About the poems of Mr. Yazykov

Two years ago, the French journal Debates solemnly announced to Europe that one of its first-class poets, Mr. Derzhavin, had died in Russia. At the end of last year, a Collection of Russian stories selected from Bulgarin, Karamzin and others (Le Conteur Russe, par Bulgarine, Karamsin et autres...) was published in France. Tell me, what is stranger: talking about Russian literature without knowing Derzhavin, or putting together the names of Bulgarin, Karamzin and others? Which of the two examples proves greater ignorance of our literature? To solve this issue, you need to have a particularly sharp insight, of which I do not dare to be proud, and therefore I leave this matter to my readers. But in any case, one thing seems certain to me: Russian literature has been known in France for almost as long as Persian or Tatar literature. And the thought that not a single shadow of our thought, not a single sound of our voice will reach the educated peoples is a difficult thought; and besides sadness, it must have another harmful influence on our writers. Our writer involuntarily restricts the circle of his mental activity, thinking about his readers, while the French writer, when thinking about printing, expands his concepts; for with every happy movement of the mind, with every poetically original feeling, with every word successfully spoken, there appears to him hope, an inspirational hope for sympathy with everything that is enlightened and glorious in the world. That is why every attempt to introduce educated foreigners to our literature should be met with gratitude and, possibly, a correct assessment. But among all the translators from the Russian language, three are especially remarkable for the success of their translations. Bowring, who was one of the three appreciated and perhaps even overrated by foreign and Russian critics; Karl von der Borg, whose translations are without comparison of greater merit, but who, despite this, is known to very few and has not yet found a fair trial for himself in any journal; and, finally, Caroline von Janisch, to whom a wonderful book appeared at the last Leipzig fair and, it seems, reveals an even more excellent talent 1 . But, no matter how comforting this beginning of a friendly rapprochement between our literature and German literature is, I admit, however, that I was more annoyed than pleased to see how one of our first-class poets was understood and appreciated better than all the Russians - the German writer! G. F.-D.-Borg, in one of the last issues of the Dorpat Chronicles 2 in a few lines, said more true about the works of Yazykov than what was said about them in all our periodical and non-periodic publications. However, it is also true that until now we have not yet spoken about Yazykov, but only cried out. One Telegraph expressed his opinion, and he, judging by Yazykov, did not seem to be free from such prejudices with which the truth does not always coexist. At the beginning of his article, Mr. F.D.-Borg complains about the heavy feeling that the newest poetic works of Europe arouse in him, and in this case he speaks of the consolation that the contemplation of fresh, youthful literature gives him, which has not yet reached the time of its full prosperity, but is already giving him a presentiment. Who does not share with Mr. Borg the feeling that the modern poetry of Europe arouses in him? But if it concerns the special consolation that Russian literature gives him, then in this case - why shouldn’t we take Mr. Borg at his word? Maybe from the outside it should seem so. “This comforting feeling,” continues Mr. Borg, “is similar to the one that spring arouses in us, when hope still paints us the future in a better light, while the most beautiful days of autumn inspire involuntary sadness... When the poet, who belongs to youth literature, is himself still in the time of youth and hope, then from his creations he brings to us a double spring, so that its effect on the soul becomes irresistible. I encountered such a breath of spring in the works of Yazykov, which for the Dorpat Chronicles also have the special interest that the young poet belonged to the University of Dorpat for several years and owes his higher education to him. In addition, his poems were written for the most part during his life in Dorpat, or filled with memories of this life. They belong almost exclusively to the lyrical genre and are mostly composed in an elegiac tone... However, drinking and erotic songs are not excluded from the collection and many of them are especially happy. Fatherland, love, friendship “and the fraternal life of cheerful young comrades - these are the poet’s favorite subjects. In general, his poems captivate with a kind of “freshness and simplicity, and there is hardly one poem that could be called a failure. But a special charm lies in his language, distinguished by strength, novelty and often audacity of expressions, while “his verse is filled with the most rare euphony. If “we add to what has been said that these harmonious verses express an always noble feeling, a soul completely imbued with love for the beautiful and great, then “of course we will arouse the curiosity of everyone who takes part” in the successes of Russian literature. This is the opinion of Mr. Borg. It seemed to us especially remarkable in the sense that, of all the reviewers Yazykov to this day, he alone comprehended the poetic and moral side of those of the poet’s poems that brought him so many strange reproaches among us. Hearing incessant reproaches to Yazykov, I always remember one Russian gentleman who went to send his son to some German university; Having met a student on the street without a tie and with long hair, he immediately understood from this all the immorality of German universities, and returned home to raise his son in Saratov. In general, many of us still retain the unfortunate Old Believer habit of judging morality more by outward decorum than by the inner dignity of action and thought. We often consider those who do not violate decency to be moral people, even if their life was the most insignificant, even if their soul was devoid of any desire for goodness and beauty. If you happen to meet a person warmed by sublime feelings, but gifted with strong passions, then remember and count: how many people there were who understood the beauty of his soul in him, and how many who noticed only errors! It’s strange, but true, that for our good reputation it is better not to act at all than to sometimes make mistakes, while, in fact, tell me: is there anything in the world more immoral than indifference? Of course, I am repeating here old thoughts that are well known to everyone; but why not sometimes repeat the old truth? There are thoughts that everyone knows, but only in theory; in order to understand them in daily use, for this, in addition to mental enlightenment, we also need an enlightened life, organized in the midst of an enlightened society, where thoughts from abstract reasoning have turned into an inconspicuous habit: until then, the truth is not yet vulgarity. That is why the German scientist, distinguished by the most delicate stiffness, is more likely to understand the morality of Yazykov’s poems than many of his most indulgent Russian readers. Meanwhile, if we impartially delve into his poetry, we will not only find it not immoral, but we are unlikely to even count many poets among us who could boast of greater purity and sublimity. True, he sings of wine and nameless beauties; but should he be reproached for the fact that those objects that act discordantly on others inspire him with poetic hymns? – True, drunkenness is a humiliating and disgusting thing; but if there is a person on whom wine has a different effect, then instead of immorality, wouldn’t this, on the contrary, be proof of the special purity and harmony of his soul? – Let’s assume that only spring, flowers and music have a pure and poetic effect on you, and everything else that excites your nerves inspires unclean thoughts in you - in this case you do well by abstaining from everything stimulating. However, this should not stop you from being fair to others. And is it Yazykov’s fault that those objects that leave traces of dirt on the souls of others leave pearls of poetry on his soul, precious, fiery, round pearls? Select the most reprehensible, in your opinion, from Yazykov’s published poems (for we have no right to judge unpublished ones as unrecognized ones), and say frankly: do they produce an unclean influence on you? When Anacreon sings of wine and beauties, I see in him a cheerful sensualist; when Derzhavin glorifies voluptuousness, I see in him a moment of moral weakness; but, I confess, in Yazykov I see neither weakness nor actual voluptuousness; for where others have a moment of powerlessness, there he has an excess of strength; where others have simple attraction, Yazykov has delight, and where there is true delight, music, and inspiration - there let others look for the low and dirty; For me, delight and dirt seem to be the same contradiction as fire and cold, beauty and ugliness, poetry and sluggish egoism. However, we could judge Yazykov’s works in this way only if, of all his poems, we knew only table and erotic ones. But if, with all that has been said, we also realize that perhaps there is no poet more deeply and powerfully imbued with love for the fatherland, for glory and poetry; that, perhaps, there is no artist who would feel a more holy reverence for beauty and inspiration, then all the reproaches of immorality will seem strange to us to the point of comical, and it will even be difficult for us to answer them, for it will be difficult to understand their possibility. But enough. We have already dwelled too much on a subject that is already too clear. There are prejudices that do not recognize evidence; there is myopia, which no telescope can help. We write for people who are sighted and impartial. Yazykov’s poems suggest to us another question, more practical and more interesting, and in this case I would especially like to find the sympathy of my readers. Blessed are those moments When in view of the years to come, Before the incense of inspiration The task of criticism, when analyzing poets, is usually to determine the degree and characteristics of their talent, evaluate their taste and direction, and show, as much as possible, the beauty and shortcomings of their works. - The matter is difficult, sometimes interesting, often useless, and almost always unsatisfactory, although it is based on positive laws. But when an original poet appears, opening up a new area in the world of beauty and thus adding a new element to the poetic life of his people, then the duty of criticism changes. The question of artistic dignity becomes a secondary issue; even the question of talent is not the main one; but the thought that animated the poet receives original, philosophical interest; and his face becomes an idea, and his creatures become transparent, so that we do not so much look at them as through them, as through an open window; We try to examine the very inside of the new church and the deity in it who sanctifies it. That is why, entering the studio of an ordinary painter, we can be amazed at his art; but in front of a painting by a creative artist we forget art, trying to understand the thought expressed in it, to comprehend the feeling that gave rise to this thought, and to live in our imagination the state of soul in which it was fulfilled. However, this last sympathy with the artist is characteristic only of artists; but in general people sympathize with him only in what is purely human in him: with his love, with his melancholy, with his delights, with his comforting dream, in a word, with what happens inside his heart, without caring about the events of his workshop. Thus, at a certain degree of perfection, art destroys itself, turning into thought, turning into soul. But this soul of graceful creatures - a gentle, musical soul that trembles in sounds and breathes in colors - is elusive to the mind. Only another soul imbued with it can understand it. That is why criticism of exemplary works should be not so much a judgment as a simple testimony; for it depends on the individual, and therefore can be arbitrary, and is based on sympathy, and therefore must be partial. What should systematic critics do, who want to prove beauty and force you to enjoy according to the rules, pointing out what is good and what is bad? – They are left with ordinary works as a consolation, for which there are positive, clear laws, not subject to arbitrary interpretation – and it must be admitted that this consolation is enormous; for in the literature of every nation you meet a few poets of engines, while all others only follow the direction given by them, being subject to criticism only by the art of execution, but not by the soul of the creation. Several lamps surrounded by a thousand broken mirror pieces, where the same thing is repeated a thousand times - this is the image of the literature of the most enlightened peoples. How many pleasant activities there are for someone who wants to calculate all the angles of reflection of light on these mirror fragments. But if in general what we call the soul of art cannot be proven through mathematical arguments, but must be directly understood by the heart, or simply accepted on faith, then it is even less possible to demand strictly mathematical proofs where we are dealing with a young poet, whose works, although they bear the signs of original poetry, still do not represent its full development. That is why, trying to resolve the question of what constitutes the character of Yazykov’s poetry, I especially need the sympathy of my readers; for it alone can serve as a justification for thoughts based solely on the suggestions of the heart, and partly even on its guesses. It seems to me – and I repeat that my opinion comes from one individual impression – it seems to me that the focus of Yazykov’s poetry is that feeling that I cannot define otherwise than by calling it the desire for spiritual spaciousness. This desire is noticeable in almost all the dreams of the poet, is reflected in almost all his feelings, and it may even be that all the characteristics and predilections of his poetic inspirations can be deduced from it. If we delve into the impression that his poetry makes on us, we will see that it acts on the soul like wine, which he glorifies, like some kind of magic wine, from which life doubles in our eyes: one life appears to us cramped, shallow, everyday; the other is festive, poetic, spacious. The first oppresses the soul; the second frees her, elevates her and fills her with delight. And between these two existences lies a clear, bottomless abyss; but across this abyss fate has thrown several living bridges along which the soul passes from one life to another: this is love, this is glory, friendship, wine, the thought of the fatherland, the thought of poetry and, finally, those moments of unaccountable, riotous fun when the heart’s own sounds drown out the voice of the surrounding world - sounds that the heart owes to its own youth more than to the random object that aroused them. But not one life, and poetry itself from this point of view appears to us doubly: first as a prophecy, as a heartfelt guess, then as a story, as a heartfelt memory of the best moments of the soul. In the first case, it takes you into the unearthly world; in the second, she extracts from real life those moments when two worlds touched each other, and conveys these moments as a true, pure mirror. But both have one beginning, one source, and that is why it is not strange for us to find in Yazykov’s works a cheerful drinking song next to a holy prayer, and a reflection of the riotous life of a student next to a high psalm. On the contrary, with the most diverse subjects, Yazykov’s lyre always remains true to its main tone, so that all his poems, taken together, seem to be sparks of one fire, brilliant fragments of one poem, unsaid, torn, but whose integrity and harmony are clear from the parts. So sometimes in a few actions of a person with character the whole story of his life is revealed to us. But precisely because Yazykov’s dominant ideal is a celebration of the heart, the spaciousness of the soul and life, therefore the dominant feeling of his poetry is some kind of electric delight; and the dominant tone of his poems is a kind of sonorous solemnity. This sonorous solemnity, combined with courageous strength, this luxury, this brilliance and expanse, this ebullience and sonority, this pomp and splendor of language, decorated, imbued with elegance of taste and grace - this is the distinctive charm and at the same time the special mark of Yazykov’s verse. Even where the dominant spirit of his poetry is least expressed, one cannot help but recognize his poems by the special harmony and brightness of sounds that belong exclusively to his lyre. But this feature, which so sharply distinguishes his verse from other Russian poems, becomes even more noticeable when we compare him with foreign poets. And in this case, Yazykov is especially happy because the main difference between his words is also the main difference between the Russian language. For, if the Italian language can compete with ours in harmony in general, then, of course, it will yield to it in manly sonority, in splendor and solemnity - and therefore the poet, whose verse surpasses all Russian poetry, precisely in that the Russian language surpasses other languages ​​- becomes in this regard a poet-model not only for Russia. But this external feature of Yazykov’s poems could only develop to such a degree of perfection that it, as we have already noted, serves as a necessary expression of the internal features of his poetry. It is not just a body into which a soul has been breathed, but a soul that has taken on the evidence of the body. It is interesting to observe, reading Yazykov, how the dominant direction of his poetry leaves its traces on every feeling of the poet, and how all the objects surrounding him respond to him with the same echo. I do not provide examples because for this it would be necessary to rewrite the entire collection of his poems; I will only recall the expression of that feeling that is most often sung by poets, and therefore can most clearly show their peculiarity: And you, the singer’s attentive friends, Comrades, what do you think? For you I sang German leisure, The arrogant intoxication of a learned head, And that holiday, noisy every year, There by the pond, on the velvet meadows, Where he went around the blue-water bay Green slope of wooded banks? – The moon has risen, the trees are fragrant, The zephyr of spring flowed the night shadow, The fire was burning - we feasted for a long time And, stormy, they greeted the day! Comrades! isn't it? at the feast Has the lyric poet displeased you? And this feast is not celebrated at random, You rejoiced at my lyre!... No, not for you! - She praised me She liked my riotous wreath, And the arrogant power of youth, And boiling water of fiery delight. When she has playful dreams, Hospitable, pursued them; When she, with cheerful lips, My happy one recited a verse - Solemn, full of charm, Fresh, and where was my soul! Oh, away my future creations, Oh, woe is me when I forget The fire of her friendly gaze, And on the brow there is an excess of harmonious thoughts, And the sweet sound of speeches, and a bright mind In the pouring crystal of conversation. She's gone! Everything about her was perfect! And there was a great secret in her, What the young man sought autocratically To a prominent path and pure deeds; He felt: sublime blessings There is on earth! – There is a whole world of work And in it - hopes and thoughts courage, And life is always free! Blessed is he who was caressed by her love, Who sang it under the sky of the best years.... She understood the whole poet - And the poet is proud, and quiet, and trembling He brought his idolization to her; And joyfully, in the name of God, Consonant words gathered into a choir! Inspiration burned like incense! I don’t know if I managed to clearly express my thoughts when speaking about Yazykov’s dominant direction; but if I was so happy that my readers shared my opinion, then I don’t need to continue any more. Having defined the character of poetry, we have defined everything; for it contains both its special beauties and its special shortcomings. But let anyone who wants to find appropriate categories and names for them - I only know how to enjoy and, I confess, am too lazy to play with words without a purpose, and I expect so much from Yazykov in the future that I cannot see anything significant in his present shortcomings. Now, judging by some of the poems in his collection, it seems that the dawn of a new era has already begun for his poetry. Probably, the poet, having penetrated deeper into life and reality, will develop his ideal to greater significance. At least, hope is one of those feelings that are most strongly aroused by his poems - and if his poetry were destined to remain forever in the circle of dreaminess in which it had been until now, then we would blame fate for this, which, having given us a poet, sent him into the world too early or too late for full powerful action; for in our time all the most important questions of existence and success are hidden in the experiences of reality and in sympathy with universal human life; and therefore poetry, not imbued with essentiality, cannot have a fairly broad influence on people, nor a fairly deep influence on a person. However, if we want greater development for Yazykov’s poetry, this does not mean that we want it to change; on the contrary, we repeat after him - and in this everyone who understands the poet and sympathizes with him will join us - we repeat from the heart for him his prayer to Providence: Let, unchangeable, new life Will come to the mysterious gates, Like the Volga shaft white-headed Das Nordlicht, Proben der neueren russischen Literatur, von Caroline von Jaenisch. Dorpater Jahrbücher für Literatur, Statistik und Kunst, besonders Russlands herausgegeben von Profess. Dr. Bloom, Dr. Bunge, Dr. Goedel, Dr. Neue, Dr. Struve, v. d. Borg, Dr. Friedlander, Dr. Kruse, Dr. Rathke, Dr. Walter. In support of his words, Mr. F.-D.-Borg cites several poems by Yazykov along with his translation. We rewrite one of them, (This is Yazykov’s poem: Alien, Die Fremde, which is omitted here. Ed.) so that those of our readers who do not know Mr. Borg’s translations can judge his talent in the most difficult test that has ever faced a translator; for of all the newest poets of Tongues there may be the most untranslatable. You might be interested in: