Part II

.

ON THE VICTORY OF THE RUSSIAN OVER THE TURKISH FLEET[140]

O triumph! O delight! O time so rich in fame Unclouded, bright and pure as the sun’s midday flame! Ruthenia’s strength goes forth--see from the sea emerge The Typhons of the north!--The lightning, in its might, Flashes in dazzling light,-- And subject is the surge.

They wander o’er the waves,--their eye impatiently Seeks where the Moslem’s flag flaunts proudly o’er the sea:-- “’Tis there! ’Tis there!” exclaim the brave, impatient crowd,-- The sails unfurled,--each soul with rage and courage burns,-- Each to the combat turns: They meet,--it thunders loud!

I see from Ætna’s rocks a floating army throng: A hero,[141] yet unsung, wafts the proud choir along,-- The masts, a fir-tree wood,--the sails, like outspread wings. List to the shoutings! See the flash! They thunder near. Earthquakes and night are there,-- With storm the welkin rings.

There January speeds,--there Svyatosláv moves on, And waves and smoke alike are in the tempest thrown; And there the ship that bears the three-times hallowed[142] name, And Rostisláv and Europe, there triumphant ride; While the agitated tide Is startled with the flame.

Evstáf, in fire concealed, scatters the deathlike brand, And earth and heaven are moved, and tremble sea and land; And there, a mountain pile, sends round the deeds of death, As if Vesuvius’ self in combat were engaged,-- While other mountains raged, And poured their flaming breath.

The roar, the whiz, the hum, in one commingling sound, The clouds of smoke that rise, and spread and roll around; The waves attack the sky in wild and frenzied dance; The sails are white as snow; and now the sun looks on, Now shrouds him on his throne, And the swift lightnings glance.

Hard proof of valour this,--the spirit’s fiery test: Fierce combat, grown more fierce,--bear high the burning breast! See on the waves there ride two mountains, fiery-bound, Ætna and Hecla, loose on ocean’s heaving bed,-- The burning torches spread, And ruin stalks around.

Ocean, and shore, and air, rush backward at the sight, The Greek and Turk stand still, and groan in wild affright; Calm as a rock the Russ is welcoming death with death; But ah! destruction now blazes its fiery links, And even victory sinks Its heavy weight beneath.

O frightful tragedy! A furnace is the sea,-- The triumph ours,--the flames have reached the enemy: He burns, he dies in smoke, beneath the struggle rude The Northern heroes sink, with weariness oppressed, And ask a moment’s rest, As if they were subdued.

And whence that threatening cloud that hangs upon their head? That threatens now to burst? What? Is their leader dead? And is he borne away, who all our bosoms warmed? He fell,--there lies his sword,--there lie his shield and helm. What sorrows overwhelm The conqueror disarmed!

Oh, no! He wakes again from night,--he waves his hand, Beckoning to the brave ranks that mourning round him stand: “My brother!” cried he--“Heaven! And is my brother gone? Their sails unfurl! My friends, oh, see! oh, see! They fly,-- On,--‘Death or vengeance!’ cry, On, on to Stamboul’s throne!”

He fled. O hero! Peace! There is no cause for grief,-- He lives,--thy brother lives, and Spiridóv, his chief! No dolphin saved them there,--it was the Almighty God, The God who sees thy deed, thy valour who approves, And tries the men He loves With His afflictive rod.

The dreadful dream is passed,--passed like a mist away, And dawns, serene and bright, a cloudless victory day: The trump of shadeless joy,--the trump of triumph speaks; The hero and his friend are met, and fled their fears; They kiss each other’s cheeks, They water them with tears.

They cried, “And is our fame, and is our glory stained? God is our shield,--revenge and victory shall be gained! We live,--and Mahmud’s might a hundred times shall fall; We live,--the astonished world our hero-deeds shall see, And every victory A burning fleet recall.”

Whence this unusual glare o’er midnight’s ocean spread? At what unwonted hour has Phœbus left his bed? No, they are Russian crowds who struggle with the foe, ’Tis their accordant torch that flashes through the night. Sequana, see the might Of Stamboul sink below!

