[In the following essay, Burton explores Baratynsky's expression of the pain and emotional exposure caused by trying to remain true to his poetic vision, focusing on the poem “Vse mysl’ da mysl’!…”]

In Boratynskij's early and well-known poem “Bogdanovicu” (“To Bogdanovic,” 1824) the poet, at the zenith of his fame, enthusiastically announces his readiness to sacrifice the beauty of his verse for truth: “V zamenu krasoty, daju stixam moim / Ja silu istiny” (I give the power of truth, in place of beauty, to my verse).¹ A few years later, in 1827, a less famous but more mature and confident poet alters his lines to underscore not only the likelihood of the perfect harmony of truth and beauty, but to indicate further that the essence of beauty is truth itself: “Ja pravdy krasotu daju stixam moim” (I give to my verse the beauty of truth). In his other early poem, “Istina” (“Truth,” 1823), truth itself is not rejected by the melancholy singer in his search for happiness; only her offer to initiate him at the time (or in his youth) into her frightful and dismaying “code” of life is refused. She is asked to return, but to postpone her coming. And she appears, fourteen years later, in “Osen'” (“Autumn,” 1837). This most majestic yet personal and poignant of Boratynskij's lyrics acknowledges the dedication of the poet to the profound truth of man's existence. The truth of the poet's life in “Osen'” lies exposed: his lifelong effort is rejected, yet he cannot sacrifice the wholeness, the integrity of his poetic message, for his own recognition or acceptance. The poet in “Osen',” in envisioning his own poetic doom, proclaims that such is the fate of the poet who refuses to follow the “common path” and thus to become the “oracle” of trivial revelations (nositel' obscix dum). Boratynskij's poet is irrevocably concerned with truth.

Significantly, the imagery central to some of Boratynskij's major works, which identifies the intellectual intensity and depth of the poet's perception, is epitomized by the phrase “bez pokrova” (without a veil, or cover). Thus, in one of his magnificent philosophical poems, “Poslednjaja smert'” (“The Last Death,” 1827), the lyrical persona, in his enraptured imagination, perceives a world not visible to others—“the last fate of all the living.” The imagery of this poem foreshadows his philosophical lyric of his later period “Vse mysl' da mysl'! … (“Thought, nothing but thought! …,” 1840). Significantly the tone of his later poem differs strikingly from that of “Poslednjaja smert'.” The poet in the earlier work remains somewhat philosophically detached from his own apocalyptic intellectual conclusion concerning death of civilization. Its measured tone and majestic imagery reveal a certain lack of personal involvement: the poet steps aside to view the deeds of humanity that led to its own ruin. Although this is primarily a literary device—the poet is the narrator of this epic, a purveyor of the vision, a judge and not a participant—the tone of Boratynskij's late philosophical lyrics unmistakably reveals the emotional exposure of the poet to his own vision. “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” acutely reflects the poet's magnified perception and resultant pain; the poem's interpretation bears directly on the recognition of the poet's response to his poetic destiny.

This poem provokes various responses from critics. Some see it as Boratynskij's pessimistic complaint “of the tyranny of thought over the ‘wretched artist in words,’ as opposed to painters, sculptors and musicians.”² Others, referring to the “energy of thought,” see a “deadening perplexity” as a result of thought's action, leaving the poet “helpless and transfixed, as before a ‘bared sword,’ which takes from living all its spontaneity and pleasure.” Hence this interpretation has the poet “wishing to escape from this work of his own mind.”³ Predictably, some see it as the poet's “envy” toward the artist of the other, less demanding or, perhaps, more merciful arts, or the envy of the poet-intellectual toward the artist whose gift is not burdened by such an awesome reflective quality.⁴ Many earlier scholars saw this poem as a reflection of Boratynskij's infatuation with Schelling or, more specifically, as the interpretation of the Schellingian thesis of the superiority of the visual arts and music over the art of the written word (inherent in the Schlegelian concept of the dialectical opposition between the “corporeal” and “picturesque,” that is, the ancient versus modern perception of reality).⁵ Similarly, the editor of the latest and most authoritative complete collection of Boratynskij's poems, E. N. Kuprejanova (1957), interprets the lyric as the poet's expression of the inferiority, the “inadequacy” (nepolnocennost'), of the art of the word and its logical origin as compared to the “cuvstvennyj” (sensuous or sensual) origin of the arts of music, sculpture, and painting, with the term “cuvstvennyj,” as suggested in her argument, carrying the meaning of “irrational,” “intuitive”—that is, the opposite of “logical.”⁶ The other critics, however, stressing the painful, perhaps tragic fate of the poet whose reflective quality compels him to see truth “without a veil or cover,” view poetry interpreted, precisely for this reason, as superior to the other arts.⁷

The present interpretation of the poem differs fundamentally from Kuprejanova's. Yet, I find her term “cuvstvennyj,” central to its interpretation. Kuprejanova's position is presented here in order to be disputed. Kuprejanova asserts that many of the themes of Boratynskij's late philosophical lyrics were in accord with the principles formulated in the late 1830s and early 1840s by the Russian disciples of Schelling (Kireevskij, Sevyrev, Odoevskij) in their ideological contest with the Russian Hegelians (Belinskij, Hercen, Bakunin). In the course of the conflict, says Kuprejanova, the question of the interdependence of art and science (nauka), the intuitive and the logical origins of human cognition (poznanie) and self-knowledge (samopoznanie) remained most acute. The Schelling camp, which measured progress in terms of spiritual (duxovnyj) and not intellectual culture, held art as the highest yet irrational, intuitive activity of man's spirit, activity devoid of either forethought or practical goal. Kuprejanova cites “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” among several of Boratynskij's poems from his last collection, Sumerki (Twilight, 1842), as an illustration of his idealistic argument against the utilitarian tenor of his time, an argument, in her view, identical with that of the early Slavophiles, whose philosophical, historical, and aesthetic romanticism was built upon the mystical philosophy and aesthetics of the late Schelling. Yet, as distinct from the ideology of Slavophilism, states Kuprejanova, the principles of philosophical romanticism in Boratynskij's late poetry carried a purely negative function. They did not serve in Boratynskij's art as a theoretical vindication of the existing order, or as a justification for fleeing it. Consequently, Boratynskij's poetry expressed the immutable rejection of the times. This conflict with life and the recognition of the hopelessness of this conflict, says Kuprejanova, infused the late art of Boratynskij with a profound sense of tragedy and pathos. And it is the realization of his ideological impotence (bessil'e) before the existing order which he rejects that Boratynskij objectifies into an insoluble conflict between thought (mysl') and feeling (cuvstvo), between art (iskusstvo) and life (zizn'). It makes him see in thought, in knowledge and science (nauka), a cold and deadly force that shatters the highest hopes of the human heart and sentences it to spiritual death. That realization of his impotence, she concludes, was its own truth “without a cover” (bez pokrova) or justification of the Slavophile illusions.⁸

This paper disagrees not with Kuprejanova's assertion of Boratynskij's adamant rejection of his time, but with her corroboration of Boratynskij's ideological impotence as the essence and tragic pathos of his weltanschauung. Her theoretical validation of Boratynskij's insoluble conflict with his time in view of his accord with Schellingian idealistic concepts and their expression (as she asserts) in his late lyrics is not entirely convincing; it is precisely the tragic image of Boratynskij's poet in his late lyrics that provides a basis for skepticism. Ginsburg, in her evaluation of Boratynskij's art, observes in this regard: “for the students of Schelling opposition of the poet and society—is the norm, for Boratynskij—it is spiritual catastrophe.”⁹ A poet in Schelling's conception is a personification of a certain weltanschauung, an embodiment of the highest cognizance (nositel' vyssego poznanija) and revelation (otkrovenijaa);¹⁰ and in that he is primarily an abstract image. The unifying theme of Boratynskij's late collection, Sumerki, is historically concrete. In Ginzburg's definition it is the theme of the tragic realization of man, isolated and alienated from values commonly accepted and shared in society.¹¹

This is an authentic and immediate experience of Boratynskij's later persona. What is disputed here, therefore, is not Boratynskij's interest in “new metaphysics,”¹² but the interpretation of his work within the concepts of the Schellingian aesthetics. For his philosophical views can carry no conviction unless they are in harmony with his own immediate experience. The insufficiency of Kuprejanova's argument, as will be shown, is in her disregard of Boratynskij's own contextual interpretation of the basic imagery in “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” In her discussion the dichotomy between two of Boratynskij's major concepts becomes erased when she assigns to “cuvstvennost”' (sensuousness) the meaning of the irrational or intuitive as opposed to the logical origin of the word.¹³ The present examination of “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …,” therefore, will focus not on any extrinsic factors as they relate to Boratynskij's poetic career, but on his own poetic context, for it reveals his fundamental philosophical and ethical attitude to life and art. His use of the word as an image that depicts the emotional and intellectual experience of his lyrical persona will be the subject of this analysis.

The examination of Boratynskij's total poetic context reveals his basically pluralistic orientation: his views on life and art, on happiness and truth, on the poet and his time, on life and fate and death, are reviewed by the poet from different perspectives. The choices offered, however, are evaluated, and the poet's fundamental views on life and art appear distinct. One example is his early philosophical poem “Dve doli” (“Two Fates,” 1823), in which Boratynskij posits, in rather graphic terms, the two alternatives Providence has allotted man—“either hope and agitation, or hopelessness and calm”—and explores their viability. These alternatives find various treatments in a number of his early poems and some later lyrics: happiness versus knowledge of life in “Istina” (“Truth,” 1823); hopelessness and calm in “Beznadeznost'” (“Hopelessness,” 1823); hope and agitation as a theme of life and death in “Cerep” (“The Skull,” 1824), or life and agitation in his late poem “Mudrecu” (“To the Philosopher,” 1840). The early poem “Dve doli” thus sets out a premise to explore, which is carried through Boratynskij's entire poetic practice. Some of his later works appear to borrow their vocabularly concepts from his earlier lyrics and build around them their new context. The full realization of his poetic themes in some of his more complex works thus depends not only on the full potency of his stylistic method but also on the previous context in which his key words appear. Germane to this discussion is the concept “cuvstvennost',” which Kuprejanova also finds central to her interpretation. It will be given full attention on the subsequent pages.

“Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” builds its poetic context upon the image “bez pokrova,” which as mentioned earlier, illustrates the depth of the poet's perception. This image carries with it into its new poetic context, thirteen years after its appearance in “Poslednjaja smert',” the weight of an apocalyptic intellectual conclusion to the earlier poem. In the new poem it expresses the intellectual and emotional experience of the poet of thought, the possessor of such an awesome perception or “power.” And the experience of the poet, as revealed by the variety of critical interpretations reviewed earlier is not altogether clear; his attitude toward his own art appears in doubt. Does he consider other arts superior to his own? Or is the art of the word most critical and fearless? The evidence that should resolve this ambiguity is found in Boratynskij's earlier context: his own definition of the critical vocabulary of “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …”—the concept “cuvstvennyj” (sensuous) in its association with the term “scast'je” (happiness) in his early epistle “K Konsinu” (“To Konsin,” 1820)—and his meticulous attention to this concept throughout his total poetic output, provide this evidence. It will be presented within the appropriate context of the discussion of “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …”

As it seems, the artist of the word, the “slave of the thought” (“Vse mysl' da mysl'”), at the very opening of the poem, is “pitied” by it author (“xudoznik bednyj slova”—poor artist of the word). His art is consuming and offers no respite from thought (“tebe zabven'ja net”); the noun “zabven'je” (oblivion), negated here, reveals the state of unredeeming intellectual absorption or intensity. It is preceded by an intellectually intense and emotionally elevated word “zrec” (“svjascennosluzitel',” priest, devotee). Thus poor, wretched artist of the word who finds no respite from thought, appears not the victim of his thought but its devotee, “called” to his highest mission. His weapon is the active force of his creative thought, which casts off the “protective” or concealing cover from the phenomena and elements of life and the universe (man, world, death, life, truth) and lays bare their essences. The truth now lies exposed (“pravda bez pokrova”); the poet, the priest of thought, is “called” to “expose” truth. The metaphor for the thought—“ostryj luc” (sharp or acute ray)—speaks eloquently for its energy, its penetrative or enlightening force. And yet this force contains a brutal power, for earthly life excoriated, divested of its illusive, concealing coverlet, now pales and withers. The word “bledneet,” in the last line of the poem (“Mysl', ostryj luc! bledneet zizn' zemnaja”), in itself has a multitude of meanings: earthly life pales, or loses its colors, its spontaneity, its illusion, its attraction—it withers; it loses importance within the poet's concern; it is reduced in rank, it becomes a part of the cosmic order; perhaps it is even “frightened,” or apprehensive of the poet's exposure. The energy of thought with its illuminating force appears to be the victor in this contest: the most effective position of the words in the line—“ray” and “pales”—which are separated only by the caesura, allows one to perceive the effect of thought as immediate.

The metaphor for the thought—“ostryj luc”—accentuates its beauty in its enlightening force; the thought's simile—“nagoj mec” (naked blade)—reveals its brutal power. And the power of the “naked blade,” embodied in the “ray,” transforms (or “frightens”) earthly life. The beauty of the perception is thus offset by the result of this perception. The poet's mission is indeed heroic. Yet an ambiguity as to the poet's attitude toward the other arts is not entirely resolved. For while enumerating other arts that preclude the artist from the experience of the “brutal” power of the poet's vision, the author unequivocally states that such an artist is a fortunate man (“scastliv, kto vlekom / K nim cuvstvennym”—“happy is he who is attracted to them [the arts] by the sensuous”). However, Boratynskij's use of terms as they apply to his poetic context is inconsistent here: “scastliv … cuvstvennym.” The concept of “happiness” in Boratynskij's poetic expression is incompatible with “cuvstvennost'”; the latter term was most explicitly defined in Boratynskij's early epistle “K Konsinu” (“To Konsin,” 1820), where in one of his best-known aphoristic formulations it became closely identified with the state of illusory happiness.

In this epistle the poet sets and defines two concepts—“cuvstvennost'” and “cuvstvo” (senuousness and feeling)—which distinguish two classes of protagonists. The first concept is associated with those who are endowed with inactive, apathetic souls, and are not capable of deep emotional attachments, enduring friendships, and love; their good fortune underscores the shallowness of the emotional experience. The second concept is allied with the poet and his friend, whose full appreciation of happiness requires the experiences of suffering (“stradan'je”). And although to achieve more than a mere illusion of happiness one must endure pain, the poet praises the omniscient gods (“Xvala vsevidjascim Bogam”) and the just gods (“Pravednyje Bogi”) for having endowed him and his friend with “cuvstvo,” which allows for deep emotional experience. The judgment of the gods also unmasks the emotional poverty of those possessed by illusory happiness (“scastlivcy mnimye”), whom the just gods spared from pain by allowing them only a shallow emotional experience (“cuvstvennost'”).

“Scast'je” (happiness) is incompatible with “cuvstvennost',” concludes the epistle, for the latter lacks emotional intensity and thus precludes the total experience of life. The last line of the epistle, which embraces its entire meaning, juxtaposes the two concepts—“cuvstvo” and “cuvstvennost'”—one inherent in “scast'je” (happiness), another, in “mnimoe scast'je” (the illusion of happiness). “Scast'je” then, as it is interpreted in Boratynskij's epistle “K Konsinu,” requires spiritual bravery, the capacity to expose oneself to pain. It is asserted here that these concepts, embodied in the last line of this early epistle, which elliptically communicate Boratynskij's fundamental ethical views on life and art, retain their full impact in a poem written twenty years later; the associations the two concepts acquire within the epistle retain their full potency in his later work.

It can be argued that Boratynskij's pluralistic orientation seeks a different interpretation of these concepts in his later lyrics. Yet the examination of his works reveals that Boratynskij's poetic context throughout twenty years retains the purity of the initial concepts “cuvstvennost'” and “cuvstvo.” Boratynskij's text demonstrates his meticulous attention to his use of the words: in his revision of the early poems for the edition of 1827 (his first collection), he goes through his entire poetic context to erase any ambiguity in the text that might have been suggested by the two terms. In his revised versions the purity of the original definition of these terms is thus preserved. Traced through the context of his revisions, the word “cuvstvo” is deleted in several poems in their new versions, where ambiguity appears plausible to Boratynskij.¹⁴ The examples are three early poems (given in their original versions here to illustrate these findings): “Poslanie k Baronu Del'vigu,” 1820 (“Ona!—o nega cuvstv!. …”); “Zvezdocka,” 1824 (“V zvezde ljubeznoj cuvstvo est'”); and “Opravdanie,” 1824 (“I otdaval im tol'ko cuvstva ja”).¹⁵ However, the poem addressed to his wife, “Ona” (1827), where the term “cuvstva” (identical with the term in “Opravdanie” above) is juxtaposed to “dusa” (soul), was never revised, for its clarity was not in doubt (“Cto govorit ne s cuvstvami—s dusoj”).¹⁶ Boratynskij's scrupulous efforts to preserve the very specific semantic and emotional force of the concepts expressed with utmost clarity in one of his best-known formulations forces us to interpret any text in which the word or imagery embodying such a concept appears with great discretion and attention to its initial meaning and to any particular association it acquires through the text.

It may even be stated that the poem “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” dramatically demonstrates the continuity of Boratynskij's thought between his latest and some of his earliest lyrics. It shows how, having found in his early stage a distinct and memorable expression for the definition of seemingly (or phonetically¹⁷) related yet (semantically) contrasting concepts defining his attitude toward life and art, he makes a painstaking effort to preserve these definitions “untainted,” so that when the symbols for the identical concepts appear twenty years later (now drastically edited), they retain the purity of their original definitions. For these concepts continue to embody his philosophical and ethical views on life and art.

One must also point out that Boratynskij himself, perhaps aware that the term “cuvstvennost'” may appear ambiguous within the context of “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …,” immediately clarifies it by adding: “za gran' ix ne stupaja” (not stepping beyond their [arts'] limits). “Cuvstvennost',” within this augmented context, is thus defined as the experience of an artist confined, or restricted, to the sensuous limits of art. To interpret such an experience as good fortune (as the poem seems to indicate) thus appears a contradiction in terms in Boratynskij's context. Consequently, neither the “envy” of Boratynskij's poet toward the other less demanding arts, nor the expression of the inferiority or inadequacy of the art of the word as compared with the visual arts and music, is supported by the text itself. The word “vlekom” (being attracted to, inclined, carried away), placed within rhyme, hence emphasized, within the immediate context of “scastliv” and “cuvstvennym” (“scastliv, kto vlekom / K nim cuvstvennym”), is also telling. It stresses the quality of “being led,” rather than “being in search of.” Its form along—present passive participle, short form—reveals its implication. Such a man (or an artist) is not an “iskatel'” (seeker, searcher), as the active and thus happy state of the lyrical hero (in his youth) is characterized in “Osen'” (“Autumn”). “Scastliv, kto vlekom,” within the context of Boratynskij's works, is an epigrammatic incongruity, an oxymoron, as it were, and thus an irony. An irony exists throughout the poem: the poet is both enraptured with the beauty of his creative weapon and in painful awe of the immense power of his gift; the last line of the poem elliptically communicates this thought. The introduction of the poet as the wretched artist of the word is immediately countered by designating him with the highly elevated and semantically eloquent image “zrec” (priest). The poet of thought, alone among artists, is perceiving, with the awesome active power of his creative vision (not identified with but compared to a “naked blade”: “kak pred nagim mecom”), the essence of the phenomena of the universe; he is unveiling truth. The earthly world for such a figure is not a “banquet” (“prazdnik mirskoj”). A “worldly banquet” is thus opposed to “pale earthy life.” The first is the world of a man (or artist) who does not strive beyond the limits of the sensuous. The limits of his vision “reward” him by preventing him from seeing the essence and truth of life and the universe. The one who is committed (“zrec”) to the discovery of the essence of the cosmic order, who casts off limits with his vision, pays an awesome price. In Boratynskij's poetry his role is no longer limited to that of an artist; he is “elected.”¹⁸

Additional evidence that lends further support to this interpretation is found in the two poems that embrace “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” in Boratynskij's last collection Sumerki (Twilight, 1842). Boratynskij placed his works within the collection to preserve their thematic unity, not in chronological order. Significantly, neither of the two poems placed next to the one under discussion was written during the same year. Most important, the imagery of the two poems is closely identified with the imagery of “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …” The first poem, originally titled “Vanitas Vanitatum” (or “Sueta suet,” 1841) and later untitled, is built around the concept “cuvstvo” (feeling)—the opposite of “cuvstvennost'.” In this poem “cuvstvo” is associated with the “eloquent or powerful song” of the “poor old man,” a genuine and fated poet from his early youth, who now, destitute and blind, singing before the public, is being jeered by the “rabble,” resembling a “pack of malicious dogs.”¹⁹ He is “commanded” by the poet-narrator (the imperative is accentuated by an exclamation mark) to leave his “tripod” (a street-organ) and to abandon the earthly cares he expresses in his song. For he is not an artist who out of poverty must endure the mockery of the mob, but an “elected one” (“Ty izbrannik, ne xudoznik!”), whose voice may be heard in a “heavenly choir.” “Cuvstvo” in this poem is thus identified with suffering, which elevates the poetry into the highest realm of art. The two poems then, one placed immediately after the other, explore the two concepts, defined twenty years earlier, in a new poetic context. The conclusion offered by the poet, although now tragic in its implications, is nearly identical with the one in his early epistle “K Konsinu”: “cuvstvennost'” (in “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …”) again spares from deep emotional experience and thus pain; “cuvstvo (in “Vanitas Vanitatum”) is identified with the most poignant emotion—suffering, which ennobles the wretched earthly figure of the genuine artist.

The second poem, “Skul'ptor” (“The Sculptor,” 1841), which follows “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …,” employs the central image of the latter poem—“pokrov” (the veil or cover). The sculptor in this poem is also seen as a genuine artist who goes beyond the limits of the sensuous, the artist under whose passionate yet controlled chisel the last veil falls, brining the object of art to life.²⁰ The “last veil” in “Skul'ptor” is thus compared with the image “without a veil or cover” in “Vse mysl' da mysl'! …”; the “chisel” of the sculptor may be likened to the “sharp ray” of the poet, which also takes off the last veil. The irony of the poet of thought, and thus his tragedy, as compared with the sculptor, is in his reflective power—“the naked blade.” The object of the sculptor's passion comes to life under his chisel; the object of the poet's unredeeming intellectual absorption—the earthly life—pales, withers. His mission is indeed heroic.

Notes

1. This poem is published in its revised versions of 1827 or 1835. For the 1824 version see notes in Polnoe sobranie socinenij E. A. Boratynskogo. Pod redakciej i s primecanijami M. L. Gofmana (St. Petersburg: AN, 1914), I, p. 247.

2. G. Struve, “Evgeny Baratynsky,” The Slavonic and East European Review, 23 (January, 1945), 113.

3. J. B. Dees, Evgeny Baratynsky (New York: Twayne Publishers, Inc., 1972), p. 115.

4. P. Filippovic, Zizn' i tvorcestvo E. A. Baratynskogo (Kiev, 1917), p. 207.

5. See N. R. Mazepa, E. A. Baratynskij: Esteticeskie i literaturno-kriticeskie vzgljady (Kiev: AN USSR, 1960), p. 62, for her introductory statement to her own interpretation, strongly at variance with theirs.

   According to romantic idealists, the poetry of the man of antiquity, who lived close to nature and whose life and intellect were in perfect harmony, was a corporeal art—it appealed directly to physical senses. Modern literature, the literature of man separated from nature by civilization, is picturesque—it appeals not to the physical senses, but to the imagination and the intellect; modern poetry gives rise to pictures of the mind or ideas. Thus, if ancient art had been objective and real, modern art is subjective and ideal. If the poetry of the ancients, with it foundation in the scene which is at present, with its expression of the consciousness of the harmony of all their faculties, was the poetry of enjoyment, modern poetry is that of desire—it hovers between recollection and hope, in August Schlegel's words. For this and further discussion on the two concepts; for the Russian equivalent of the term “corporeality” (“vescestvennost'”), and the understanding (and misunderstanding) of this term by Russians, see Lauren G. Leighton's essay on “A Romantic Idealist Notion in Russian Romantic Criticism” in Canadian-American Slavic Studies, VII, 3 (Fall, 1973), 285-295, esp. pp. 287 and 292.

6. E. N. Kuprejanova, “E. A. Baratynskij,” Polnoe sobranie stixotvorenij (Leningrad: Sovetskij Pisatel', 1957), pp. 35-36. See also pp. 367, 371 (notes to “Primety” and “Vse mysl' da mysl'”).

7. G. Xetso (Kjetsaa), Evgenij Baratynskij. Zizn' i tvorcestvo (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1973), pp. 476-477; N. R. Mazepa, Esteticeskie i literaturno-kriticeskie vzgljady, p. 62.

8. E. N. Kuprejanova, “E. A. Baratynskij,” Polnoe sobranie stixotvorenij, pp. 35-36.

9. L. Ginzburg, O lirike (Moscow: Sovetskij Pisatel', 1964), p. 77.

10. Ginzburg, p. 60.

11. Ginzburg, p. 78.

12. E. A. Boratynskij. Stixotvorenija. Poemy. Proza. Pis'ma. (Moscow: “Goslitizdat,” 1951), p. 514 (Letter to I. V. Kireevskij, February, 1832).

13. Kuprejanova's interpretation as such, is not disputed here: “sensuous,” in applying to things of the senses as opposed to spirit or intellect, can carry the meaning she assigns. However, her interpretation of the term as it applies to Boratynskij's context is questioned here.

14. The situations where “cuvstvo” (especially in its plural form, “cuvstva,” or “cuvstv”—genitive plural) may be interpreted as “senses,” rather than “feelings.”

15. In this case “cuvstva” have to be translated as “senses” (or sensuous experience), for it is prefaced by “tol'ko”—“only”: “only feelings”—is incompatible in Boratynskij's context. Nevertheless, even here the poet deleted it to avoid its possible (and careless, or better, cursory) misreading as “feelings.”

16. Here “cuvstva” are again translated as “senses,” but there is no ambiguity in this case, where “senses” are opposed to “soul.” For Boratynskij's juxtaposition of “cuvstvennost” and “cuvstvo” see also his introduction to his romantic poem Naloznica (The Concubine, 1831) in E. A. Boratynskij. Stixotvorenija. Poemy. Proza. Pis'ma, p. 432.

17. See Osip Brik, “Zvukovye povtory,” Poetica. Sbornik po teorii poeticeskogo jazyka, I (Petrograd, 1919), 82, for “zvukoobraznaja tavtologija.”

18. Xetso, Evgenij Baratynskij …, p. 477, sees Boratynskij's views in harmony with those of Shelly.

19. This is a rare occurrence in Boratynskij's poetry (in comparison with F. Tjutcev or Puskin, for example) where the opposition between the poet and society is so acute.

20. Boratynskij illustrates his poem with the story of Pygmalion and Galatea.