The clan founder in Russia was Knight Peter Von Wiesen who was captured in times of the Livonian War with his son Denis. The Von Wiesens stayed in Russia and were converted to Orthodoxy under Czar Aleksey Mikhailovich.

The writer’s father Ivan Andreevich was an army officer. He studied naval art under Peter the Great, served in the Fleet and then in infantry, resigned in the rank of Major and worked at the Revision Collegiate. He was honest, hated lies and bribery and never pandered to the powers that be in the quest of a higher rank or position.

Denis said that in his first marriage his father married a 70-year-old woman just to rescue his brother from bankruptcy. For 12 years he had been faithful to his old wife. His second wife was Ekaterina V. Dmitrieva-Mamonova, who was thus described by Denis: “… a wife full of virtue, mother loving her children, prudent steward and magnanimous master.” This couple had eight children, four boys and four girls. Biographers are not sure about the year of Denis’ birth, 1745 or 1744, the latter being probably more precise; he was the oldest of the eight children.

The family did not hire foreign educators for their kids because of scanty means. In the words of his biographer Petr Vyazemsky, Fonvizin was surrounded by the “Russian atmosphere” since his early years; “old father Von Wiesen made his son chant church and prayer books during the night worships that were often organized in their home.” In 1755 the father sent his sons Pavel and Denis to the gymnasium of the Moscow University, for nobility, Grigory Potemkin studying there at one time with the two brothers.

The Fonvizin brothers were overachievers. Newspapers of those days reported the success of the gymnasium students and thanks to this we know about several gold medals awarded to them at the school year’s end. Denis recalled that the level of education was low and none of his classmates could answer at the exam which sea the river Volga flows into: one said “into the White Sea”, another – “into the Black Sea”. Fonvizin honestly admitted he did not know and was rewarded with a medal for his honesty. On one occasion the brothers were granted a higher rank: both were assigned to Semenovsky regiment from their early years and in 1760 both became sergeants.

In 1758 the brothers were taken to St. Petersburg among the best students to introduce them to the university curator Shuvalov; the court overwhelmed the 14-year-old lad by the chic, décor, bright colors and “tremendous music”. But the main thing was that Lomonosov himself asked the boy about his studies and argued wonderfully in favor of learning Latin. The strongest impression was a theatre, though, where Denis went for the first time in his life. He held sides with laughter as he watched a translated comedy. It turned out that actors Fyodor Volkov and Ivan Dmitrevsky frequented the house of Denis’ uncle, where the Fonvizin boys lived in Moscow, and Denis met both actors there. Volkov soon died while Dmitrevsky became Fonvizin’s lifetime friend and acted as Starodum in the stage production of The Minor.

Already in gymnasium Fonvizin developed a “taste for philology” and began translating. His first experience was the tales of Danish writer Holberg, ordered by a university book trader; the translation was published in 1761. Then orders started flowing one after another. Fonvizin’s translations were published in the magazine titled “A collection of best compositions for knowledge distribution and fun making, or Mixed library of physical, economic, manufacturing and commerce-related books”, published by the university librarian. Among Fonvizin’s translations were articles on human sciences, Metamorphoses by Ovid and the novel by Abbot Terrasson Heroic Virtue, or Life of Seth, King of Egypt, Evidence of the Mysterious Ancient Egypt Taken. Fonvizin who did not speak French, translated the novel from German. He tackled French after a casual acquaintance, learning that Fonvizin did not speak French, considered him “a poorly educated ignoramus”. “Making note from the way of his speaking that he did not know much apart from his French, which he did not speak fluently either,” said Fonvizin, “I started biting back and perplexed him by my squibs; he no longer mocked me and started inviting me to visit him; I responded pleasantly and politely and we parted as good friends. But from that conversation I saw how badly a young man needed fluent French and undertook to learn this language.” He later ridiculed the ignorant Gallomen in The Brigadier-General, where he profusely used the findings of his favorite Goldberg’s play Jean the French. By that time Fonvizin had already won the reputation of being a witty man; many repeated his witticisms, but he did not raise up enemies because of his good nature and youth.

His good command of Latin helped Fonvizin master French as well; soon Fonvizin translated Voltaire’s Alzira, though he later described this translation as a sin of his youth. The translation was ridiculed by many.

… The youth fell in love for the first time. The object of his passion he ironically describes in his Candid Confession as a girl who was “fat, very fat, and plain, very plain”. The only reason for the affection, he writes, was the difference of sexes, since there was nothing else loveable. In the meantime the doors never closed in the house of his sweetheart, so instead of practicing in the science of tender passion he had to engage in endless discussions with his silly lover and her stupid mother who served as the prototype for the famous brigadier-general in the eponymous play. Everybody recognized one of their friends in the brigadier-general; count Nikita Panin once said to Fonvizin: your brigadier-general is kin to all.

In 1762 Fonvizin left the gymnasium. A sergeant of the Guard, he was obliged to serve but he wanted to study instead. A lucky happenstance came to his aid. Catherine the Great arrived in Moscow for coronation with her court and government. The foreign collegiate needed translators and vice chancellor Golitsyn hired the youth who spoke several languages. Fonvizin was a good translator and he was given most important documents for translation.

Soon he met Ivan Elagin, cabinet minister and an already forgotten writer. He is remembered not on account of his novels, but due to Elagin Island in St. Petersburg. A literary circle of youth loving the theatre and pondering on the ways of developing philology rallied around Elagin. Elagin employed Fonvizin as “secretary for some affairs”. The service was not burdensome and left a lot of time for balls, feasts, rides, masquerades and theatre. At Elagin’s home Fonvizin met Prince Fyodor Kozlovsky who also gathered young libertines at his place; for some time Fonvizin was part of their circle, but later thought it as the terrible blunder of his adolescent years, since all of those people blasphemed and cursed: “I never participated in the former and shuddered as I heard their blasphemy; yet I was involved in deriding holy matters, since it’s always easy to mock those things that should be held in deference.” It was then that Fonvizin wrote his famous Message to My Servants Shumilov, Vanka and Petrushka.

This message brought Fonvizin the fame of an infidel, which was rather misplaced, since this was but a caustic joke in the spirit of the times, not candid skepticism or atheism on his part. Quite soon Fonvizin felt sick in this libertine circle; a bit later his acquaintance with senator Teplov, a devout Christian believer and author of moral works, made a revolution in Fonvizin’s soul, converting him from libertinism to Christian religion and faith; at the suggestion of Teplov he even translated The Proofs of God’s Existence by Samuel Clark. Nevertheless he considered his Message to Shumilov as one of his best works till the end of his days; shortly before his death he asked Ivan Dmitriev, whether he read The Message, The Minor, The Fox Preacher…  

Fonvizin is interested in fiction, delighted to get involved in literary wars, smashes his rivals with his caustic remarks. “Young Fonvizin is like a vulture among them, the torridity of his mind and his unrestrained and pungent expression vexing everybody and driving them mad; in spite of his witticisms, he was loved by all, though. Maykov, entering into a dispute with him, stutters, and his young opponent, making use of this momentary hesitance, forestalls him and gets the upper hand. Should Kheraskov soar to the clouds, the vulture knocks him down to the ground with some intricate phrase or a sudden sneer, as if with sharp claws,” says Vyazemsky as he quotes the recollections of Petr Myatlev. Fonvizin frequented Myatlev’s saloon and met there with Maykov, Kheraskov, Sumarokov, Bogdanovich, Barkov…

There was a heated discussion about the Russian theatre in Elagin’s circle and there was a non-stop war on Sumarokov, who dominated the theatre stage of those days. Fonvizin was better than others in bullying the man. Denis had the gift of parodying, speaking in Sumarokov’s voice and imitating him in a very funny way.

The Elagin people were also fond of creating the Russian comedy, given that mainly translated plays were staged. “Many spectators are not benefitted by comedies about others’ morals, since they think it is foreigners who are mocked, not them,” said Vladimir Lukin, theoretician of the Elagin literary circle. Therefore it was suggested that foreign plays should be drawn nearer to the Russian reality: the main characters should be given Russian names, everyday realities should be shown and spoken Russian should be used. This is how Lukin created his works. Fonvizin also came up with such a semi-Russian centaur, having translated and reinterpreted the play Sydney by Gresset, which was given the name of Korion.

His alliance with Lukin was short-lived: Lukin, a hard man to deal with, soured on Fonvizin and made his stay under Elagin’s supervision unbearable. Fonvizin could neither forsake Elagin nor stay with him: who would risk luring away a secretary from an all-powerful grandee? Fonvizin asked for a half-year leave to stay with his family in Moscow, then extended it for another half a year and during this time he fell seriously in love. He was a frequent guest of a certain colonel who had a wife and the wife had a sister – not a very pretty woman, but refined, smart and well-read; she was also a very good singer. Her name was Anna I. Priklonskaya. She married the future rector of Moscow University Mikhail Priklonsky. Vyazemsky thus described her: “Her bodily characteristics did not match her mental qualities: tall, dry, with her face mutilated by smallpox, she could not be attractive for any man who would look at her only with his physical eyes; but the brain feels for another brain and the eyesight of a smart man has special optics. Be that as it may, Von Wiesen was committed to her with all his will, mind and heart: she alone steered him as she wanted and his affection for her has all signs of unconstrained passion!” Anna seemed to avoid Fonvizin, but it turned out later that she fell in love with him as well and shunned him not to lead him into a sin. “Neither me for her, nor she for me had any other feeling but unfeigned friendship,” commented Fonvizin, dismissing all possible insinuations. He loved Priklonskaya during his lifetime…

He wrote a new play titled The Brigadier-General. Albeit based on a foreign comedy, it is truly Russian, audaciously hilarious play, with live salient characters in place of flat puppets, typical of classicist dramaturgy.

Having listened to author’s recital, count Bibikov and count Grigory Orlov informed the Empress about the new comedy. Fonvizin recited this play for her, the Empress liked it, and count Nikita Panin stopped Fonvizin in the garden to congratulate him on success while Fonvizin asked him for patronage and recited The Brigadier-General for him. Count Panin said to that: “This is the first comedy about our local life and morals and I am amazed at your art, how you could make this foolish character talking all five acts so exciting; I won’t be surprised if this comedy is an astounding success; I recommend you not to forsake this high vocation.”

Fonvizin recited The Brigadier-General in one noble house after another and everywhere it was received with elation. There was no conventional space in the comedy – just a traditional Russian home. In place of walking vices due to be derided, so common for classicism, there were people whom each met often in their everyday life, but witty caricatures, rather than portraits.

In 1769 chancellor Panin invited Fonvizin to become his secretary and Fonvizin worked for him the following 13 years. Furthermore Panin had been bringing up crown prince Pavel before 1773, pinning great hopes on his accession to the throne: his reign was to put an end to Catherine’s autocracy, lawlessness, favoritism… Fonvizin, committed to the ideals of Enlightenment and convinced in the need to bring up an educated monarch, became a helping hand of Panin, his friend and a like-minded person.

Panin, having received a generous reward for rearing the crown prince, bestowed an estate on Fonvizin in the Vitebsk governorate – 1,180 souls, an entire fortune. Despite this fortune, Fonvizin got almost completely broke by the end of his days, like most Catherine’s landlords who never counted their money.

Soon he married and here’s the story. Young widow Katerina Khlopova complained to the Empress about her uncle. Empress ordered three people to sort out that matter, Panin being one of them. Panin reassigned this errand to Fonvizin. The whole matter boiled down to the fact that Katerina who was born into the family of merchant Rogovikov, but lost her parents early and was brought up by her uncle who was also a steward of her big inherited fortune. Katerina fell in love with count Chernyshev’s adjutant named Khlopov. Her uncle did not give consent to this marriage and she then fled with her fiancée and united with him in a holy wedlock. Khlopov soon died, but the uncle still retained her inherited possession. Khlopova complained to the Empress and Fonvizin tackled this case but could secure only an amicable settlement. While the legal proceedings dragged on, passionate Katerina fell in love with Fonvizin and it was rumored in the city that he was handling the case of his lover. To dispel the rumors, he married her.

His wife’s disease (he says this was a tapeworm) made him leave abroad for France where his wife was taking a therapy. From France Fonvizin was sending to Nikita Panin’s siblings, sister Fedosia and brother Petr, letters with a detailed description of his French impressions. Everything was interesting to him: economy, political system, the standing of clergy, gentry, peasantry… He looked critically at France, without awe peculiar to his Galloman Ivanushka, but also without despicable condescension. This was a sober look of the intelligible and sharp statesman. These letters are extremely interesting even now and a lot there sounds scarily relevant: his remarks about the police, poverty of teachers, sale of ranks and titles are read like today’s journalism. And then the most intimate observation: “Education in France is limited to learning, but there is no general plan of guidance and all adolescents only study, but are not guided. The main effort is invested into vocational training that one may become a theologian, another – a painter, the third one – a joiner; but nobody thinks of the human or moral dimension.” Nevertheless, these letters also abound in the growling of a weary traveler who grudges at everything: local morals and customs, hotels and gnats, wrong napkins on the table… But he mostly grieved by the fact that “the French having all freedoms essentially live in thralldom. The king unrestricted by laws has concentrated unlimited power in his hands, trampling the law under his feet… Each minister is despotic in his department… Unreasonable and frequent taxes and levies are hard on the pocket and serve only the cause of enrichment of insatiable officials.” He takes note of the national plight on the eve of a terrible social explosion and depicts this pre-storm environment.

In France Fonvizin meets Diderot, D’Alembert and Benjamin Franklin, sees Voltaire and reports at the Society of Writers and Artists on the state of the Russian language. And he certainly was pondering about the Russian disarray. On returning from France, he tackled The Minor. Concurrently, he was working on “The Essay about Indispensable State Laws” – a treatise that was part of the work by brothers Panin on the code of laws prepared towards the ascension of Pavel to the throne. Indispensable state laws or statutes were to become a peculiar insurance for the state in case of sovereign’s malignity, i.e. actually a prototype of constitutional restraint on the monarchy. Some of his meditations Fonvizin put into the lips of Starodum – a typical classicist philosophizer in form and the castigator of public morals in essence, the audience accurately responding to political hints in his remarks. It took some time before The Minor was staged. The first stage production was cancelled. The premiere took place in September 1782 in the theatre on Tsaritsyn Lug. Spectators burst into laughter time and again, turned frantic and threw wallets to the stage. Prince Potemkin who did a lot for the play to be staged, uttered his famous phrase after the premiere: “Die, Denis, or write no more – it’s impossible to write better.”

By that time he had resigned because of his feeble health and disappointment in everything he was doing: seriously ill Panin was in resignation, the Empress was still all-powerful, hopes for the coming enthronement of Pavel and the implementation of his projects waned. The service in the postal department under the supervision of Bezborodko seemed meaningless to him. So Fonvizin referred to his bad headache that tormented him from his childhood and pleaded for retirement. The Empress let him go, having appointed a retirement allowance for him, half of his salary.

The headache indeed was very painful, but he was an obese gourmet.

In retirement he wrote memoirs about Panin who died in 1783 and published them in French anonymously in London, in 1784. He entered into collaboration with the magazine The Companion of Those Who Love the Russian Word. It was published by Ekaterina Dashkova, head of the recently established Russian Academy. The Academy decided to publish a Russian dictionary and Fonvizin set to preparatory work. He drafted rules for compiling a dictionary and published in The Companion his Experience of Russian Philologist – a dictionary of Russian synonyms permeated with educational verve and containing subtle political satire. Here is, for example, his interpretation of the synonymic lineup: “misdeed, guilt, crime, sin, vile”: “Misunderstanding the boss’ command is a misdeed; forgetting to fulfill the boss’ errand is the guilt. Disobeying the boss is a crime. Scheming against the boss is a vile. Being ungrateful to the beneficent boss is the sin.”

In The Companion Fonvizin published several satirical texts and his famous “Questions that may stir useful thoughts in the minds of honest people”. There were 20 questions published anonymously and addressed to the magazine’s patron: the Empress. Thus he questioned the reasonableness of the statehood and national customs: “Why are our people not ashamed of doing nothing?” – for example. The Empress responded now with excuses, now with angry retorts, and sometimes she pretended she did not understand. To question 9 “Why are well-known and explicit loafers received everywhere on a par with honest people?” – she responded: “Because they were never found guilty at court.” To question 14 “Why were buffoons and revelers not granted any ranks before and now they have them, sometimes very high?” – she responded in a menacing manner: “This question was born out of the habit of frivolous speeches, which our ancestors did not have. If they did, they would have found ten high-ranked bastards per one at present.” Catherine the Great was angry at Fonvizin. Even prior to that, hearing that he was composing a certain treatise with Panin, she fumed: “Poor me: even Mr. Fonvizin is going to teach me how to reign.” Now she denied him the luxury to explain his satire, did not forgive him and prohibited the publication of his works.

In 1784 Fonvizin left with his wife abroad, where he stayed until the spring of 1785. He hoped to improve his shattered financial standing through the purchase and sale of works of art. But though he brought many masterpieces which are now the pride of the Hermitage collection, he did not get high revenues. He felt very sick abroad and when he came back to Moscow he had a stroke. Already paralyzed, he tried to publish The Friend of Honest People or Starodum magazine as soon as he could move his limbs; there was a subtitle there: “A periodical devoted to truth”. He signed as “the author of The Minor.” He was writing caustic satirical pamphlets for the magazine on behalf of The Minor’s characters. However the magazine was banned.

The second attempt to publish the Moscow Compositions magazine also failed. He was running out of means, legal proceedings commenced over one of his estates; his health was deteriorating: in 1791 only he suffered four strokes. He realized that he would not last long; shortly before his death he tackled his Confession – his life story titled “The honest confession of my works and thoughts”, but it was never ended. He did not finish his last play Choosing the Tutor either. He brought it to Derzhavin for reading, but could not walk independently, being supported and led by his servants. He could not read either, had to listen to other men reading his work. But even in that deplorable condition he made jokes, though his tongue could barely move, and was witty, according to the witness of Ivan Dmitriev who was present there that night: “Until his last breath literature had always been a living source of jolly inspiration, agility and forgetfulness of everyday ailments and deprivations for him. His half-paralyzed tongue could hardly pronounce words, very slowly, but his language was live and entertaining… Although it took him great effort to tell a story, he made us burst into laughter repeatedly.” The guests left the house at 11 in the evening, and the next morning Fonvizin passed away.

A glutton and moralist, smart observer and grudge holder, statesman and journalist, lexicographer and saloon wag, libertine and repentant sinner – Fonvizin was all of these and more. Only such a person and only in the 18th century – sumptuous, cynical, sensible, profligate, unscrupulous, thinking, seeking after truth – could create The Minor, a forever hilarious and biting comedy.