Felitza; On the Birth of Alexander; The First Neighbour; On the
Death of Count Meshchersky; On the Swedish Peace; The Fountain; The
Waterfall; Autumn; and the Anacreontic Songs. His Poems were printed in
four volumes in 1808.
Of his prose works (his official ones of course excepted) the most
celebrated are: _Rœch ot litza Kazanskago Dvorjenstva Imperatritzœ
Ekaterinœ II._, Address of the Kasan Eagle to the Empress Catherine
the Second; _Topographicheskoe Opshanie Tambovskoi Gubernii_,
Topographical Description of the Tambov Government; _Rœch na otkrĭtie
v Tambovœ Narodnago Ichilishcha_, Address on the opening of the Tambov
Public School, republished in Petersburg, and translated into several
languages; _Razsuzhdenie o Liricheskom Stikhotvorstvœ_, On Lyric
Poetry, published by a Society of Amateurs of Russian Literature in
1811.
BOGDANOVICH.
TRANSLATED FROM KARAMSIN’S VŒSTNIK[1].
Hippolïtus Bogdanovich was born under the beautiful heaven of Little
Russia, in the village of Perevolotchno, in the year 1743. His father
was a respectable physician, to whose affectionate care and to that
of an excellent mother he owed the first rudiments of knowledge.
The talents which often require long years to ripen and to perfect,
sometimes exhibit their blossoms in very early youth, and Bogdanovich
while quite a child showed a passionate fondness for reading and
writing, for music and poetry.
He was brought to Moscow in 1754, and placed in the college of justice.
The President Sheljebushsky noticed the active and inquiring spirit
of the boy, and allowed him to attend the mathematical school, which
was at that time in the neighbourhood of the senate. But mathematics
were nothing to him;--the sweet poetry of Lomonosov, who now began
to captivate his countrymen, was dearer to his mind than all the
transpositions of lines or figures. Nothing, perhaps, is so likely
to produce a strong and permanent impression on the heart of a young
enthusiast, as the pomp, parade, and poetry of the Drama. What wonder
then that a fiery boy, introduced for the first time to its witcheries,
should be led to some act of giddy imprudence! A youth of fifteen once
presented himself to the director of the Moskow theatre, modestly and
almost unwillingly owning--he was a nobleman--he would be an actor.
The director had some conversation with him, and soon ascertained his
love of knowledge and his poetical ardour. He painted in strong colours
the incompatibility of an actor’s character with that of nobility,--he
urged him to inscribe himself in the university, and to visit him at
his house. This young man was no other than our Bogdanovich,--that
director was no other than Michael Matveevich Kheraskov, the poet
of the Russiad. Thus did a lucky accident bring this scholar of the
muses to their favourite bard; one who, possessed of extraordinary
talent himself, was not slow to discover and to honour it in others.
From him did Bogdanovich learn the rules and the ornaments of poetry;
he studied foreign languages, and acquired whatever else might give
strength and encouragement to his natural powers. Study, it is true,
is no _creator_ of genius, but it serves to exhibit it in all its most
beautiful and mighty influence. Kheraskov gave him examples, precepts,
encouragements; and in the university-journal of this period, _Polesnoe
Uveselenie_, we find many specimens of the powers of the young bard.
These, though yet far removed from perfection, are striking proofs of
his ability to reach it.
Besides Kheraskov, our young poet possessed, while he remained at the
university, another invaluable protector in Count Michael Ivanovich
Dashkov. The favours conferred by rank and influence on talents just
developing themselves, create a grateful and well-rewarding return;
while, on the other hand, the fair and delicate flowers of youthful
genius are but too often and too early blasted by the cold winds of
neglect. But let it be said in Russia’s honour, that talent has never
wanted patronage there, especially if accompanied by moral worth.
This was eminently the case with Bogdanovich. Like La Fontaine, in
whose poetical steps he seems to have trodden, he was distinguished
by the most attractive ingenuousness. Ere he was eighteen he held his
station in the great and busy world, but held it with the simplicity
of a child. Whatever he felt he uttered, whatever pleased him he did;
he listened willingly to the wisdom of others, and fell asleep during
the tiresome lessons of folly. It was our young bard’s good fortune to
live with a poet who exacted the productions of his muse as the price
of his protection and his counsels, leaving every thing else to his own
waywardness. His open heartedness often led him into perplexities, but
no sooner did he perceive that his conversation had inflicted on any
a feeling or thought of sorrow than he lamented his inconsiderateness
with tears. He determined again and again to talk more warily; the
resolution was, however, soon forgotten, and succeeded by regret and
repentance and renewed vows.
He was not rich; he often had nothing to give the poor but sympathy.
Is not this often more grateful to the receiver, and always more
honourable to the giver, than the pieces of gold extorted by misery
from the coldness of pride and of affluence? Towards his friends and
acquaintances he was kindness and urbanity itself. On one occasion
a fire broke out in the neighbourhood of one of his connexions.
Bogdanovich sprung from his bed, and, in spite of the bad weather and
the distance, hurried to the assistance of his friend, clad only in his
night garment.
His dwelling was with an estimable family, who treated him as a near
and dear relative, and he returned their kindness with ever-active
affection.
We must here linger a little on one mark of character, common indeed
to all genuine poets;--a lively sensibility to female charms, a
sensibility which has been the creator of some of the sweetest songs
of the choir of bards. In one who, like Bogdanovich, was born to be
the poet of the graces, this mighty sympathy could not but be early
developed among the sensibilities of his character. In its origin it is
timid and unpretending--in him it was peculiarly so. He saw, he felt,
he supplicated, he blushed--and uttered his emotions in his harmonious
songs. Stern indeed must have been the beauty that could not be moved
by that melodious lyre!
In 1761 Bogdanovich was appointed inspector of the Moscow university,
with the rank of officer. Soon after he was joined to the commission
appointed to make the arrangements for celebrating the coronation of
Catherine the Second, in Moscow. He was fixed on for preparing the
inscriptions on the triumphal gates and arches. In 1763, through the
recommendation of the Countess Dashkov, he was employed by Panin as
a translator; and at this period he published a journal entitled,
_Nevinnoe Uprashnenie_, Innocent Recreation, to which his protectress,
and the protectress of literature, of native literature especially,
most generously contributed. And now our poet soared in loftier
flights: he translated most felicitously many of Voltaire’s poems,
especially that on the Destruction of Lisbon, in which his version has
added greatly to the beauty and the strength of the original. A number
of pieces, distinguished for the exquisiteness of the feeling and the
peculiar harmony of the expression, directed the public attention to
him. Among these is that beautiful song to Climene:
Yes! since bliss is now my lot,
I will live to love thee, fairest:
Thou, that _I_ may live, wilt not
Now refuse to love me, dearest!
In 1765 he published a poem with the title, The Doubled Bliss. It is
divided into three parts, the first of which is a description of the
golden age; the second, a history of the progress of civilization and
of knowledge, with pictures of the misdirection and misuse of the human
passions; the last, on the salutary influence of laws and governments.
This undertaking was too vast for the youthful strength of the poet.
The work had some redeeming beauties, but it made little impression
upon society in general. At this period, notwithstanding, the laurels
were rapidly growing that were to crown the brow of Bogdanovich;--but
those laurels were then unnoticed.
In 1766 he went with Count Beloselsky as secretary of legation to
Dresden. The amiable character of this ambassador, the brilliant
society which he took with him and gathered round him, the attractive
and picturesque neighbourhood of his dwelling, and his high
appreciation of the arts, made the poet’s abode so delightful to him
that it left the fairest record on his memory, and produced a happy
influence on the character of his writings. While he wandered enchanted
on the flowery borders of the Elbe, whose nymphs, worthy of that
magnificent stream, excited all the strength of his glowing fancy;
while the works of Correggio, Rubens, and Paul Veronese charmed his eye
and guided his mind in the beautiful creation of his _Dushenka_, which
now engaged it; he was at the same time busied in writing a Description
of Germany, and in all the duties of his office he united the charms of
a man of the world, a friend of science, and a poet.
He left Dresden in 1768 and hastened back to his own country, devoting
himself wholly to the cultivation of knowledge and the charms of
song. He translated many articles from the _Encyclopédie_, Vertot’s
History of the Changes of the Roman Republic, St. Pierre’s Treatise
on Permanent Peace, and the Poem of an Italian writer, Michael Angelo
Gignetti, then settled at Petersburg. The subject was Catherine
the Great, which led to his introduction to that empress. He next
published a periodical, of which sixteen numbers appeared (_Vœstnik
Petersburgsky_); and at last, in 1775, he laid his beautiful poem
_Dushenka_ on the altar of the Graces. He ever afterwards spoke
with enthusiastic delight of that part of his life which had been
employed in this work. His abode was then at Petersburg, on the
_Vassiliostrov_, in a silent solitary dwelling, wholly rapt in poetry
and music, enjoying an enviable and care-divested liberty. He had
agreeable acquaintances;--he sometimes went out, but always to return
with keener pleasure to a home where the muses welcomed him with
renewed fondness, with hope and fancy’s fairest flowers. The tranquil,
unuttered, unutterable joy of the poet is perhaps the sweetest and
brightest that this world can witness. How triumphantly do the favoured
sons of song scatter the misty shades of vanity and the more palpable
array of earth-born passion! Who that ever tasted the charm of such
enviable moments, does not turn away from the sparkling follies of the
substantial world to the memory of those holy hours of rapture? One
energetic and harmonious line--one well-conveyed emotion--a gentle,
graceful transit from one thought to another--can fill the soul of
the poet with innocent and natural delight, leaving behind it a soft
and placid gladsomeness which will be doubly grateful if it can be
participated by some sympathizing and sensible friend, who can enter
into its enthusiasm and forgive its excess. It is indeed a guiltless
and a spiritual joy, created by an effort, which effort is in itself
enjoyment: and then it brings the prospect of the approbation, the
encouragement of the wise and good!--But envy! envy!--the pitiful
efforts of envy itself only make its triumphs the more splendid--they
dash and murmur like the little waves against the firm foot of the
mountain, on which true merit raises itself in its own majesty, for the
glory of its country and of mankind.
The story of Psyche is one of the most attractive which has been handed
down to us by classic mythology. It originally conveyed a beautiful and
impressive allegory, whose charm has been obscured and whose interest
almost lost in the many embellishments with which a series of poets
have crowded the simple tale; a tale in fact only intended to describe
the nuptials of the god of love with Psyche, and the consequent birth
of the goddess of enjoyment: the obvious sense of which is, that when
the soul is filled with love, it enjoys the highest possible portion
of pleasure. From this unadorned fable Apuleius drew a charming story,
more indeed like the fairy-tales of modern days than the μυθοι of the
old Grecian age. On this production of Apuleius La Fontaine founded
his fascinating Psyche, adding numberless beauties to his original,
and delightfully mingling verse and prose--the strikingly impressive
with the playfully good-humoured. To the Psyche of France we owe the
Russian Dushenka; but our poet, though he never loses sight of his
exemplar, goes onwards in his own path of flowers, and gathers many a
one which the French poet overlooked or disregarded. La Fontaine has
more of art--Bogdanovich of nature;--and the current of the latter
flows in consequence more refreshingly. Besides, Dushenka is wholly
in verse, and good verse is certainly greatly better than good prose,
and rarer too. The most laborious efforts of art are also the most
valued[2]; and thus it is that the purest and most harmonious prose can
never give to a representation the energy or the interest which it may
derive from the power of verse, to which indeed whatever is mysterious
and supernatural more especially belongs. This La Fontaine constantly
felt, and sought shelter for his highest efforts and sweetest fancies
in the regions of song. How much better had he done, if he had made his
Psyche a continuous poem! Bogdanovich’s Dushenka is so. Where exists
the Russian who has not read Dushenka?
This production must not be weighed in the scales of Aristotle. It is a
display of the powers of a gay and joyous imagination, directed by good
taste. It is sportive, excursive, ingenuous, faithful:--Why must rules
of art be intruded here?
[Karamsin then goes on to compare the French with the Russian fabulist,
giving the most striking passages from the Dushenka, and “strewing,” as
he says, “the grave of the poet with his own flowers.”]
Is it surprising that such a poem produced so great an impression? Six
or seven sheets thrown uncalled for into the world, wholly changed the
fate of the author. Catherine was then reigning in Russia. She saw, she
admired the Dushenka--sent for the poet, and inquired of him how she
could gratify him.--It was enough--who doubts the taste of a sovereign?
Nobles and courtiers learnt Dushenka by heart, each rivalling the
rest in the attentions showered upon the author. Epistles, odes, and
madrigals in his honour were scattered profusely. He was mounted above
the clouds.--Alas! that the destructive influence of such distinctions
should have overshadowed him in the brightest epoch of his poetic
talents. He was thirty years old--he abandoned the muses--and the
garland woven for him by his Dushenka was the only one that encircled
his brow in his listless lethargy. It is an imperishable wreath, no
doubt, but the friends of poetry mourn that it should have satisfied
him. Even the thirst for fame may be quenched. Our poet afterwards
wrote much, but against his own will and against the will of his
inspiring genius. Perhaps he would set up no rival to his beloved
Dushenka.
From 1775 to 1789 he published the following works: Historical
Description of Russia--an imperfect essay, which however is very well
written; only the first volume appeared. A Comedy in verse--The Joy of
Dushenka;--The Sclavonian Woman, and two dramatised proverbs. Catherine
encouraged him to write for the stage, and sent him _brilliant_
presents on the production of these pieces. The Sclavonian piece made
a strong impression. It represents the festivities with which the old
Sclavonians welcomed the return of the twenty-fifth year of the reign
of their “Great Princes,” and it was produced just at the period when
Catherine had swayed the Russian sceptre for a quarter of a century.
At the request of the Empress he also published a collection of
Russian proverbs, and wrote some small poems in the _Sobesœdnik_, The
Companion, a weekly periodical, which appeared at Petersburg in 1788
and 9. Many of these graceful trifles are full of wit and gaiety, and
the song “I’m fourteen summers old,” &c. (p. 168) has become one of
the most popular national songs in Russia. He also translated at this
time the best eulogiums, such as Voltaire’s and Marmontel’s, on the
Empress, and the compositions lost nothing of their effect in being
thus transferred to our language.
In the poet let us not forget the man. He was made associate of the
Archives at Petersburg in 1780, and in 1788 was elected president.
In 1795 he was dismissed from service, in which he had been engaged
forty-one years. The salary was continued to him in the form of a
pension. He left Petersburg the following year. The then unfortunate
state of Europe--those dreadful revolutions which shook individuals
as well as nations, added to many personal sorrows, excited in
his sensitive mind the ardent longing after a peaceful solitude. A
beautiful climate--the sweet recollections of youth--the bonds of
early friendship and of brotherhood--invited him to the fair fields
of Little Russia. He went to Sumii, intending to glide calmly and
silently through the evening of life, in the circle of his connections,
and reposing on the bosom of nature. The first weeks and months he
passed in those retreats were ineffably happy. His spirits had never
been so free and so tranquil. No phantoms disturbed his peace. A pure
conscience, the recollections of fifty years passed in unbroken but
serene activity--a poetical but strong mind--an active strength of
fancy--an excellent library--the friendliest union with good men and
beloved relatives--and the uniformity of an ingenuous and happy life, a
life which had been so full of allurements--these were the sources of
that happiness which he here enjoyed--a real enviable happiness, such
as is sought by all, who amidst the world’s tumultuousness strive after
their own fame, and their fellow-creatures’ well-being;--that happiness
_he_ had sighed after to decorate the peaceful though sometimes gloomy
days of eventide:--but “In this world where shall peace be found?”
And Bogdanovich did not enjoy it long:--An unfortunate attachment drove
him from the haven where he deemed himself to be safely anchored from
all the storms of life. He abandoned friends, relatives, the silent
abodes of peace and happiness, that he might fly from this ever-ruling
passion. In the years when the sun of life sinks rapidly towards its
setting, and the calm of nature seems to invite to closer communion
with what is left of earthly pleasure, it is then the passions are most
terrible.--Youth is supported by hope--but age has no such stay. It
hears alone the strong voice of reason, which will not approve of the
useless murmurs against destiny. Every heart that can feel will look
with sorrow on this period of our poet’s existence.
In the year 1798 he again returned to Kursk, in whose neighbourhood he
had long been wandering. Alexander mounted the Russian throne. And when
every eye of patriotism, bright with hope and joy, was turned upon the
young monarch, Bogdanovich again seized his long neglected lyre, and
received from the Emperor a ring as the token of his approval. The
poet of Dushenka had had the honour of gratifying Catherine the Great;
should not her illustrious grandson deign also to honour him?
The health of Bogdanovich had been always indifferent; in the beginning
of December, 1802, it began visibly to decay, and on the 6th of
January, 1803, he died, mourned by his acquaintances and friends, and
by every friend of the literature of his country; for he had not yet
attained those venerable years when the last and only blessing which
heaven can confer on the son of mortality is to soothe and brighten his
passage to the realms of eternity.
It is said that the character of an author is best painted in his
works; but it is surely safer to take into account the opinions and
observations of those who knew him best. And here then we must listen
to the unvarying voice of praise. All speak of his meekness, his
feeling heart, his unselfishness, and that innocent gaiety which played
around him to the end of his days, and gave a peculiar charm to his
society. He had no pride of authorship. He seldom spoke of literature
or of poetry, and always with an unaffected modesty, which seemed to
have been born with him. He loved not criticism, which often destroys
even the honestest self-complacency, and he often confessed that its
severity would have driven him wholly away from the exercises of his
pen.
His memory will be cherished by his friends and the friends of Russian
genius; and the sweet--the feeling--the acute--the joyous poet of
Dushenka will be honoured by the future age.
KHEMNITZER.
Ivan Ivanovich Khemnitzer was born of German parents at Petersburg,
in the year 1744. His father was of Saxon origin, and was attached as
physician to the country hospital of the Russian capital. From parents
of distinguished excellence our poet received the elements of a careful
education. It was his father’s wish that his son should succeed him in
his profession, but the unconquerable aversion of the latter to the
study of anatomy could never be subdued. He was enrolled in consequence
when thirteen years old in the regiment of guards, as sub-officer, and
made two campaigns against the Prussians and the Turks. This, however,
as he was wont to say, was “out of the rain into the river”--from the
theatre of anatomy to the martyr-chamber of surgery. He became in
consequence an engineer in the Berg cadet corps, having obtained the
rank of lieutenant in the Russian service. He won the love and the
confidence of all his superiors by his activity and uprightness. In
the year 1776, he accompanied one of his superior officers through
Germany, Holland, and France; and after his return to his country
applied himself ardently to his literary labours. In 1778 he published
the first volume of his fables; and on its reaching a second edition
about three years afterwards, he added to it another volume. One of
his particular friends and protectors quitting the service at this
period, he determined to do the same. He had no means of living
independently of his salary, and being compelled to look round him for
another engagement, he soon obtained the consul-generalship of Smirna.
The emoluments attached to this office led him to hope that in the
progress of a few years he should be enabled to retire comfortably
from active life, and this hope induced him to accept an office which
banished him from his country. That country he abandoned with a
heavy heart; and on separating from his friends, whom he loved with
indescribable affection, he seemed to sink under the thought that he
was bidding them a final farewell. In the autumn of 1782 he reached
Smirna;--indisposition greeted him on his arrival. The climate was
perhaps unfriendly; but his mind was more keenly affected by his exile
from that society in which he had so long breathed and lived, and which
had become a necessary element of his existence. He struggled long
against his illness:--it subdued him in the spring of 1784.