Letters of Dmitry Venevitinov (1824–1826)

The poet Dmitry Vladimirovich Venevitinov (1805–1827) left letters to his family, most of them written in French. Eight of them name the d'Horrers of Moscow: Mr and Mrs d'Horrer, "Mr d'Horrer senior", "Mr d'Horrer junior", Miss Sophie and "Sophie d'Horrer". They show the life of the aristocracy of that time. The passages about the d'Horrers are in bold; see also the chapter In Russia.

The first five letters were written in 1824 to his sister Sophie, who had stayed in Moscow, from the family estate of Novozhivotinnoye on the Don, near Voronezh. The other three date from November 1826, when he left for Saint Petersburg, where he had just joined the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Text: autograph letters kept at the Institute of Russian Literature (Pushkin House) in Saint Petersburg, fund 415; published in D. V. Venevitinov, Stikhotvoreniya. Proza, Moscow, Nauka, 1980, letters no. 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 23, 24 and 26 (online version). The original French text is on the French page; this is the site's own translation. Dates in square brackets are those of the edition; the passages written in Russian are marked.

1. To his sister Sophie, [Novozhivotinnoye, mid-August 1824]

My dear Sophie,

Where shall I begin my letter? Must I lead you along the high road, or shall I carry you to the country in a single leap? The second way would certainly be easier, especially for me, who have already made the journey once; but since it might not quite satisfy a little busybody like you, I shall retrace my steps and we will make the journey together. Picture, in a small and rather narrow carriage (as I have since learnt), three figures whom you know well enough, I think, to spare me describing them. Picture these three figures sitting sideways, as at Boileau's dinner, with a slight turn to the right, and you will have a very fair idea of the equipage and of the pretty group the travellers made in it. However, as we had not left our inventive genius behind in Moscow, we soon hit on the idea of sitting only two at the back and posting the third as a lookout at the front of the carriage; in this way we slept in turns, and very comfortably. Now I must tell you what I did when my turn came to sit at the front of our little carriage, for I do not know what the others did while I slept soundly. I tried to read, but it was impossible: all I had with me was a small Greek gospel, of which I could make out only a few lines, the print was so small and the jolting so violent. So I thought I might write verse; but the nightingale sings only in the shade of the groves, and I was exposed to the full heat of the sun; besides, the jolts of our carriage were nothing like the gentle rocking one feels seated on the back of Pegasus. So I began to hum a few of Genischta's songs and the chorus from Der Freischütz. I had reached the finest passage when all of a sudden our coachman, inspired no doubt by my melodious voice and by all the expression I put into my singing, struck up the most outlandish tune, and at the top of his voice. Shame at giving way made me sing louder; I fought this Orpheus of a new kind, but for all my efforts I had to pack up and give in, for the rascal had a far better throat than mine. Then nothing was left for me but to count the versts. That is how the days went. The nights were another matter. In the moonlight, which lent us its rays the whole way, my thoughts were freer; I could more easily carry myself among you, talk with you and hear you. I forgot myself so far as to shout "Stop!", and when we stopped I was quite ashamed: I had seen children playing on the high road whom we were about to run over, while there were neither children nor anyone else there, and I was dreaming wide awake. You can well imagine that on a journey of this kind there is nothing but change of scene and never a change of action. It was always leaving and arriving. Do not think, though, that all this happens in a moment. Between arriving and leaving there is an interval often strewn with bad stretches of road. Thank God they were not frequent this time... But it is time at last to unharness our panting steeds. Let us arrive in the country. That was where our whole journey was heading, and we reach it only at the end of my sheet. Nothing could be simpler. As for the journey, I shall soon forget it myself and will be able to tell you nothing about it later. As for the country, I shall be able to tell you about it in every letter, as the impressions come. I will only tell you that I saw the Don again with rapture, and I shall not be surprised if its waters become for me the waters of Hippocrene. I cannot yet even speak to you about it; the feeling is too strong, it must be left to settle. Farewell, then. Keep well, and embrace

Your brother and friend
Dmitry

Kind regards to Messrs Bayleau, D'Horrer and Genischta; I am very sorry not to have seen him before we left. Give my best to Sofya Patronovna.

I would write more, but I assure you I have no time. Greet everyone for me. My respects to Mrs D'Horrer. By the next post I shall write to Mr Guerke.

2. To his sister Sophie, [Novozhivotinnoye, 16–26 August 1824]

My dear Sophie,

Your little letter reached us during our stay in Voronezh, where we spent two days. It took nothing less than a letter from mama and from you to relieve the deadly boredom that seems to have chosen that town as its residence. But all in good time. I shall start my little accounts again in chronological order, which, as you know, serves to sort in our memory the most remarkable periods of every history. Ours, I know, is not among the most important, but since it holds some interest for you, that is reason enough for me to give you a detailed account of it. I think I told you already that from Tula to here we had a splendid road, brightened by the sight of several small towns, all very pretty and above all very prettily set on hills. The nearer we came to the end of our journey, the finer the country grew. At last, by night, by the light of lightning and to the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, we arrive home; the bell gives us away. We are recognised, and so the doors open. Everything comes to life; we alone, weighed down by sleep and fatigue, swallow a little black bread and honey and slip away from the crowd to get between the sheets. I shall not tell you everything I saw in my dreams — I could not even if I wished; I shall only tell you what I saw when I woke: a cloudy sky, pouring rain, a few houses in the distance and huge gardens in the most complete disorder. The picture hardly matched the idea I had kept of this estate; whether because illusion makes everything we look forward to seem beautiful, or because memories of childhood always bear the stamp of gaiety and joy, I found no more than a shadow of the past. The gardens have turned into forests of cherry, apple and pear trees of every kind; in a word, nature is still beautiful here, it alone has lived up to my expectations, but one sees hardly a trace of the hand that tends it, and, to speak in allegory, art has fallen asleep in the arms of indolence. Now a word about what we do. We are not idle: going to bed with the hens, we get up with the cocks. From the morning on we ride out to follow Danila Ivanovich's droshky, now in the fields, now in the woods. This morning we rode along the Don to go to our other estate. But I shall tell you about that next time, in prose or in verse. For now, farewell; I embrace you tenderly. My respects to Mr D'Horrer, a thousand greetings to all who remember me, and above all to Miss Sophie.

3. To his sister Sophie, [Novozhivotinnoye, 26 August 1824]

My dear Sophie,

It seems to me that you have never been so frank as today: in every letter you accuse yourself of curiosity, and this little confession, to tell you the truth, teaches me nothing new; but this is not the moment for me to reproach you with it, for this time I am no less curious than you, and I wait for every post with the keenest impatience — not to learn what is going on in Moscow, but to learn what you are doing there, and to devour your letters, which are for us like the wages of the week's labour. Despite my promise to give you an exact account of all our exploits, I am at my wits' end and cannot go on with my story: our occupations this week have been so uniform and their details so prosaic that I would bore you by listing them. Still, we are not as much to be pitied as you think; the country is not without its charms for us, and we sometimes spend very pleasant moments, either with our neighbours, men and women, or on our own; but it is all so broken up, there is always so little connection between what comes before and what follows, that our present life is much more like a dream than reality, so that if anyone asked us what we are doing we would be at a loss to answer. That, my dear, is how our time passes; we do not even notice it, it goes this way and that like my gossip's petticoat, and yet it is certainly not time lost. I did not forget Saint Natalia's day, and I could well imagine you enjoying yourself at Countess P.'s. Please believe that I was at the party too. When you know the place of the scene and the actors, is it hard to carry yourself into the midst of the company, to watch their games and even share their pleasures with all the charm of reality? A fine illusion! But an illusion all the same. That very day, Tuesday, we had ridden some twenty versts on horseback in a superb moonlight that lent itself admirably to such dreams. No doubt, I confess, I am a little tired of these illusions, and I should really like to embrace you at this moment; but I hope to see you again soon, and I am speaking quite seriously when I say that for your name day we shall sit together at the feast of joy. Meanwhile, farewell. Give my respects to Mr D'Horrer, and give my kind regards to Mr Guerke, to Bayla and to Genischta. I truly feel his sorrow very deeply. Send me details about the departure of Mr D'Horrer junior.

4. To his sister Sophie, [Novozhivotinnoye, 3–5 September 1824]

My dear Sophie,

I am writing to you sitting on a corn measure; that will not prevent me, however, from giving you as usual my report of the whole week, which, like all those before it, has been (if one may put it so) a web of pleasures and annoyances. I keep only the roses for you; thorns are not yet for your age; besides, to tell one's troubles to another is to suffer the same ill twice; and I will tell you frankly that I am so fond of the country that I soon forget all the annoyances and enjoy myself at my ease — and there is certainly plenty to enjoy here. Every time I cross the Don I stop in the middle of the bridge to look at this beautiful river, which the eye would like to follow down to its mouth and which flows without a sound, as peacefully as happiness itself. Only the day before yesterday, from the top of the bank, I was admiring this superb picture and the moon, which in the middle of a cloudless sky seemed to delight in seeing its image repeated in the waves. Yes, my dear, I do not hide it from myself: all this may be rather absurd in a letter, but it is very poetic in nature. But why, you will say, do you not tell me this in an epistle in verse? It would have been far better placed there! I agree, and I will even tell you that so far I have not written a single line; but I have done more, for I have had a thousand thoughts I did not have before, which I shall be able to put into verse when I have more time to work on them. But enough of that. The peasant men and women gathering round our barn remind me that I have yet to tell you about the various festivities we have given in the country. Their only brilliance was the open gaiety that reigned at them and lit up every face. There was singing and dancing, and everyone went away happy.

On Tuesday we spent almost the whole day at Mr Olenin's, and very merrily. The ladies ask you to send them, with Andrey Filimonov, as many of Genischta's songs as you can and some new French quadrilles. Farewell, my dear; I am in a very poor mood for writing today — tell Mr Goerke so, whom I greet without writing to him. Tell me what you are doing, and among other things in music; I would like to hear you from here. I embrace you.

Your brother and friend
Dmitry.

(In Russian:) Stepanida's children are very well. Pasha is with us as second valet and travels with us round the villages, where he treats the peasant boys.

I notice now that I have written you a very rambling letter; but do not hold it against me — my head is not my own, and we have not had a moment's rest since we came here. Kind regards to the Meshcherskys, to Mr D'Horrer junior and to Genischta.

Our respects to Mr D'Horrer senior, if he is with you.

5. To his sister Sophie, [Novozhivotinnoye, 3–8 September 1824]

My dear Sophie,

I think I can guess from your last letter that you are already a little tired of our correspondence; I shall not say as much. I am not tired of writing to you, but very tired of being unable to talk to you without pen and paper. It is very awkward to squeeze one's mind and one's words into the narrow bounds of four pages when one wants to talk to a person to whom one is not afraid of saying too much and who would easily forgive a little wordiness. A fine excuse, you will tell me: take two sheets of paper instead of one and there you are, at your ease. No, my dear, two sheets would not be enough for me any more than one, if I had the time to talk to you as much as I would like; but one has to be sensible in this world below and give more time to one's business than to one's recreations and pleasures. That is why my moments are precious and why you must be content with this little letter, which will close all those I have written to you from the country. What interesting thing shall I tell you? I would like all the ideas that come to you as you read our letters to join together into a fine picture of Zhivotinnoye for you. I would like to show you a nature more smiling and more beautiful than any you have seen so far; I would like to make you admire everything there, from the oak to the wild flower, from the eagle to the butterfly; but how can one bring this fine picture to life, what ideal shall we place in this imposing temple? Alas, I am no poet at this moment. All I can see before my eyes is the gloomy face of Natalya Yakovlevna, and never was a face more out of place in a landscape like that of our estate. I have already found that our memory never attaches itself to a place, but always to some person or some event; on the strength of that experience I dare not hope that we shall keep a very attractive memory of our stay here; I even think we shall keep a very confused idea of it, for there has never been a stranger mixture of pleasures and annoyances than the one that marks every day we have spent in the country. Every moment there is something new afoot, and yet I have nothing new to tell you. But it is late already. I must wish you good night. Farewell, then. I shall not tell you that I would like to be a bird to fly to you, for if I were a bird I could not tell you that I will always love you.

Your brother and friend
Dmitry

6. To his family, [Torzhok, Thursday 4 November 1826]

Thursday, 11 in the morning.

Here we are in Torzhok, arrived as happily as could be; we are leaving again this moment and hope to be in Petersburg on Wednesday. I am delighted to be travelling with Vaucher; he is truly the best fellow in the world and I already love him with all my heart. I am addressing this little parcel to Sophie; she will see to my errands. The two pairs of shoes under the letter "a" are for Princess Zinaida. Thank her warmly for me. Also send two pairs of shoes to the Trubetskoys; the others are for mama and Sophie. I am sending the scarlet sash to Sophie D'Horrer; the other is from Fyodor for my Sophie. I tenderly kiss mama's hands and embrace Sophie with all my heart. I hope this letter finds them in good health.

D. V.

Put the initials of their names on the Trubetskoys' shoes, so that it looks as if I had shared them out myself.

7. To his sister Sophie, [Saint Petersburg, about 11 November 1826]

Thursday

I promised you details, my dear friend, and I could already give you a few.

I have seen the Neva, all the magnificent buildings along it, Peter the Great, the Kazan church — in a word, all that is most beautiful in Petersburg, and on a very fine day.

I have even seen the inside of the Tauride Palace, the famous hall with all its marble.

But I would rather let these impressions ripen, or at least grow.

My heart is not yet in Petersburg, and my memories of Moscow occupy me far too much for me to look with all due attention and truly enjoy what I see. Yesterday I saw the Khitrovos, who send you a thousand greetings. I also called on Count Nesselrode, who kept me for quite a long time and told me to come back after resting a few days. I spent more than an hour with Princess Aline, who is as charming as ever.

These details will do for the moment. When I have finished my first round of calls, which I am extremely impatient to do, I shall write to you with more order and care. As you know, I shall not need your exhortations then: it is easier for me to write you a long letter than a short one, and I even mean never to write to you on the same day as to mama, so that you hear from me more often. So far I have never been able to find more than 3 minutes to tell you about myself.

Give my respects to all the Okulov ladies, and tell them that if they forget me I shall pray heaven to make them lose their pretty voices. Greet M., V... and all my friends whom you see. Tell Mr D'Horrer (the edition prints "D'Honer") and Goerke that I shall write to them very soon. A thousand greetings to Sophie and a thousand kisses for you.

I often think of Genischta — tell him so; in a word, I forget nobody. Tell Princess Zinaida that I am impatiently waiting for the copies of Marcello's psalms. I hope she will send me some with Alexander M. One of these days I shall go and see Vielgorsky, who has already heard of my arrival and has sent word that he is expecting me. Talk about me to Alexis and above all give me news of him. I shall write him a detailed letter one of these days.

8. To his sister Sophie, [Saint Petersburg, Thursday 18 November 1826]

Thursday

I received your letter yesterday and, as you see, I lose no time in answering it. I am fairly pleased with it, though I would have liked it to be more detailed still. When you tell me about your pleasures and your occupations, you must leave out no circumstance. What do you play with Genischta? You tell me nothing about it. What goes on at Princess Zinaida's evenings? Is there singing? dancing? I want to know all that. And then you will have the right to demand the most exact accounts from me. Besides, say what you will, you always have much more time to spend on your letters than I do. So far I am living like a vagabond, which does not suit me at all, but I hope at last that we shall move into our lodgings on Monday, and then I shall be more the master, indeed entirely the master, of my time. Today I am invited to dinner at Mr Batyushkov's; I have not yet met his daughters, who are said to be very charming and very good musicians. This morning I shall also call on the Kutaisovs. Then I shall go back to Count Nesselrode, not wishing to take too much advantage of the rest he has given me. The evening I shall spend either at Kozlov's or at Delvig's. Those are my plans for the whole day. As soon as I have settled into my new lodgings I shall send you the copies you want. Do not think, however, that the princess gave me her notebook only on that condition. That condition did not exist when the notebook was already in my hands; it was only later that the princess spoke to me about it. What a quarrel over nothing! But I do not pick it to make much of my obligingness. One of these days I shall write to mama. I shall also send you my letter for Alexis; since the Voronezh post leaves Moscow on Friday, I shall send it to you on Saturday so that you get it on Thursday. Send it on without delay. Give me exact news of him. I thank mama for the letter she sent me and kiss her hands and cheeks. I shall write to Mr D'Horrer, to Mr Goerke and to my aunt. I spent an evening at Princess Sophie Volkonsky's; she is a most charming person despite her illness. I did not, however, find in her either the complexion or the voice of someone who has kept to her bed for so long. I was told afterwards that she was a little agitated. She kept me from half past six until half past nine, and during those 2 hours Princess Aline and I never stopped talking, so as not to let her speak.

My compliments to Princess Zinaida; I am very grateful to her for remembering me. Do not forget me in her salon, and above all with the Okulov ladies. Tell Alex. Meshchersky that the schools are about to open and that as soon as they do I shall send him their rules; meanwhile he is not to forget my advice. At the first opportunity send me some rose preserve for Vaucher. It cannot be found in Petersburg, and it does him a world of good. I embrace you with all my heart.

If you see the Trubetskoys, give them my respects, and send me Marcello's psalms through Princess Agrip. if she comes here soon, or through her brother. Both will be glad to do it.

People mentioned