The harbour teems with life, an amphitheatre Of sulphurous pitch and smoke, and awful noises there. The fiends of hell are loose, the sea has oped its caves, Fate rides upon the deep, and laughs amidst the fray, Which feeds with human prey The monsters of the waves.

See, like a furnace boils and steams the burning flood, ’Tis filled with mortal flesh, ’tis red with mortal blood; Devoured by raging flames, drunk by the thirsty wave, The clouds seem palpable,--a thick and solid mass,-- They sink like stone or brass Into their water-grave.

Thou ruler of the tomb! Dread hour of suffering, When all the elements,--drop, Muse, thy feeble wing!-- Hell, with its fiends, and all the fiends that man e’er drew There mingled,--Silence, veil that awful memory o’er! I see the hero pour The tears of pity too!

O Peter! Great in song, as great in glory once, Look from thy throne sublime upon thy Russia’s sons! See, how thy fleets have won the palm of victory, And hear the triumph sound, even to the gate of heaven,-- The Turkish strength is riven Even in the Turkish sea.

Thee Copenhagen saw, the Neptune of the Belt; Now Chesma’s humbled sons before thy flag have knelt. The helpless Greeks have fled,--thy banner sees their shore, Trembling they look around, while thy dread thunder swells, And shakes the Dardanelles, And Smyrna hears its roar.

Ye Frenchmen![143] Fear ye not the now advancing flame, Recording, as it flies, your own, your country’s shame? In the dark days of old, your valiant fathers trod In the brave steps of Rome, towards lands of Southern glow; Ye fight with Russians now, Beneath the Moslems’ rod.

Where innocence is found, there, there protection wakes; Where Catherine’s voice is heard,--there truth, there justice speaks: A ruler’s virtues are the strength and pride of states, And surely ours shall bloom where Catherine’s virtues stand. O enviable land! Glory is at our gates.

Soar, eagle, soar again, spring upward to the flight! For yet the Turkish flag is flaunting in the light: In Chesma’s port it still erects its insolent head, And thou must pour again thy foes’ blood o’er the sea, And crush their treachery, And wide destruction spread!

But fame now summons thee from death to life again, The people’s comfort now, their glory to maintain; The hero’s palm is won.--Now turn thee and enhance The hero’s triumphs with the patriot’s milder fame. O Romans! Without shame On Duil’s spoils we glance.

We’ll consecrate to thee a towering marble dome! From yonder Southern sea, oh, bring thy trophies home, Bring Scio’s trophies home,--those trophies still shall be Thy glory, Orlóv! Thine the records of thy deeds, When future valour reads Astrea’s victory!

Oh, could my wakened Muse a worthy offering bring! Oh, could my grateful lyre a song of glory sing! Oh, could I steal from thee the high and towering thought, With thy proud name the world, the listening world I’d fill! And Camoens’ harp be still, And Gama be forgot!

Thine was a nobler far than Jason’s enterprise, Whose name shines like a star in history’s glorious skies: He bore in triumph home the rich, the golden fleece; But with thy valour thou, and with thy conquering band, Hast saved thy fatherland, And given to Hellas peace.

But oh! My tongue is weak to celebrate thy glory, Thy valiant deeds shall live in everlasting story, For public gratitude thy name will e’er enshrine,-- Who loves his country, who his Empress loves, will throw His garland on thy brow, And watch that fame of thine.

But when thou humbledst low the Moslem’s pride and scorn, And bad’st her crescent sink, her vain and feeble horn, And pass’dst the Belt again, with songs and hymns of joy, Who that perceived thy flag, in all its mightiness,-- What Russian could repress The tears that dimmed his eye?

I see the people rush to welcome thee again, Thy ships, with trophies deep, upon the swelling main; I see the maidens haste, the aged and the young; The children wave their hands, and to their father turn, And thousand questions burn On their inquiring tongue.

“Is this the eagle proud of whom we have been told, Who led against the Turks the Russian heroes bold, And with their warriors’ blood the azure ocean dyed? Is this our Orlóv,--this with eagle’s heart and name, His foe’s reproach and shame, And Russia’s strength and pride?”

