Review of Russian Literature for 1829

Before we begin to review the literature of the past year, I ask enlightened readers to pay attention to an essay that, although published earlier than 29, had an influence on its current literature; which should have an even greater effect on the future life of our literature; which, more successfully than all other works of the Russian pen, should clear the way for us to European enlightenment; which we can be proud of in front of all states where works of this kind are published; whose publication (excluding, perhaps, the establishment of the Lancastrian schools) was the most important event for the good of Russia for many years, and more important than our brilliant victories beyond the Danube and Ararat, more important than the capture of Erzerum, and that glorious shadow that the Russian banners cast on the walls of Constantinople. This book, the reader has already named the Censorship Charter. His influence on the current literature of the past year, although little noticeable, was nevertheless real. Our magazines have borrowed more from foreign magazines; the translations, although mostly bad, conveyed to us more traces of the mental life of our neighbors, and as a result all of our literature inconspicuously came closer to the life of all-European people. The very squabbles of our magazines, their indecent critics, their wild tone, their strange personalities, their uncity politeness - all this was like the discordant movements of an unswaddled child, movements necessary for the development of strength, for future beauty and health. But, in order to more accurately determine the peculiarity of our literature of the past year, to discover in it the signs of the dominant trend of our literature in general and its relationship to the holistic enlightenment of Europe, let’s take a quick look at the character of all our literature of the nineteenth century; for the past alone gives value and indicates the place of the present, determining the path for the future. Our literature of the nineteenth century can be divided into three eras, different in the particular direction of each of them, but connected by the unity of their development. The character of the first era is determined by the influence of Karamzin; the focus of the second was Zhukovsky's Muse; Pushkin may be a representative of the third. The beginning of the nineteenth century, in literary terms, represents a sharp contrast with the end of the eighteenth. Within a few years, enlightenment has made such rapid progress that at first glance it is incredible. It seems that someone woke up half-asleep Russia. From lazy indifference, she suddenly turns to a thirst for education, seeks teaching, books, is ashamed of her former ignorance and hastens to become related to foreign opinions. When Karamzin appeared, the readers were already ready for him; and his amazing successes prove not so much the strength of his talents as the widespread love of enlightenment. But let's stop here and marvel at the strangeness of human fate. The one to whom our enlightenment owes such rapid successes, who advanced the education of our people by half a century, who used his whole life for the good of the fatherland and has already seen the fruits of his influence in all corners of the Russian kingdom, the man to whom Russia owes so much - he died recently, almost forgotten by everyone, near that Moscow, which was the witness and focus of his brilliant activity. His name is now barely known to most of our contemporaries; and if Karamzin had not spoken about him, then perhaps many, reading this article, would have heard for the first time about the affairs of Novikov and his comrades, and would have doubted the reliability of events so close to us. The memory of him has almost disappeared; the participants in his labors dispersed, drowned in the dark worries of private activity; many are no longer there; but the deed they accomplished remains: it lives, it bears fruit and seeks the gratitude of posterity. Novikov did not spread, but created in us a love of science and a desire to read. Before him, according to Karamzin, there were two bookstores in Moscow that sold 10 thousand rubles annually; a few years later there were already 20 of them, and 200 thousand worth of books were sold. In addition, Novikov opened bookstores in other and in the most remote cities of Russia; he disseminated almost for nothing those works which he considered especially important; He forced useful books to be translated, spread participants in his activities everywhere, and soon not only all of European Russia, but also Siberia began to read. Then our fatherland was, although not for long, a witness to an event that was almost unique in the annals of our enlightenment: the birth of a common opinion. This is how typographer Novikov acted. It is remarkable that almost at the same time, another printer, the more famous, the happier, the printer Franklin, was operating in almost the same way at the opposite end of the globe; but the consequences of their activities were as different as Russia is different from the United States. Perhaps Karamzin himself owes his first education to Novikov and his like-minded friends. At least in their circle the first development of his brilliant talents began, and he left us a touching description of his friendship with one of them, with Mr. II. 1. Should we talk about another comrade of Novikov, about this glorious Lenz, about the hope and surprise of enlightened Europe, who here, in poverty and extremes, froze on the highway 2! – Karamzin found his audience under the influence of mysticism, strangely mixed with French opinions from the mid-eighteenth century. These two directions had to be focused, and they naturally united in that philanthropic way of thinking that breathes through all of Karamzin’s first works. It seems that he was brought up for his audience and the audience for him. Every word of his was spread throughout Russia; he was taught his prose by heart and his poems were admired, despite their unpoetic finishing - this is how he agreed with the mentality of his time. Meanwhile, the universality of his influence proves to us that already at the first birth of our literature, we were looking primarily for philosophy in poetry itself, and behind the image of opinion we forgot the image of expression. We still don’t know what a pennant and a fantasy are; some kind of truthfulness of a dream constitutes the originality of the Russian imagination; and what we call feeling is the highest thing we can comprehend in poetic works. The direction given by Karamzin further opened our literature to the influence of French literature. But precisely because we were looking for philosophy in literature, looking for the full expression of man, Karamzin’s way of thinking was bound to captivate us at first, and subsequently become unsatisfactory for us. A person is not completely drowned in real life, especially among inactive people. The best side of our being, the ideal, dreamy side, the one that life does not give us, but we give to our