Title: Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev Known As: Tiutchev, Fedor Ivanovich; Tiutchev, F.I.

Russian Poet ( 1803 - 1873 ) Author(s): Anatoly Liberman (University of Minnesota) Source: Russian Literature in the Age of Pushkin and Gogol: Poetry and Drama . Ed. Christine Rydel. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 205. Detroit: Gale Group, 1999. From Literature Resource Center. Document Type: Biography, Critical essay Bookmark: Bookmark this Document Full Text: COPYRIGHT 1999 Gale Group, COPYRIGHT 2007 Gale, Cengage Learning Table of Contents:Biographical and Critical Essay"Ne to, chto mnite vy, priroda""Letnii vecher""Ne ostyvshaia ot znoiu""Videnie""Na vozvratnom puti""Obveian vesheiu dremotoi""Utro v gorakh""Na Neve""Zdes, gde tak vialo svod nebesnyi""Na vozvratnom puti,""Osennii vecher,""Est v oseni pervonachalnoi""Kak khorosho ty, o more nochnoe""Polden""Smotri, kak roshcha zeleneet""Ia pomniu vremia zolotoe""Charodeikoiu zimoiu""Italianskaia Villa,""Liubliu glaza tvoi, moi drug""S kakoiu negoiu, s kakoi toskoi vliublennoi""Ne govori: menia on, kak i prezhde, liubit""Vostok belel. Ladia katilas""Ona sidela na polu""Ia pomnniu vremia zolotoe""Den i noch""Sviataia noch na nebosklon vzoshla""Molchi, skryvaisia i tai""Problme,""Pevuchest est v morskikh volnakh,""Est in arundineis modulatio musica ripis""Dva golosa""Two Voices""More i utes""Alpy""Kolumb""14-e dekabria 1825""Tsitseron""Eti bednye selenia""Russkoi zhenshchine""Umom Rossiiu ne poniat"Writings by the AuthorFurther Readings about the Author WORKS:

WRITINGS BY THE AUTHOR:

Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev (St. Petersburg: Eduard Prats, 1854). Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Ivan Sergeevich Aksakov and I. F. Tiutchev (Moscow: A. I. Mamontov, 1868).

Editions and Collections

Novonaidennye stikhotvoreniia F. I. Tiutcheva, edited by Aksakov (Moscow: Tip. Lebedeva, 1879). Sochineniia. Stikhotvoreniia i politicheskie stati, edited by Appolon Nikolaevich Maikov (St. Petersburg: Tip. Trenke i Fiusno, 1886). Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, sixth edition, corrected and expanded, edited by Petr Vasilevich Bykov (St. Petersburg: t-vo A. F. Marksa, 1911). Politicheskiia stati, edited by Bykov (St. Petersburg: t-vo A. F. Marksa, n.d.). Tiutcheviana. Epigrammy, aforizmy i ostroty F. I. Tiutcheva, preface by Georgii Ivanovich Chulkov (Moscow: Kostry, 1922). Novye stikhotvoreniia, edited by Chulkov (Moscow-Leningrad: Krug, 1926). Polnoe sobranie stikhotvorenii, 2 volumes, edited by Chulkov (Moscow-Leningrad: Academia, 19331934).

Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Chulkov (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1935). Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Vasilii Vasilevich Gippius and Kirill Vasilevich Pigarev (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1936). Polnoe sobranie stikhotvorenii, edited by Gippius and Pigarev (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1939). Izbrannye stikhotvoreniia, introduction by V. V. Tiutchev (New York: Izdatelstvo imeni Chekhova, 1952). Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Dmitrii Dmitrievich Blagoi (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1953). Polnoe sobranie stikhotvorenii, edited by Pigarev (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1957). Stikhotvoreniia. Pisma, edited by Pigarev (Moscow: Goslitizdat, 1957). Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Naum Iakovlevich Berkovsky and Nina V. Koroleva (Moscow-Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1962). Lirika, edited by Pigarev (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1963); expanded edition, 2 volumes (Moscow: Nauka, 1965). Stikhotvoreniia. Pisma, edited by Evgenii Nikolaevich Lebedev (Moscow: Sovremennik, 1978). Sochineniia v dvukh tomakh (Moscow: Pravda, 1980). Stikhotvoreniia, edited by Lev Ozerov (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1985). Polnoe sobranie stikhotvorenii, edited by Aleksandr A. Nikolaev (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1987). Stikhotvoreniia, pisma, vospominaniia sovremennikov, edited by Liia Nikolaevna Kuzina (Moscow: Pravda, 1988). Russkaia zvezda. Stikhi, stati, pisma, edited by Viktor Kochetkov (Moscow: Russkaia kniga, 1993). Volshebnaia struna. Stikhotvoreniia (Moscow: Letopis, 1996).

Editions in English

Versions from Fyodor Tyutchev, 18031873, translated by Charles Tomlinson (London: Oxford University Press, 1960). Poems & Political Letters of F. I. Tyutev, translated by Jesse Zeldin (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1973). Poems of Night and Day, translated by Eugene M. Kayden (Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 1974). On the Heights of Creation: The Lyrics of Fedor Tyutchev, translated by Anatoly Liberman (Greenwich, Conn.: JAI Press, 1993).

OTHER

Zdes nekogda moguchii i prekrasnyi. Stikhotvoreniia 1867, Russkaia literatura, 2 (1959): 203205.

LETTERS

Otryvki iz perepiski Tiutcheva s Kn. I. S. Gagarinym, Russkii archiv, 1 (1879): 118138. Iz pisem F. I. Tiutcheva, Russkii archiv (1898): 556568.

Pisma F. I. Tiutcheva k ego vtoroi zhene, urozhd. bar. Pfeffel, 18401867, 2 volumes (Petrograd: Tip. Glav. upr. udelov, 19141916). Lettres de Th. I. Tjutscheff sa seconde pouse ne Baronne de Pfeffel, Starina i Novizna, 18 (1914): 163; 19 (1915): 104276; 21 (1916): 155243; 22 (1917): 243 293. Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev v pismakh k E. K. Bogdanovoi i S. P. Frolovu (18661871 gg.), edited by Evlaliia Pavlovna Kazanovich (Leningrad: Izd. Otdeleniia russkogo iazyka i slovesnosti Akademii nauk SSSR, 1926). Literaturnoe nasledstvo, 1921 (1935): 184, 205208, 219253, 255, 383, 384, 414, 580587; 3132 (1937): 753769, 772, 773.

BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY: A brilliant conversationalist and the author of Slavophile pamphlets, known also for a few anthologized lyrics about nature, Fedor Tiutchev rose to the prominence of a central figure of the Golden Age of Russian literature. His poetry was admired by Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov, Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev , Afanasii Afanasevich Fet, Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov , Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and Leo Tolstoy. Even Nikolai Gavrilovich Chernyshevsky and Nikolai Aleksandrovich Dobroliubov, with their demand that poetry serve as the mouthpiece of liberal ideas and their contempt of art for arts sake, could not resist the charm of Tiutchevs lyrics. Yet, Tiutchevs poetry never enjoyed the popularity that was Aleksandr Pushkin s and Mikhail Iurevich Lermontovs. With the emergence of superb prose, lyric poetry lost its prestige in Russia; Tiutchevs 1868 collection sold miserably. He was rediscovered at the end of the nineteenth century by the Russian Symbolists, who treated him as their precursor, researched his biography, wrote critical essays about him, and imitated his mannerisms. After 1917 Tiutchev retained his status as a significant figure, but those in power were embarrassed by his Slavophile sympathies, defense of monarchy, and friendly relations with the royal family. He was never a rebel; preferred Nice, Geneva, and Munich to St. Petersburg; and made his living as a censor. Tiutchevs lines about winter and spring graced anthologies of childrens verses, but he was excluded from state-approved school programs. In 1949 his pan-Slavic and mystic lyrics incurred the wrath of a party functionary who did not share Tiutchevs liberal views on the role of censorship. Tiutchevs comeback coincided with the thaw in Soviet life. Since the mid 1960s he has remained at the center of critics attention; the number of books, dissertations, and articles devoted to him has grown rapidly. People often quote the lines Umom Rossiiu ne poniat (Russia cannot be grasped with the mind) and Nam ne dano predugadat / kak nashe slovo otzovetsia (We cannot know what response our word will have). Two songs with Tiutchevs lyrics are performed regularly: Sergei Vasilevich Rachmaninovs Vesennie vody (Spring Freshets) and L. D. Malashkins Ia vstretil vas, i vsio byloe (I met you, and all my past), and a few of his verses remain in most peoples memories from early childhood. Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev was born on 23 November 1803 in Ovstug in central Russia, where his parents owned an estate. His father, Ivan Nikolaevich Tiutchev, served in the Empress Catherines Greek Guard, then retired and married Ekaterina Lvovna Tolstaia, a woman from the aristocracy. Ivan Tiutchev was a warm, generous, peaceful man; his wife, on the other hand, was nervous, hypochondriachal, and deeply committed to Russian Orthodoxy. In

spite of these apparent differences, Tiutchevs parents lived a harmonious life, and young Fedor was especially loved and spoiled by his mother. As was customary among the Russian aristocrats at that time, he was educated at home and grew up bilingual, becoming even more fluent in French than in Russian. French was the only language in which he later communicated with his children and the main language of his correspondence. He wrote his political articles in French, but he prayed and (with few exceptions) composed poetry in Russian. He learned Russian from the domestics and serf children on the estate, but later took formal lessons in Russian language and literature through his university days. When Tiutchev was ten, his parents hired Semen Egorovich Raich , a poet whose influence on his charge was beneficial and lasting, to teach the boy Russian and Latin. Raich instilled in Tiutchev a lifelong love of the classics. Tiutchev made rapid progress, and in 1819, at the age of sixteen, he entered Moscow University, where he studied philology. Though a brilliant young man, Tiutchev was a lazy student, not above cheating at exams. He almost was not allowed to take his final exams, but his mothers aunt, Anna Vasilevna Osterman (ne Tolstaia) interceded with school authorities on his behalf. After serious studying, he earned a degree with honors in October 1821 and entered government service in the Office of Foreign Affairs in February 1822. That year he was posted to the Russian Legation in Munich (Bavaria), thanks to the intervention of his elderly uncle, Count Aleksandr Ivanovich Osterman-Tolstoi, who was posted there as a diplomat. Impulsive and often irresponsible, Tiutchev was the opposite of the diligent junior employee bent on pleasing his superiors and seeking advancement. This temperament does not mean that he did not relish diplomatic work; he simply did not have the makings of a career diplomat. Tiutchev was, however, passionately interested in the development of world affairs and in politics. Like many Russians living abroad, he became a convinced Slavophile and tried to influence the relations between Russia and the West in accordance with his views. While in Munich, Tiutchev became embroiled in several love affairs. One of these early loves was Countess Amalia Lerchenfeld, a sixteen-year-old Bavarian girl who later reappeared at critical periods in Tiutchevs life. In 1826, at the age of twenty-three, Tiutchev married a twenty-seven-year-old widow, Bavarian aristocrat Eleanor (Nelly) Peterson (ne Bothmer), and plunged into social life. In the parlors of Munich, he met Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling and Heinrich Heine , to whom he became especially close. He and Eleanor had three daughters. Their married life was frenzied; they were constantly short of money, mainly because of Tiutchevs small salary, his impracticality in household management, and his generous sense of hospitality. While abroad, he continued to write poetry and sent his lyrics to literary journals (usually those with which Raich was connected). In 1830 the entire family returned to Russia for a visit. The marriage was already beginning to sour, primarily because of Tiutchevs improvidence, infidelity, and increasingly neurotic behavior, according to Richard A. Gregg. Tiutchev was a man of tempestuous passions and weak will. He longed for womens love, and his overall brilliance more than made up for his ordinary physique; but once he attained his goal, he felt disillusioned and bored. In 1833 he met Baroness Ernestine Dornberg (ne Pfeffel) and fell in love with her. Of all of Tiutchevs liaisons, this one caused Eleanor the most grief. After the birth of her third daughter, Eleanor became depressed and tried to commit suicide with a toy knife, but she eventually recovered.

In 1837 the family again left Germany for Russia. A well-meaning colleague then organized Tiutchevs transfer to Turin, the capital of the Kingdom of Sardinia. Tiutchev, however, was too much in love with Ernestine to take care of business in a regular way. The transfer neither cured him nor mended his first marriage. Eleanor and the children remained in St. Petersburg. On 14 May 1838 she and the children set out for Lbeck on a Russian steamer. When the ship was nearing port, a fire broke out on board. Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev , a fellow passenger with whom Eleanor may have had a romantic encounter, records the events in a story, Pozhar na more (Fire at Sea, 1883). Exhausted by the ordeal on the ship and from years of emotional abuse, Eleanor died on 27 August 1838 after a short illness. Tiutchev married Ernestine on 17 July 1839, shortly after her husband also died. This double loss cast a shadow on their love: they felt that they had bought their happiness at an inordinate price. By his second wife Tiutchev had three more children: a daughter and two sons. Tiutchevs neglect of his governmental duties resulted in his discharge and demotion, and between 1839 and 1844 he again lived in Munich, this time in a private capacity. In 1843 he returned to Russia to seek employment and again saw his early love, Amalia Lerchenfeld (now Krdener). Her intercession with Count Aleksandr Khristoforovich Benckendorff led to a brief assignment in Germany, after which Tiutchev returned to Russia permanently in the autumn of 1844. In 1836 Ivan Sergeevich Gagarin , a former fellow diplomat, brought a collection of Tiutchevs lyrics to the poet Prince Petr Andreevich Viazemsky , who showed them to Vasilii Andreevich Zhukovsky ; the latter forwarded them to Aleksandr Pushkin , and the lyrics appeared in Pushkins journal, Sovremennik (The Contemporary). Some reviewers praised the lyrics, while others found fault with them, but their appearance did not become an event in Russian literary life. Reading Tiutchev in English offers only a pale reflection of the original. Tiutchev used end rhyme and strict poetical meters. His rhyme and the strophic organization of his lyrics display great variety. He often alternated short and long lines. He was fond of using a word important to him three or four times within narrow space, and since several recurring words are often combined in the same lyric, they form a polyphonic whole, a kind of verbal fugue. Tiutchev depended on sound effects: alliteration, assonance, word pairs bound by rhyme, and puns. He used dulcet language for describing the south and words with jarring consonant groups when speaking about tragic situations. He had a penchant for archaic words and deliberately complicated syntax. His vocabulary is rich, but his favorite words, such as skudnyi (meager) applied to krov (blood), are sometimes idiosyncratic, while others, such as zhivoi (living) and veiat (waft), are used so often that they almost lose their dictionary meaning and become signs of specifically Tiutchevian moods and situations. Since in Tiutchevs lyrics content and form are merged to an especially high degree, the losses in translation are obvious. Tiutchevs lyrics are short and usually devoid of plot. They make an impression only when they are read together, in cycles. Turgenev predictedaccurately, as it appearedthat Tiutchev would never appeal to a broad readership. Indeed, the public missed Tiutchev while he lived and forgot him soon after he died. Yet, his reputation among the connoisseurs is deserved: his lyrics sound as modern at the end of the twentieth century as they did at the end of the nineteenth to the Symbolists and perhaps more modern than in the 1830s and 1860s. Students and scholars in the English-speaking world who can understand the Russian originals often prefer him to Lermontov and even to Pushkin.

The 1987 edition of Tiutchevs collected poetry includes 402 lyrics. Fifty of them are versified telegrams and other poems written in French, and forty are translations. Out of the remaining items, close to sixty are about nature. In fact, there are more, for landscape often constitutes the major part of Tiutchevs lyrics about love and about Russia. Tiutchev, to use Semen Liudvigovich Franks words, regarded his moods as manifestations of cosmic being. Nature was for him a complex of living forces and not simply material in the artists hand. In his 1836 poetical manifesto Ne to, chto mnite vy, priroda Tiutchev wrote: Nature is not what you think it to be: / It is not a mask or a soulless image; / It has a soul, it has freedom, / It has love, it has its own tongue. . . . He felt compassion mixed with scorn for those who view nature as a dead object; such people live in darkness and miss the breath of the suns (Tiutchevs plural) and the life of sea waves: The sunrays did not descend into their soul, / Spring did not bloom in their breast, / Forests did not speak in their presence, / And the starry night was mute. // At night, a thunderstorm / Did not ask for their advice, / While addressing them / In otherworld tongues. Tiutchevs favorite characters are inseparable from nature, as he felt himself to be. In Na dreve chelovechestva vysokom (On mankinds lofty tree, 1832) he describes Johann Wolfgang von Goethe as the best leaf on the tree of humanity, a leaf nurtured by the purest sap of the tree and reared by the rays of the sun. Tiutchev seeks the support of nature wherever he can. While the speakers beloved is dying in the poem Ves den ona lezhala v zabyti (All day she lay oblivious, 18641865), the rain is pattering merrily on the leaves outside the window. This description is not merely a parallel used for the sake of contrast. Death (like life, but more pointedly) is a cosmic phenomenon, and Tiutchev needs the rain and the leaves as an indispensable environment. Nature was the measure of all things for Tiutchev. He noticed ties between an autumn evening and human anguish, for example, in Osennii vecher (Autumn Evening, 1830): all is on the wane, all is debilitated, and on everything/there is that meek smile of decay / which in a being endowed with reason we call / the divine bashfulness of suffering. In Sei den ia pomniu, dlia menia (I remember this day, 1830) he draws a parallel between sunrise and young love: I remember this day was for me the morning of lifes day: / she stood in silence, / her breast heaved like a wave / her cheeks burned like dawn, getting ever hotter and redder! / And suddenly a golden confession of love / burst forth from her like a young sun . . . / and I saw a new world! Woman in Tiutchevs poetry is like nature, and conversely, nature is like a woman in love. For example, in Letnii vecher (A Summer Evening, circa 1828) he writes: The earth has already rolled the suns incandescent ball from its head, and the sea wave has swallowed the peaceful fire of evening. The bright stars have already ascended and raised the firmaments heavy vault with their moist heads. The airy river flowing between heaven and earth expands; the bosom, no longer oppressed by the heat,

breathes more easily and more freely. And a sweet tremor has run through natures veins like a stream, as though water from a spring touched her feet. The consistent erotic metaphor in this poem is a device Tiutchev used often. Tiutchevs similes in a later poem, Ne ostyvshaia ot znoiu (Not having yet cooled from the intense heat, 1851), are of the same type: The July night, still exuding heat, was full of brilliance . . . And the thunder-saturated sky shook from flashes of silent lightning over the drab earth . . . As though heavy eyelashes rose over the earth, so that between intermittent flashes someones menacing eyes flared up every now and then. . . . Nature in Tiutchevs poetry is enigmatic like the human soul, and the complexity of his nature lyrics is not in form but in content. The opposition of content and form in a work of art makes little sense under the best of circumstances, but in the literature of the first half of the nineteenth century hardly anyone else made the message of a lyric so dependent on the ways of expressing it. Hence the puzzlement of Tiutchevs contemporaries and the admiration of modern readers. The contours of phenomena and objects Tiutchev describes are usually blurred. His protagonist can seldom believe the evidence of his senses, for the hidden meaning of things evades him. Tiutchev is fond of words and phrases such as polu (half or semi-) and kak by (as though), making his depictions ambiguous. For example, in Videnie (Vision, 18281829), one of his early lyrics, he writes: There is an hour, at night, of universal silence, and in this hour of signs and miracles, the living chariot of creation rolls undisguisedly into the sanctuary of the heavens. The night thickens like chaos on the waters; oblivion presses dry land like Atlas; only the Muses virgin soul is being disturbed by the gods in her prophetic dreams. The broken word order in the first and last lines of the original makes the reading of this lyric difficult, and all is enigmatic, as it should be in a true vision. What is the chariot of creation, for example, and why is it called living? There are two similes in the text, but Tiutchevs similes make his imagery even more opaque. No one has seen the biblical chaos on the waters, and one needs to make an effort to reconstruct a missing link: the sky presses Atlas with all its weight, and Atlas transmits the pressure to the earth. Why does the night thicken on the waters, while unconsciousness presses dry land? How is it connected with universal

silence, signs, and miracles, and especially with the Muse? Finally, why are her dreams prophetic, and what are they about? A possible interpretation is that at the moment when night is ready for wonders, they indeed follow: creation reveals its innermost secret, and its chariot appears in full view; then night becomes dark, as it was before the beginning of things when chaos reigned supreme and water covered the surface of the earth. Unconsciousness seems to be the state when thoughts leave a human being and escape into the wide world. Unconsciousness, however, may also mean loss of identity, severance of ties between people and their surroundings. This horror presses dry land (human habitat) with all its weight. The end of the lyric is unexpected, as Videnie suddenly becomes a revelation about the birth of poetry. Amid absolute silence, with memory abolished by sleep, the Muse alone knows no quiet and has prophetic dreams. The Muse dreams of poetry, which is not even conceived yet, for the Muses soul is virgin. One can understand this lyric in several ways, but the conclusion will remain: Tiutchev is a poet in need of exegesis. In his nature lyrics, more than in his other works, he shows amazing disregard of the reader: the logic of his constructions is concealed, whereas associative ties between words and images abound. This approach to art (not only to literature) is typical of twentieth-century masters. Tiutchevs contemporaries preferred parallelisms of the type and so it is with me (such as, the sail is a rebel, and I try to transcend the limits of being; or, the autumn day is gloomy, and I am lonely and unhappy). The riddling element of Tiutchevs works constitutes their most attractive part. Tiutchevs landscape is conventional even when it is full of subtly observed details. In his descriptions he relies not on such details but on conglomerations of them, that is, on recurring themes. He often describes a beautiful southern world (Italy, summer, myrtles, laurel trees, murmuring waves, marble arcades) and an ugly northern world (Russia, cold, ice, snow, meager vegetation, a river frozen over). Both are emotional states rather than geographical concepts: in the south one is happy; in the north, miserable. In 1849 Tiutchev wrote Vnov tvoi ia vizhy ochi (Once again I see your eyes), a poem with a sensuous stanza: The swaying of slender laurels / Disturbs the blue air, / The soft breath of the sea / Blows through the summer heat. / Golden grapes ripen / The whole day in the sun, / And the past from days immemorial / Wafts from under marble arcades. By that time Tiutchev had known Italy from personal experience, but its image, once inspired by Goethe, remained unchanged from the 1820s: the real country managed to live up to its poetical description surprisingly well. Ten years later, in October 1859, Tiutchev was returning from Knigsberg to St. Petersburg. In Na vozvratnom puti (On the Way Back) he describes what he saw: My native landscape. . . . Under the smoky pall of a huge snow-laden cloud, the blue distance looms, with its sullen forest enveloped in the autumn murk . . . Everything is so bare, empty, vast, monotonous, and mute . . . Only here and there blotches of stagnant water show through the crust of early ice. No sounds, no colors, no movement. Life has passed away, and, obedient to his fate,

manas though in the unconsciousness of exhaustiondreams of himself. This lyric was sent by Tiutchev to his daughter in a letter in which he says that when he was crossing the border, the sun shone brightly, though not on rose bushes or orange trees but on young, fresh icicles. The north called for a picture of all-enveloping gloom. Turgenev remarked in Sovremennik in 1854 that Tiutchevs world was small but that he knew every inch of it. Tiutchev was indeed repetitive. He always looked for the same supports and had the ability to describe the same scene in different ways, but his world was neither small nor devoid of variety. The angle from which he observed nature was what seldom changed. For instance, he primarily noticed things with short life spans. In Obveian vesheiu dremotoi (Fanned by a prophetic drowsiness, 1850) he observes an early yellow leaf fall spinning to the road after a shower. He exclaims: How beautiful are things that are fading! / What attraction lurks in what bloomed / And lived and now smiles so feebly, / So weakly for the last time! All phenomena attracted him at their transitory moments, which explains his penchant for such times as dusk, the minutes before sunrise, or the sight of a rainbow. Autumn and spring were more interesting to him than winter and summer because they are intermediate seasons, and he described every situation in such a way that it began to look like a passing stage. While viewing a picture of a tranquil autumn evening in Est v oseni pervonachalnoi (There is in early autumn, 1857), he does not forget to add that winter storms are not a long way off and reminds readers, if even in an oblique way, that the tranquility is not as permanent as it seems. He recognized that a pitch-dark December morning would soon yield to the brilliance of day and rejoiced in that fact with lyrics such as Dekabrskoe utro (December Morning, 1859) and Molchit somnitelno Vostok (The East is mute because of doubt, 1865). One of Tiutchevs most prominent themes is the contrast of day and night, though he primarily explored night. He distinguished more hues after sunset than when the sun was in the sky. In a paradoxical way, day and night change places in his poetry. Another favorite theme is the contrast of heaven and earth, with a variation: the mountain and the valley. Unbounded vertical space interested Tiutchev, whereas journeys (whatever the surrounding landscape) exhausted him. One early piece about heaven and earth is Utro v gorakh (Morning in the Mountains, 1829): The heavenly azure laughs Washed in the early morning storm, And between the mountains the valley Winds dewyly like a light ribbon . . . Tis only the slope of the tallest mountains That the mists half-cover, As though the airy ruins Of chambers created by magic. This piece is typical in many ways. It adumbrates Tiutchevs similar lyrics in which the poets eye moves up or down (more often up) and notices an edifice, sometimes a temple, gracing the pinnacle. It is also full of hints that can be deciphered only if the entire context of Tiutchevs poetry is known. Tiutchev used the verb laugh rarely, and prefers to apply it to

nature, especially to assuagement after a storm. Dew is another sign of peace in his lyrics. The mist covering only the tallest mountains halfway through is another riddle of the type in Videnie. If the lower mountains are covered completely, the speaker could not have seen the light ribbon of the valley. If the mist is actually clouds, then the azure would not have been laughing after the storm. The description of the valley as a ribbona shining path might indicate that the poet is looking at the landscape from a great height. Tiutchev was an excellent observer of the world he saw, but it is sometimes difficult for readers to reconstruct the picture that inspired him. This approach to the poetic word allowed later critics to speak about Tiutchevs impressionism. Although there is no agreement among critics about what the term literary impressionism means, there are some obvious similarities between Tiutchevs landscapes and those of Claude Monet. Tiutchev had a personal, intimate attitude toward the wind. It carried messages, revealed terrible secrets of being, and reminded him of new and unexpected transitions. His favorite verb was (ob)veiat (waft or blow): he used it (together with a noun derived from it) thirty-four times. A more domineering element in Tiutchevs poetry, however, as in Monets paintings, is water. He described it in every possible formfrom mighty rivers and ravaging seas to springs, brooks, showers, fountains, raindrops, and tears. Water takes away sorrow, buries fateful secrets, sings on the first day of creation, invites one to merge with it, and gives shelter to lovers. In Poslednii kataklizm (The Last Cataclysm , not later than 1824) Tiutchev writes, When the last hour of nature strikes, / The composition of earthly parts will be destroyed: / All visible things will again be covered with waters, / And Gods image will be reflected in them. Water is also a friend in Na Neve (On the Neva, 1850): Once again a star plays In the light ripples of the Neva waves, And again love entrusts Its boat to them. And between the waves and the star, The boat glides as though In a dream and carries Two ghosts in it. Do the children of indolence Spend their nightly leisure here? Or are two blessed shadows Leaving this world? O you, sea-like, overflowing, Unspeakably luxuriant wave, Give shelter in your expanse To the secret of the humble boat! Contrary to water, fire is evil in Tiutchevs poetry; brilliance and glitter are also dangerous because of their close relationship to flame, though Tiutchev enjoyed light. For many years (until the late 1980s) official literary scholarship in Russia shared with the other historical sciences the dogma of unilinear evolution: just as society was supposed to pass through a series of so-called formations (primitive communal system, slavery, feudalism, capitalism, socialism) and finally reach communism, so literature was supposed to develop in a preordained direction: leave behind the rigidity of classicism, overcome

Romantic excesses, sober down in the forms of critical realism, and mature on the heights of socialist realism. The flood of Tiutchev scholarship has been gaining momentum only since the 1960s, but the question about Tiutchevs path toward realism was asked several times between roughly 1930 and 1980. The answer was predictable: Tiutchev allegedly learned, as time went on, to describe things as he saw them and thus approached realism. It is customary to take two similar poems of his from different periods, compare them, and draw this conclusion. An example of this type of criticism is the comparison of Na vozvratnom puti with Zdes, gde tak vialo svod nebesnyi (Here where the firmament so sluggishly), a poem Tiutchev wrote upon his return to Russia for half a year in 1830. He left Munich in the middle of May, so it was a late spring landscape that welcomed him home. In the latter poem he describes the day of his arrival: Here, where the impotent firmament Looks at the jejune earth, Here, plunged into an iron sleep, Tired nature is dozing . . . Only in a few places pale birch trees, Scraggly shrubs, and gray Lichen disturb the deadly quiet, Like feverish dreams. Some commentators, puzzled by the drab color of the sky and other autumnal details, think that the picture reflects a different journey and date the poem to 1829, but this hypothesis is unnecessary. In October 1859, writing Na vozvratnom puti, Tiutchev saw brilliant suns hine and young, fresh icicles but mentioned only a sullen forest, autumn murk, a bare plain, and blotches of stagnant water, with everything also plunged into sleep (man . . . dreaming of himself). Tiutchevs native landscape in both poems is conventional: all is gloomy and dull, and the objects that could have enlivened the wasteland strike one as even more repulsive than the wasteland itself. In the earlier poem, Tiutchev has taken in everything from the sky to barren soil and discerns trees, shrubs, and lichen (notably enumerated in order of diminishing size). In the 1859 poem details are also present, but they are less graphic, so in a way the earlier piece can be seen as more realistic. In fact, however, both are equally realistic (the poet describes natural objects with utmost care) and equally conventional (they are pictures of the repellent northern world). Nothing changed from 1830 to 1859. Of special interest are Tiutchevs two lyrics about autumn. The first of these is Osennii vecher, in which the landscape is depicted thus: There is in the transparency of autumn evenings Some touching, mysterious charm! . . . The ominous brilliance and mixed colors of the trees, The barely audible languid rustling of dark red leaves, The misty and quiet azure Over the sadly orphaned earth, And as a premonition of approaching storms, Gusts of the sharp, cold wind. . . . Twenty-seven years later, in Est v oseni pervonachalnoi he wrote:

There is in the early days of autumn A short but irresistibly beautiful period: The whole day is as though made of crystal, And the evenings are azure bright. . . . Where a brisk sickle went back and forth, Where grain fell, all is now bare, all is open; Only a thin thread of the spiders web Glistens in an idle furrow. The air is getting empty, birds can no longer be heard, But the first winter storms are still a long way off, And the quiet, warm azure pours Onto the resting field. . . . Once again the sharpness of Tiutchevs vision is evident in both poems: he discerns every hue, just as he hears the weakest rustle, and he does not miss even a thread of the spiders web. Both lyrics are among his best, but there is no progress in the later one with regard to so-called realism. It is true that with years Tiutchev learned the technique of foregrounding (a thread shown close up makes a strong impression because the rest of the picture is indistinct) and that the ominous landscapes of his youth gave way to pictures in which the pacifying rather than fateful aspects of nature hold sway, but the method of description did not change. It is hardly possible to detect periods in Tiutchevs creative life, and that is why dating his poetry is so difficult. A lyric such as Kak khorosho ty, o more nochnoe (How beautiful you are, o sea at night, 1865) could have been written by him at any time between 1825 and 1870: How beautiful you are, o sea at night; Here you are like azure, there you are dark blue . . . Moonlit, it moves, breathes, and shines, As though it were alive . . . In its infinite, boundless expanse, There are brilliance, motion, rumbling, and thunder . . . How beautiful you are in the nightly silence, O sea suffused with tarnished brilliance! O great brine, Whose triumph do you celebrate? The waves dash forward through thunder and sheen, While the delicate stars look down. I n this agitation, in this sheen, I stand lost, as though in a dream. Oh, how I wish I could drown My soul in this beauty. . . . This poem is a classic outburst of a young romantic poet longing to merge with nature, reminiscent of Zhukovsky s elegy More (The Sea, 1822) and of many passages in Lermontov, but Tiutchev wrote this piece in 1865, when he was sixty-two years old.

Tiutchevs love and nature lyrics are often hard to separate. The cosmic character of the soul so typical of him results in the frequent merger of the two. Certain motifs especially sleep and stormsare of such importance in Tiutchevs poetry that they override division of his work into groups. Tiutchev is a poet of sleep and dreams, as though he were trying to escape from himself. What a mysterious thing is sleep in comparison to the unavoidable banality of real life, be that what it may! And that is why I think that one never lives such a full life as when one sleeps, he wrote to his daughter two months before his death. Sleep is a normal state of man and nature in Tiutchev s work, the highest bliss anyone can attain. Everyone and everything, particularly all that is beautiful, sleeps (and may have dreams) in Tiutchevs lyri cs: men, women, children, nature, woods, trees, a harp, a captive, a pilgrim, a shepherd and his herd, the world, the past, the Muse, Pan, Rome, houses, towns, and villages. At least thirty-one epithets are used in his lyrics with the noun denoting sleep. The wounds left by day will be healed by nights sleep. Nature smiles while it sleeps, and being in love is like being asleep (as if in a dream). The intersection of the themes sleep and nature led to some of Tiutchevs best erotic poems. He wrote several poems depicting a couple in a boat. The earliest of themSny (Dreams, 1830)predates Na Neve by more than twenty years: As ocean girds the globe, / So is earthly life surrounded by dreams . . . . / A magical boat has already come alive in the harbor; / The ebb grows and carries us quickly / Into the measurelessness of the dark waves. Polden (Midday), written about the same time, describes the young Tiutchevs erotic ideal: nature is asleep (the word lazily is repeated), and the satisfied Pan dozes in a cave among the nymphs. In 1850 he created a similar scene, with a secluded room instead of a peaceful cave, and half-sleep instead of Pans doze: However hot afternoons breath through The open window may be, In this quiet room, Where all is tranquil and dark, Where living fragrance Wanders in the dusky shade, Plunge into the dusk Of half-sleep and rest. Here a fountain sings incessantly Day and night in the corner And besprinkles the enchanted murk With its unseen drops. And here, in the glimmer of the half-light, Absorbed in a secret passion, Wafts the love-sick poets Weightless dream. One of Tiutchevs best love lyrics, Smotri, kak roshcha zeleneet (Watch the Greening Grove), was written in 1857, with nature forming an inalienable part of the scene: Watch the greening grove Bathed in the scorching sun, And in it what tenderness

Wafts from every bough and every leaf! Let us enter and sit down above The roots nourished by the running spring, Where, enveloped in their murk, It whispers something in the mute darkness. Over us the tree tops rave Immersed in the midday heat, And only sometimes, the eagles Scream reaches us from the height. Watch, a word that opens many lyrics by Tiutchev, is not a formal invitation to view a place that has caught the poets fancy: both he and his companion are present throughout the scene as careful observers. The couple sitting on the roots of the tree is part of the landscape. The grove becomes a symbol of a flowering world: the two people see it blooming and saturated with languor; then the earth whispers its secrets to them; and finally they become privy to the mystery of the sky. At first sight, the word scorching is out of harmony with tenderness, but the picture is a typical Tiutchevian midday. Only when the sun makes everything torrid and the world is plunged into the midday murk can Tiutchev hear an eagle in the heavens and a spring winding its way deep in the ground. Tiutchevs landscapes with human figures in the foreground, such as lovers in a grove or two in a boat, are classical, but they are painted in such a manner that they transcend their time period. One notes in them the chaste forms of classicism, the tempestuous palette of the Romantics, and the dim beauty of Symbolists. Ia pomniu vremia zolotoe (I Remember the Golden Time), written between 1834 and 1836, depicts another idyllic scene of a couple on a hillside. The setting chosen by Tiutchev for his love scene is operatic: the last minutes of a beautiful day, a heap of ruins, a river down in the valley, a woman described as a young fairy, and apple trees shedding their petals. On the other hand, it is the setting of an ancient myth, which accords perfectly with the idea of golden time. The young people are like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The scene is mythologized to such an extent that its banality is barely noticeable. Letnii vecher, in which nature is presented as experiencing a tremor, so that the movement from the head of the sun to the human breast and to the feet of nature results in a veiled erotic picture, is not isolated in Tiutchev. On 31 December 1852 he wrote the lyric Charodeikoiu zimoiu (Enchanted by Winter, the sorceress), in which he describes a forest under a snowy veil as being Bewitched in a magic sleep. Since the forest is asleep, it is ready for miracles and signs, yet its relations with the sun are ambiguous: when the sun darts a slanting ray at it, no response is seen, but the ray flares up and shines / With inexpressible, blinding beauty. For once, nature is devoid of sensuousness; it is wondrous but not quite real (the forest is Neither dead nor alive). Likewise, the ray is not real, for it is unable to arouse a tremor in the forest (passion is only imitatedjust a flush). Such are some of Tiutchevs love idylls. In most of his lyrics, however, love emerges as a tragic obsession and an evil force. This treatment is especially obvious in the poems written in the early 1850s and referred to by literary historians as the Deniseva cycle. In 1850 Tiutchev had fallen in love with twenty-four-year-old Elena Aleksandrovna Deniseva, a niece of an inspector of the Smolny Institute, where two of Tiutchevs daughters were being educated. Tiutchev never considered divorce, and between 1850 and 1864 he had two families. He did not care about propriety, appearing with Deniseva in public and giving his

name to their children, but it was all he could do to balance his life between his jealous mistress and his wife. In 1864 Deniseva died of consumption. Of their three children only one son reached adulthood. Denisevas death was a terrible blow to Tiutchev, as Eleanors had been: according to family legend, Tiutchev turned gray in one night. Yet, he kept seeking new entertainments and excitements. His eldest daughter looked upon her fathers constant infatuations as pathological. Soon after Deniseva became Tiutchevs mistress, he wrote the lines: Oh, how murderously we love, / How in the wanton blindness of passions / We destroy that the more brutally / Which is especially dear to our heart! (O kak ubiistvenno my liubim, Oh, how murderously we love). Oscar Wilde s Yet each man kills the thing he loves (from his Ballad of Reading Gaol, 1898) has been compared to these lines. He also composed the short lyric Predopredelenie (Predestination, 1851 or 1852), in which he describes love as a union of a soul with a kindred soul, / Their merger, their coalition, / Their fatal fusion, / And . . . their fatal duel. Similar motifs dominate the earlier lyrics inspired by his love for Ernestine; these lyrics can be called the Dornberg cycle (18361837). Even though Tiutchev, quite naturally, did not disclose the names of the women to whom he dedicated his poems and did not, as a general rule, date his manuscripts (so the addressees of his works often remain a matter of dispute), the message of the lyrics written around the time of Eleanors death and his marriage to Ernestine cannot be mistaken. In a poem from this period titled Italianskaia Villa, Tiutchev describes a house sheltered from the world by a cypress. It has attained ultimate bliss: like Pan reposing in an inaccessible cave, like the enamored poet in a dark room full of fragrance, the villa sleeps behind shadowy trees. A fountain (a sign of serenity in Tiutchevs works) murmurs in the corner. Then everything is disrupted when the speaker and his companion enter, and some wondrous, nearly inaudible / Voice whispered, as though in a dream: // What is it, friend? Or is it true that / That life, alas! which then flowed in us, / That evil life, with its rebellious fervor, / Crossed the guarded threshold? In Tiutchevs poetry, nature reacts to human emotions, rather than the other way around. The villa is paradise on earth; it is a blessed Elysian ghost protected by Heaven. The rebellious two who trespass on its peace shatter the immovable perfection of nature. The most conspicuous image binding the poems of 18361837 is fire: from the fire of love to hellish fire. These poems are replete with eroticism. Tiutchev was prone to celebrate the triumph of instincts and felt attracted by women who could no longer feel shame. When the quiet dawn of love yielded to the storm of passion in his lyrics, his motifs changed from burning cheeks and the rising sun to longing for the sinful, morbid, and ruinous, for sullen lust and faithlessness in matrimony. He compares two women he knew intimately in Liubliu glaza tvoi, moi drug (I love your eyes, my friend, circa 1836), concluding that the stronger attraction came not from eyes raised toward heaven but from Downcast eyes at the moment / Of a passionate kiss, eyes that reveal the dull, lackluster flame of desire. S kakoiu negoiu, s kakoi toskoi vliublennoi (With what tenderness, with what languor of love, 1840) epitomizes the Dornberg cycle. Tiutchev addresses a woman overwhelmed by your feeling, by the fullness of your love, and describes how she bursts into tears looking at her lover and then falls asleep peacefully in his comforting arms. The situation described in this lyric partly recurs in the Deniseva cycle. The woman suffers because her love brings her only pain and misfortune. The passive man is able to offer some consolation; he is tender and protective, but the main cure is sleep. The womans feeling is incomparably stronger than the

poets. Her lover stands by and does not miss a single detail of what he sees; the love he inspires overshadows for him the womans anguish. The beginning of Tiutchevs romances resembles an awakening, and bliss is attained soon. Na Neve, which, most probably, opens the Deniseva cycle, is symbolic: the tempestuous Tiutchev created a character tossed about by waves and deriving the greatest pleasure from his state, a lover whose infatuation is transitory, just a dream. As long as he is happy, he wants to forget himself in sleep, but then murderous love appears, followed by disillusionment and late repentance. Tiutchevs love lyrics share some peculiarities with his landscapes: they include all kinds of details, but the overall picture is vague. His heroines lack biographical features. In Tiutchevs love poetry the struggle is not so much between the man and the woman as it is between both of them and fate, which may or may not have a concrete form (for example, a mortal disease or peoples cruelty). Today it is not always understood how innovative these lyrics were. For Pushkin and his young contemporaries love was an expression of sensuousness: suffering could be caused by separation or lack of reciprocity. Tiutchevs lovers are unhappy in love, and their feeling breeds evil life. It is as though men and women were doomed to reach the peak of their misery through the experience they desired and treasured most. Tiutchev had an inherently tragic vision: in the brightness of almost any day he discerned shadows, and in the fragrance around him he sensed poison. He never forgot that beauty would perish (despite some protestations to the contrary in his later lyrics) and accepted this law as a fact of life. Joy (even in love) struck him as an incomprehensible aberration; thus, the beauty of the season in Leto 1854 (Summer 1854) inspires suspicion in the speaker: I watch this sheen, / This glitter with anxious eyes . . . / Is someone making fun of us? / Whence is this present? Sometime between July 1850 and the middle of 1851, Tiutchev composed Ne govori: menia on, kak i prezhde, liubit (Dont say: he loves me as before) as a kind of drama: an exchange of the heros and the heroines monologues. The man (in the womans lament) is presented as a tyrant who loves murderously, a villain with a knife. The womans speech is like a wail of pain; long lines alternate with short ones. In the mans monologue (which sounds like an answer to the heroines) the lines are long and of equal length: a disappointed lover can obviously control his speech better than a woman driven to despair. Yet, he is also lost in an anacoluthon (an ill-constructed sentence in which the syntax of the second part is not in agreement with that of the first part) in line 2 and repeats, as if stammering, the pronoun I in lines 3 and 4. The womans speech is full of repetition; it resembles sobbing, as she is literally short of breath. The man appears unworthy of the feeling he has conjured up and is motivated by jealousy more than by love. The central word of the first soliloquylifeis picked up by the man and twisted around. The woman is supposed to believe her lover, but he believes in nothing. She protests: Dont say: he loves me as before And treasures me as before . . . Oh, no! He is ruining my life most cruelly, Though I see that a knife trembles in his hand. Now in a fury, now in tears, Grieving, indignant, entranced, deeply wounded, I suffer rather than live . . . I live by him, by him alone But this life . . . Oh, how bitter it is! He measures air for me so parsimoniously, so thriftily . . .

One does not measure it so for a sworn enemy . . . Ah, it is getting ever more difficult for me to breathe; I can still breathe, but I can no longer live. Another poem of this cycle reinforces the pain inherent in the love Tiutchev expresses: in O, ne trevozh menia ukorom spravedlivym (Oh, dont trouble me with your well-deserved rebuke, 18511852), the speaker tells his lover that of the two of us your lot is more envious: / You love sincerely and passionately, / And II am looking at you with jealous irritation. He further describes himself as the lifeless idol of your living soul. Later, weak men unworthy of the women loving them became familiar figures in nineteenthcentury Russian prose, but none of them possessed Tiutchevs ability to enjoy the theater of broken love, and none displayed an erotic attachment to the spectacle of feminine suffering. A male lover in Tiutchev, although his heart is ready to break, revels i n the womans agony and uses it as a source of his strength. Two poems are especially noteworthy with regard to loves theater. The first of them is Vostok belel. Ladia katilas (The east whitened. The boat rolled, circa 1835), an enigmatic poem that once again features a boat with two lovers, though the focus of the description is on the woman. The second figure (presumably a man) is not mentioned, but he must be in the boat to see and register everything. Ellipses after each stanza indicate intermissions. The first stanza establishes the scene: a couple on a sailboat at sunrise. In the second stanza the woman throws back her veil; a prayer unites her with God; and the sky, responsive to her prayer, is jubilant (in the first stanza the sea palpitates like a human heart). Ecstasy pervades the second stanza, but the third tells of some tragedy as the woman turns her face away while fiery drops stream down her cheeks. The fiery drops can only be tears; they are fiery because the sun is now bright in the east, but they also suggest blood. Another poem that presents a dramatic scene is Ona sidela na polu (She sat on the floor, 1858): She sat on the floor And was sorting out a heap of letters; She picked them up like cold ashes And threw them down. She took the familiar sheets And looked at them so wondrously, As souls look down from their heights At the body they deserted. Oh, how much life irretrievably Gone there was here, How many desolate minutes, How much love and ruined happiness! . . . I stood aside in silence And was ready to fall down to my knees, And I was so unspeakably sad, As though a darling shadow were near.

According to family legend, the person portrayed in this lyric is Ernestine, who is believed to have destroyed her early correspondence with Tiutchev. One cannot be certain of Tiutchevs addressees, however, for he often depicted the same woman in different situations. One of his most famous love lyrics is Posledniaia liubov (Last Love), written sometime between the middle of 1851 and the beginning of 1854. The speaker is nearing the end of his life, but his love is still tender: Shine, shine, farewell light / Of last love, of eventide! He calls last love both bliss and hopelessness. In this poem Evenings peaceful fire, the flaming sunset described by him so many times, now becomes a symbol of his own life. In July 1870 Tiutchev met up again with someone whom he had known and admired in his youth, and wrote K. B. ( Ia vstretil vas, i vse byloe ). It is believed that both th is poem and Ia pomnniu vremia zolotoe have the same addressee, because the phrase golden time recurs, but there is some disagreement about who this woman was; Amalia Lerchenfeld is one possibility. The initials are unrevealing. The speaker in this poem greets his former companion: I met you, and all my past Came alive in my withered heart; I remembered the golden time, And my heart felt so warm . . . As in late autumn There may be days, There may be an hour When something suddenly stirs in us, So all enwrapped in the breath Of those years inner fullness, I look at your sweet features With the long-forgotten ecstasy . . . As after an age-long separation, I look at you as though in a dream, And lo! more audible are now the sounds That never died in me . . . This is not a mere recollection, This is life coming to speak again; Still is the same your charm, And still is the same my love! . . . Tiutchev also touched on things that fall into the purview of philosophy: the universe, life and death, and fate. Many of his lyrics on these themes are among his masterpieces. He liked short pieces in which his thought could be expressed in a succinct, aphoristic form. It should be repeated that the division of Tiutchevs works into categories cannot be sustained in all cases. Not only do his nature lyrics merge with his love lyrics; they are also inseparable from his existential poetry, as follows even from the epigrammatic Volna i duma (Wave and Thought, 1851) and Prirodasfinks (Nature is a sphinx). Tiutchev explored chaos, the uncontrollable forces of the universe, and the disintegration of earthly parts, to use his phrase from Poslednii kataklizm. The theme of chaos, together with that of sleep, has equal poignancy for Tiutchev, a master of landscapes (storms, thunder, decay), of erotic poetry, and of meditative lyrics on the essence of being. O chem ty voesh,

vetr nochnoi? (What are you howling about, nightly wind?, circa 1836), possibly written before the poet was thirty, indicates his long interest in the depths of chaos. The speaker in this poem asks what the strange voice of the wailing wind means as it keeps speaking about incomprehensible anguish. He tells the wind, Oh, dont sing these frightening songs! / The world of my nocturnal soul / Listens so eagerly to the beloved tale / Of the ancient, ancestral chaos! The world of this soul longs to merge with the infinite, but this state can be achieved only when he falls asleep. The wind comes between the poet and his sleep, and an abyss opens up: utter misery accompanies his insomnia. Unable to sleep, he begins to understand the suffering of nature and even of inanimate objects. When the soul sleeps, it is open to higher visions, but when at night it cannot attain rest, it reaches the bottom of the universe, its creative chaos. By day, even storms in the poets breast are harmless because they are asleep. Tiutchev further explored this theme in Den i noch (Day and Night, circa 1839) and Sviataia noch na nebosklon vzoshla (Holy night has ascended the firmanent, circa 1849). In the first poem he writes: Over the mysterious world of spirits, Over this nameless abyss, A golden-threaded pall has been cast By the gods high will. Day is this resplendent pall, Day, which brings life to the earthborn race And heals the soul in pain, Day, which is a friend of the mortals and the gods. But day grows dimnight has arrived; Night has come and, having torn The cloth of the blissful pall From the fateful world, it casts it aside . . . And the abyss appears uncovered before us, And there is no barrier Between it and usthat is why Night is so frightening to us. When Tiutchev was younger, he called night a veil that descends over day and covers its almost vulgar brightness. Here the image is reversed, and day is presented as a temporary mantle thrown over the abyss of night darkness. Night is primary, and day only holds it off for a while. Tiutchev seems to show some ambivalence in Den i noch, because day, uncharacteristically for him, is said to be the healer of human beings and a friend of the mortals and the gods. Usually Tiutchev longs for the protection of night against the merciless sun. In the second poem he expresses similar sentiments: Holy night has ascended the firmament And wound off the joyful, pleasant day Like a golden pall, the pall thrown over the abyss. The external world has receded like a vision . . . And man, like a homeless orphan, Now stands infirm and naked, Face to face with the dark pit. He is alone: reason has been abolished,

And thought has become an orphan; He is engulfed in his soul as in an abyss, And there is no support, no limit outside . . . All that is bright and living Seems to be a long-forgotten dream . . . And in alien, unsolved nocturnal things He recognizes his ancestral heritage. Students of Tiutchevs poetry have been troubled by the epithet holy in this lyric. Why is night holy if it is so awful? Holy night is a phrase applied to the Nativity, but Tiutchev does not seem to refer to the New Testament in this line. Apparently, holy night is the time when man learns the truth about nature and himself. When all things return to their original state, a complete unity with the godhead is achieved, and Tiutchev glorifies the unity. Night is holy because it comes as close as possible to chaos, the source of all things. It has been a tradition of long standing to call Tiutchevs lyrics philosophical and to trace his dealings with chaos to Schelling. Tiutchevs interest in Schelling is an established fact, but he was also strongly influenced by Horace, and in the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Munich he was closer to French culture than to German. Tiutchev was a master of encoding his messages; hence the density of his lyrics and the illusion of their philosophical p rofundity. His profundity is his style, and his philosophy is his poetical thought. One of Tiutchevs noteworthy lyrics on the nature of human relations is called Molchi, skryvaisia i tai (Silentium!), written circa 1830: Molchi, skryvaisia i tai I chuvstva i mechty svoi Puskai v dushevnoi glubine Vstaiut i zakhodiat one Bezmolvno, kak zvezdy v nochi, Liubuisia imii molchi. Kak serdtsu vyskazat sebia? Drugomu kak poniat tebia? Poimet li on, chem ty zhivesh? Mysl izrechennaia est lozh. Vzryvaia, vozmutish kliuchi, Pitaisia imii molchi. Lish zhit v sebe samom umei Est tselyi mir v dushe tvoei Tainstvenno-volshebnykh dum; Ikh oglushit naruzhnyi shum, Dnevnye razgoniat luchi, Vnimai ikh peniui molchi! . . . (Keep silent, hide and conceal Your feelings and your dreams Let them ascend and descend Without a sound in your souls depth Like the stars at night, Admire themand keep silent. How can ones heart express itself?

How can another person understand you? Will that person understand what you live by? A thought, once uttered, is a lie. While disrupting springs, you will disturb them, Feed on themand keep silent. Learn to live only in yourself There is, in your soul, a whole world Of mysteriously magical thoughts; They will be deafened by the outside noise And dispelled by the rays of day, Listen to their singingand keep silent! . . . ) This lyric is an existential one. It stirs the reader not by its message of Do not reveal your secrets to people, for you will not be able to communicate them, but by its enigmatic, mysteriously magical language. The aphorism A thought, once uttered, is [or becomes] a lie has been quoted many times. Its attraction is typically Tiutchevian, and it has been interpreted in many ways: as a formula of idealism or of the creative act described by a romantic poet; as the result of Tiutchevs reconciliation with the spiritual corruption of his day; as a protest against this corruption; or as a protest against writing in general. These and many other similar hypotheses cancel one another out, but the hypnosis of the verse remains. A longing for the word, immortalized in Zhu-kovsky s rhetorical question Can the inexpressible be expressed? is in equal measure peculiar to Tiutchev. The effect of Molchi, skryvaisia i tai is produced by the measured tread of its aphorisms (all in masculine rhyme, with the accent on the last syllable), the force of its imperatives, the recurrence of the same command at the end of each stanza, questions, multiple pauses, and changeable meter. The rhetoric of the poem is that of a sermon. The end of each sentence coincides with the end of a line, but the syntax of some periods is blurry. Sometimes Tiutchev addresses philosophical problems directly, as in his six-line Problme, written in 1833: Having rolled down from the mountain, the stone landed in the valley. / How did it fall? Nobody now knows / Whether it went down of its own accord / Or whether it was hurled by someone elses will. / One century follows upon another, / But nobody has answered this question. In 1865 he wrote Pevuchest est v morskikh volnakh, a programmatic lyric on the relations between the mutinous human being and harmonious nature: Sea waves are endowed with singing power, Streams through swaying rushes. And clashes of the elements with harmony; An orderly, musical rustle Streams through swaying rushes. All is in perfect accord, Each part of nature is in tune with the rest; Only we, in our illusory freedom, Are aware of being disconsonant with nature. Whence is this lack of unity? Why, in the common chorus, Does the soul not sing together with the sea, And why does the thinking reed dissent?

From the earth to the farthest stars, No response ever comes To the cry in the wilderness, The souls desperate protest. If Problme goes back to Tiutchevs meditations on Benedict de Spinoza and Schelling (as is believed), the later lyric had its initial inspiration in Blaise Pascals aphorism about man being a thinking reed. As usual, one can find congruent thoughts in Schelling; the Latin epigraph of the later poem, Est in arundineis modulatio musica ripis (There is musical coherence in rushes growing on the riverbank), was borrowed from the Roman poet Ausonius. The resulting whole, however, is not a patchwork quilt of lines borrowed from the poets and philosophers of different epochs; it is the epitome of Tiutchevs poetic view of the universe. The opening statement is a variation on one of his favorite themes, singing nature (water sings especially often in his lyrics). Harmony ties in with singing waves. A perfect orderthe Russian word is stroi (regular musical arrangement, lack of dissonance or discordance)always aroused Tiutchevs admiration, and he regularly used biblical allusions (here, to the voice crying in the wilderness) to clinch his argument. The semantic field of music, inaugurated by the word musica in the epigraph, is developed with remarkable consistency, as seen in the progression from singing to chorus. Especially memorable are some of Tiutchevs short existential lyrics, such as Nam ne dano predugadat (It is not given to us to predict, 1869): It is not given to us to predict / What response our word will have, / And sympathy comes to us / As heavenly grace may. . . . Tiutchev often wrote about fate. His most dramatic lyric on this subject is called Dva golosa (Two Voices, 1850): Take courage, o friends, fight tirelessly, Even though the forces are not equal and the struggle is hopeless! Over you, the luminaries are silent high up; Beneath you, there are gravesthey are also silent. Let the gods on their heavenly Olympus enjoy their bliss: Their immortality knows nothing about labor and anxiety; Anxiety and labor are only for mortal hearts . . . Theirs is not victory, theirs is the end. Take courage, struggle, o brave friends, However cruel the fight, however hard the battle may be! Over you, there are silent star rings; Beneath you, there are mute, deaf coffins. Let the Olympians watch with envious eyes The struggle of indomitable hearts. He who, while resisting the enemy, has fallen conquered only by Fate Has wrested the wreath of triumph from his hands. The structure of Two Voices rests on a mechanism often employed by Tiutchev: the voices are almost identical, and the solution of the riddle (why two voices if they seemingly repeat each other?) is given only in the coda. The first voice says that victory is not for human hearts (they must perish), while the second agrees that death is mans lot but makes an additi on: he

who falls overwhelmed by Fate alone has won. Both voices are equally tragic but treat victory and defeat differently. The voices concern themselves not so much with the warriors as with the gods. Human hearts have something that the blessed gods lackthe ability to feel pain (anxiety) and make a heroic effort. The heros reward is not glorious death but the joy of battle. The Olympians happiness is spurious and dull, since their bliss does not have to be attained by risk and courage; the gods realize this disadvantage and envy the excitement they cannot share. Man is doomed but active. The juxtaposition of courage based on faith in destiny and courage that prevails in the teeth of destiny was a theme widely discussed in the 1840s and early 1850s. Tiutchev often let his creative genius serve politics. Not only did he write essays on Russia and the West, but he also composed epigrams, lampoons, versified addresses, anniversary greetings, and lyrics on the latest events (such as the Polish insurrection and the Crimean campaign) and on the deaths of his friends. Relatively few of these poems have merit. Tiutchevs gift imposed certain limitations on him. To produce one of his masterpieces, he had to follow rules of his own creation; for example, he usually needed a barrier between reality and himself or a veil covering the object of his observation. When he broke these selfimposed rules, he failed. He was one of the wittiest men of his time, but his epigrams are never funny. His letters (in French) on the political situation in Russia read like novellas, and their style is perfect, but his versified orations at Slavophile banquets, which are stylistically inferior and ideologically tendentious, leave one with a sense of embarrassment. The first of Tiutchevs important political works was his Lettre M. de Docteur Gustave Kolb, which appeared in the Augsburger allgemeine Zeitung (Augsburg General Newspaper) on 19 March 1844. In 1848 his second political article, La Russie et la Rvolution, which was intended as a chapter in his unfinished book Russie et lOuest (Russia and the West), outlined his basic positions about Russia as a country of Christian humility in opposition to the West, which he saw as an anti-Christian hotbed of revolutionary movements. His last article, La Question Romaine, appeared in the January 1850 issue of La Revue des Deux Mondes. In this article he attacked the Roman Catholic Church, claiming that it had become a purely secular institution after the split with Orthodoxy. Tiutchev was well aware of his method, and it is curious to watch his efforts to write about politics as though it were one of his conventional themes. For example, in Uzh tretii god besnuiutsia iazyki (For three years nations have been in a state of madness, 1850), his only sonnet, he expresses his admiration of the tsar for his firmness in the face of the 1848 revolution. Tiutchev seeks refuge in a seascape, as he had in his 1848 poem More i utes (The Sea and the Rock), which is a masterful description of a tempest, though its allegorical meaning (the impregnable rock is Russia, which the European revolutions are unable to shatter) is not revealed in the text. In the sonnet, two typically Tiutchevian lines describe birds frightened by an approaching storm. The line Thought is suppressed by ominous sorrow is an echo of a similar line from the lyric about holy night written at the same time (in both cases the Russian word for thought is um, mind), and the line Peoples dreams are wild like those of a sick person has been transferred almost verbatim from an 1829 lyric about Russias iron sleep, though it seems to be out of place here.

It is debatable whether Tiutchevs allegorical landscapes should even be called political. Their message may have been clear to Tiutchevs contemporaries, but from a poetical point of view they are indistinguishable from his nature lyrics. Alpy (Alps, 1830), for example, describes how The snowy Alps gaze through / The nights azure murk, standing As though bewitched; but when the sun rises, the evil witchcraft comes to an end; / The first to brighten up / Is the eldest brothers crown. From the head of the big brother / A stream runs down to the younger ones, / And the entire revived family glitters / In their golden w reaths! This poem is probably about the Slavs (the eldest brother is Russia). One of Tiutchevs poems can be called an expanded political metaphor. In 1844 he wrote Kolumb (Columbus), a solemn address to the explorer: Yours is, Columbus, yours is the wreath! You, who have boldly made a draft of the globe And finally completed Destiny s unfinished cause, You, with your divine hand, Have torn the curtain and exposed A new, unknown, unexpected world hitherto Concealed in the nebulous infinity. So has of yore mans Conscious genius been connected By a bond of kinship with the creative force of nature . . . Once man pronounces the magic word, Nature responds readily With a new world To his kindred voice . This lyric is full of Tiutchevs favorite ideas and motifs: man as an inalienable part of nature; chaos (the nebulous infinity) containing miracles, the existence of which is a secret to everyone; a curtain (veil, pall) hiding unknown, but not unknowable, new worlds; and a human word producing wonderful and unexpected results. But why did Tiutchev, who almost gave up poetry in the mid 1840s, burst out into a panegyric of Columbus? This question was answered by Richard A. Gregg, who compares Kolumb to another text written at the same time. Tiutchevs Lettre M. de Docteur Gustave Kolb was about the emergence of Petrine Russia before the unsuspecting West, which suddenly discovered a great power at its borders. Gregg posits that the new world in Kolumb is a metaphor for Petrine Russia; Peter I completed the cause ordained by fate and made the draft of the globe whole. Kolumb was first published in 1854, ten years after it was composed, and it is fairly certain that no contemporary reader of Sovremennik connected it with the Lettre. A turn in Tiutchevs career may have been caused by the appearance of the Lettre. Tsar Nicholas I read the essay and approved. In the autumn of 1844 Tiutchev returned to Russia, and in 1848 he was appointed senior censor in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; he read newspapers and books published abroad and decided whether or not they could be allowed into Russia. In 1858 he became president of the Committee of Foreign Censorship. Censors are seldom appreciated, and the institution supporting them commands little respect; yet neither Tiutchev nor, for example, Goncharov found it reprehensible to serve as a literary

policeman. One can only say that despite his conservative views and devotion to monarchy Tiutchev was a liberal censor. In 1870 he wrote two epigrams about the work of the committee, the first of which was published ten years later in Rus. In Veleniu vysshemu pokorny (Obedient to the highest will) he writes: Obedient to the order from up high, / We stood sentry watching thought; / We did not try too hard, / Though we were armed with guns. // We used them against our will, / Rarely made threats and stood guard / In honor of thought rather / Than guarded thought, the prisoner. In Davno izvestnaia vsem dura (Long known to all as a fool) he says that Lady Censorship, the never tiring / fool of old fame, / supports our flesh in a small way / God bless her! Tiutchev is at his weakest in poems that take to task Aleksandr Arkadevich Suvorov, Gen. Aleksandr Vasilevich Suvorovs grandson and the Lord Mayor of St. Petersburg, for his compassionate treatment of Polish insurgents; console Aleksandr Fedorovich Gilferding, the famous collector of Russian epic lays, after his losing an election to the Academy of Sciences; mock Count Aleksei Andreevich Arakcheev and Karl Robert von Nesselrode, the highest-ranking statesmen under Nicholas I; blast the Pope; or predict the glory of the panSlavic state. The problem is not that some of these pieces strike readers as progressive and others as reactionary. Their failure is professional: Tiutchev lacked the ability to write journalistic poetry. Even in his youth Tiutchev was not a political rebel. He had little, if any, sympathy for the participants in the Decembrist Revolt. In 14-e dekabria 1825 (14 December 1825), written in 1826, he finds it unbelievable that these victims of reckless thought hoped to melt the eternal pole with their meager blood. Thus, at the age of twenty-three he was associating the Russian monarchy with the North Pole, but the mutinous blood sparkled, while smoking on the age-old iceberg, the iron winter breathed, and no trace of the blood was left. It is true that in Tsitseron (Cicero, circa 1830) Tiutchev said Blessed is he who visit ed this world in its fateful minutes, but it was not revolution or the collapse of empires that attracted him; rather, he could not withstand his fascination with change, with the transitional stages of all things. He was a convinced monarchist; although he refused to judge whether Pushkin or Baron Georges dAnths-Heeckeren was to blame for the duel in which Pushkin perished, he called dAnths-Heeckeren a regicide, and no other word could have expressed more forcefully his condemnation of the murderers deed. One can only imagine what it cost him to write Ne Bogu ty sluzhil i ne Rossii (You served neither God nor Russia), an 1855 epigram on the death of Nicholas I: You served neither God nor Russia / But only your own vanity, / And all things you have done, good and bad, / Were false, just appearances / You were not a tsar but an actor. He was of course disillusioned by Nicholass leadership, not by the type of government, for he associated monarchy with Russias spiritual and cultural supremacy in the world. Some of Tiutchevs topical lyrics are existential rather than political, and three of these deserve special mention. The first is Eti bednye selenia (These poor villages, 1855): These poor villages, This jejune nature O my native land of endless patience, Land of the Russian people! The proud look of a foreigner Will not understand or notice

What secret light, what attraction Your humble nakedness holds. Under the burden of the cross, The heavenly king, while being a slave, Walked you up and down and blessed you, O my native country. Critics have noted that in lyrics about Russia, Tiutchev mentioned only elements such as a gray sky, puddles covered with ice, and scraggly birch trees, and thus looked at his native land in the same way the proud foreigner does in this poem (Tiutchev was referring specifically to Astolphe de Custine, the author of a devastatingly uncomplimentary account of Nicholass empire). This criticism is partly justified. Tiutchev, a denizen of Geneva and Munich, loved the image of Russia, not the reality. His sad landscapes should not be used against him, however, for they are about the semimythical north, inspired by Russia but not identical with it. Eti bednye selenia is also a myth in its own way. The poem is not a statement against serfdom: its contours are too blurred to be interpreted as a political declaration. Another lyric of this type is Russkoi zhenshchine (To a Russian Woman, 1848 or 1849): Far away from the sun and nature, Far away from light and art, Far away from life and love Will your young years pass quickly, Your living feelings will become dead, Your dreams will be dispelled . . . And you will spend your life unnoticed, In an unpopulated, nameless land, In a country no one knows; Thus does the smoke vanish In a drab and misty sky, In autumns impenetrable murk. . . . In the 1850s this poem was hailed even by the revolutionary democrats, but it seems that Tiutchevs contemporaries found in his lines what they looked for rather than what the poet really said. The image of the protagonist is nebulous and abstract. The opening lines create some confusion about the identity of the woman addressed. If the woman is a peasant, then her life will not pass far away from nature. If she is a middle-class woman or an aristocrat, there is no reason why she should have no exposure to nature and especially to love and art. The country presented in such dark colors is also hard to recognize; St. Petersburg was certainly not a nameless wasteland for Tiutchev. The picture emerging from the last lines is Tiutchevs north, or Russia as he saw it on his return from abroad, so the addressee of this lyric turns out to be the woman of Tiutchevs Russia rather than a real Russian woman. Finally, Umom Rossiiu ne poniat (28 November 1866), one of Tiutchevs four-line lyrics about Russia, has become proverbial: Russia cannot be grasped with the mind, / It cannot be measured by a common yardstick: / It has a measure [stature] all its own / One can only believe in Russia. This epigram sums up most accurately Tiutchevs attitude toward his motherland: one cannot judge Russia by what one sees in it; one can only believe in its idealized image. These lines express the quintessence of peoples irrational love for their

inhospitable and unpredictable land, elevates their patriotism to the level of a religious feeling, and turns Russia, with her messianic role, into an object of blind faith equal only to God. Tiutchevs double life with his wife and Deniseva, his alarm at the 1848 revolutions, Russias defeat in the Crimean War in 1855, the 1863 Polish uprising, and Denisevas death on 4 August 1864 all led to a state of emotional exhaustion and spiritual emptiness for the poet. His last years were also filled with the deaths of many friends and family members, including four of his children. His own health was failing, but he continued to write poetry, mainly of a political nature. He also began yet another romance, this time with Elena Karlovna Bogdanova (ne Uslar), a woman approximately twenty years his junior, taxing the patience of his family. On 1 January 1873 Tiutchev had a stroke, supposedly brought on by anger at his wifes poor copying of a poem. This stroke debilitated the entire left side of his body; nevertheless, he continued his normal activities. Two more strokes followed on 11 and 13 June, at which point he could no longer speak. He died in Tsarskoe Selo on 15 July 1873 and was buried in the Novodevichii Cemetery in St. Petersburg. On the surface Tiutchevs legacy is relatively simple: fewer than five hundred poems, three major political articles, a collection of his witticisms (the 1922 Tiutcheviana), and scores of letters. Though he was the only genuine Romantic that Russia produced, according to Nicholas Riasanovsky, Tiutchev was the most modern of Russian poets. His formal innovations belong to a later age, especially his experimentation with metrics. Tiutchevs importance, however, lies in his place as a poet who embodies the contradictory nature of his native land. In his poems Tiutchev pursued what is most dear to the soul of Russiabeauty.

Papers: Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchevs papers are housed at the Central State Archive of Literature and Art (formerly TsGALI), f. 505, and the Russian State Library, f. 308, both in Moscow; and at the Russian National Library, f. 797, St. Petersburg. Other papers are located at Muranovo, now a library and museum.

FURTHER READINGS:

FURTHER READINGS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Inna Aleksandrovna Koroleva and Aleksandr Aronovich A. Nikolaev, F. I. Tiutchev. Bibliograficheskii ukazatel proizvedenii i literatury o zhizni i deiatelnosti 1818 1973, edited by Kirill Vasilevich Pigarev (Moscow: Kniga, 1978). Ronald C. Lane, Bibliography of Works by and about F. I. Tiutchev to 1985, Astra Soviet and East European Bibliographies no. 7 (Nottingham, U.K.: Astra Press, 1987).

Biographies:

Ivan Sergeevich Aksakov, Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev. Biograficheskii ocherk (Moscow: Tip. V. Gote, 1874). Georgii Ivanovich Chulkov, Letopis zhizni i tvorchestva F. I. Tiutcheva (MoscowLeningrad: Academia, 1933). Kirill Vasilevich Pigarev, Zhizn i tvorchestvo Tiutcheva (Moscow: Izdatelstvo AN SSSR, 1962); abridged and revised as F. I. Tiutchev i ego vremia (Moscow: Sovremennik, 1978). V. G. Dekhanov, ed., Sovremenniki o F. I. Tiutcheve: Vospominaniia, otzyvy i pisma (Tula: Priokskoe knizhnoe izd-vo, 1984). Vadim Valerianovich Kozhinov, Tiutchev (Moscow: Sovremennik, 1988); second edition, expanded (Moscow: Soratnik, 1994). Arkadii Petrov, Lichnost i sudba Fedora Tiutcheva (Pushkino: Kultura, 1992).

References:

Borys Bilokur, A Concordance to the Russian Poetry of Fedor I. Tiutchev (Providence, R.I.: Brown University Press, 1975). Roman Fedorovich Brandt, Materialy dlia issledovaniia Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev i ego poeziia, Izvestiia Otdeleniia russkogo iazyka i slovesnosti imperatorskoi Akademii nauk, 16, no. 2 (1911): 136232; no. 3 (1911): 165. Boris Iakovlevich Bukhshtab, Introduction to Polnoe sobranie stikhotvorenii, by Tiutchev (Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel, 1957). Dmitrii Ivanovich Chizhevsky, Tjutcev und die deutsche Romantik, Zeitschrift fr Slavische Philologie, 4 (1927): 229323. Georgii Ivanovich Chulkov, Posledniaia liubov Tiutcheva (Elena Aleksandrovna Deniseva) (Leningrad: M. & S. Shabashnikov, 1928). Roger Conant, The Political Poetry and Ideology of F. I. Tiutchev (Ann Arbor, Mich.: Ardis, 1983). Franois Cornillot, Tiouttchev, pote-philosoph (Lille: Service de reproduction des theses, Universit de Lille III, 1974). D. S. Darsky, Chudesnye vymysly, O kosmicheskom soznanii v lirike Tiutcheva (Moscow: Tovarishchestvo skoropechati A. A. Levenson, 1913). Afanasii Afanasevich Fet, O stikhotvoreniiakh F. Tiutcheva, Russkoe slovo, 2 (1859): 6384. Semen Liudvigovich Frank, Kosmicheskoe chuvstvo v poezii Tiutcheva, Russkaia mysl, 11 (1913): 131. Lidiia Anatolevna Freiberg, Tiutchev i antichnost, in Antichnost i sovremennost, edited by Mariia Evgenevna Grabar-Passek (Moscow: Nauka, 1972), pp. 444456. Richard A. Gregg, Fedor Tiutchev: The Evolution of a Poet (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965). Aleksandra Dmitrievna Grigoreva, Slovo v poezii Tiutcheva (Moscow: Nauka, 1980). Nikolai Kallinikovich Gudzy, Tiutchev v poeticheskoi kulture russkogo simvolizma, Izvestiia po russkomu iazyku i slovesnosti AN SSSR, 2 (1930): 465549. Richard F. Gustafon, Tyutchevs Imagery and What it Tells Us, Slavic and East European Journal, 4 (1960): 116. Ulrike Kahlenborn, Goethes Lyrik in russischer bersetzung. V. A. Zukovskij und F. I. Tjutcev als bedeutendste Goethe-bersetzer der russischen Romantik, Slavische Beitrge no. 185, (Munich: Verlag Otto Sagner, 1985).

Rolf Kempf, F. I. Tjutcev. Persnlichkeit und Dichtung, dissertation, Basel University (Gttingen, 1956). Nina Valerianovna Koroleva, F. I. Tiutchev, in Istoriia russkoi poezii, volume 2 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1969), pp. 191224. Boris Mikhailovich Kozyrev, Mifologemy Tiutcheva i ioniiskaia naturfilosofiia (iz pisem o Tiutcheve), in Istoriko-filologicheskie issledovaniia. Sbornik statei pamiati akademika N. I. Konrada (Moscow: Nauka, 1974), pp. 121128. Ronald C. Lane, Tyutcev in English Translation: 18731974, Journal of European Studies, 5 (1975): 153175. Lane, Tyutchevs Place in the History of Russian Literature, Modern Language Review, 71 (1976): 344356. A. Lavretsky, Turgenev i Tiutchev, in Tvorcheskii put Turgeneva. Sbornik statei, edited by N. L. Brodsky (Petrograd: Seiatel, 1923), pp. 244276. Lavretsky, Vzyskuiushchii blagodati. (F. I. Tiutchev: pot i poziia), in Slovo o kulture. Sbornik kriticheskikh I filosofskikh statei (Moscow: M. GordonKonstantinova, 1918), pp. 6179. Evgenii Nikolaevich Lebedev, Romanticheskii mir molodogo Tiutcheva, in Istoriia romantizma v russkoi literature. Romantizm v russkoi literature 20kh30kh godov XIX v. (18251840) (Moscow: Nauka, 1979), pp. 81107. Abram Zakharovich Lezhnev, Dva poeta. Geine, Tiutchev (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1934). Lezhnev, Introduction to Stikhotvoreniia, by Tiutchev (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1935), pp. 540. Lidiia Mikhailovna Lotman, F. I. Tiutchev, in Istoriia russkoi literatury v chetyrekh tomakh, volume 3 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1982), pp. 408426. Evgenii Aleksandrovich Maimin, Russkaia filosofskaia poziia. Poty liubomudry, A. S. Pushkin, F. I. Tiutchev (Moscow: Nauka, 1976). Sergei Aleksandrovich Makashin, Kirill Vasilevich Pigarev, and T. G. Dinesman, eds., Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev, book 97 of Literaturnoe nasledstvo, 2 volumes (Moscow: Izd-vo Nauka, 19881989). Ralph E. Matlaw, The Polyphony of Tyutcevs Son na more, Slavonic and East European Review, 36 (19571958): 198204. Dmitrii Sergeevich Merezhkovsky, Dve tainy russkoi poezii. Nekrasov i Tiutchev (Petrograd: I. D. Sytin, 1915). Aleksandr Aronovich Nikolaev, Khudozhnik-myslitel-grazhdanin (chitaia Tiutcheva), Voprosy literatury, 1 (1979): 116158. Nikolaev, Sudba poticheskogo naslediia Tiutcheva 18221836 godov i tekstologicheskie problemy ego izucheniia, Russkaia literatura, 1 (1979): 128143. Oleg Vladimirovich Orlov, Poziia Tiutcheva (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Moskovskogo Universiteta, 1981). Lev Adolfovich Ozerov, Poziia Tiutcheva (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1975). I. Iu. Podgaetskaia, Svoe u chuzhoe v poticheskom stile. Zhukovsky LermontovTiutchev, in Smena literaturnykh stilei. Na materiale russkoi literatury XIX-XX vekov (Moscow: Nauka, 1974), pp. 201250. Sarah Claflin Pratt, Antithesis and Completion: Zabolockij Responds to Tyutcev, Slavic and East European Journal, 27 (1983): 211227. Pratt, Russian Metaphysical Romanticism: The Poetry of Tyutchev and Boratynskii (Stanford: Cal.: Stanford University Press, 1984).

Pratt, Semantics of Chaos in Tyutcev, Slavistische Beitrge no. 171 (Munich: Verlag Otto Sagner, 1983). Lev Vasilevich Pumpiansky, Poziia F. I. Tiutcheva, in Uraniia. Tiutchevskii almanakh (18031928), edited by Evlaliia Pavlovna Kazanovich (Leningrad: Priboi, 1928), pp. 957. Nicholas V. Riasanovsky, The Emergence of Romanticism (New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 8487, 91, 101. A. I. Rubin, Poziia Tiutcheva kak sozvuchnoe sliianie s prirodoi, Grani, 97 (1975): 143173. Almut Schulze, Tjutcevs Kuzlyrik. Traditionszusammenhnge und Interpretationen, Forum Slavicum no. 25 (Munich: Vilhelm Fink Verlag, 1968). Vladimir Sergeevich Solovev, Poeziia F. I. Tiutcheva, Vestnik Evropy, 4 (1895): 735752. D. Strmooukhoff, La posie et lidologie de Tiouttchev, Publications de la Facult des lettres de lUniversit de Stasbourg no. 70 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1937). Tiutchevskii sbornik (Tallinn: Eesti raamat, 1990). Iurii Nikolaevich Tynianov, Pushkin i Tiutchev, in his Poetika. Sbornik statei (Leningrad: Academia, 1926), pp. 107126. Tynianov, Vopros o Tiutcheve, Kniga i revolutsia, 3 (1923): 2430. Karol W. Zawodiski, Tiutczew. Proba ujecia, Wiersze wybrane, by Teodor Tiutczew (Ldz-Wroclaw: Wydawnictwo Wladyslawa Baka, 1948), pp. xviixxxix. Iakov Osipovich Zundelovich, tiudy o lirike Tiutcheva (Samarkand: Samarkand Universitet, 1971).

Source Citation Liberman, Anatoly. "Fedor Ivanovich Tiutchev." Russian Literature in the Age of Pushkin and Gogol: Poetry and Drama. Ed. Christine Rydel. Detroit: Gale Group, 1999. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 205. Literature Resources from Gale. Web. 19 June 2011. Document URL http://go.galegroup.com.turing.library.northwestern.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE%7CH12000085 35&v=2.1&u=northwestern&it=r&p=LitRG&sw=w