Oh, yes! Oh, yes, ’tis he! The eagle there appears, And ocean bears him on, as proud of him she bears: And see his brother too, who led to victory, there-- And Spirídov, whose praise all ages shall renew, And Greyg and Ilín too,-- The heroes, without fear.

But wherefore do I rest,--what fancies led me on? The glorious eagle now to Asia’s coast is flown, O’er streams, and hills, and vales, he takes his course sublime, My eye in vain pursues his all-subduing flight. O vision of delight! O victory-girded time!

And heaven, and earth, and sea have seen our victories won, And echo with the deeds that Catherine has done; The Baltic coasts in vain oppose the march of Paul, Not the vast North alone, but all th’ Ægean Sea Shall own his sovereignty, And the whole earthly ball!

FOOTNOTES:

[140] At Chesma, where, on July 26, 1770, the Turkish fleet was destroyed.

[141] Count Orlóv, commander of the fleet.

[142] Ship named _The Three Saints_.

[143] An agent of the French Government had fortified the Dardanelles.

Mikhaíl Matvyéevich Kheráskov. (1733-1807.)

The son of a Wallachian emigrant, Kheráskov served in succession in the army, the Kommerz-Kolleg (Ministry of Finances) and the Moscow University, where he was first Director and later Curator. He began to write early, and for half a century produced a very large number of poems in every imaginable field of the pseudo-classic school. They now appall us with their inane voluminousness, but in his day he was regarded as a great poet, a veritable Russian Homer. His best heroic epics are his _Rossiad_ and _Vladímir Regenerated_. The first, containing some ten thousand verses, celebrates the conquest of Kazán by Iván the Terrible; the second, of even more imposing length, tells of the introduction of Christianity into Russia. Though containing some fine passages, these epics reveal too much the influence of Vergil and Tasso, and make rather dreary reading.

FROM THE “ROSSIAD”

I sing Russia delivered from the barbarians, the trampled power of the Tartars, and their pride subdued, the stir of ancient mights, their labours, bloody strife, Russia’s victory, Kazán destroyed! How from the circle of those times, the beginning of peaceful years, a bright dawn has shone forth in Russia!

Oh, thou gleamest above the radiant stars, spirit of poetry! Come from thy heights, and shed over my weak and dim creation thy light, thy art and illumination! Open, O eternity, to me the gates of those habitations where all earthly care is cast away, where the souls of the righteous receive their rewards, where fame and crowns are deemed a vanity, where before the star-sprinkled altar the lowest slave stands in a row with a king, where the poor man forgets his misery, the unfortunate his grief, where every man will be equal to every other. Eternity, reveal thyself to me, that with my lyre I may attract the attention of the nations and their kings!

* * * * *

In the grottoes within the Caucasian icy mountains, which the bold glance of mortal has never spied, where the frost creates an eternal translucent vault and dulls the fall of the sun’s rays, where lightning is dead, where thunder is fettered, there stands, cut into ice, a mighty mansion. There are the storms, there are the cold, blizzards, tempests; there Winter reigns, devouring years. This austere sister of other days, though hoary, is swift and agile. Rival of Spring, Autumn and Summer, she is clad in the purple woven of snow; stark-frozen steam serves her as veil. Her throne has the form of a diamond mountain. Great pillars, of ice constructed, cast a silvery sheen, illumined by the sun; over the heavenly vault glides the solar splendour, and then it seems a mass of ice is on fire.

The elements have no motion: the air dares not move, nor the fire glow. There are no coloured fields; among the fields of ice gleam only frozen flowery vapours; the waters in the heavens, melted by the rays, hang, petrified, in wavy layers; there in the air you may discern the words of prophecy, but all is stark, and nature dead. Only tremor, chill and frost have life; hoar frosts move about, while zephyrs grow dumb; snowstorms whirl about in flight, frosts reign in the place of summer luxury. There the ice represents the ruins of cities, one look at which congeals your blood. Pressed by the frosts, the snows there form silvery mounds and fields of diamonds. From there Winter spreads her dominion over us, devouring the grass in the fields, the flowers in the vales, and sucking up the living sap of trees, and on cold pinions bears frosts to us, driving day away, prolonging gloomy nights, and compelling the sun to turn aside his beaming eyes: with trembling, forests and rivers await her, and chills weave her shrouds from the white billows.