life; which is predominantly developed by German poetry, remained unexpressed among us. The French-Karamzin direction did not embrace her. People for whom Karamzin’s way of thinking was the crowning achievement of their own development remained calm; but those who began education with Karamzin’s opinions, with the development of life, saw their incompleteness and felt the need for something new. Old Russia was resting; for the young one needed Zhukovsky. Ideality, purity and depth of feelings; holiness of the past; faith in beauty, in the immutability of friendship, in the eternity of love, in the dignity of man and the goodness of Providence; the desire for the unearthly; indifference to everything ordinary, to everything that is not soul, that is not love - in a word, all the poetry of life, the whole heart of the soul, if I may say so, appeared to us in one being, and took on the captivating image of Zhukovsky’s Muse. In her thoughtful features we read the answer to a vague desire for the better and said: “That’s what we were missing!” - Her love for the fatherland, the horror and glory of the people's war adorned her with even greater charm. But Zhukovsky’s poetry, although completely original in the center of its existence (in love for the past, which can be called the dominant tone of his lyre) 3, was nevertheless brought up on the songs of Germany. She conveyed to us that ideality which constitutes the distinctive character of German life, poetry and philosophy; and thus our literature included two elements: French and German mentality. Meanwhile, Zhukovsky's lyre fell silent. Occasionally, only abrupt sounds with familiar modulations reminded us of her previous songs. But the development of the people's spirit could not stop. As thought calls for sound, so the people search for a poet. He needs a confidant who would guess his inner life with his heart, and in enthusiastic songs would keep a diary of the development of the mainstream. A poet is to the present what a historian is to the past: a guide to national self-knowledge. Our literature, as we have already said, represented two struggling principles; but also philanthropism. French and German idealism coincided in one desire: the desire for a better reality. Pushkin expressed it first under the bright color of trusting hope, then under the gloomy cover of Byron's indignation towards the existing world. But neither one nor the other could last: these are two extremes of the oscillation of a pendulum seeking balance. There is a middle ground between the unaccountability of hope and Byron's skepticism: this is trust in fate and the thought that the seeds of the desired future are contained in the reality of the present; that in necessity there is Providence; that if the whimsical creation of a dream perishes like a dream, then from the totality of what exists a better, lasting one must be formed. From there comes respect for reality, which constitutes the focus of that degree of mental development at which the enlightenment of Europe has now stopped and which is revealed by the historical direction of all branches of human existence and spirit. History in our time is the center of all knowledge, the science of sciences, the only condition for all development; the historical direction embraces everything. Political opinions, to acquire their authenticity, must turn to events, therefore to History; So Thierry, in order to defend some positions in parliament, wrote a History of France. Philosophy, having closed the circle of its development with the consciousness of the identity of mind and being, directed all its activity towards the application of speculation to reality, to events, to the history of nature and man. Mathematics stopped at the discovery of general laws and turned to specific applications, to the reduction of theory to the essentiality of reality. Poetry, the expression of the universality of the human spirit, was also supposed to move into reality and concentrate in the historical kind. The century could not but have an influence on Pushkin: we will see this when talking about Poltava. But let us now turn to the past year; Now, from the height of general thought, it will be easier for us to embrace the entire horizon of our literature and indicate the real place of its particular phenomena. After everything we will talk about our magazines and almanacs. We will mention other temporary, although non-periodic, publications only in relation to the most important works, or as an example and proof of certain shades of the character of our literature; but let us primarily turn to those first-class works of our literature that flashed in the literary sky of the past year as brightly as nearby comets, and established themselves on it as firmly as fixed stars, to forever shine and show the way. The first thing that attracts our attention here is the XII volume of the History of the Russian State, the last fruit of great labors, the last feat of a useful life, sacred for every Russian. The XII volume of the History of the Russian State, it seems, has even surpassed the previous ones in the power of eloquence, vastness of volume, fidelity of images, clarity, harmony of paintings, and this even shine, this purity, the diamond hardness of Karamzin’s style. In general, the dignity of his History grows along with the life of past times. The closer to the present, the more fully the fate of our fatherland is revealed to him; The more complex the picture of events, the more harmoniously it is reflected in the mirror of his imagination, in this clear conscience of our people. – This is not the place to go into a detailed analysis of Karamzin and we are not able to evaluate his dignity. In silence we will honor the memory of the immortal, and with reverence we will bring a tribute of gratitude and surprise to his fresh grave. But how can we keep silent about his critics, who made so much noise in our literature? – Almost every work of Karamzin was a bone of contention for our half-enlightened literature. This is all the more surprising since Karamzin never responded to a single criticism and did not offend a single pride; that the sublimity and completely unchanged purity of his soul and life left no justification for personal enmity; that, finally, his fame, it seemed, could not help but drown out the suggestions of base envy. Despite how few of the critics have retained the character of impartiality in the eyes of the public! - But if Karamzin had enemies, then no one was happier than Karamzin as true friends, and no one had so many admirers, so many admirers, so many ardent defenders of his glory. Therefore, his first step into the field of literature was already marked by the birth of parties. They divided almost all of enlightened Russia into two unequal sides, did not fall asleep throughout Karamzin’s entire life and survived his earthly existence. – The higher the star, the denser the crowd of native stars around it, the more space there is for dark clouds below it. All critics of the History of the Russian State can be divided into two classes: the first includes critics who attack private errors, inevitable in a work so enormous, so disproportionate to the strength of one person. It will be a long time before we fully experience the bottomless sea of ​​people’s life, obscured by its remoteness and the turbidity of its sources! – People who devoted themselves to the study of antiquity deserve the gratitude of the enlightened when, with sufficient strength, with simplicity, with due respect for the immortal historian, they correct the errors that naturally should have crept into his History. But is this what most of our critics do? “In the dark archive basements they lose all sense of decency, and emerge from there with the worms of pride and envy, with the dust of petty quibbles and in the mud of disrespect for dignity. This includes some articles published in the Moscow Bulletin of 28 and 29, which earned the just indignation of all the friends of Russian history and the late historiographer. - But everything that is fair is fair only within its boundaries, and those who, for publishing these articles, put the publisher in the same category as the writer and included him among Karamzin’s opponents, are as wrong as the publisher himself who published these articles. If the latter found comments in them that seemed true to him, then, in my opinion, he should have demanded from the author the exclusion of everything indecent, and in case of refusal, not to publish his reviews at all, with the loss of which the public would have lost very little. But if G. Pogodin acted differently, then he deserves reproach as a journalist, and not as a person and writer who does not have due respect for Karamzin. G. Pogodin’s own writings serve as the best proof of this. The second category of critics attacks the system and plan of the whole, the historiographer’s concepts of history in general. They accuse Karamzin of not embracing all sides and shades of our past life. But critics do not feel that if their reproaches are fair, then they serve not as condemnation, but as praise for the History of the Russian State. For it is impossible to embrace the life of the people in all its details until the particular branches of its development are processed in separate works and are not reduced to the latest calculations. Because out of so many historians recognized as exemplary, critics cannot name two who wrote according to the same plan. On the contrary, each writer of everyday life chose and pursued primarily one side of the life of the state he described, leaving others in the shadows and in the distance. If Karamzin, following their example, limited himself to a predominant presentation of political events and did not say much in other respects, then this limitation was the only condition for the possibility of his success; and it seems very strange to us to reproach Karamzin for the incompleteness of her picture when we still cannot take even a light sketch of this incomplete picture in order to evaluate it as it should. – Let people with talent write other stories; let them choose as the focus of their research the private life of our people, or the change of our civil regulations, or the development of our enlightenment, or the course and success of trade, or coins and medals; - their work can be useful and achieving the goal is possible, because they will follow a road that has already been cleared. In addition to these two categories, there is a third class of critics, to whom their very insignificance gives the right to a special class; These are the critics of the ignorant. Equally poor in historical and literary knowledge, deprived of even a superficial understanding of the general principles of science, and completely insensitive to moral decency, with weak hands they try to shake the centuries-old creation, turn the meaning in the words of the great writer, dare to attribute to him their own unreason, and want to teach childish truths to an immortal husband, the pride of Russia. They even think to take away the dignity of learning from Karamzin’s History, and claim that it was written only for secular ignoramuses, they are non-secular ignoramuses! - Everything they say is useless; everything is insignificant, everything is a lie, even the truth itself; and if by chance she escapes from their lips, then, blushing, she hastens to hide again in her well to wash herself from their defiling touch. - I don’t name anyone: the reader himself can easily distinguish this category of uncalled judges by the stamp of rejection with which their literary and moral ignorance adorned them, putting the stamp of their customs on their smuggled face. But we will be happy to point out criticism in which efficiency and impartiality of research are combined with decency of tone: this is an article published in 3 No. Mosk. News. About Godunov’s participation in the murder of Dmitry. In addition to the XII volume of Russian History, last year, if you believe the magazines, we published another historical work, remarkable in literary merit: this is Pushkin’s Poltava. In fact, of the twenty critics who reviewed this poem, more than half discussed whether the persons and incidents described in it really agreed with the story. Critics could not have given greater praise to Pushkin. We have seen that the mere desire to translate poetry into reality already proves both the greater maturity of the poet’s dreams and his rapprochement with the dominant character of the age. But was the poet always true to his direction? and, having moved the imagination into the realm of essentiality, did he find in it a complete answer to all the requirements of poetry? or sometimes stood out from the circle of reality, as if seeing in it a harp that still lacked a few more strings to express all the movements of the soul? In addition to the naked materiality and additional thought of the poet (which is also materiality), we also find in Poltava sometimes a thought that contradicts reality, sometimes a gust of feeling that disagrees with the Shakespearean state of mind in which the creator must be in order to look at the external world as a complete reflection of the internal. As proof, let us point out two places in Poltava: the sophism about the love of old people and the romantic sensitivity of Mazepa when he recognizes the Kochubey farm. Both are contrary to the truth; but both have a momentary effect. This is a scene from Corneille intertwined with Shakespeare's tragedy. Such a struggle between two principles: dreaminess and materiality, must necessarily precede their reconciliation. It is a transition from one degree to another; and in our time, Pushkin is not the only one who can serve as an example of such disagreement. Most of Schiller's tragedies, all of Raupach's tragedies, Fr. Schlegel 4, Grillparzer and almost all the works of the latest German writers; French melodrama owes its origin to him; then we find it even in Walter Scott, when, in order to arouse greater curiosity, he introduces his heroes into unnatural situations; Goethe himself, the great Goethe, even in Egmont bent down once before his century, personifying the freedom of Flanders. But the maturity of talent, which is proved by the dominant, although not everywhere consistent, character of Poltava, is also noticeable in individual parts of this poem. This is evidenced by the masterful processing of the poems, the concise completeness of the story, the harmony of transitions, especially in the first song, the clear expressiveness of the paintings, and even some carelessness in the language and descriptions. In general, if we look at Poltava as a mirror of talent, we will see that it gives us the right to greater hope in the future than all of Pushkin’s previous poems. But if we consider it in relation to itself, we will find such imperfections in it that at least somewhat explain to us why the public did not accept it with the same enthusiasm that Pushkin’s works usually arouse in it. The main one of these imperfections is the lack of unity of interest, the only one of all unities, non-observance of which is not forgiven by the laws of liberal politics. If the poet had first aroused in us the participation of love or hatred for Mazepa’s political plans, then Peter, and Karl, and the Battle of Poltava would have been for us the denouement of a curious incident. But having devoted the first two cantos primarily to the love story of Mazepa and Maria, Pushkin ended his story along with the end of the second canto, and in relation to the main interest of the poem, the entire third canto can be called almost superfluous. For this reason, or because our literature has not yet matured to the dominant trend in Poltava, this poem had no visible influence on our literature, and none of Pushkin’s imitators chose it as a model for their mosaics. But how many annual literary flowers have emerged in the past year from the seeds thrown by Pushkin onto the field of our literature even during his Byronian direction! – The most remarkable of Pushkin’s imitators is G. Podolinsky. But his poem, Borsky, for its poverty of thoughts, for the inconsistency of language with feelings and feelings with objects, and for even more important incongruities in plan, is remarkable only for the sonority of the verses. Zhukovsky published in the past year his Sea, the Song of the Victors from Schiller and related passages from the Iliad. Here for the first time we saw in Homer a quality that we did not find in other translations: what is pompous and low in others is simple and noble here; what is soulless and sluggish in others is strong, courageous and touching here; everything here is warm, everything is sublime, every word is from the heart; maybe this is a mistake, if the beautiful can be a mistake. Zhukovsky's sea vividly resembles all his previous poetry: the same sounds, the same feeling, the same peculiarity, the same charm. It seems that all the strings of his former lyre echoed here in one soulful sound. There is, however, a difference: something more thoughtful than in his previous poetry. The triumph of the winners in many places surpasses the original in its elegance of decoration and poetic shades of language. This is the fate of most of Zhukovsky’s translations. Of the imitators of Zhukovsky who wrote in the past year, the most remarkable are: I. I. Kozlov and F. N. Glinka. The first published a collection of his poems. The love for German literature, which we owe to Zhukovsky, spreading more and more in our literature, was very noticeable in the works of the past year. The names of Shevyrev, Khomyakov and Tyutchev differ among the poets of the German School. The latter, however, published only one poem last year. Khomyakov, whose poems always breathe with thought and feeling, and sometimes shine with the perfection of finishing, gave his Ermak to the theater; but in order to judge this tragedy, let us wait for its appearance in print; It has long been said that the printing press is the only true touchstone for the specie of poetry. Shevyrev published some small poems in magazines, and also excerpts from Wilhelm Thel's translation. Having excellent talents, possessing a rare knowledge of the Russian language, amazing ease in work and most of all a fiery soul, concentrated in love for the lofty, Shevyrev however has an important drawback: a lack of finishing, and not only in parts, but also in plan; not only in important, but even in small poems. He often places two disparate, dominant thoughts into one play and thereby prevents the feeling from concentrating. But this wealth of thoughts, often excessive (how we would like to reproach most of our writers for this quality!), this wealth of thoughts, especially noticeable in Shevyrev’s prose, is not the key to his future successes? – Now he is just performing in the field; when life and experience put the last crown of taste on his happy talents, then, of course, he will occupy a significant place in our literary aristocracy. Speaking about that part of literature that predominantly reveals German influence, one cannot fail to mention Izhorsky, op. unknown. Some scenes from this dramatic fantasy were published in Northern Flowers last year and are remarkable for their rare combination of depth of feeling with playfulness of imagination. We classify this work as belonging to the German school, despite some imitation of Shakespeare, because the Shakespeare here is more Tikowski’s Shakespeare, Germanized, than the real Shakespeare, the English Shakespeare. Moreover, the spirit of the whole work, as far as can be judged from the passages, seems to us predominantly German. But among the young poets, nourished by the great writers of Germany, the one who most shone and distinguished himself was the late D. V. Venevitinov, whose poems were published last year. His wish was fulfilled: having read the few things that were left to us after him, who would not say with a feeling of delight and sadness: How I love his creations! In it, the mind and heart agreed, How he knew life, how little he lived! 5. Venevitinov was created to act strongly for the enlightenment of his fatherland, to be an adornment of its poetry and, perhaps, the creator of its philosophy. Who will ponder with love the works of Venevitinov (for love alone gives us complete understanding); who in these torn fragments will find traces of their common origin, the unity of the being that animated them; whoever comprehends the depth of his thoughts, connected by the harmonious life of the poetic soul, will recognize a philosopher imbued with the revelation of his age; he recognizes a deep, original poet, whose every feeling is illuminated by thought, every thought is warmed by his heart; whose dream is not decorated with art, but a beautiful one is born by itself; whose best song is his own being, the free development of his full, harmonious soul. For nature generously endowed him with her gifts and their diversity agreed with balance. That’s why everything beautiful was dear to him; therefore, in knowing himself, he found the solution to all the secrets of art, and in his own soul he read the outline of the highest laws, and contemplated the beauty of creation. That is why nature was accessible to him both in mind and in heart; he could How to look into a friend's heart. The consonance of mind and heart was the distinctive character of his spirit, and his very fantasy was more the music of thoughts and feelings than a play of the imagination. This proves that he was born even more for philosophy than for poetry. His prose works, which are being published and will soon be published, will further confirm everything we have said. But what Venevitinov had to accomplish, which his early death prevented, will happen by itself, although perhaps not so soon, not so completely, not so beautifully. We need philosophy: the whole development of our mind requires it. Our poetry lives and breathes by it alone; she alone can give soul and integrity to our infant sciences, and our very life, perhaps, will take from her the grace of harmony. But where will she come from? Where to look for it? Of course, our first step towards it should be the appropriation of the intellectual wealth of that country, which in its speculation was ahead of all other nations. But other people's thoughts are useful only for the development of your own. German philosophy cannot take root among us. Our philosophy must develop from our life, be created from current issues, from the dominant interests of our national and private life. When? and how? - time will tell; but the desire for German philosophy, which is beginning to spread among us, is already an important step towards this goal. To be even more convinced of the usefulness of the influence of German thinkers, let us look at the large crowd of those of our writers who, although not distinguished by personal talent, show all the more clearly the dignity of what they have acquired from others. Two kinds of writers dominate here: some follow the French trend, others German. What do we find in the works of the former? We do not find any thoughts among them (for the thoughts, actually French, are already old; therefore, not thoughts, but commonplaces: the French themselves borrow them from the Germans and the English) 6 . But we find in them wordplay rarely, very rarely, and then accidentally combined with wit, and jokes that are almost always devoid of taste, often devoid of any meaning. And how could it be otherwise? – Wit and taste are cultivated only in the best society; and how many of our writers have the happiness of belonging to it? On the contrary, in the works of writers who are imbued with reading German thinkers, we will almost always find something worthy of respect, even the shadow of a thought, or the desire for this shadow. But I'm talking about writers without talents; talent shines equally everywhere; he, like beauty, gives charm to all movements; like a feeling, it gives soul to all words; like the mind, it gives relevance to all thoughts. Prince Vyazemsky can be excellent proof of this. Following mainly the French direction, he knows how to temper the sharp arrows of ridicule into original thoughts and warm with feeling the always smart, always happy, brilliant play of the mind. But Prince Vyazemsky, despite all his talents, despite the fact that we can call him the wittiest of our writers, is even higher where, as in Dejection, the voice of the heart is heard more than the mind. Many argue that the French direction also dominates in the works of Baratynsky; but in our opinion, he belongs just as much to the French school as Lamartine, as the author of Saint-Mars, the author of the Malet conspiracy, as our Pushkin and all those writers who, having begun their development with French opinions, completed it with the European direction, preserving the French only completeness of the external decoration. French poetry itself, like the morning sun, gilds some of the peaks. Only those moments of life that stand out from everyday life, which the crowd shares with the poet, have the right to enter the vicious circle of their dreams, and perhaps Chenier alone makes an exception - if Chenier’s direction can be called French. But Baratynsky’s Muse, having embraced all life with a poetic gaze, sheds an equal light of inspiration on all its minutes, and elevates the most ordinary into poetry, through an illuminating touch with the whole life, with the dominant dream. In order to hear all the nuances of Baratynsky’s lyre, one must have a finer ear and more attention than other poets. The more we read it, the more we discover something new in it, unnoticed at first glance - a sure sign of poetry, closed in its own being, but not accessible to everyone. Even from an artistic point of view, how many are able to fully appreciate the dignity of his poems, this precision in expressions and phrases, this graceful regularity, this noble foppery? “But if the ideal of a better society suddenly appeared in some capital unknown to us, then in its chosen circle they would not speak another language. Meanwhile, the beauty of poetic life, from the face of which Baratynsky’s Muse has removed half the veil, proves to us that the poet has not yet fully expressed himself in his poems; that we should expect incomparably more than what he accomplished; that he is still destined to exceed our expectations as much as the revelation of beauty can surprise the imagination. But there is a defect in his Ball Evening, published last year, which is not found in his Ed, nor in the Transmigration of Souls, in that sweet, witty and dreamy caprice of the poetic imagination; in Baratynsky's Ball Evening there is no focus for feeling and (if we can speak about poetry in the language of mechanics) there is no one component force in it in which all mental movements would be united and balanced. Despite this, however, this poem surpasses all previous works of Baratynsky in the elegance of its parts, the external connection of the whole and the perfection of decoration. In fact: who, having read it, will not say that the poet has made progress; that his very shortcomings prove that he demanded more of himself than before; that the mixture of shadow and light here is not twilight, but dawn, the dawn of a new era for his talent; in a word, that at his Ballroom, as at other non-poetic ballrooms, the morning light of the coming day is visible through a thin, transparent curtain? Baron Delvig published a collection of his poems. Just like Baratynsky, he does not belong to any of the newest schools, and even his imitations of the ancients bear the stamp of originality. Any imitation according to the system must be cold and soulless. Only imitation out of love can be poetic and even creative. But in the latter case, can we completely forget ourselves? and is it not because we love our model that we find in it features that correspond to the requirements of our spirit? This is why the newest always remain the newest in all successful imitations of the ancients; I will say more: there is not a single truly elegant translation of the ancient classics that does not contain traces of a state of mind that our forefathers did not know in mind. Religious feeling, which we owe to Christianity; romantic love is a gift from Arabs and barbarians; despondency is a child of the North and dependence; all kinds of fanaticism are the necessary fruit of the struggle between the centuries-old disorders of Europe and impulses for improvement; finally, the predominance of thoughts over feelings, and from there the desire for unity and concentration - these are the new strings that the life of modern peoples has pulled on the human heart. In vain does he think to drown out their groan by striking the lyre of Greece: they involuntarily respond to his song, and instead of a simple sound, a chord appears, These are Delvig's imitations. His Muse was in Greece; she was brought up under the warm skies of Attica; there she heard enough of the simple and full, natural, bright and correct sounds of the Greek lyre; but her delicate beauty would not have endured the cold of the gloomy North if the poet had not covered her with our folk clothes; if he had not thrown a jacket of the latest despondency over her classical forms: - and wouldn’t our northern outfit suit the Greek woman? The same prevailing feeling is noticeable in Delvig’s other works, and the same quality, which gives a modern sheen to his imitations of the ancients, was the reason that the poet appears above all in his Russian songs. But speaking about exemplary writers, whose names shone in the literature of the past year, is it possible not to mention one of our best hopes? “Not many people have received such strength and courage that Yazykov’s works flaunt. Every verse of it lives with fire, like a salamander. If we consider our literature in relation to other European ones, we will find in it the combined influence of almost all literatures. We have already said that the German and French trends are dominant among us. The influence of English poetry, especially Byron and Ossian, is noticeable in the works of many of our writers. Imitations of the ancients, although few in number, could not but have an influence on the general character of our literature. Italian literature, reflected in the works of Neledinsky and Batyushkov, also threw its paint on the multicolored rainbow of our poetry. All this lives together, interferes, becomes related, quarrels and promises our literature a multifaceted character when a kind genius saves it from spinelessness. But the influence of Italy, or better to say, Batyushkov’s, is noticeable in few of our poets. Tumaneny differs between them in the tenderness of his feelings and the musicality of his poems. He didn't publish much last year. Messrs. Raich and Oznobishin belong to the top school. The limits of this article do not allow us to expand on all the wonderful works of the past year. Let's mention a few. Vasily Lvovich Pushkin published three chapters from his romantic poem Khrabrov, where his Muse did not change her usual courtesy. “Mrs. Lisitsyna published a collection of her poems, where feeling and simplicity of expression vouch for the integrity of her talent. Baron Rosen published The Virgin of the Seven Angels. In addition, the names of gentlemen flash here and there: Illichevsky, Korsak, Trilunny, Pavlov, Grigoriev, Veltman, Verderevsky, Lichonin, Mikh. Dmitriev, Markevich, Kryukov, Siyanov, Krainsky, Yakubovich, Stepanov, Levshin, Kakhovsky, Petrov, Trostin, Olin, Mezhakov, Masalsky, Zaitsevsky, Karkunov, Bashilov and others. But what can we say about these writers? “Many of them are already familiar to our public, others have entered the dangerous field of poetic activity with white shields. In many, perhaps, talent lurks, and to develop strength it seeks only time, opportunity and work - at least let us maintain respect for hope, next to the love of memory. Dramatic literature is ours - but can the collection of our dramatic works be called literature? – In this branch of literature we are the poorest. There were no tragedies last year. None of the comedies are more than mediocre. More remarkable than others: The secular case of Mr. Khmelnitsky; his own excerpts from the Arzamas Geese; excerpts from Columbus, the unfinished comedy of the late A. I. Pisarev, and Elections of the Nobility, op. unknown. In general, our theater presents a strange contradiction with itself: almost the entire repertoire of our comedies consists of imitations of the French, and, despite this, precisely those qualities that distinguish French comedy from all others: taste, decency, wit, purity of language, and everything that belongs to the needs of a good society - all this is completely alien to our theater. Our stage, instead of being a mirror of our life, serves as a magnifying mirror for some of our lackeys, beyond which our comic Muse does not penetrate. She is at home in the servant's room, where she has a living room, an office, a hall, and a dressing room; there she spends the whole day, when she is not traveling around to visit the Muses of neighboring states; and in order to depict the Russian Thalia in a similar way, you need to imagine her in livery and boots. This is the general character of our original comedies, still unchanged by a few rare exceptions. The reason for this character lies partly in the fact that from Von-Visin to Griboyedov we did not have a single comic talent; and it is known that an extraordinary person, like an extraordinary thought, always gives a one-sided direction to the mind; that the preponderance of force is balanced only by another force; that the harm of a genius is corrected by the appearance of another, counteracting one. Meanwhile, one might remark to our comic writers that they are acting unwisely in choosing such a direction. They cannot keep up with the common people; and no matter how low their language is, no matter how rich in obscenities their daring jokes are, no matter how rude their farces are, at which heaven laughs; but they will never reach their real ideal, and all their comedies - any cab driver will kill with one word. Almost every one of our writers shows the influence, more or less mixed, of some foreign literature, or of one of our first-class writers. However, we have a special school, original, distinctive, having its own qualities, its own direction, its own numerous adherents, completely different from all others, although many of our writers borrow their beauties from it. This school began with the century, and its founder was Count Dmitry Ivanovich Khvostov, and his followers: Messrs. Boris Fedorov, Telepnev, Svechin, Volkov, Bestuzhev-Ryumin, A. Orlov and others. Almost all of these writers are epic poets, and almost each of them created a special poem in the classical spirit, and only a few, for example. G. Ryumin, allow themselves to enter the realm of romance; but G. Fedorov makes an exception from everyone; coming closer than others to the founder of the school, he wrote in almost all genres. With this school we will conclude our review of the original works of our poets. The past year was richer in translations than all the previous ones. Let's name the most remarkable ones. G. Rotchev translated William Thel and Schiller's Bride of Messina, and printed some passages from Shakespeare's Macbeth. G. Rotchev's verse is strong and sonorous; but it is sometimes obscure, often untrue to the original, and rarely conveys all the shades of the original. G. Shevyrev published one action by Wilhelm Thel. His translation is closer to the original and more elegant than Mr. Rotchev's translation. G. Wronchenko translated Hamlet, excerpts from Dziady Mickiewicz, excerpts from Jung and several Irish melodies by Moore. In general, his translations are very close and the language is correct, although not quite elegant and difficult to use. G. Poznansky translated Alpugaru from Mickiewicz; it does not yet belong to the best work of Mr. Poznansky, who is generally distinguished by a true sense of the poetic beauties of the original, elegant simplicity of language and precision of expression. In addition, excerpts were translated and published in various magazines and almanacs; from Romeo and Julia by Shakespeare G...; from Don Carlos Schiller and Goethe's Iphigenia G. Lichonin; from Don Carlos G. Kolachevsky and G. Obodovsky; from Byronov Don Juan and Parisina, from Parni and Moore G. Markevich; Parisina was also translated by G. Kartsev; G. happy translated Faris Mickiewicz; Lara Byron was translated by G. Noskov. G. Trilunny translated from Byron's Giaour, and several scenes from Moliere's Amphitryon. G. Kozlov translated Mickiewicz's Crimean sonnets. His Saturday Evening, an imitation of Boris, is remarkable for the poems attached at the beginning to the death of A. A. Voeikova, where one can see the touching feeling of a soul that knows how to love the beautiful. These translations, although of very different merit, nevertheless prove the success of our enlightenment and the improvement of our language. Twenty years ago, each of them would have attracted special attention. Let us note that six foreign poets share predominantly the love of our writers: Goethe, Schiller, Shakespeare, Byron, Moore and Mickiewicz. A good sign for the future! – We owe our acquaintance with Goethe, Schiller and Shakespeare to the widespread influence of German literature and Zhukovsky; We owe our acquaintance with Byron to Pushkin; love for Moore belongs to the same oddities of our literary taste that were previously the reason for Lamartine’s unconditional adoration. Prince Vyazemsky was the first to introduce us to Mitskevich: this is the happy beginning of a friendly rapprochement between two native literatures, which until now were alien to each other. Polish literature, just like Russian, has hitherto not only been a reflection of French-German literature, but has also existed solely by the force of alien influence. How could it act on Russia? – In order for both literatures to enter into direct relations and enter into a lasting alliance, it was necessary for at least one of them to have its own representative at the Diet of first-class rulers of European minds; for what is dominant in Europe can have an influence on the literatures under its control. Mickiewicz, having concentrated in himself the spirit of his people, was the first to give Polish poetry the right to have its voice among the intellectual deputies of Europe, and at the same time gave it the opportunity to influence our poetry. The more or less complex influence of these six foreign poets, combined with the influence of our own literature, now forms the general character of all our first-class poets, and, consequently, the character of our current literature in general. But before we gain the right to talk about this general nature, we must complete the picture of the literature of the past year with a review of prose works and magazines. We will not talk here about the History of the 4 Khans, nor about the Description of Beijing, published by Father Iakinthos; nor about the picture of the war with Turkey, composed by Mr. Buturlin; nor about other more or less remarkable works that do not fall within the realm of pure literature. But let us note that the past year was especially rich in works of the narrative genre. Let's name the best: Bag of Gold, Mr. Polevoy; The Black Hen, a fairy tale for children, by Mr. Pogorelsky; Black illness, Mr. Pogodin; Secluded house on Vasilievsky Island, Tita Kosmokratova; Mermaid, Mr. Baysky, and others. – The Black Year or the Mountain Princes has all the same qualities that the public found in the previous novels of the late G. Narezhny: the possibility of talent, which still lacked greater education and taste to become reality. We find less talent, but more literary experience, a smoother language, although colorless and sluggish, in Vyzhigin, a moral and satirical novel by Mr. Bulgarin. Emptiness, tastelessness, soullessness, moral maxims selected from children's copybooks, incorrect descriptions, cloying jokes - these are the qualities of this work, qualities that constitute its dignity, for they make it suitable for the common people and that part of our public who, from the alphabet and the catechism, proceeds to stories and travel. That there are people who read Vyzhigin with pleasure and, therefore, with benefit, this is proven by the fact that Vyzhigin diverges. But where are these people? they will ask me. We do not see them in the same way as those who enjoy the Dream Book and the book About Bedbugs; but they exist, because the Dream Book, and Vyzhigin, and About Bedbugs are sold out in all shops. It is remarkable that last year about 100,000 copies of the Russian ABC, about 60,000 of the Slavic ABC, 60,000 copies were published. The Catechism, about 15,000 French ABCs, and educational books in general sold out this year by almost a third more than in the previous year. This is what we need, what we lack, what the public rightly demands. We will name two of the translated books: Werther, op. Goethe, Mr. R.'s translation, and the History of Literature by Fr. Schlegel, translation by unknown. The first can be called the closest, most elegant of all the prose translations that have come out in our country in the last twenty years. The strange indecency of polemics has been the distinctive character of our journals of the past year. We hope, however, that our public will soon tire of this and that it will soon want to see in our writers something other than two-legged animals with feathers. Reviewing the special qualities of each of our journals is beyond the scope of this article. Let us note, however, that the Telegraph was richer than others in good, sensible articles, and more than others conveyed to us interesting things from foreign magazines; Northern Bee was fresher with political news; Athens participated least of all in indecent polemics; The Slav intensified the indecency of swearing into poetry. Let us note one more quality common to almost all of our magazines; a strange syllable in which many original and most translated articles are written, a syllable that is imprecise, rough, and often worse than the one in which Karamzin and Dmitriev were written before. Perhaps this is one of the main reasons why people with taste hardly read our magazines; for for an educated ear there is nothing heavier than false tones. Northern Flowers was without comparison the best of all almanacs. In the Nevsky Almanac we notice the prose article Livonia, op. unknown; if our review were written with the same pen that outlined Livonia, then we would print it without fear of failure. Other almanacs - but what good is it for us to know that certain articles were published in one periodical and not another? Will this explain in any way the character of our literature? Until now, we have considered our literature in relation to itself, and therefore we dwell with curiosity on every work that reveals to us a new side of our literary character, or gives us new hope for the future. Here everything seemed important to us, everything was worthy of attention, like seeds from which fruit would eventually ripen. But if we consider our literature in relation to the literature of other states; if an enlightened European, having unfolded before us all the intellectual treasures of his country, asks us: “Where is your literature? What works can you be proud of before Europe?” – What are we going to answer him? We will point him to the History of the Russian State; we will present him with several odes by Derzhavin, several poems by Zhukovsky and Pushkin, several fables by Krylov, several scenes from Von Vizin and Griboyedov, and - where else will we find a work of European dignity? Let us be impartial and admit that we do not yet have a complete reflection of the mental life of the people, we do not yet have literature. But let us be consoled: we have good, the guarantee of all others: we have hope and thought about the great destiny of our fatherland! – The crown of European enlightenment served as the cradle for our education; it was born when other states had already completed the circle of their mental development, and where they stopped, we begin. Like the younger sister in a large, friendly family, Russia, before entering the world, is rich in the experience of its elders. Now look at all the European peoples: each of them has already fulfilled its destiny, each has expressed its character, experienced the peculiarity of its direction, and not a single one lives a separate life: the life of the whole Europe has absorbed the independence of all private states. But in order for the whole of Europe to form into a harmonious, organic body, it needs a special center, it needs a people who would dominate others with their political and mental superiority. The entire history of modern enlightenment represents the need for such domination: one state has always been, so to speak, the capital of others, it has been the heart from which all the blood, all the vital forces of enlightened peoples, comes out and returns. Italy, Spain, Germany (during the Reformation), England and France alternately controlled the fate of European education. The development of internal strength was the reason for such dominance, and the decline of strength was the reason for its decline. England and Germany are now at the pinnacle of European enlightenment; but their influence cannot be life-giving, because their inner life has already completed its development, has grown old and has acquired that one-sided maturity that makes their education exclusively suitable for them. This is why Europe now presents a kind of numbness; political and moral improvement equally stopped in her; belated opinions, dilapidated forms, like a dammed river, the fertile country has been turned into swamps, where only forget-me-nots bloom, and occasionally a cold, will-o’-the-wisp shines. Of all enlightened humanity, two peoples do not participate in the general euthanization; two peoples, young, fresh, blooming with hope: these are the United American States and our fatherland. But local and political remoteness, and most of all the one-sidedness of the English education of the United States, all the hope of Europe is transferred to Russia. The joint action of the most important states of Europe participated in the formation of the beginning of our enlightenment, prepared for it a pan-European character and together gave the opportunity for future influence on the whole of Europe. The flexibility and adaptability of the character of our people, their political interests and the very geographical location of our land lead us to the same goal. The fate of each European state depends on the totality of all the others; – the fate of Russia depends on Russia alone. But the fate of Russia lies in its enlightenment: it is the condition and source of all benefits. When all these benefits are ours, we will share them with the rest of Europe and pay our entire debt to them a hundredfold. Look: Op. Kar., article: Flower on the coffin of my Agapit. On Lenz's writings, see Ekshten's excellent article in his journal le Catholique in 1829. The author does not expand here on the nature of Zhukovsky’s works because in the same almanac (i.e. in Dennitsa) he intended to publish a special analysis of his poems, which, however, for some reason remained unfinished. The shortcomings of F. Schlegel's tragedies have another major source: the imbalance of genius with the system. The last poems of the late Venevitinov. That French literature of the nineteenth century, having lost its former originality, lives solely on the inspiration of others, this is evidenced by all its best works. But another new confirmation of this truth can be the glorious triumvirate of legislators of French thinking in our time. Is there at least one fruitful idea in Cousin's lectures that he would not borrow from the Germans? – Isn’t it the English and Germans who own all the basic principles of Villemain, so brilliant in its applications, so skillfully able to hide the strict harmony of the system under the outer disorder of individual remarks? The literary-critical works of Guizot reveal a still unreconciled struggle between the new German teaching and the previous opinions of the French; but his historical lectures breathe a coherent, complete, deep and completely occupied system with the newest German philosophers, although the new development of this system, its complete and often brilliant application to the life of the Middle Ages make Guizot one of the most original French thinkers. – However, there is such a quality in French literature that distinguishes it from all others, promises a lot for the future, and gives the imitations themselves the color of originality: this is the close connection of literature with life; but it is precisely this quality that our Russian imitators cannot adopt. (Si. Ipostr. Magazines). The great Goethe provides a convincing example of this. Everything that is beautiful in his captivating Iphigenia, these poetic overflows of heartfelt shades, expressed in soulful and musical verses, belongs exclusively to modern poetry. And what does Iphigenia owe to the systematic effort of imitation? - The immobility of the action and the impersonality of the characters, which make it incapable of theatrical presentation and completely unbearable in a slightly mediocre translation. The same can be said about the Shpllerovop Bride of Messina. You might be interested in: