery. Although
compelled by his parents to return home and to marry, he soon went back
and became a monk in a monastery in the White Sea. Eventually he rose
not only to the highest ecclesiastical post in the kingdom, but became
almost more powerful than the Tzar himself. He may be classed with the
great literary forces of the land, in that he caused the correction of
the Slavonic Church Service-books directly from the Greek originals, and
eliminated from them innumerable and gross errors, which the
carelessness and ignorance of scribes and proof-readers had allowed to
creep into them. The far-reaching effects of this necessary and
important step, the resulting schism in the church, which still endures,
Níkon's quarrels with the Tzar Alexéi Mikháilovitch, Peter the Great's
father, are familiar matters of history; as is also the fact that the
power he won and the course he held were the decisive factors in Peter
the Great's resolve to have no more Patriarchs, and to intrust the
government of the church to a College, now the Most Holy Governing
Synod.
When Níkon passed from power, lesser men took up the battle. Chief among
these was Archimandrite Simeón Polótzky (already mentioned), who lived
from 1626-1681, and was the first learned man to become tutor to a
Tzarévitch. The spirit of the times no longer permitted the heir to the
throne to be taught merely to read and write from the primer, the
Psalter, and the "Book of Hours"; and Alexéi Mikháilovitch appointed
Simeón Polótzky instructor to the Tzarévitch Feódor.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. What unfavorable conditions do we find in Russian society at
the beginning of the sixteenth century?
2. Who was Maxím the Greek, and what service did he render to
his times?
3. What was the purpose of the "House-Regulator" of Pope
Sylvester?
4. How does he define the duties of woman?
5. What early attempts at printing were made in Russia?
6. What qualities of Iván the Terrible may be seen in his
writings?
7. Describe his correspondence with Prince Kúrbsky.
8. How do Kúrbsky's qualities compare with those of the Tzar,
as shown in this correspondence?
9. Why is Kúrbsky's history of Moscow a remarkable work?
10. What great work was done by Moghíla and his Academy?
11. How did his influence prove very far-reaching?
12. What did other writers of this time say of the need for
better education in Russia?
13. Describe the career of the famous Patriarch Níkon.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
_History of Russia._ Rambaud, Chapter XV., Iván the Terrible,
also Chapters XVI.-XX.
_The Story of Russia._ W. R. Morfill.
CHAPTER V
FOURTH PERIOD, FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY TO THE EPOCH
OF REFORM UNDER PETER THE GREAT.
Even in far-away, northeastern Russia a break is apparent in the middle
of the sixteenth century; and during the reign of Iván the Terrible, a
new sort of historical composition came into vogue--the so-called
"Stépennaya Kníga," or "Book of Degrees" (or steps), wherein the
national history was set forth in order, according to the Degrees of the
Princely Houses in the lines of descent from Rúrik to Iván the Terrible
in twenty degrees. This method found favor, and another degree was added
in the seventeenth century, bringing the history down to the death of
the Tzar Alexéi Mikháilovitch. During the seventeenth century many
attempts were made at collections and chronicles, the only one
approaching fullness being the "Chronicle of Níkon," so-called,
probably, because it was compiled by order of the Patriarch Níkon.
During the seventeenth century a fad also sprang up of writing
everything, even school-books, petitions, and calendars in versified
form, which was known as _vírshi_, and imported from Poland to Moscow by
Simeón Polótzky. At that time, also, it was the fashion for school-boys
to act plays as a part of their regular course of study in the schools
in southwest Russia; and in particular, in Peter Moghíla's Academy in
Kíeff. Plays of a religious character had, naturally, been imported
from western Europe, through Poland, in the seventeenth century, but as
early as the beginning of the sixteenth century certain church
ceremonies in Russia were celebrated in a purely dramatic form,
suggestive of the mystery plays in western Europe. The most curious and
famous of these was that which represented the casting of the Three Holy
Children into the Fiery Furnace, and their miraculous rescue from the
flames by an angel. This was enacted on the Wednesday before Christmas,
during Matins, in Moscow and other towns, the first performance, so far
as is known, having been in the beginning of the sixteenth century, it
being mentioned, in the year 1548, in the finance-books of the
archiepiscopal residence of St. Sophia at Nóvgorod. The "furnace" was a
circular structure of wood, on architectural lines, gayly painted with
the figures of appropriate holy men; specimens have been preserved, one
being in the Archeological Museum in St. Petersburg.
The second famous "Act" (for such was their title) was known under the
name of "The Riding on the Foal of an Ass," and took place (beginning
with the end of the sixteenth century) in Moscow and other towns,
generally on Palm Sunday. It represented the triumphal entry of Christ
into Jerusalem, and in Moscow it was performed in accordance with a
special ritual by the Patriarch, in the presence of the Tzar himself;
the Patriarch represented Christ, the Tzar led the ass upon which he was
mounted. In other towns it was acted by the archbishops and the
Voevódas. The third, and simplest, of these religious dramas, the "Act
of the Last Judgment," generally took place on the Sunday preceding the
Carnival.
In 1672 Tzar Alexéi Mikháilovitch ordered Johann Gregory, the Lutheran
pastor in Moscow, to arrange "comedy acts," and the first pieces acted
before the Tzar on a private court stage were translations from the
German--the "Act of Artaxerxes," the comedy "Judith," and so forth. But
under the influence of southwestern Russia, as already mentioned, it was
not long before a Russian mystery play, "St. Alexéi, the Man of God,"
founded on a Polish original, thoroughly imbued with Polish influence,
was written in honor of Tzar Alexéi, and acted in public by students of
Peter Moghíla's College in Kíeff. A whole series of mystery plays
followed from the fruitful pen of Simeón Polótzky. Especially curious
was his "Comedy of King Nebuchadnezzar, the Golden Calf, and the Three
Youths Who Were Not Consumed in the Fiery Furnace." He wrote many other
"comedies," two huge volumes of them.
Theatrical representations won instant favor with the Tzar and his
court, and a theatrical school was promptly established in Moscow, even
before the famous and very necessary Slavonic-Greco-Latin Academy, for
"higher education," as it was then understood.
None of the school dramas--several of which Peter Moghíla himself is
said to have written--have come down to us; neither are there any
specimens now in existence of the spiritual dramas and dramatic
dialogues from the early years of the seventeenth century. In addition
to the dramas of Simeón Polótzky, of the last part of that century, we
have the dramatic works of another ecclesiastical writer, St. Dmítry of
Rostóff (1651-1709), six in all, including "The Birth of Christ," "The
Penitent Sinner," "Esther and Ahashuerus," and so forth. They stand
half-way between mysteries and religio-allegorical pieces, and begin
with a prologue, in which one of the actors sketches the general outline
of the piece, and explains its connection with contemporary affairs; and
end with an epilogue, recited by another actor, which is a reinforcement
and inculcation of the moral set forth in the play. St. Dmítry's plays
were first acted in the "cross-chamber," or banquet-hall, of the
episcopal residence in Rostóff, where he was the Metropolitan, by the
pupils of the school he had founded. He cleverly introduced scenes from
real life into the middle of his spiritual dramas.
Collections of short stories and anecdotes current in western Europe
also made their way to Russia, via Poland; and freed from puritanical,
religious, and conventional bonds, light satirical treatment of topics
began to be met with in the seventeenth century, wherein, among other
things ridiculed, are the law-courts, the interminable length of
lawsuits, the covetousness and injustice of the judges, and so forth.
Among such productions are: "The Tale of Judge Shemyák" (Herring), "The
Description of the Judicial Action in the Suit Between the Pike and the
Perch"; or, applying personal names to the contestants, "The Story of
Yórsha Yórshoff (Perch, the son of Perch) and the Son of Shtchetínnikoff
(the Bristly)." A similar production is "The Story of Kúra (the Cock)
and Lisá (the Fox)." The first place among such works, for simplicity of
style and truth of description, belongs to "The History of the Russian
Nobleman, Frol Skovyéeff, and Anna, Daughter of Table-Decker Nárdin
Nashtchókin." But many writers of that age could not take a satirical
view of things, and depicted life as a permanent conflict between the
powers of evil and good--wherein the Devil chiefly got the upper
hand--and man's principal occupation therein, the saving of his soul.
One of the best compositions of ancient Russian secular literature
belongs to this gloomy category, "The Tale of Góre-Zloshtchástye; How
Góre-Zloshtchástye Brought the Young Man to the Monastic State,"
Góre-Zloshtchástye being, literally, "Woe-Misfortune." Woe-Misfortune
persecutes the youth, who finds no safety from him, save on one road,
where, alone, he does not besiege him--the road to the monastery.
It will be seen that the spirit of the age was deeply influenced by the
state of material things.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. What kind of historical writing sprang up in northeastern
Russia during the time of Iván the Terrible?
2. Describe the fashion of acting plays in the schools.
3. What were the "comedy acts" given before the Tzar?
4. For what is Dmítry of Rostóff to be remembered?
5. What kind of anecdotes and short stories came from western
Europe to Russia in the seventeenth century?
6. What picture of Russian life do they bring before us?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
_History of Russia._ Alfred Rambaud.
_The Story of Russia._ W. R. Morfill.
CHAPTER VI
FIFTH PERIOD, THE REIGN OF PETER THE GREAT (1689-1723).
The Fifth Period of Russian literature is that which comprises the reign
of Peter the Great, with its reforms, scientific aims, and utter change
of views upon nearly all conceivable practical and spiritual subjects.
With the general historical aspects of that reign we cannot deal here.
The culture which Peter I. introduced into Russia was purely
utilitarian; and moreover, in precisely that degree which would further
the attainment of his ends. But however imperatively his attention was
engaged with other matters, he never neglected to maintain and add to
the institutions of general education and special schools, and to order
the translation of such works as were adapted to the requirements of his
people, as he understood those requirements.
His views on the subject of literature were as peculiar as those on
culture, and were guided by the same sternly practical considerations.
But it must be said, that under him the printing-press first acquired in
Russia its proper position of importance, and became the instrument for
the quick, easy, and universal dissemination and exchange of thought,
instead of serving merely as an indifferent substitute for manuscript
copies. Not only were books printed, but also speeches and official
poetry for special occasions; and at last the "Russian News" (January,
1703), the first Russian newspaper, keenly and carefully supervised by
Peter the Great himself, made its appearance.
At the end of the seventeenth century, only two typographical
establishments existed in all Russia: one in the Kíeff Catacombs
Monastery (which does an immense business in religious books, and cheap
prints and paper _ikóni_, or holy pictures); the other in Moscow, in the
"Printing-House." In 1711 the first typographical establishment appeared
in St. Petersburg, and in 1720 there were already four in the new
capital, in addition to new ones in Tchernígoff, Nóvgorod-Syéversk, and
Nóvgorod; while another had been added in Moscow. Yet Peter the Great
distrusted the literary activity of the monks--and with reason, since
most of them opposed his reforms, while many deliberately plotted
against him--and in 1700-1701 ordered that monks in the monasteries
should be deprived of pens, ink, and paper.
His official, machine-made literature offers nothing of special
interest. But one of the curious phenomena of the epoch was the peasant
writer Iván Tikhonóvitch Posóshkoff (born about 1670), a well-to-do,
even a rich, man for those days, very well read, and imbued with the
spirit of reform. Out of pure love for his fatherland he began to write
projects and books in which he endeavored to direct the attention of the
government to many social defects, and to point out means for correcting
them. One of the most interesting works of Peter the Great's period was
Posóshkoff's written "Plan of Conduct" for his son (who was one of the
first young Russians sent abroad, in 1708, for education), entitled, "A
Father's Testamentary Exhortation." His "Book on Poverty and Wealth" is
also noteworthy, inasmuch as it affords a complete survey of Russia
under Peter the Great.
During this reign, the highly educated and eminently practical Little
Russians acquired more power than ever. The most notable of them all was
Feofán Prokópovitch, Archbishop of Nóvgorod (born in Kíeff, 1681), who
had been brilliantly educated in Kíeff and Rome, and was the most
celebrated of Peter the Great's colaborers, the most zealous and clever
executor of his sovereign's will, who attained to the highest secular
and ecclesiastical honors, and prolonged his influence and his labors
into succeeding reigns. His sermons were considered so important that
they were always printed immediately after their delivery, and forwarded
to the Emperor abroad, or wherever he might chance to be. Like others at
that period, he indulged in dramatic writing, for acting on the school
stage; and at Peter the Great's request he drew up a set of
"Ecclesiastical Regulations" for the Ecclesiastical College, and was
appointed to be the head of the church government, though Stepán
Yavórsky was made head of the Holy Governing Synod when it was
established, in 1721.
Peter the Great's ideas were not only opposed but persecuted, after his
death (1723), until the accession to the throne of his daughter
Elizabeth, in 1741. It was a long time before literature was regarded
seriously, on its own merits; before literary and scientific activity
were looked upon as separate departments, or any importance was
attributed to literature. Science usurped the first place, and
literature was regarded as merely a useful accessory thereto. This view
was held by all the first writers after Peter the Great's time:
Kantemír, Tatíshtcheff, Trediakóvsky, and even the gifted Lomonósoff,
Russia's first secular writers, in the present sense of that word.
The first of these, in order, Prince Antiókh Dmítrievitch Kantemír, was
born in 1708, and brought to Moscow at the age of three by his father,
the Hospodár of Moldavia (after the disastrous campaign on the Pruth),
who assumed Russian citizenship. Prince Kantemír published his first
work, "A Symphony (concordance) of the Psalter," at the age of eighteen,
being at that time in the military service, and a member of Feofán
Prokópovitch's circle, and his close friend. His father had left a will
by which he bequeathed his entire estate and about one hundred thousand
serfs to that one of his children who should prove "the most successful
in the sciences"; and one of Prince Antiókh's brothers having married a
daughter of Prince D. M. Galítzyn, one of the most influential men of
the day, Peter the Great naturally adjudged him the heir to the estate.
This embittered Prince Antiókh Kantemír, and he revealed his wrath
against the Emperor and his party in his first two notable satires,
which appeared about the time the Empress Anna Ioánnovna ascended the
throne (1730). Galítzyn was one of the nobles who were ruined by this
event, and Prince Kantemír recovered a portion of his rightful
possessions. In 1731 his powerful protection secured him the appointment
of diplomatic resident in London. Thence he was, later on, transferred
to Paris, and never returned to Russia. Before his departure to London,
he wrote five satires, several fables and epistles, none of which were
printed, however, though they won him great reputation in cultivated
society, where they circulated in manuscript copies. Satire was quite in
the spirit of the age, and Kantemír devoted himself to it. He displayed
much wit and keen observation. In all, he produced nine satires, four
being written during his sojourn abroad. In Satire Second, entitled,
"Filarét and Evgény," or "On the Envy and Pride of Cantankerous Nobles,"
he describes the arrogance of the nobility, and their pretensions to the
highest posts, without any personal exertion or merit, solely on the
merits of their ancestors; and here he appears as a zealous advocate of
Peter the Great's "Table of Ranks," intended to put a stop to precisely
this state of affairs, by making rank depend on personal services to the
state. The Third and Sixth Satires are curious in that they clearly
express the author's views on his own literary activity, and also on
society and literature in general. The Sixth Satire, written in 1738, is
the most important, as showing Kantemír's own nature, both as a man and
as a writer.
One of the men most in sympathy with Peter the Great was Vasíly
Nikítitch Tatíshtcheff (1686-1750), who was educated partly in Russia,
partly abroad. He applied his brilliant talents and profound mind to the
public service, first in the Artillery, then in the Department of Mines,
later on as Governor of Ástrakhan. In pursuance of a general plan for
useful literary labors, Tatíshtcheff collected materials for a
geography, which he did not finish, and for a history of Russia, which
he worked out with considerable fullness, in five volumes. It was
published thirty years after his death, by command of Katherine II. It
is not history in the sense of that word at the present day, but merely
a very respectable preliminary study of materials; and the author's
expressions of opinion are valuable features, as setting forth the
spirit of the Epoch of Reformation. He is generally mentioned as a
historian, but far more important are his "Spiritual Testament" (Last
Will) and "Exhortation to his son Evgráff" (1733), and "A Discussion
between Two Friends as to the Advantages of Sciences and Schools"
(probably written 1731-1736). The Testament consists of a general
collection of rules concerning worldly wisdom, applied to contemporary
needs and views, though his son was already grown up and in the
government service, so that much of its contents are of general
application only, and were introduced to round out the work, and for the
edification of the rising generation. It is the last specimen of a class
of works in which, as has been seen, Russian literature is rich.
The first Russian who devoted himself exclusively to literature was
Vasíly Kiríllovitch Trediakóvsky (born at Ástrakhan in 1703), the son
and grandson of priests, who was educated in Russia and abroad. When he
decided, on his return from abroad in 1730, to adopt literature as a
profession, the times were extremely unpropitious. He had, long before,
during his student days in Moscow, written syllabic verses, an elegy on
the death of Peter the Great, and a couple of dramas, which were acted
by his fellow-students. In 1732 he became the court poet, or laureate
and panegyrist, and wrote, to the order of the Empress Anna Ioánnovna,
speeches and laudatory addresses, which he presented to the grandees,
receiving in return various gifts in accordance with the custom of the
epoch. But neither his official post nor his personal dignity prevented
his receiving, also, violent and ignominious treatment at the hands of
the powerful nobles. His "New and Brief Method of Composing Russian
Verses" constituted an epoch in the history of Russian poetry, since
therein was first set forth the theory of Russian tonic versification.
But although he endeavored to create a distinct Russian style, and to
put his own system into practice, he wrote worse than many of his
contemporaries, and his poems were all below mediocrity; while not a
single line of them supported the theory he announced. They enjoy as
little consideration from his literary posterity as he enjoyed
personally in the society of Anna Ioánnovna's day. Yet his work was very
prominent in the transition period between the literature of the
seventeenth century and the labors of Lomonósoff, and he undoubtedly
rendered a great service to Russian culture by his translations, as an
authority on literary theories and as a philologist.
The first writer of capital importance in modern Russian literature in
general was the gifted peasant-academician Mikháil Vasílievitch
Lomonósoff (1711-1755)--a combination of the scientific and literary
man, such as was the fashion of the period in general, and almost
necessarily so in Russia. Born in a village of the Archángel Government,
near Kholmogóry on the White Sea, he was a fisherman, like his father,
until the age of sixteen, having learned to read and write from a
peasant neighbor. A tyrannical stepmother forced him to endure hunger
and cold, and to do his modest studying and reading in desert spots.
Accordingly, when he obtained from the village authorities the
permission requisite for absenting himself for the space of ten months,
he failed to return, and was inscribed among the "fugitives." In the
Slavo-Greco-Latin Academy at Moscow, which he managed to enter, and
where he remained for five years, he distanced all competitors (though
he lived, as he said, "in incredible poverty," on three kopeks a day),
devoting himself chiefly to the natural sciences. At the age of
twenty-two he was sent abroad by the government to study metallurgy at
Freiburg. There and elsewhere abroad, in England, France, and Holland,
he remained for five years, studying various practical branches.
In 1742 he became assistant professor at the Academy of Science in St.
Petersburg, at a wretched salary, and in 1748 professor, lecturing on
physical geography, chemistry, natural history, poetry, and the Russian
language. He also was indefatigable in translating scientific works from
the French and German, in writing a work on mining, a rhetoric-book, and
so forth. By 1757 he had written many odes, poetical epistles, idyls,
and the like; verses on festival occasions and tragedies, to order; a
Russian grammar; and had collected materials for a history, and planned
extensive philological researches. Eager to benefit his country, and
conscious that he was capable of doing so, he made practical application
of many important improvements in architecture, navigation, mining, and
manufacturing industries. For example: in 1750 he zealously engaged in
the manufacture of glass (with the aid of the government), set up a
glass-factory, and applied his chemical knowledge to colored glass for
mosaics. The great mosaic pictures which glorify Peter the Great, and
the vast, magnificent _ikóni_ (holy pictures) which adorn the Cathedral
of St. Isaac of Dalmatia, in St. Petersburg, are the products of those
factories, which still exist and thrive.
It is impossible to narrate in detail all Lomonósoff's enterprises for
the improvement of the economic condition of the masses, his government
surveys of Russia, ethnographical and geographical aims, and the like.
His administrative labors absorbed most of his time leaving little for
literary work. Like others of his day, he regarded literature as an
occupation for a man's leisure hours, and even openly ridiculed those
who busied themselves exclusively with it; though he ascribed to it
great subsidiary importance, as a convenient instrument for introducing
to society new ideas, and for expounding divers truths, both abstract
and scientific. Thus he strove to furnish Russia with models of literary
productions in all classes, and to improve the language of literature
and science. Nevertheless, although he rendered great services in these
directions, and is known as "the Father of Russian Literature," he was
far more important as a scientific than as a literary man. It is true
that precisely the opposite view of him was held during the period
immediately succeeding him, and he became an authority and a pattern for
many Russian writers, who imitated his pseudo-classical poetry, and even
copied his language, as the acme of literary perfection. In reality,
although he acquired a certain technical skill, he was a very mediocre
poet; yet he was as an eagle among barnyard fowls, and cleverly made use
of the remarkable possibilities of the Russian language as no other man
did, although he borrowed his models from the pseudo-classical
productions then in vogue in foreign countries. A few of his versified
efforts which have come down to us deserve the name of poetry, by virtue
of their lofty thoughts and strong, sincere feeling, expressed in
graceful, melodious style. Among the best of these are: "A Letter
Concerning the Utility of Glass," "Meditations Concerning the Grandeur
of God," and his triumphal ode, "On the Day of the Accession to the
Throne of the Empress Elizavéta Petróvna"--this last being the
expression of the general rapture at the accession of Peter the Great's
daughter.
The most important feature of all Lomonósoff's poetical productions is
the fine, melodious language, which was a complete novelty at that time,
together with smooth, regular versification. Not one of his
contemporaries possessed so profound and varied a knowledge of the
Russian popular and book languages, and this knowledge it was which
enabled him to make such a wide choice between the ancient Church
Slavonic, ancient Russian, the popular, and the bookish tongues.
In Peter the Great's Epoch of Reform, the modern "secular" or "civil"
alphabet was substituted for the ancient Church Slavonic, and the modern
Russian language, which Lomonósoff did so much to improve, began to
assume shape, literature and science at last freeing themselves
completely from ecclesiasticism and monasticism.
The first writer to divorce literature and science, like Lomonósoff, a
talent of the transition period, between the Epoch of Reform and the
brilliant era of Katherine II.--a product, in education and culture, of
the Reform Epoch, though he strove to escape from its traditions--was
Alexander Petróvitch Sumarókoff (1717-1777). Insignificant in comparison
with Lomonósoff, the most complete contrast with the peasant-genius by
his birth and social rank, which were of the highest, he was plainly the
forerunner of a new era; and in the sense in which Feofán Prokópovitch
is called "the first secular Russian writer," Sumarókoff must be
described as "the first Russian literary man."
The Empress Anna Ioánnovna had had a troop of Italian actors, early in
her reign; and in 1735 a troop of actors and singers. The Empress
Elizavéta Petróvna revived the theater, and during her reign there were
even two troops of actors, one French, the other Italian, for ballet and
opera-bouffe (1757), both subsidized by the court. Sometimes an audience
was lacking at their performances, and on one occasion at least,
Elizavéta Petróvna improved upon the Scripture parable; when an
insufficient number of spectators presented themselves at the French
comedy, she forthwith dispatched mounted messengers to numerous persons
of rank and distinction, with a categorical demand to know why they had
absented themselves, and a warning that henceforth a fine of fifty
rubles would be exacted for such dereliction of duty.
A distinctive feature of Elizavéta's reign was the growth of closer
relations with France, which at this period represented the highest
culture of Europe. Dutch and German influences which had hitherto
impressed themselves upon Russian society, now gave place to French
ideas. Translations of the French classics of the brilliant age of Louis
XIV. were made in Russian, and the new Academy of Fine Arts established
by Elizavéta in St. Petersburg was put under the care of French masters.
It was in her reign also that the University of Moscow was founded.
In 1746 Feódor Grigórievitch Vólkhoff, the son of a merchant, built in
Yaroslávl (on the upper Volga), the first Russian theater, to hold about
one thousand spectators. Five years later, the news of the fine
performances of the actors and actresses of Vólkhoff's theater reached
St. Petersburg, and the troop was ordered to appear before the court.
Four years later still, the existence of the Russian theater was
assured, by imperial decree. Sumarókoff was appointed the director,
having, evidently, for a long time previously had full charge of all
dramatic performances at court; and also, evidently, been expected to
furnish plays. His first tragedy, "Khóreff," dates from 1747. In the
following year "Hamlet" appeared. Until the arrival of the Vólkhoff
troop, all his plays were acted in St. Petersburg only, by the cadets
and officers of the "Nobles' Cadet Corps," where he himself had been
educated. Towards the end of Elizavéta Petróvna's reign, Sumarókoff
acquired great renown, almost equaling that of Lomonósoff in his
literary services, and the admirers of Russian literature of that day
were divided into hostile camps, which consisted of the friends and
advocates of these two writers, the Empress Elizabeth being at the head
of the first, the Empress Katherine II. (then Grand Duchess) at the head
of the second.
For about ten years (1759-1768), Sumarókoff published a satirical
journal, "The Industrious Bee," after which he returned to his real
field and wrote a tragedy, "Výsheslaff," and the comedies, "A Dowry by
Deceit," "The Usurer," "The Three Rival Brothers," "The Malignant Man,"
and "Narcissus." In all he wrote twenty-six plays, including the
tragedies "Sínav and Trúvor," "Aristona," and "Semira," before the
establishment of the theater in St. Petersburg, in addition to "Khóreff"
and "Hamlet," "Dmítry the Pretender," and "Mstíslaff." "Semira" was
regarded as his masterpiece, and among his comedies "Tressotinius"
attracted the most attention. All these, however, were merely weak
imitations of the narrow form in which all French and pseudo-classical
dramas were molded, the unities of time, place, and action exerting an
embarrassing restriction on the action; and the heroes, although they
professed to be Russians, with obscure historical names (like Sínav and
Trúvor), or semi-mythical (like Khóreff), or genuinely historical (like
Dmítry the Pretender), were the stereotyped declaimers of the bombastic,
pseudo-classical drama.
Sumarókoff's dramatic work formed but a small part of his writings,
which included a great mass of odes, eclogues, elegies, ballads, and so
forth; and although he ranks as a dramatist, he is most important in his
series of fables, epigrams, and epitaphs, which are permeated with
biting satire on his own period, though the subjects are rather
monotonous--the bad arrangement of the courts of justice, which
permitted bribery and other abuses among lawyers, the injurious and
oppressive state monopolies, attempts at senseless imitations of
foreigners in language and customs, and ignorance concealed by external
polish and culture. Coarse and imperfect as are these satires, they
vividly reproduce the impressions of a contemporary gifted with keen
observation and the ability to deal dispassionately with current events.
As we shall see later on, this protest against the existing order of
things continued, and blossomed forth in the succeeding--the
sixth--period of literature in productions, which not only form the
flower of the century, but also really belong to modern literature, and
hold the public attention at the present day. This Sumarókoff's dramatic
and other works do not do, and their place is rather in the archives of
the preparatory school.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. What was the general character of the reign of Peter the
Great?
2. How important did the printing press become in his time?
3. Why did Peter the Great deprive the monks of pens, ink, and
paper?
4. What interesting works were written by Posóshkoff?
5. Who was Feofán Prokópovitch?
6. Give an account of the life and writings of Kantemír.
7. What literary influence had Tatíshtcheff and Trediakóvsky?
8. Describe the early life of Lomonósoff.
9. Give an account of his many activities.
10. How did he regard literature, and what were his best works.
11. In what way did he exert a strong literary influence?
12. What attention did the Court give to theatrical
representations at this time?
13. What new relations with Europe marked the reign of
Elizavéta?
14. When and where was Vólkhoff's theater established?
15. What share had Sumarókoff in developing the Russian drama?
16. How did he protest against the abuses of his times?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
_History of Russia._ Alfred Rambaud. Vol. II., Chapter VI.
_The Story of Russia._ W. R. Morfill.
_Specimens from the Russian Poets._ Two volumes, Sir John
Bowring, contain many specimens from Lomonósoff to Zhukóvsky
inclusive.
CHAPTER VII
SIXTH PERIOD, THE REIGN OF KATHERINE II. (1762-1796).
Under the brilliant sway of Katherine II. (1762-1796) literature and
literary men in Russia first began to acquire legitimate respect and
consideration in the highest circles--the educated minority, which ruled
tastes and fashions. Wealthy patrons of literature had existed even in
the Empress Elizabeth's day it is true; and a taste for the theater had
been implanted or engendered, partly by force, as we have seen. Western
ideas had made much progress in a normal way, through the close contact
with western European nations, brought about by Elizabeth's great
political genius, which had made St. Petersburg the diplomatic center
and law-giver; and Katherine's own interest in literature before her
accession to the throne had also had much to do with raising the
standard and the respect in which literature and writers were held, and
in preparing the ground for the new era. During her reign, life and
literature may be said to have come into close contact for the first
time. Katherine II. herself may be placed at the head of the writers of
her day, in virtue not only of her rank and her encouragement of
literature, at home and abroad, but because of her own writings. One of
her comedies, "O, Ye Times! O, Ye Manners!" is still occasionally given
on the stage. Her own Memoirs and her Correspondence with Voltaire,
Diderot, and others, furnish invaluable pictures of contemporary views
and manners. Her satires, comedies, and journalistic work and polemical
articles are most important, however, because most original. In 1769 she
began to publish a newspaper called "All Sorts of Things" (or
"Varieties"), to which she personally contributed satirical articles
attacking abuses--chiefly the lack of culture, and superficiality of
education. It was extremely popular with the public, and imitators
started up, which the Empress eventually suppressed, because of their
virulent attacks on her own journal. She ceased journalistic work in
1774, and then introduced on the stage, in her comedies, the same types
and aspects of Russian life which she had previously presented in her
satirical articles.
Of the fourteen comedies, nine operas, and seven proverbs which she
wrote, in whole or in part (she had the skeletons of some filled out
with choruses and verses according to her own plans), up to 1790, eleven
comedies, seven operas, and five proverbs have come down to us. The
comedies are not particularly artistic, but they are important in a
history of the national literature, as noteworthy efforts to present
scenes and persons drawn from contemporary life--the first of that sort
on the Russian stage--the most remarkable being the one already referred
to, and "The Gambler's Name-day" (1772). The personages whom she copied
straight from life are vivid; those whom she invented as ideals, as
foils for contrast, are lifeless shadows. Her operas are not important.
Towards the close of her literary activity she once more engaged in
journalism, writing a series of satirical sketches, "Facts and Fiction"
(published in 1783), for a new journal, issued on behalf of the Academy
of Sciences by the Princess Dáshkoff, the director of that academy, and
chairman of the Russian Academy, founded in that year on the Princess's
own plan.
This Princess Ekaterína Románovna Dáshkoff (born Vorontzóff, 1743-1810)
was a brilliantly educated woman, with a pronounced taste for political
intrigue, who had a great share in the conspiracy which disposed of
Peter III., and placed Katherine II. on the throne. Katherine richly
rewarded the Princess, but preserved her own independence and supremacy,
which offended Princess Dáshkoff, the result being a coldness between
the former intimate friends. This, in turn, obliged the Princess to
leave the court and travel at home and abroad. During one trip abroad
she received a diploma as doctor of laws, medicine, and theology from
Edinburg University. Her Memoirs are famous, though not particularly
frank, or in agreement with Katherine II.'s statements, naturally. The
Empress never ceased to be suspicious of her, but twenty years later a
truce was patched up between them, and Katherine appointed her to the
offices above mentioned--never held before or since by a woman.
Princess Dáshkoff wrote much on educational subjects, and in the journal
referred to above, she published not only her own articles and Katherine
II.'s, but also the writings of many new and talented men, among them,
Von Vízin and Derzhávin. This journal, "The Companion of the Friends of
the Russian Language," speedily came to an end when the Princess-editor
took umbrage at the ridicule heaped on some of her projects and speeches
by the Empress and her courtiers.
If Katherine II. was the first to introduce real life on the Russian
stage, Von Vízin was the first to do so in a manner sufficiently
artistic to hold the stage, which is the case with his "Nédorosl," or
"The Hobbledehoy." He is the representative of the Russian type, in its
best aspects, during the reign of Katherine II., and offers a striking
contrast to the majority of his educated fellow-countrymen of the day.
They were slavish worshipers of French influences. He bore himself
scornfully, even harshly, towards everything foreign, and always strove
to counteract each foreign thing by something of native Russian origin.
Denís Ivánovitch Von Vízin (1744-1792), as his name suggests, was the
descendant of an ancient German family, of knightly rank. An ancestor
had been taken prisoner in the reign of Iván the Terrible, and had ended
by settling in Russia and assuming Russian citizenship. The family
became thoroughly Russified when they joined the Russian Church. Von
Vízin was of a noble and independent character, to which he added a
keen, fine mind, and a caustic tongue. His father, he tells us, in his
"A Frank Confession of Deeds and Thoughts" (imitated from Rousseau's
"Confession"), was also of an independent character in general, and in
particular--contrary to the custom of the epoch--detested extortion and
bribery, and never accepted gifts. "Sir!" he was accustomed to say to
persons who asked favors of him in his official position, "a loaf of
sugar affords no reason for condemning your opponent; please take it
away and bring legal proof of your rights."
Denís Von Vízin received a thorough Russian education at home--which was
unusual at that era of overwhelming foreign influence; and his
inclination for literature having manifested itself in his early youth,
while still at the University School for Nobles, he made various
translations from foreign languages before entering the Moscow
University, at the age of fifteen. During a visit which he made to St.
Petersburg, while still a student at the University, he saw the theater
for the first time, and soon made acquaintance with F. G. Vólkhoff
(already mentioned), and one of the actors. These things exerted a great
influence upon him. During a visit of the Court to Moscow, in 1755, he
was appointed translator to the Foreign College (Office), with the
inevitable military rank, and went to live in the new capital. After
divers vicissitudes of service, he wrote "The Brigadier," which he was
promptly asked to read before royalty and in society. It won for him
great reputation with people who were capable of appreciating the first
play which was genuinely Russian in something more than externals. It
jeers at ignorance coated over with an extremely thin veneer of
pretentious foreign culture. The types in "The Brigadier" (written about
1747) had long been floating about in literature, and as it were,
awaiting a skillful pen which should present them in full relief to the
contemporary public. Von Vízin set forth these types on the stage in a
clearer, more vivid manner than all previous writers who had dealt with
them, as we have seen, in satires and dramas, from Kantemír to Katherine
II. The characters, as Von Vízin depicted them, were no longer abstract
monsters, agglomerations of evil qualities, but near relations to
everybody. Moreover, the drama was gay, playful--not even the moral was
gloomy--with not a single depressing line.
Totally different is "The Hobbledehoy" ("Nédorosl," 1782), which is even
more celebrated, and was written towards the close of a long career in
the service, filled with varied and trying experiences--part of which
arose from the difficulties of the author's own noble character in
contact with a different type of men and from his attacks on abuses of
all sorts--after a profound study of life in the middle and higher
classes of Russian court and diplomatic circles. The difference between
"The Brigadier" and "The Hobbledehoy" is so great that they must be read
in the order of their production if the full value of the impression
created by the earlier play is to be appreciated. "The Hobbledehoy" was
wholly unlike anything which had been seen hitherto in Russian
literature. Had the authorities permitted Von Vízin to print his
collection of satires, he would have stood at the head of that branch of
literature in that epoch; as it was, this fine comedy contains the
fullest expression of his dissatisfaction at the established order of
things in general. The merits of the play rest upon its queer characters
from life, who are startlingly real, and represent the genuine aims and
ideas of the time. The contrasting set of characters, whom he introduced
as the exponents of his ideals, do not express any aims and ideas which
then existed, but merely what he personally would have liked to see.
Katherine II., with whose comedies Von Vízin's have much in common,
always tried to offset her disagreeable real characters by honorable,
sensible types, also drawn from real life as ideals. But Von Vízin's
ideal characters are almost hostile in their bearing towards his
characters drawn from real life. Altogether, Von Vízin must be regarded
as the first independent, artistic writer in Russia, and therefore
epoch-making, just as Feofán Prokópovitch must be rated as the first
Russian secular writer, and Sumarókoff as the first Russian literary
man and publicist in the modern meaning of the words. It is worth noting
(because of a tendency to that sort of thing in later Russian writers
down to the present day) that towards the end of his life a stroke of
paralysis, in 1785, and other unfortunate circumstances, threw Von Vízin
into a gloomy religious state of mind, under the influence of which he
judged himself and his works with extreme severity, and condemned them
with excessive harshness.
The general outline of "The Hobbledehoy" is as follows: Mrs. Prostakóff
(Simpleton), a managing woman, of ungovernable temper, has an only
child, Mitrofán (the Hobbledehoy), aged sixteen. She regards him as a
mere child, and spoils him accordingly. He is, in fact, childish in
every way, deserving his sobriquet, and is followed about everywhere by
his old nurse, Eremyéevna. Mr. Simpleton has very little to say, and
that little, chiefly, in support of his overbearing wife's assertions,
and at her explicit demand. She habitually addresses every one, except
her son, as "beast," and by other similar epithets. She has taken into
her house, about six months before the play opens, Sophia, a fairly
wealthy orphan, and a connection of hers by marriage, whom she
ill-treats to a degree. She is on the point of betrothing her to
Skotínin (Beastly), her brother, who frankly admits that he cares
nothing for the girl, and not very much for her estate, which adjoins
his own, but a very great deal for the extremely fine pigs which are
raised on it--a passion for pigs, which he prefers to men, constituting
his chief interest in life. Mr. Beastly, who says that he never goes to
law, no matter what losses he may suffer, no matter how much his
neighbors injure him, because he simply wrings the deficit out of his
peasants, and that ends it, declares that Sophia's pigs, for which he
expresses a "deadly longing," are so huge that "there is not one of them
which, stood up on its hind legs, would not be a whole head taller than
any one of us," is eager for the match. While this is under discussion
(Sophia being entirely ignorant of their intentions), the young girl
enters, and announces that she has received good news: her uncle, who
has been in Siberia for several years in quest of fortune, and is
supposed to be dead, has written to inform her of his speedy arrival.
Mrs. Simpleton takes the view that he is dead, ought to be dead; and
roughly tells Sophia that the latter need not try to frighten her into
giving her her liberty, and asserts that the letter must be from the
officer who has been in love with her, and whom she wishes to marry.
Sophia offers her the letter, in proof of innocence, saying, "Read it
yourself." "Read it myself!" cries Mrs. Simpleton; "no, madam, thank
God, I was not brought up in that way. I may receive letters, but I
always order some one else to read them," whereupon she orders her
husband to read it. Her husband gives it up as too difficult, and Mr.
Beastly, on being asked, replies, "I! I have never read anything since I
was born, my dear sister! God has delivered me from that boredom."
Právdin (Mr. Upright), an official charged with inspecting the condition
of the peasants, also empowered to put under arrest cruel proprietors,
and under guardianship of the state those who have been ill-treated,
enters and reads the letter to them. When Mrs. Simpleton learns from it
that Uncle Starodúm (Oldidea) has a large income, and that Sophia is to
inherit it, she immediately overwhelms Sophia with flattery and
affection, and decides to marry her to her precious "child," Mitrofán.
This leads to violent quarrels during the rest of the play between her
and her brother, who wants the pigs; and to violence from the latter to
Mitrofán, who declares that he has long wished to marry, and intends to
have Sophia. In the mean time a company of soldiers, on the march to
Moscow, arrives, and is quartered in the village, while their commanding
officer, Mílon, a friend of Mr. Upright, makes his appearance at the
house, where to his surprise, he finds his lady-love, Sophia, who
promptly explains to him the situation of affairs.
Mitrofán is still under teachers, consisting of Vrálman (Liar), a former
gunner, who is supposed to be teaching him French and all the sciences;
Tzýfirkin (Cipherer), a retired army-sergeant, who instructs him in
arithmetic, and Kutéikin, who, as his name implies, is the son of a
petty ecclesiastic, and teaches him reading and writing, talking always
in ecclesiastical style, interlarded with old Church-Slavonic words and
phrases. He is always doing "reviews," never advancing to new lessons,
and threatens to drown himself if he be not allowed to wed Sophia at
once. There is a most amusing lesson-scene. The teacher of arithmetic
sets him a problem: three people walking along the road find three
hundred rubles, which they divide equally between them; how much does
each one get? Mitrofán does the sum on his slate: "Once three is three,
once nothing is nothing, once nothing is nothing." But his mother
exclaims, that if he finds such a sum, he must not divide it, but keep
it all, and that arithmetic, which teaches such division, is a fool of a
science. Another sum is worked out in equally absurd style, with equally
intelligent comments from the mother. Kutéikin then takes his turn, and
using a pointer, makes Mitrofán repeat after him a ridiculously
appropriate sentence from the Psalms, in the "Tchasoslóff," the "Book of
Hours," or first reader. Vrálman enters, meddles with everybody, in a
strong foreign accent, and puts an end to the lessons, as quite
unnecessary for the precious boy; for which, and his arrogance (when
Mrs. Simpleton and the Hobbledehoy have retired), the other teachers
attack him with slate and book.
Meanwhile, Uncle Starodúm has arrived, and talks in long paragraphs and
stilted language to Právdin and Sophia, expressing the ideal view of
life, conduct, service to the state, and so forth. He, as well as
Sophia, Právdin Mílon, are quite colorless. The Simpletons overwhelm
Starodúm with stupid courtesies, and Mrs. S. gets Právdin to examine
Mitrofán, in order to prove to Starodúm that her darling child is fit to
be Sophia's husband. The examination is even more brilliant than the
lesson. Mitrofán says that door, that is to say, the door to that room,
is an adjective, because it is added, or affixed, to its place; but the
door of the store-house is a noun, because it has been standing off its
hinges for six weeks. Further examination reveals the fact, that
Vrálman's instruction in history has impressed his pupil with the idea
that the histories (stories) told by Khavrónya, the herd-girl,
constitute that science. When asked about geography, the Hobbledehoy
declares that he does not know what is meant, and his mother prompts him
with "'Eography," after asking Právdin what he said. On inquiring
further as to its meaning and its use, and on being informed that it is
a description of the earth, and its first use is to aid people in
finding their way about, she makes the famous speech, frequently quoted,
"Akh, good gracious! What are the cabmen for, then? That's their
business. That's not a science for the nobility. All a noble has to do
is to say, 'Drive me to such a place!' and you're driven whithersoever
you wish. Believe me, my good sir, everything that Mitrofán does not
know is nonsense."
Uncle Starodúm makes acquaintance with Mílon, whose good qualities he
has learned through an old friend, and betroths him to Sophia. Mrs.
Simpleton, on learning of this, and that Starodúm and Sophia are to set
out for Moscow early the next morning, arranges to have Mitrofán abduct
Sophia at a still earlier hour, and marry her. Sophia escapes; Mrs.
Simpleton raves and threatens to beat to death her servants who have
failed to carry out her plan. Právdin then announces that the government
has ordered him to take charge of the Simpletons' house and villages,
because of Mrs. S.'s notorious inhumanity. Vrálman, whom Starodúm
recognizes as a former coach-man of his, mounts the box, and Starodúm,
Sophia, and Mílon set out for Moscow, virtue reigning triumphant, and
wickedness being properly punished--which, again, is an ideal point of
view.
But the man who, taken as a whole, above all others in the eighteenth
century, has depicted for us governmental, social, and private life, is
Gavríl Románovitch Derzhávin (1743-1816). His memoirs and poetical
chronicle furnish the most brilliant, vivid, and valuable picture of the
reign of Katherine II. Moreover, in his own person, Derzhávin offers a
type of one of the most distinguished Russians of the last half of the
eighteenth century, in his literary and official career. He presented a
great contrast to his contemporary and friend, Von Vízin, in that, while
the latter was a noteworthy example of all the best sides in
contemporary social life, with very few defects, Derzhávin was an
example of all the defects of contemporary life, and of several
distinctly personal merits, which sharply differentiated him from others
in the same elevated spheres of court and official life. He was the son
of a poor noble. His opportunities for education were extremely limited,
and in 1762 he entered the military service as a common soldier, in the
famous Preobrazhénsky (Transfiguration) infantry regiment of the Guards.
As he had neither friends nor relatives in St. Petersburg, he lived in
barracks, where with difficulty he followed his inclinations, and read
all the Russian and German books he could obtain, scribbling verses at
intervals. In 1777 he managed to obtain a small estate and the rank of
bombardier-lieutenant, and left the service to become an usher in one
department of the Senate, where he made many friends and acquaintances
in high circles. Eventually he became governor of Olónetz, then of
Tambóff. In 1779 he began "in a new style," among other compositions
therein being an ode "To Felitza," meaning the Empress Katherine II. He
continued to write verses, but published nothing under his own name
until his famous ode, "God" and "The Murza's Vision," in 1785. We cannot
here enter into his official career further than to say, that all his
troubles arose from his own honesty, and from the combined hostile
efforts of the persons whose dishonest practices he had opposed. Towards
the end of Katherine's reign he became a privy councilor (a titular
rank) and senator; that is to say, a member of the Supreme Judicial
Court. Under Paul I. he was President of the Commerce College (Ministry
of Commerce), and Imperial Treasurer. Under Alexander I. he was made
Minister of Justice.
"Katharine's Bard," as he was called, like several of his predecessors,
cherished an idea of fixing a style in Russian literature, his special
aim being to confine it to the classical style, and to oppose the new
school of Karamzín. In this he was upheld by I. I. Dmítrieff, who was
looked upon as his successor. But after Derzhávin heard Púshkin read his
verses, at the examination in the Tzárskoe Seló Lyceum (1815), he
frankly admitted that the lad had already excelled all living writers of
Russia; and he predicted that this school-boy would become the new and
brilliant star.
Despite the burdens of his official life, Derzhávin wrote a great deal;
towards the end of his life, much dramatic matter; yet he really belongs
to the ranks of the lyric poets. He deserved all the fame he enjoyed,
because he was the first poet who was so by inspiration, not merely by
profession or ambition. Even in his most insignificant works of the
stereotyped sort, with much sound and very little thought and feeling,
the hand of a master is visible, and talent is perceptible; while many
passages are remarkable for their poetic figures, melody of
versification, and beauty and force of expression. No poet previous to
Púshkin can be compared to him for talent, and for direct, independent
inspiration. His poetry is chiefly the poetry of figures and events, of
solemn, loudly trumpeted victories and feats, descriptions of banquets,
festivals, noisy social life, and endless hymns of praise to the age of
Katherine II. It is not very rich in inward contents or in ideas. But he
possessed one surpassing merit: he, first of all among Russian poets,
brought poetry down from its lofty, classical flights to the every-day
life of his fatherland at that age, and to nature, and freed Russian
poetry from that monotonous, stilted, tiresome, official form which had
been introduced by Lomonósoff and copied by all the latter's followers.
Derzhávin's language is powerful, picturesque, and expressive, but still
harsh and uneven, the ordinary vernacular being mingled with
Church-Slavonic, and frequently obscuring the meaning; also, and owing
to his deficient education, he often had recourse to inelegant,
tasteless forms. If we compare him with Lomonósoff and Sumarókoff, it is
evident that Russian poetry had made a great stride in advance under
him, both as to external and internal development, in that he not only
brought it nearer to life, but also perfected its forms, to a
considerable degree, and applied it to subjects to which his
predecessors would never have dreamed of applying it. His famous ode
"God" will best serve to illustrate his style:
GOD[5]
O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Three in One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with _thyself_ alone:
Embracing all,--supporting,--ruling o'er,--
Being whom we call GOD--and know no more!
In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean deep, may count
The sands or the sun's rays--but God! for Thee
There is no weight nor measure:--none can mount
Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark:
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.
Thou from primeval nothingness didst call,
First chaos, then existence. Lord! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation; all
Sprung forth from Thee:--of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin:--all life, all beauty Thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create;
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.
Thou wert, and art, and shalt be! Glorious! Great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!
Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround:
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end has bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;
And as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.
A million torches lighted by Thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command;
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light--
A glorious company of golden streams--
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright--
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But Thou to these art as the noon to night.
Yes, as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in Thee is lost:--
What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
And what am _I_ then? Heaven's unnumber'd host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd
in all the glory of sublimest thought;
Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness; is a cypher brought
Against infinity! What am I, then? Naught!
Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom, too;
Yes! In my spirit doth Thy spirit shine
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Naught! But I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.
I am, O God! and surely _Thou_ must be!
Thou art! directing, guiding all, Thou art!
Direct my understanding then to Thee:
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom midst immensity,
Still I am something fashioned by Thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,
Close to the realms where angels have their birth,
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!
The chain of being is complete in me:
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit--Deity!
I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god!
Whence came I here, and how? so marvelously
Constructed and conceived? Unknown! This clod
Lives merely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be!
Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and thy word
Created me! Thou source of light and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude
Fill'd me with an immortal soul, to spring
O'er the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source--to Thee--its author there.
O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest!
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to Thy Deity.
God! Thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;
Thus seek Thy presence--Being wise and good!
Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.
But the literary activity of Katherine II.'s reign was not confined to
its two most brilliant representatives--Von Vízin and Derzhávin; many
less prominent writers, belonging to different parties and branches of
literature, were diligently at work. Naturally, there was as yet too
little independent Russian literature to permit of the existence of
criticism, or the establishment of a fixed standard of taste.
Among the worthy writers of the second class in that brilliant era, were
Kheraskóff, Bogdanóvitch, Khémnitzer, and Kápnist.
Mikháil Matvyéevitch Kheraskóff (1733-1801), the author of the epic "The
Rossiad," and of other less noteworthy works, was known during his
lifetime only to the very restricted circle of his friends. In his
convictions and views on literature he belonged to the epoch of
Lomonósoff and Sumarókoff; by birth and education to the highest
nobility. More faithfully than any other writer of his century does
Kheraskóff represent the pseudo-classical style in Russian epic, lyric,
and dramatic poetry, for he wrote all sorts of things, including
sentimental novels. To the classical enthusiasts of his day he seemed
the "Russian Homer," and his long poems, "The Rossiad" (1789) and
"Vladímir" (1786), were confidently believed to be immortal, being the
first tolerable specimens of the epic style in Russian literature. In
twelve long cantos he celebrates the capture of Kazán by Iván the
Terrible in "The Rossiad." "Vladímir" (eighteen cantos) celebrates the
Christianizing of Russia by Prince-Saint Vladímir.
Ippolít Feódorovitch Bogdanóvitch (1743-1803), who was developed under
the immediate supervision and patronage of Kheraskóff, belonged, by
education and his comprehension of elegance and of poetry, to a later
epoch--on the borderland between pseudo-classicism and the succeeding
period, which was ruled by sentimentalism. His well-known poem,
"Dúshenka" ("Dear Little Soul"), was the first light epic Russian poem,
with simple, intelligible language, and with a jesting treatment of a
gay, playful subject. This subject Bogdanóvitch borrowed from La
Fontaine's novel, "The Loves of Psyche and Cupid," which, in turn, was
borrowed from Apuleius.
The third writer of this group, Iván Ivánovitch Khémnitzer (1745-1784),
the son of a German physician, was unknown during his lifetime; enjoyed
no literary fame, and cared for none, regarding his capacities and
productions as unworthy of notice. In 1779, at the instigation of his
friends, he published a collection of his "Fables and Tales." At this
time there existed not a single tolerable specimen of the fable in
Russian; but by the time literary criticism did justice to Khémnitzer's
work, Karamzín, and Dmítrieff had become the favorites of the public,
and Khémnitzer's productions circulated chiefly among the lower classes,
for whom his Fables are still published. His works certainly aided
Dmítrieff and Krylóff in handling this new branch of poetical literature
in Russia. His "The Metaphysician" still remains one of the greatest
favorites among Russian fables for cultivated readers of all classes.
Briefly told, the contents of "The Metaphysician" are as follows: A
father, who had heard that children were sent beyond sea to be educated,
and that those so reared were more respected than those brought up at
home, determined, being wealthy, to send his son thither. The son,
despite his studies, from being stupid when he went, returned more
stupid than before, having fallen into the clutches of educational
quacks, of whom there is no lack. Aforetime, he had babbled stupidities
simply, but now he began to expound such things in learned wise;
aforetime, only the stupid had failed to understand him, now he was
beyond the comprehension of the wise. The whole house, and town, and
world were bored to death with his chatter. He was possessed with a
mania for searching out the cause of everything. With his wits thus
woolgathering as he walked, he one day suddenly tumbled into a pit. His
father, who chanced to be with him, rushed off to get a rope, wherewith
to drag out "his household wisdom." Meanwhile, his thoughtful child, as
he sat in the pit, reasoned with himself as to what might be the cause
of his fall, and came to the conclusion that it was an earthquake; also,
that his sudden flight into the pit might create an atmospheric
pressure, from the earth and the pit, which would wipe out the seven
planets. The father rushed up with a rope. "Here's a rope for you," says
he, "catch hold of it. I'll drag you out; look out that you don't fall
off!" "No, wait; don't pull me out yet; tell me first, what sort of a
thing is a rope?" "Although the father was not learned, he was gifted by
nature with common sense," winds up the fable.
Another, called "The Skinflint," runs thus:
"There was once a Skinflint, who had a vast amount of money.
And, as he was wont to say, he had grown rich,
Not by crooked deeds. Not by stealing or ruining men.
No, he took his oath to that: That God had sent all this wealth to
his house,
And that he feared not, in the least, to be convicted of injustice
towards his neighbor.
And to please the Lord for this, His mercy,
And to incline Him unto favors in time to come--
Or, possibly, just to soothe his conscience--
The Skinflint took it into his head to build a house for the poor.
The house was built, and almost finished. My Skinflint, gazing at it,
Beside himself with joy, cheers up and reasons with himself.
How great a service he to the poor hath rendered, in ordering a refuge
to be built for them!
Thus was my Skinflint inwardly exulting over his house.
Then one of his acquaintances chanced along.
The Skinflint said, with rapture, to his friend,
'I think a great lot of the poor can be housed here!'
'Of course, a great many can live here;
But you cannot get in all whom you've sent wandering homeless o'er
the earth!'"
One of Khémnitzer's most intimate friends, and also one of the most
notable members of Derzhávin's circle (being related to the latter
through his wife), was Vasíly Vasílievitch Kápnist (1757-1824), whose
ancestors had been members of an Italian family, the Counts Capnissi. He
owed his fame chiefly to his ode on "Slavery" (1783); to another, "On
the Extirpation in Russia of the Vocation of Slave by the Empress
Katherine II." (1786); and to a whole series celebrating the conquests
of the Russian arms in Turkey and Italy. But far more important are his
elegies and short lyrics, many of which are really very light and
graceful; and his translations of "The Monument," from Horace, which was
quite equal to Derzhávin's, or even Púshkin's. His masterpiece was the
comedy "Yábeda" (Calumny), which was written probably at the end of
Katherine's reign, and was printed under Paul I., in 1798. It contains a
sharp condemnation of the morals in the provincial courts of justice,
and of the incredible processes of chicanery and bribery through which
every business matter was forced to pass. The types which Kápnist put on
the stage, especially the pettifogger Právoloff, and the types of the
presiding judge and members of the bench, were very accurately drawn,
and can hardly fail to have been taken from life. Alarmed by the
numerous persecutions of literary men which took place during the last
years of Katherine II.'s reign, Kápnist dared not publish his comedy
until the accession of the Emperor Paul I., when he dedicated it to the
Emperor, and set forth in a poetical preface the entire harmlessness of
his satire. But even this precaution was of no avail. The comedy created
a tremendous uproar and outcry from officialdom in general; the Emperor
was petitioned to prohibit the piece, and to administer severe
punishment to the "unpatriotic" author. The Emperor is said to have
taken the petition in good faith and to have ordered that Kápnist be
dispatched forthwith to Siberia. But after dinner his wrath cooled (the
petitioners had even declared that the comedy flagrantly jeered at the
monarchical power), and he began to doubt the justice of his command. He
ordered the piece to be played that very evening in the Hermitage
Theater (in the Winter Palace). Only he and the Grand Duke Alexander
(afterwards Alexander I.), were present at the performance. After the
first act the Emperor, who had applauded incessantly, sent the first
state courier he could put his hand on to bring Kápnist back on the
instant. He richly rewarded the author on the latter's return, and
showed him favor until he died. Another amusing testimony to the
lifelikeness of Kápnist's types is narrated by an eye-witness. "I
happened," says this witness, "in my early youth, to be present at a
representation of 'Calumny' in a provincial capital; and when Khvatáïko
(Grabber), sang,
'Take, there's no great art in that;
Take whatever you can get;
What are hands appended to us for
If not that we may take, take, take?'
all the spectators began to applaud, and many of them, addressing the
official who occupied the post corresponding to that of Grabber,
shouted his name in unison, and cried, 'That's you! That's you!'"
Towards the end of Katherine II.'s reign, a new school, which numbered
many young writers, arose. At the head of it, by reason of his ability
as a journalist, literary man, poet, and savant, stood Nikolái
Mikháilovitch Karamzín (1766-1826). Karamzín was descended from a Tatár
princeling, Karamurza, who accepted Christianity in the days of the
Tzars of Moscow. He did much to disseminate in society a discriminating
taste in literature, and more accurate views in regard to it. During the
first half of his sixty years' activity--that under Katherine II.--he
was a poet and literary man; during the latter and most considerable
part of his career--under Alexander I.--he was a historian. His first
work to win him great renown was his "Letters of a Russian Traveler,"
written after a trip lasting a year and a half to Germany, Switzerland,
France, and England, begun in 1789, and published in the "Moscow
Journal," which he established in 1791. For the next twelve years
Karamzín devoted himself exclusively to journalism and literature. It
was his most brilliant literary period, and during it his labors were
astonishing in quantity and varied in subject, as the taste of the
majority of readers in that period demanded. During this period he was
not only a journalist, but also a poet, literary man, and critic. His
poetical compositions are rather shallow, and monotonous in form, but
were highly esteemed by his contemporaries. They are interesting at the
present day chiefly because of their historical and biographical
details, as a chronicle of history, and of the heart of a profoundly
sincere man. Their themes are, generally, the love of nature, of country
life, friendship; together with gentleness, sensibility, melancholy,
scorn for rank and wealth, dreams of immortality with posterity. His
greatest successes with the public were secured by "Poor Liza," and
"Natálya, the Boyár's Daughter," which served as much-admired models for
sentimentalism to succeeding generations. Sentimentality was no novelty
in Russia; it had come in with translations from English novels, such as
Richardson's "Clarissa Harlowe," and the like; and imitations of them in
Russia. "Sensibility" was held to be the highest quality in human
nature, and a man's--much more a woman's--worth was measured by the
amount of "sensibility" he or she possessed. This new school paid scant
heed to the observation and study of real life. An essential tenet in
the cult consisted of a glorification of the distant past, "the good old
times," adorned by fancy, as the ideal model for the present; the
worship of the poor but honest country folk, the ideal of equality,
freedom, happiness, and nearness to nature.
Of this style, Karamzín's "Poor Liza" is the most perfect and admired
specimen. Liza, a poor country lass, is "beautiful in body and soul,"
supremely gifted with tenderness and sensibility. Erást, a wealthy
noble, possessed of exceptional brains and a kind heart, but weak and
trifling by nature, falls in love with her. He begins to dream of the
idyllic past, "in which people strolled, care-free, through the meadows,
bathed in crystal clear pools, kissed like turtle-doves, reposed amid
roses and myrtle, and passed their days in happy idleness." So he feels
himself summoned to the embrace of nature, and determines to abandon the
high society, for a while at least. He even goes so far as to assure
Liza that it is possible for him to marry her, despite the immense
difference in their social stations; that "an innocent soul, gifted with
sensibility, is the most important thing of all, and Liza will ever be
the nearest of all persons to his heart." But he betrays her,
involuntarily. When she becomes convinced of his treachery, she throws
herself into a pond hard by, beneath the ancient oaks which but a short
time before had witnessed their joys.
"Natálya, the Boyár's Daughter," is a glorification of a fanciful past,
far removed from reality, in which "Russians were Russians"; and against
this background, Karamzín sets a tale, even simpler and more innocent,
of the love of Natálya and Alexéi, with whom Natálya falls in love, "in
one minute, on beholding him for the first time, and without ever having
heard a single word about him." These stories, and Karamzín's "Letters
of a Russian Traveler," already referred to, had an astonishing success;
people even learned them by heart, and the heroes of them became the
favorite ideals of the young; while the pool where Liza was represented
as having drowned herself (near the Simónoff Monastery, in the suburbs
of Moscow) became the goal for the rambles of those who were also
"gifted with sensibility." The appearance of these tales is said to have
greatly increased the taste for reading in society, especially among
women.
Although Karamzín did not possess the gift of artistic creation, and
although the imaginative quality is very deficient in his works, his
writings pleased people as the first successful attempts at light
literature. In his assumption that people should write as they talked,
Karamzín entirely departed from Lomonósoff's canons as to the three
styles permissible, and thereby imparted the final impulse to the
separation of the Russian literary language from the bookish,
Church-Slavonic diction. His services in the reformation and improvement
of the Russian literary language were very important, despite the
violent opposition he encountered from the old conservative literary
party.[6]
When Alexander I. ascended the throne, in 1801, Karamzín turned his
attention to history. In 1802 he founded the "European Messenger" (which
is still the leading monthly magazine of Russia), and began to publish
in it historical articles which were, in effect, preparatory to his
extended and famous "History of the Russian Empire," published in 1818,
fine in style, but not accurate, in the modern sense of historical work.
Karamzín's nearest followers, the representatives of the sentimental
tendency in literature, and of the writers who laid the foundations for
the new literary language and style, were Dmítrieff and Ózeroff.
Iván Ivánovitch Dmítrieff (1760-1810), and Vladisláff Alexándrovitch
Ózeroff (1769-1816), both enjoyed great fame in their day. Dmítrieff,
while under the guidance of Karamzín, making sentimentalism the ruling
feature in Russian epic and lyric poetry, perfected both the general
style of Russian verse, and the material of the light, poetical
language. Ózeroff, under the same influence and tendency, aided in the
final banishment from the Russian stage of pseudo-classical ideals and
dramatic compositions constructed according to theoretical rules.
Dmítrieff's most prominent literary work was a translation of La
Fontaine's Fables, and some satirical writings. Ózeroff, in 1798, put on
the stage his first, and not entirely successful, tragedy, "Yáropolk and
Olég."[7] His most important work, both from the literary and the
historical points of view--although not so regarded by his
contemporaries--was his drama "Fingal," founded on Ossian's Songs, and
is a triumph of northern poetry and of the Russian tongue, rich in
picturesqueness, daring, and melody. His contemporaries regarded "Dmítry
Donskóy" as his masterpiece, although in reality it is one of the least
noteworthy of his compositions, and it enjoyed a brilliant success.
But the most extreme and talented disciples of the Karamzín school were
Vasíly Andréevitch Zhukóvsky (1783-1852) and Konstantín Nikoláevitch
Bátiushkoff (1786-1855), who offer perfectly clear examples of the
transition from the sentimental to the new romantic school, which began
with Púshkin. Everything of Zhukóvsky's that was original, that is to
say, not translated, was an imitation, either of the solemn, bombastic
productions of the preceding poets of the rhetorical school, or of the
tender, dreamy, melancholy works of the sentimental school, until he
devoted himself to translations from the romantic German and English
schools. He was not successful in his attempts to create original
Russian work in the romantic vein; and his chief services to Russian
literature (despite the great figure he played in it during his day)
must be regarded as having consisted in giving romanticism a chance to
establish itself firmly on Russian soil; and in having, by his splendid
translations, among them Schiller's "Maid of Orleans," Byron's "The
Prisoner of Chillon," and de la Mott Fouqué's "Undine," brought Russian
literature into close relations with a whole mass of literary models,
enlarged the sphere of literary criticism, and definitively deprived
pseudo-classical theories and models of all force and influence.
Zhukóvsky's own history and career were romantic. He was the son of a
wealthy landed proprietor named Búnin, who already had eleven children;
when his peasants, on setting out for Rumyántzoff's army as sutlers,
asked their owner, "What shall we bring thee from the Turkish land,
little father?" Búnin replied, in jest, "Bring me a couple of pretty
Turkish lasses; you see my wife is growing old." The peasants took him
at his word, and brought two young Turkish girls, who had been captured
at the siege of Bender. The elder, Salkha, aged sixteen, first served as
nurse to Búnin's daughters. In 1783, shortly after seven of his children
had died within a short time of each other, she bore him a son, who was
adopted by one of his friends, a member of the petty nobility, Búnin's
daughter standing as godmother to the child, and his wife receiving it
into the family, and rearing it like a son, in memory of her dead, only
son. This baby was the future poet Zhukóvsky. When Búnin died, he
bequeathed money to the child, and his widow and daughters gave him the
best of educations. Zhukóvsky began to print bits of melancholy poetry
while he was still at the university preparatory school. When he became
closely acquainted with Karamzín (1803-1804), he came under the latter's
influence so strongly that the stamp remained upon all the productions
of the first half of his career, the favorite "Svyetlána" (Amaryllis),
written in 1811, being a specimen. In 1812 Zhukóvsky served in the army,
and wrote his poem "The Bard in the Camp of the Russian Warriors,"[8]
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
Zhukóvsky'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 manuscript to the Emperor's mother, the Empress
Márya Feódorovna. 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 Duchess Alexándra
Feódorovna (wife of Nikolái Pávlovitch, afterwards the Emperor Nicholas
I.), and his fortune was assured. 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]
Bátiushkoff, as a poet, was the exact opposite of Zhukóvsky, being the
first to grasp the real significance of the mood of the ancient
classical poets, and to appropriate not only their views on life and
enjoyment, but even their plastic and thoroughly artistic mode of
expression. While Zhukóvsky removed poetry from earth and rendered it
ethereal, Bátiushkoff 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
Zhukóvsky, to the school of Karamzín. But his versification, his
subject-matter are entirely independent of all preceding influences. In
beauty of versification and plastic worth, Bátiushkoff had no
predecessors in Russian literature, and no competitors in the school of
Karamzín. He was of ancient, noble family, well educated, and began to
publish at the age of eighteen.
We now come, chronologically, to a writer who cannot be assigned either
to the old sentimental school of Karamzín, or to the new romantic school
of which Púshkin 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. Iván Andréevitch Krylóff (1763-1844) began his literary work
almost simultaneously with Karamzín, 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 Púshkin. 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, Krylóff 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 Márya Feódorovna's circle of court poets and literary men.
From 1812-1840, or later, Krylóff 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
masses, 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 Krylóff'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 Krylóff, 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 Karamzín, in the rather rough vernacular of the masses, 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 "Demyán's Fish-Soup." The manner in which the lines are
rhymed in the original is indicated by corresponding figures.
DEMYÁN'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 assure 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 Demyán neighbor Fóka entertain.
And let him neither breathe nor rest;
But sweat from Fóka 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!"
Demyán did shout: "But I can't bear the stuck-up; come, eat another
plateful, my dear fellow!"
Thereupon, my poor Fóka,
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 Demyán'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 Demyán'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 Lomonósoff 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 Karamzín, contributed their share
to this great undertaking. Púshkin practically completed it and molded
the hitherto somewhat harsh and awkward forms into an exquisite medium
for every requirement of literature. Alexánder Sergyéevitch Púshkin
(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-classicism 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 nobles who occupied important posts under Peter the
Great. His mother was a granddaughter of Hannibal, the negro of whom
Púshkin wrote under the title of "Peter the Great's Arab." This Hannibal
was a slave who had been brought from Africa to Constantinople, where
the Russian ambassador 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 Ioánnovna 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. Púshkin, 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, Púshkin 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 Tzárskoe Seló (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
Derzhávin was among the visitors; and when he heard the boy read his
"Memories of Tzárskoe Seló," 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.
Karamzín and Zhukóvsky 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.
Púshkin 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,
Púshkin 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, "Ruslán and Liudmíla" (which
Glínka 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 Baktchesarái," "The Gypsies," and a part of
his famous "Evgény Onyégin," 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--Púshkin was ordered
to reside on one of the paternal estates, in the government of Pskoff.
Here, under the influence of his old nurse, Arína Rodiónovna, 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 Lérmontoff. 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 Pugatchéff'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 Gógol, 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, "Evgény Onyégin" (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, Evgény
Onyégin, 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 Lénsky, a
congenial spirit, a young poet, who has had the advantage of foreign
education, the son of one of the neighbors. Olga Lárin, the young
daughter of another neighbor, has long been betrothed to Lénsky, and the
latter naturally introduces Onyégin to her family. Olga's elder sister,
Tatyána, promptly falls in love with Onyégin, and in a letter, which is
always quoted as one of the finest passages in Russian literature, and
the most perfect portrait of the noble Russian woman's soul, she
declares her love for him. Onyégin politely snubs her, lecturing her in
a fatherly way, and no one is informed of the occurrence, except
Tatyána'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, Tatyána's name-day festival is celebrated
by a dinner, at which Onyégin is present, being urged thereto by Lénsky.
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 Tatyána, and innocently scheming to bring them together,
place him opposite her at dinner. Angered by this, he revenges himself
on the wholly innocent Lénsky, 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 Lénsky
challenges Onyégin to a duel, and the seconds insist that it must be
fought, though Onyégin would gladly apologize. He kills Lénsky,
unintentionally, and immediately departs on his travels. Olga speedily
consoles herself, and marries a handsome officer. Tatyána, 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
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