Platón (in civil life Peter Geórgevich) Levshín. (1737-1812.)

What Feofán Prokopóvich had been to the reign of Peter the Great, Platón was to Catherine II. After having studied in the Moscow Theological Academy, where he became a teacher even before ending his course, he took the tonsure at twenty-two; at twenty-five he was made rector of the Seminary. In the same year he attracted Catherine’s attention by an eloquent speech _On the Usefulness of Piety_, and he was at once called to St. Petersburg to be her son’s spiritual teacher (see p. 326). Platón rose rapidly, and in 1787 he was made metropolitan of Moscow. His liberal and enlightened views on theology were valued not only at home, but his _Brief Theology_, originally published in 1755, has been translated into most European languages, and three times into English. A Russian source informs us that his book on theology was made a text-book at Oxford and Cambridge. Several Englishmen who had visited him, and Dr. Stanley, spoke in the highest terms of this Russian divine.

The translation of his _Brief Theology_ in English bears the following titles: _The Present State of the Greek Church in Russia; or, A Summary of Christian Divinity_, by Platón, Late Metropolitan of Moscow, translated from the Slavonian ... by Robert Pinkerton, Edinburgh, 1814, and New York, 1815; _The Orthodox Doctrine of the Apostolic Eastern Church; or, A Compendium of Christian Theology_, translated from the Greek ... to which is appended a _Treatise on Melchisedec_, London, Manchester [printed], 1857; _Κατηχησις--The Great Catechism of the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Orthodox Church_, translated from the Greek by J. T. S., London, 1867. _A Sermon preached by order of Her Imperial Majesty, on the Tomb of Peter the Great, in the Cathedral Church of St. Petersburg_, London, 1770.

WHAT ARE IDOLATERS?

The second commandment forbiddeth idolatry, and every unlawful mode of worshipping God.

At one time, almost all nations were in such a state of error (and even now there are many in the same situation), that they worshipped the creatures as gods, such as the sun, the moon, fire, also the lower animals, as bulls, cats, crocodiles; and some even worshipped herbs, such as onion and garlic; and to all these they offered sacrifices, and paid other divine honours, or they made statues in the likeness of men and other animals, and bowed down before them as if they were divinities. But from these shocking and awful errors, the grace of Jesus Christ has delivered us (I Peter iv. 3).

Such persons also resemble those idolaters as labour for Mammon and their belly; that is, whose thoughts are all taken up about amassing riches, which they either do not make use of, or only sacrifice to their fleshly lusts. With such people, Mammon and the belly are the idols, to whom they devote all their services; and on this account the Holy Scriptures call the love of riches, idolatry (Col. iii. 5); and those also idolaters who make their belly their God (Phil. iii. 19).

This commandment also forbids the use of all unlawful means in the worship of God; that is, when anyone thinks of pleasing God by that which is not acceptable to Him, and which is not commanded in His Word. Such, for instance, were those Israelites who presented to God costly sacrifices while they led ungodly lives. And therefore God, through His prophet Isaiah, declared sacrifices presented from such hands to be hateful in His eyes; that is, their oblations were vain, their incense was an abomination and their fatted calves like dogs in His sight (chap. i. II). Those persons consequently transgress against this commandment:

1. Who offer hypocritical worship.--Who utter long prayers, which of itself is pious, but suppose that they shall be heard for their much speaking, though at the same time they feel no contrition of spirit. Of a similar character, also, are those hypocrites who on every occasion show themselves zealous for the name of God, zealous for the faith, the glory and the interests of the Church, and who introduce all their speeches with spiritual observations (which in themselves are praiseworthy), but who with all this have nothing in view but the indulgence of a spirit of ostentation, or promoting their own interest in all that they do, and whose zeal consists only in words with which their conduct does not in the least agree.

2. Hypocritical observances of the fasts.--Who fast, that is, abstain from certain kind of food, and on that account hope for divine acceptance, though at the same time they live in every kind of iniquity. By them the real fast, which does not consist merely in abstinence from food, but in restraining the corrupt passions, is evil spoken of. Such, also, are those who adorn the churches, or cover the pictures of the saints with gold and silver, yet at the same time oppress the innocent, who are the Church of the living God, or leave the poor without food. It is in vain, however, for them to declare that they have done all that they should have done in order to be saved; for, according to the words of Christ “these ought they to have done, and not to leave the other undone” (Matt. xxiii. 23).

3. The superstitious.--Who invent certain miraculous kinds of appearances, for the sake of filthy lucre, or from some sort of extravagant ideas about the salvation of their souls, or who attach an unknown kind of sanctity to some particular places, believing that God will hear prayers sooner in one place than in another. In a word, all those who transgress against this commandment, who, according to the testimony of Christ, place their hope of salvation in externals, and “omit the weightier matters of law, judgment, mercy and faith.” Therefore, respecting such characters, divine truth declares “This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me. But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men” (Matt. xv. 8, 9).

* * * * *

Reverencing the pictures is not contrary to this commandment.

We do not act contrary to this commandment, when, according to the ancient custom of Christians, we adorn our temples with the holy pictures. For, in the first place, we do not attempt to draw upon the canvas a representation of the unseen and incomprehensible God, whom we never can represent; but we represent our Saviour in the fashion of a man which He took upon Himself, or His favourites. Secondly, the pictures are made and placed in our churches, not for deification, but to commemorate the acts of God and of His chosen servants, that we, in beholding them (as, for instance, in looking on the picture of our crucified Saviour), may stir up our soul to piety and to the imitation of them in many acts of their lives. Thirdly, the obeisance which we make before the pictures we do not render to the pictures themselves, that is, to the boards, colours, ornaments or skill of the artist, but we render this to the person whom they represent, and to the pictures only an affectionate salutation. Thus, for example, I bow before the picture of my Saviour, but the devotion of my spirit, my faith, supplication and hope, and the obeisance which I pay, are all rendered to my Saviour alone, who is in heaven, and everywhere present, and the picture is only a kind of sensible incitement of my devotion. Moreover, it is necessary to be known that the obeisance performed before the picture of our Saviour, and that before the picture of any of the saints, though to appearances the same, yet in reality are very different indeed. For the worship which I perform before the picture of the Saviour consists in the deepest humility of soul before Him as Lord and Creator of all; but that which I perform before the pictures of the saints is a reverence which I render to them out of a loving heart as His favourites, and as of the same nature, and of the same Church, and members of the same body with myself.

* * * * *

Of such as err in reverencing the pictures.

But notwithstanding all that has been said, this lawful and holy reverencing of the pictures may be turned into the most abominable sin of idolatry. This is the case when anyone hopes in, or attaches all his respect to the holy pictures, and trusts in their material substance; when, for instance, anyone finds greater sanctity in one picture than in another, or places in them any hope of salvation. They, too, are chargeable with this guilt who bring their own particular picture into the church along with them, and only worship before it, or who respect those pictures more which are adorned than the unadorned, the old more than the new, or decline praying at all when they have not a picture before them. All these, and such like, are great transgressors, and prove a great disgrace to the real profession of the Christian faith.

In order to avoid the above-named errors, it is necessary to remember, 1st, That the worship of God can never be sincere, unless it proceed from a contrite and unfeigned spirit. For all external rites of worship are only marks testifying our internal piety and sincerity towards God, without which they signify nothing. And therefore the gospel requires that the worshippers of God should worship Him in spirit (not externally alone), and in truth, or not in hypocrisy. 2d, We must hold to the divine Word alone, and rest assured that it only contains the true rules by which we ought to please God. And therefore Christ said concerning the Holy Scriptures that in them is contained eternal life.--From _The Present State of the Greek Church in Russia_, translated by R. Pinkerton.

FROM THE ADDRESS UPON THE ACCESSION OF ALEXANDER I.

Thus has the Lord granted to us the privilege of seeing our Emperor crowned and exalted above men. But we, sons of Russia, what is our part in this solemnity? Do not our thanksgivings resound in gratitude to the King of kings for the grace He has bestowed on our monarch and upon us? Yes, they resound with heartfelt fervour, warmed with hopes of a future reign of national glory and happiness!...

This crown, Sire, on your head, is a pledge to us of honour, fame and renown, but imposes upon you duties and labours which can only cease with your life; this sceptre in your right hand, a guarantee to us of repose, demands of you incessant vigilance for our protection; this emblem of empire in your left hand, a promise to us of security, exacts of you little but anxiety and care; this purple, for us a shield and defence from our enemies, challenges you to war and contests; finally, this whole Imperial attire, to us a source of consolation and confidence, is for you a burden wrought with danger and toil--yes, a burden and a labour. For see, to your eyes there will appear an empire the largest upon which the sun has ever shone; from your wisdom it looks for the harmonious connection of its parts, the regulation of the whole. You will see flocking to your feet widows, orphans, the most destitute, the victims of the abuse of power, of favour, of corruption and of crime....

But, alas! that near the angels of light the eye should discover the fiendish spirits of darkness. Flattery, calumny and cunning, with all their wretched brood, will surround your throne, and foolishly imagine that their hypocrisy will beguile you. Bribery and partiality will raise their glossy heads and labour to lower the scale of justice. Luxury, adorned with every voluptuous charm, presents the intoxicating draughts of perilous joys to lead astray from the path of virtue the pure spirit, and engulf it in the slough of indolence and sensuality. Besieged by this riotous band, you will undoubtedly turn to truth, justice, wisdom and religion, and, united with you, they will raise their voice to God that He may rise again in you, and scatter your enemies.

Monarch of Russia! This struggle awaits you. For this contest gird on your sword! Draw it with valour, young hero! Fight, conquer and govern! The omnipotent arm of the Almighty will wonderfully protect you. We say rightly “wonderfully”; for here not to fall, here to conquer, here to maintain order and peace, truly! for this is more than human strength required; and, though the decree of the Eternal Being has appointed for you an exalted rank among men, you are nevertheless a man like any of us.--Given in Grahame’s _The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia_.

Iván Ivánovich Khémnitser. (1745-1784.)

Khémnitser was the son of a German physician who had emigrated to Russia. At thirteen years of age he left his home and entered military service, which he left in 1769 as a lieutenant; he then served in the Department of Mines, and died in Smyrna, where he was Russian consul. Khémnitser translated La Fontaine’s and Gellert’s fables, but two-thirds of all the fables he wrote are his own. He forms the transitional stage between Sumarókov and Krylóv, and is distinguished for extreme simplicity of language and a certain elegiac tone.

Sir John Bowring has translated his _The House-Builder_, _The Rich and the Poor Man_, _The Lion’s Council of State_, and _The Waggons_. Sutherland Edwards, in his _The Russians at Home_, gives a version of _The Metaphysician_, which is also reprinted in F. R. Grahame’s _The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia_.

THE LION’S COUNCIL OF STATE

A lion held a court for state affairs: Why? That is not your business, sir, ’twas theirs! He called the elephants for counsellors--still The council-board was incomplete; And the king deemed it fit With asses all the vacancies to fill. Heaven help the state--for lo! the bench of asses The bench of elephants by far surpasses.

He was a fool, the foresaid king, you’ll say: Better have kept those places vacant surely, Than fill them up so poorly. O no! that’s not the royal way; Things have been done for ages thus,--and we Have a deep reverence for antiquity: Naught worse, sir, than to be, or to appear Wiser and better than our fathers were. The list must be complete, even though you make it Complete with asses; for the lion saw Such had for ages been the law,-- He was no radical to break it! “Besides,” he said, “my elephants’ good sense Will soon my asses’ ignorance diminish, For wisdom has a mighty influence.” They made a pretty finish! The asses’ folly soon obtained the sway: The elephants became as dull as they!

--From Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the Russian Poets_,