"Ganz Küchelgarten": what is this story about? Brief curriculum vitae

Decembrist poet V.K.Küchelbecker

By the angry sea, by the midnight sea

a pale youth stands (Heine) and behold

he has been thinking for many centuries about

how to resolve an old, full of flour

riddle: "Who is LIFE, why

Yu. N. Tynyanov.

Introduction.

They wrote a lot and in different ways about the Decembrists. Some with a cold heart analyzed their social programs. Others with spiritual delight turned to the analysis of their position in life.

Why do scientists and writers study their lives with such unflagging passion? All enlightened Russia spoke about them 170 years ago, monarchs and governments "corresponded" about them, and secret reports were drawn up. There are thousands of publications, dissertations, poems and novels about their lives. Some scolded them, others admired them. Pushkin ranked himself among the Decembrists, sadly recalling in the poem "Arion": "There were many of us on the boat ...".

The fates of these people are contradictory. And, I think, it is ambiguous what would happen to Russia if they won. In critical situations (arrest, interrogation, cell, exile, hard labor), they behaved differently.

I was interested in the fate of one of these people - the Decembrist poet Wilhelm Karlovich Kuchelbecker. His path in life was thorny and difficult. The fate of his works is especially tragic.

The researcher of the life and work of VK Kuchelbecker, Yuri Nikolaevich Tynyanov, wrote: "The poetic fate of Kuchelbecker is, perhaps, the most striking example of the destruction of a poet, which produced the autocracy." The poet was 28 years old when, by the will of the autocracy, he was erased from the literary life of Russia: after 1825 the name of Küchelbecker completely disappeared from the pages of magazines; unnamed or signed with pseudonyms, his works rarely appeared. He died in obscurity and poverty, after which he left a huge number of notebooks with unpublished poems, poems, dramas, stories. Before his death, Kuchelbecker sent a proud and sorrowful letter to V. A. Zhukovsky: “I am talking to a poet, and moreover, the half-dying man acquires the right to speak without great ceremony: I feel, I know, I am absolutely convinced, just as I am convinced of my existence, that Russia can not in dozens of dozens oppose the Europeans with writers equal to me in imagination, in creative power, in scholarship and a variety of works. Forgive me, my kindest mentor and first leader in the field of poetry, this proud trick of mine! But, really, the heart is filled with blood if you think that everything I have created will perish with me, like an empty sound, like an insignificant echo! " (one).

For almost a century after his death, the greatest works of the poet were not published; over the years, numerous studies of literary scholars - Pushkin scholars have brought to light a huge number of witticisms and parodies, caricatures and absurd cases associated with the name of Kuchelbecker (2, 3). The poet was destroyed in advance in the eyes of his potential readers, who did not yet know and did not read his works. Only in the 1930s, the poet was first resurrected by the works of the Russian writer Yu. N. Tynyanov (1894-1943). His famous novel Kühla was published in 1925.

I really liked Roman Tynyanova. The author not only revived much, if not everything, that was written by Kuchelbecker, but also told about him in such a way that the temporary distance separating the reader from the Decembrist, fellow practitioner and friend of Pushkin, becomes easily overcome.

Now nobody can call Kuchelbecker a forgotten poet; his poems are published and republished; his letters were found and published; his views in the field of philosophy, literary criticism, folk art and even linguistics are being studied (4, 5, 6). However, his poems are sometimes difficult to understand, his solemn oratory style, antique and biblical images seem archaic.

An interest arose in the fate and work of the main character of the novel. Therefore, when it was proposed to choose a topic for future term paper, the choice fell on this historical figure.

The aim of the work was to study the life and work of Kuchelbecker, his role as a direct participant in the events of December 14, 1825 on Senate Square.

Objectives of the work: to briefly outline the biography of the poet, to highlight his literary activities, to find out the reasons for the formation of his Decembrist views and participation in the uprising, to tell about his future fate and work. The source base of the work is the following books: “Markevich's memoirs about his meetings with Kuchelbecker in 1817-1820. ", "Decembrist revolt. Materials "," The Decembrists in the memoirs of contemporaries "," Their union with liberty is eternal "(literary criticism and journalism of the Decembrists)," The Decembrists: aesthetics and criticism " time "," Pushkin: Correspondence "," Delvig A. A., Kyukhelbeker V. K. "(selected). Monographic literature was also used - "The Decembrists" (Nechkina), "The Rebellion of the Reformers" (Gordin Ya. A.), "The Decembrist Movement" (Nechkin), "We will reward the Mentors ... for the good" (M. and S. Rudensky) and artistic - "Kyukhlya" (Tynyanov Yu. N.).

The work consists of an introduction, five chapters, a conclusion, a list of sources and literature, 12 illustrations are presented.

I. 1 "About ancestors, about great-grandfathers, about glory"

The fate of poets of all times is bitter:

The hardest fate is to execute Russia

.................................

God gave fire to their hearts, light to their minds,

Yes! the feelings in them are enthusiastic and ardent, Well? they are thrown into a black prison,

W. Kuchelbecker

Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not the case with us,

My brother is a relative of a muse, of fate.

A. Pushkin

“When I’m gone, and these echoes of my feelings and thoughts remain, maybe there will be people who, after reading them, will say:“ He was not a man without talents, ”I will be happy if they say:“ and not without a soul. .. „(6) - this is what Wilhelm Karlovich Kuchelbecker, a prisoner of the Sveaborg Fortress, wrote in his diary on August 18, 1834, in his ninth year of solitary confinement.

The life of this man was unusually tragic. Wilhelm Kuchelbecker was born in St. Petersburg on June 10, 1797. His father, a Saxon nobleman, Karl von Kuchelbecker (1748-1809), moved to Russia in the 70s of the 18th century. He was an educated man, studied law at the University of Leipzig at the same time as Goethe and Radishchev. Karl Kuchelbecker was an agronomist, mining expert, wrote poetry in his youth. In St. Petersburg, he ruled Kamenny Island, which belonged to the Grand Duke, and later to Emperor Paul, was the organizer of his estate, Pavlovsk. With the accession of Paul, Küchelbecker's father had a significant career ahead of him. But a palace coup and the assassination of the emperor in 1801 put an end to it. After his resignation, Karl Kuchelbecker lived mainly in Estland, in the Avinorm estate, donated to him by Paul. The childhood years of the future poet-Decembrist passed here (4, 6).

Karl Küchelbecker's wife, Justina Yakovlevna (née von Lomen), bore him four children: the sons of Wilhelm and Mikhail, the daughters of Justina and Julia. Wilhelm dearly loved his mother, who did not understand his literary aspirations, since she had never really learned the Russian language. Until the end of her life (1841), Kuchelbecker wrote letters to her and poems for her birthdays only in German, touching upon rather complex issues of literature and culture. It was she who, from childhood, encouraged her son to study poetry. Justina Yakovlevna took care of her son all her life. I was very friendly with him (4, 6). Kuchelbecker wrote about her from prison:

Oh my best friend, oh my dear!

You, whose name is on my lips,

You, whose memory is always trembling for me,

In my soul ...

Sister Justina Karlovna (1789-1871) was the eldest in the family, her role in the fate of the brothers is so great that a few words must be said about it right away. Having married Grigory Andreevich Glinka (1776-1818), professor of Russian and Latin languages ​​at the University of Dorpat, she found herself in a Russian-speaking cultural environment, which ultimately determined the interests of her brother Wilhelm. According to Karamzin, GA Glinka was a kind of “phenomenon”, since almost the first of the nobles did not disdain to exchange the uniform of a guard officer for a professorship and the role of an educator of youth. The elder sister and her husband taught the brothers Russian reading and writing. The first books he read were the works of Karamzin. Wilhelm learned a lot from Glinka's book The Ancient Religion of the Slavs (1804). In 1811, G.A. Glinka was one of the contenders for the post of director of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, but his appointment did not take place (4). In poetry, Küchelbecker also spoke about his sister's family (his “second mother,” as he called her):

I see pretty daughters

Like her in everything, I see the playful sons;

Mother rules their noisy crowd

Or intelligent speech.

Wilhelm received a purely Russian upbringing. He recalled: "I am German by father and mother, but not by language"; - until the age of six I did not know a word of German, my natural language is Russian, my first mentors in Russian literature were my nurse Marina, yes, my nannies Kornilovna and Tatiana "(6).

In 1807, Wilhelm fell seriously ill - after that, deafness in his left ear remained forever; some strange twitching of the whole body, and most importantly, nervous seizures and incredible irascibility, which, although accompanied by quickness, brought a lot of grief to Kuchelbecker himself and those around him.

In 1808, Wilhelm was sent to the Brinkman private boarding school at the district school in the city of Verro (now - Vyru), from where he came on vacation in the summer to Avinorm and to the Glinka in Dorpat.

In 1809 Karl von Kuchelbecker dies. Justina Yakovlevna had to think about government education for her sons. She had nothing to pay. The youngest son, Mikhail, was assigned to the naval cadet corps. Küchelbecker's mother learns about the creation of the Lyceum (the Lyceum was conceived as a privileged educational institution with limited access), where, as originally intended, children of all conditions would be admitted. However, the plans changed when Alexander I intended to give the grand dukes for education in the Lyceum, but this did not come true. On the recommendation of Barclay de Tolly, a relative of his mother, and having a fairly good home preparation, Wilhelm easily passes the entrance examination to the Lyceum. Justina Yakovlevna rejoiced from the bottom of her heart, since her meager funds were running out. Küchelbecker's mother and sister hoped very much for his extraordinary future. In the end, the kind women who adored their Wilhelm were not mistaken - his name became famous in our history - but neither of them was destined to find out about it.

I. 2 "Fatherland to us Tsarskoe Selo"

Wilhelm Kuchelbecker came to the Lyceum with an open soul, with a clear desire to learn as much as possible, with the hope of choosing his own field that would allow him to serve his fatherland, help his family, without compromising on honor and dignity, which he valued above all else even then. His heart longed for friendship and comradely understanding.

Already the first days of their stay at the Lyceum radically changed the life of its pupils, filling it with a joyful, uplifting atmosphere. Not only the novelty of the unusual environment, in its own way luxurious and different from the atmosphere of other closed educational institutions, but also the feeling of the significance of their existence, which set the boys, as adults, the task of developing critical thinking for themselves, an effective creative attitude to life, determined their mood ...

The Lyceum immediately created an environment conducive to the development of political and artistic inclinations. Everything contributed to this: beautiful palaces, parks that breathed the poetry of the ancient world, and triumphal monuments that captured the national heroism.

At the Lyceum, Küchelbecker had a difficult time at first. Clumsy; always busy with his thoughts, and therefore absent-minded; ready to explode like gunpowder at the slightest offense inflicted on him; moreover, deaf, Kühlya was at first the subject of daily ridicule by his comrades, sometimes not at all harmless. He even tried to drown himself in the pond out of grief, but nothing happened: he was safely pulled out, and a funny caricature appeared in the lyceum magazine. What they did not do with poor Wilhelm - they teased, tortured, even poured soup on their heads, and they composed epigrams - do not count. We must not forget that 12-13-year-old boys came to the Lyceum, ready to laugh until they tumble over the awkwardness, funny character traits of fellow practitioners, even over their appearance. Kyukhlya seemed hilariously funny: incredibly thin, with a wry mouth, a strange wobbling gait, always immersed in reading or thinking. Mockery, jokes, evil and offensive epigrams continued to pour in:

Our nemchin only breathes hymns,

And the soul is full of hymns. Who will write a hymn to him? A "Hymn to fools" by Karamzin. Or:

Where is a tricky effort

Get an example of bad poetry:

You write a message to Vilmushka

He is ready to answer you.

From the first days of the Lyceum, Kuchelbecker was overwhelmed by poetic inspiration - his verses, at first clumsy, tongue-tied, became known to lyceum students immediately - in the fall of 1811, even earlier than Pushkin's.

By 1814, the collection of the Lyceum manuscript literature was enriched even with a whole collection of "Kuchelbeckeriada". This notebook, called "Sacrifice to Mom" ​​(Greek. The personification of slander and ridicule) and combined 21 epigrams, had an authoritative compiler and skillful "publisher" Alexander Pushkin and Ivan Pushchin. The most offensive were the jokes and ridicule, even the most benevolent ones, of those whom he soon fell in love with and in whom he saw people close to him in spirit - Pushkin, Delvig, Pushchin.

Kuchelbecker was straightforward and unshakable in the principles of goodness, justice and friendship, inspired from childhood and reinforced by reading. He knew literature, history, philosophy better than other lyceum students. In the Küchelbecker score sheet, there are solid excellent marks (1 point), only in mathematics, physics and fencing, Wilhelm did not shine (his score was 2-3). Drawing did not appeal to him. He was unusually generous in his willingness to share knowledge with friends.

The first review of Inspector Pilecki's Lyceum Kuchelbecker refers, apparently, to 1812: “Kuchelbecker (Wilhelm), Lutheran, fifteen years old. Capable and very diligent; impartially engaged in reading and writing, he does not care about other things, because there is little in things of his order and neatness. However, he is good-natured, sincere with some caution, diligent, inclined to the usual exercise, chooses important things for himself, is fluent in expression and is strange in handling. In all his words and deeds, especially in his writings, tension and arrogance are noticeable, often without decency. Inappropriate attention may be due to deafness in one ear. Irritation of his nerves requires him not to be too busy, especially writing ”(7).

This was Wilhelm the Lyceum student. He came from a provincial German boarding house and, apparently, did not know enough Russian. The childish exaltation and romantic dreaminess of Avinorm's times turned into unbridled ardor of feelings (in 1812 he was determined to join the army, in 1815, the same determination to marry) and pompous sentimentality, traits that made him the subject of evil ridicule. However, all the lyceum cartoons of "Vilya", "Kyukhlya", "Klita" are not so much personal as literary. They ridicule the length and ponderousness of the poems, Küchelbecker's addiction to the hexameter, the very civic spirit of the poet's works, and even the scholarship of the young man.

However, despite these ridicule, Wilhelm Küchelbecker was among the recognized lyceum poets. His works, although they did not correspond to the norms accepted in the Lyceum, were included in all serious literary collections, along with the poems of Pushkin, Delvig and Illichevsky; since 1815 Kuchelbecker began to actively publish in the magazines "Amfion" and "Son of the Fatherland"; Baron Modest Korf leaves an interesting testimony to the Lyceum students' respect for the poetry of Kuchelbecker and his originality, calling him the second lyceum poet after Pushkin, placing him above Delvig. A whole series of Lyceum friendly messages from Pushkin and Delvig to Kuchelbecker convincingly speaks of the high appreciation of his poetry (6).

The formation of the political views of the future Decembrist also began in the Lyceum.

The thunderous year of 1812 broke the even course of the life of the Lyceum. The Patriotic War, which awakened the dormant forces of the people, like no other event, influenced the pupils of the Lyceum, stirring up deep patriotic feelings. Seized with the desire to defend the Fatherland, the teenagers dreamed of being in the ranks of the militia. During this period, lyceum students especially often gathered in the newspaper room. Here “Russian and foreign magazines were read for a break with incessant talk and debate; We had a lively sympathy for everything: fears gave way to delights, at the slightest glimpse for the better. Professors came to us and taught us to follow the progress of affairs ”(9). It is possible that in this room the emergence of a free way of thinking among lyceum students began.

In the first years of his tenure at the Lyceum for Citizenship, Kuchelbecker's position did not rise above denouncing the "monster", "tyrant" and "ambitious" on the Napoleon throne. Alexander "Blessed" is traditionally idealized. However, the acuteness of teaching a number of socio-political disciplines, and the general freedom-loving spirit that reigned in the Lyceum, contributed to the emergence of a republican way of thinking in Kuchelbecker. There, Kuchelbecker perceived as reality the poetic formulas of freedom-loving characteristic of advanced pre-Decembrist poetry - the formulas of "holy brotherhood" or "friendship", "holy dreams", "happiness of the fatherland", etc.

The years at the Lyceum (1811-1817) were a whole era for Küchelbecker, which shaped his literary and political views and gave him that friendly literary circle that he retained throughout his life:

Introduce yourself to me friends

May my soul contemplate you,

All of you, Lyceum of our family!

I was once happy with you, young,

You light fog and cold from your heart!

Whose features are drawn most sharply

Before my eyes?

Like peruns of Siberian thunderstorms, its golden strings

Roar ...

Pushkin! Pushkin! It's you!

Your image is my light in the sea of ​​darkness.

From his lyceum years to the end of his life, Kuchelbecker was proud of Pushkin's friendship.

On June 9, 1817, the graduation act took place at the Lyceum. Wilhelm Küchelbecker was awarded a silver medal. A brilliant future was opening up before him.

II. 1 "Happy journey! ... From the Lyceum threshold"

Immediately after leaving the Lyceum, Kuchelbecker enters the Main Archive of the Collegium of Foreign Affairs. However, the service "on the diplomatic side" did not attract him. Even at the Lyceum Küchelbecker dreamed of teaching in the provinces. The dream came true: from September 1817 he began teaching Russian literature, but not in the provinces, but in the capital itself - in the middle classes of the Noble boarding school at the Main Pedagogical Institute. The young teacher's colleagues were his former lyceum mentors A.I. Galich and A.P. Kunitsyn, and among the students were Pushkin's younger brother, Lev, the future composer Mikhail Glinka, Sergei Sobolevsky. The noble boarding house was located on the western outskirts of the city, almost at the mouth of the Fontanka, near the Staro-Kalinkinsky bridge.

Kuchelbecker settled in the mezzanine of the main building of the boarding house with three pupils, one of whom was M. Glinka. A beautiful view of the Gulf of Finland and Kronstadt opened from the windows of his room. In the evening he invited his students to tea. Having tea and admiring the sun setting in the sea, they talked, admiring the scholarship of their beloved mentor.

Enthusiastically, with fervor, Kuchelbecker introduced his pupils to Russian literature, revealing to them the beauty of the poetry of Derzhavin, Zhukovsky, Batyushkov. In the classroom, he read new poems by Pushkin, Delvig and, of course, his own works.

In addition to his love of literature, Wilhelm tried to instill in his students progressive social views. He brought to the boarding house not only works that were out of print, but also circulated from hand to hand in lists. Among them were Pushkin's civic poems.

In those years, Kuchelbecker's own poems were published in almost all major magazines. But his literary position has not yet taken shape completely - the poet seemed to be at a crossroads. There was a lot of imitation both in his work and in his critical speeches. Following the example of Zhukovsky and Batyushkov, Kuchelbecker wrote elegies and messages. However, following Katenin, he abandoned lightness, elegiac melancholy, introducing outdated and colloquial vocabulary into the lyric genre of high style. The poet could not explain everything and defend in his views, but this did not prevent him from ardently defending them. When they did not understand him or, even worse, made fun of him, he was offended. He was especially sensitive to the jokes of his friends and, in a fit of irascibility, could even challenge the offender. This is how he once had a quarrel with Pushkin.

Her contemporaries recalled the following about the reason: Zhukovsky once told Pushkin that he could not go to someone's party because he had a stomach ache, and besides, Kuchelbecker came in and spoke to him. After a while, Pushkin's epigram reached Küchelbecker:

I ate too much at supper

And Yakov locked the door in error

So it was to me, my friends,

And küchelbecker and sickening.

What happened to Kuchelbecker when he heard the epigram! Only revenge could calm him. And not with ink, but with blood!

A lot of anecdotal fictions crept into the stories of contemporaries about the poet. Apparently, the history of this duel is not devoid of them. The journalist and writer N.I. Grech wrote that during the duel the pistols, unnoticed by Kuchelbecker, were loaded ... with cranberries. Küchelbecker's pupil Nikolai Markevich reported other, no less anecdotal details. According to his version, the duel took place on Volkovo Pole in some unfinished family crypt. Pushkin was amused by the whole story, and he continued to joke at his enraged friend during the fight. When Kuchelbecker was aiming, Pushkin, adding fuel to the fire, casually threw Delvig, the enemy's second: "Take my place, it is safer here." Kuchelbecker fired and hit ... in his second's hat! The world was sealed by a common friendly laugh (10).

It seems that this was the only period in Kuchelbecker's life when he was really happy. Engelhardt wrote: "Kuchelbecker lives like cheese in butter ... he is present very diligently in the society of lovers of literature, and ... in almost every issue of" Son of the Fatherland "a whole bunch of hexameters is triggered" (2).

II. 2 "From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us"

The bustling life of the capital captured the young poet. His circle of friends: Pushkin, Delvig, Baratynsky, Pletnev.

In 1820, simultaneously with the expulsion of Pushkin from St. Petersburg, clouds thickened over Küchelbecker's head. The chain of these events goes back to the meeting of the Free Society of Lovers of Russian Literature, where in March 1820 Delvig read his poem "The Poet", in which he affirmed freedom both "in stormy weather" and "to the sound of chains." A continuation of Delvig's thought was Küchelbecker's poem "Poets" read at a meeting of the society on March 22, which sounded like an angry protest against the persecution:

Oh, Delvig, Delvig! what a reward

And high deeds, and poetry?

Talent what and where is joy

Among villains and fools?

Envy rules over the herds of mortals;

Mediocrity stands with her

And crushes with a heavy heel

Harit of the young chosen ones.

The theme of this poem, the harsh fate of poets, whose work is subject to ridicule and persecution, has become over time one of the main in Kuchelbecker's poetry. But in the verses he wrote later, in confinement and exile, pessimistic notes predominate, and the Poets end with an affirmation of the joy of life and creative work:

Oh Delvig! Delvig! what a persecution!

Immortality is equal to the lot

And bold, inspired deeds,

And sweet chants!

So! Our union will not die either,

Free, joyful and proud

And in happiness, and in unhappiness, solid,

Union of the favorites of the eternal Muses!

Oh you, my Delvig, my Eugene!

Since the dawn of our quiet days

The heavenly Genius has fallen in love with you!

And you are our young Coryphaeus, Singer of love, singer Ruslana!

What is the hiss of snakes for you,

What are the screams of Owl and Vrana?

Fly and break out of the fog

From the darkness of envious times.

About others! song of a simple feeling

Will reach future tribes

Our whole century will be dedicated

To the labor and joys of art ...

This speech, which sounded like a political demonstration, entailed a denunciation by the vice-president of the Free Society of Lovers of Russian Literature Karazin to the Minister of Internal Affairs, Count Kochubei. The denunciation directly stated that since the play "Poets" was read in the Society "immediately after the expulsion of Pushkin became public, it is obvious that it was written on this occasion." He further reported that “pouring out his displeasure in the wrong way,” Kuchelbecker called the king by the name of the tyrant Tiberius.

Although the poet did not know about the denunciation, he felt uneasy. Kuchelbecker wrote to Zhukovsky: “I still don't know how my fate will be decided. You can imagine that constant excitement, uncertainty and anxiety is not a very pleasant state ”(2). Zhukovsky, trying to help him, took care of a teaching position at the University of Dorpat. “The hope of going to Dorpat,” Kuchelbecker wrote to him, “keeps me from looking for other means to escape from Petersburg, unbearable for me. Petersburg is more unbearable for me than ever: I do not find any pleasure in it, but at every step I meet troubles and griefs ”(18). At this time, the content of Karazin's denunciations became known, the vice-president was expelled from society. But Kuchelbecker's position became much more complicated. He is awaiting deportation for himself, like Pushkin ..

II. 3 "About Schiller, about fame, about love"

Armed freedom, Struggle of peoples and kings!

Saying goodbye to his Petersburg friends, he wrote:

Sorry, dear fatherland!

Sorry, good friends!

I'm already sitting in a stroller

Hope is anticipating time.

...............................

But believe it! and in foreign countries,

And there I will be faithful to you,

Oh you, my soul friends!

On September 8, Naryshkin, his family doctor Alimann and Küchelbecker go abroad. The travelers traveled around Germany, Italy and France, and everywhere Kuchelbecker felt himself to be a representative of the advanced literary thought of Russia.

On leaving St. Petersburg, he received an assignment from the Free Society of Lovers of Russian Literature to send correspondence about his journey; a number of his poems, as well as a travel diary, were written in the form of an appeal to the friends and "brothers" in literature and freedom of love who remained in Russia. Kuchelbecker strove to establish a connection with outstanding people of the West, to draw the attention of Europe to Russia, Russian folk poetry, the Russian language, and young contemporary Russian literature. These goals are subordinated to his conversations with Goethe, a classmate of his late father, Novalis and other great people of Germany.

Goethe, was interested in Russian literature, Russian folk legends. Wilhelm told how he could, perhaps being the first to call the great German writer the name of Pushkin. When he returned to his homeland, he promised to systematize information about Russian culture in the form of a series of letters. But he did not have time to fulfill this promise. Parting, Goethe gave the son of an old friend his last composition with the inscription: "To Mr. Kuchelbecker in good memory." This book has survived.

Trying to acquaint Parisians with Russian culture, Kuchelbecker read in the Athenaeum society, which was led by French liberals led by Benjamin Constant, a lecture on the Russian language, which was of an extremely freedom-loving, revolutionary character.

The Parisian police have banned lectures. Kuchelbecker was forced to part with Naryshkin and leave Paris. He returned to Russia.

II. 4 "Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus"

However, rumors about his political unreliability have already spread in St. Petersburg.

After the first unsuccessful attempts to find a service or organize a course of public lectures, Kuchelbecker and his friends realized that it was better for the poet to leave the capital for a while, without waiting for official reprisals. September 6, 1821 Kuchelbecker goes with Ermolov to the Caucasus. The poet's stay in the Caucasus was brief (from September or October 1821 to April or May 1822), but this period is extremely important in the formation of Kuchelbecker's creative personality. Here he became friends with A. S. Griboyedov; here, while parsing papers in the office of the governor of the Caucasus, A.P. Ermolov, he faced monstrous facts of oppression of man by man, which aggravated his rejection of the existing order in Russia. “My dear friend,” writes Kuchelbecker to VA Tumansky on November 18, 1821, “what can I tell you about my position? ... : he sells people, like cattle, one by one, gives them housing in the cellars, fetters them in iron; she will spot a twelve-year-old girl, - thanks to Alexei Petrovich, he will take them into his hands ”(13). The conditions of service under the command of a general popular among the future Decembrists and the conditions of creativity were favorable; however, six months after the appointment to Ermolov, in April 1822, Kuchelbecker submitted a letter of resignation "due to painful seizures." The real reason was that once, at a meeting with Ermolov, Wilhelm quarreled with a relative of the general, N.N. Pokhvistnev, and challenged him to a duel. He refused to fight. Then, after consulting with Griboyedov, Kuchelbecker slapped the offender in the face. The insult from Pokhvistnev, apparently, was serious - otherwise Griboyedov, who himself suffered from a duel, would never have given such advice. On the same evening, everything was decided: Kuchelbecker was sent from Tiflis.

Friends had a chance to meet in 1824-1825 in Moscow and St. Petersburg. In the spring of 1825, Kuchelbecker accompanied Griboyedov to Georgia, and each of them went his own way, at the end of which they were awaited by suffering and untimely death.

In July 1822, the poet was already on the estate of his sister, Justina Glinka, Zakupa, Smolensk province. He is intensively engaged in literary activities (lyric poems, the tragedy "Argives", the poem "Kassandra", the beginning of the poem about Griboyedov, etc.). Kuchelbecker is in love with the young Avdotya Timofeevna Pushkina, the namesake or distant relative of his friend, who is visiting Zakup and is going to marry her. The poet wrote to her:

The wilted flower comes to life

From clean, morning dew;

Resurrects the soul for life

The gaze of quiet, virgin beauty.

And at the same time, he dreams of returning from forced seclusion to the capital, of the opportunity to serve again and publish a magazine. He writes desperate letters about lack of money, about the complete impossibility of finding service again.

Friends are trying to find Kuchelbecker a place of service, preferably in distant lands, so that his stormy biography will be forgotten. However, all efforts are futile.

II. 5 "The poet is carefree, I wrote from inspiration, not from payment"

Kuchelbecker no longer wants to wait: he is seized by the idea of ​​publishing his own magazine, which immediately fell in love with his friends - Vyazemsky, Pushkin, Griboyedov.

With the help of Griboyedov, in cooperation with a new friend and like-minded person VF Odoevsky, Kuchelbecker begins to prepare the almanac "Mnemosyne".

The published almanac has gathered the best literary forces on its pages. Pushkin, Baratynsky, Vyazemsky, Yazykov, Odoevsky and other writers published their works there. Küchelbecker himself published in four parts excerpts from European Letters, the story Ado, a large number of lyric poems, literary-critical articles The Land of Headless People and On the Direction of Our Poetry, Especially Lyric, in the Last Decade, A Conversation with Bulgarin ", etc.

However, "Mnemosyne" brought Kuchelbecker not only fame and material well-being, but also new grief. The fourth part of the almanac was delayed and came out with a great delay only at the end of 1825. Kuchelbecker is forced to ask his mother for money again and look for more reliable means of subsistence than publishing an almanac.

He intends to go abroad, but this remains only a project. Strenuous work in the "Son of the Fatherland" Bulgarin and Grech and in "Blagonamerenny" Izmailov yields meager wages. His head is filled with creative plans that were not destined to come true due to the events of December 14, 1825.

III. 1 “He touched my apple: The prophetic apple was opened, ...

He touched my ears, And they were filled with noise and ringing "

Back in 1817, Kuchelbecker became a member of the sacred artel, which was the forerunner of the Northern Decembrist Society.

The Decembrist movement developed against the background of socio-economic shifts that took place in Russia in the first decades of the 19th century.

The contradictions between the backward feudal-serf system and the gradually developing bourgeois relations demanded fundamental changes in the economic and political life of the country. The Decembrists perceived these contradictions as a discrepancy between the interests of the enslaved people and the aspirations of the government, which protected and protected the existing state system.

The bulk of the entire population of the country was made up of serfs. The best people of Russia perceived serfdom not only as a brake on the further development of the country, but also as its moral shame.

The negative attitude towards serfdom became especially aggravated after the Patriotic War of 1812, which made it possible for future Decembrists to appreciate their people, to understand the strength of their patriotism and heroism. During the overseas campaigns of 1813-1814, they became convinced of the advantages of a more democratic structure in a number of European countries. Many future members of secret societies were participants in the war, passed a glorious military path from Moscow to Paris and were awarded military awards.

These changes were the soil on which the ideology of future noble revolutionaries was formed.

On July 30, 1814, the guards solemnly entered the capital through the triumphal gates, designed by G. Quarenghi. Many people gathered to meet them. Members of the imperial family also arrived. Yakushkin, who was not far from the tsar's carriage during the meeting, later recalled: “Finally, the emperor appeared, leading the guards division, on a glorious red horse, with a naked sword, which he was already ready to lower in front of the empress. We admired him; but at that very moment, almost in front of his horse, a peasant ran across the street. The emperor gave the spurs to his horse and threw himself at him with a drawn sword. The police took the man into sticks. We could not believe our own eyes and turned away, ashamed of our beloved king. This was the first disappointment in me at his expense ”(14).

Russian soldiers and militias who liberated Europe from the invasion of Napoleon, after the war, returned again to the oppression of officers and landowners. The general expectations of facilitating the soldier's service and freedom for the peasants as payment for the blood shed in the battles for the homeland did not come true. The answer to these expectations was a ridiculous phrase in the government manifesto on August 30, 1814, dedicated to the victorious end of the war: "The peasants, our faithful people, may receive their wages from God ..." (15).

“We shed blood, but we are again forced to sweat in the corvee. We delivered the homeland from the tyrant, and the gentlemen are tyrannizing us again, ”the former militiamen murmured (15).

Unrest began to arise in the Imperial Guard, which was the stronghold of the autocracy. The young officers who returned from abroad became a hotbed of "free-thinking" in the capital.

Artels began to appear in the army. At first, the reasons for their occurrence were purely material: it was much more economical for young, poor officers to run the household together. Officers of the General Staff also organized their own society in the second half of 1814 under the name "Sacred Artel". Gradually, the artel turned into a political circle, which included both military and civil servants. The brothers Muravyov-Apostles, M. S. Lunin, I. I. and M. I. Pushchin, A. A. Delvig, V. K. Kyukhelbeker and others were regular visitors. “In the artel drawing room, where it was warm and unusually cozy” (16), heated debates flared up, plans were made and oath promises were made not to spare life for the happiness of the fatherland. Many members of the artel later took an active part in organizing the uprising.

The main thing in the activities of this society was the education of love for the fatherland. The members of this organization were passionate patriots of Russia. The same feeling was ideologically united with the Kuchelbecker's artel - a graduate of the Lyceum, brought up in the high traditions of devotion to the Fatherland. The opinion that he, who was distant to the Decembrists, accidentally got involved in their society on the eve of the uprising and on the square on December 14 "was crazy" with the sincere aim of elevating Constantine to the throne, is refuted by the entire content of his investigative case. Küchelbecker himself characterizes this period of his life as a time when he did not fundamentally differ from the free-thinking youth: “... before the Lyceum I was a child and hardly thought about political subjects. - I repeated and said what was then repeated and said entirely by almost all young people (and not only young people) - no more and no less ... "(17). Wishing to ease his guilt in every possible way, Kuchelbecker continues: "... meanwhile, I assure you that I was only carried away by the general flow and did not have any definite, clear concepts about subjects that I considered completely alien to my favorite activities" (17). But the Lyceum Dictionary ... on which Kuchelbecker worked so hard tells us about his deep passion for free-thinking philosophy, in particular the same Jean-Jacques Rousseau, to whom the founder of the Sacred Artel A. Muravyov refers. Kuchelbecker speaks of his love for his homeland in vivid words: "... looking at the brilliant qualities that God bestowed on the Russian people, the people are the first in the world in their glory and power, in their sonorous, rich, powerful language, to which there is no such thing in Europe, Finally, out of cordiality, kindness, wit and not memory malice, which is characteristic of him before everyone, I grieved in my soul that all this was suppressed, all this would fade and, perhaps, fall off, not bearing any fruit in the moral world! May God forgive me for this sorrow part of my sins, and the merciful Tsar is part of the delusions into which blind, perhaps short-sighted, but unfeigned love for the Fatherland led me "(17).

Kuchelbecker was brought into the artel not only by love for the Fatherland, but also by ardent hatred of the entire serf system, of serfdom. Of the eight, according to his calculation, the motivating reasons that rooted in him a free-thinking way of thinking and forced him to enter a secret society, three directly go back to the plight of the serfs. Pointing out the terrible abuses "in most branches of government, especially in difficult legal proceedings" (17), Kuchelbecker immediately follows this on serfdom: "The oppression is truly terrible (I speak not by hearsay, but as an eyewitness in the village not by the way), in which most of the landowners' peasants are located ... "(17). Mentioning further in the decline of trade and the general lack of money, he again turns to serfdom and formulates the fourth reason for his freethinking as follows: which slave (serf) is about the right to use their acquired property. I confess that this fourth motive was one of the most important for me ... ”(17). What follows is the text of a lecture on the brilliant qualities of the Russian people and on the Russian language.

At present, it is regarded by Russian researchers as "a truly outstanding work of early Decembrism, one of those that will forever remain examples of the ideological legacy of the first Russian revolutionaries" (11). The lecture was addressed to the progressive people of France on behalf of the "thinking" people of Russia, because "thinking people are always and everywhere brothers and compatriots," because in all European countries they prefer "freedom to slavery, enlightenment to the darkness of ignorance, laws and guarantees - arbitrariness and anarchy ”(12). The lecture was delivered to the French in 1821, so it had to explain that the reactionary policy of the Russian government, "completely despotic", too well known by the French for the activities of the Holy Alliance ("political deals"), has nothing to do with the history and aspirations of the Russian people and Russian "thinking" people who hate despotism and barbarism. The lecture spoke about the Russian language, the wealth and power of which is an expression of youth, power and "great receptivity to the truth" of the Russian nation as a whole, and all of it was built as proof of the readiness for freedom and the right to freedom, the "laws and guarantees" of the Russian people. Kuchelbecker asserts here that the events of 1820 in Europe are "a great revolution in the spiritual and civil life of the human race and prophesy an even more significant and general change." At the same time, changes for Russia are expected primarily from the sovereign - Alexander I

This thought is not accidental. FN Glinka and IG Burtsov were supporters of the constitutional monarchy, the election of Michael to the kingdom was the central moment of the ideology of the Freemasons, members of the "Chosen Michael" lodge. But Kuchelbecker, again, in accordance with the program of a number of Petersburg Decembrists of the early 1820s, also has a latent threat to the tsar: having said that “Peter I, who was called the Great for many reasons, disgraced our farmers with the chains of slavery” and that about this misfortune the homeland “will never be forgotten by any victory, no conquest”, Wilhelm Karlovich expresses confidence that the Russian language will still have its Homers, Platons and Demosthenes, as the Russian people will have their Miltiads and Timoleons (Timoleon, the Corinthian commander and future hero “Argivian Küchelbecker, glorified for centuries as a republican and murderer of the tyrant Timofan, who overthrew the republic in Corinth (6)). Pointing to the fifth reason - insufficient upbringing and superficial training of all the highest states of youth - Kuchelbecker moves on to the sixth reason, again directly related to peasant enslavement: "Complete ignorance, in which common people, especially farmers, will stagnate in our country" (17). Elsewhere in his testimony, Küchelber lists his political demands. In the first place he puts "freedom of the peasants", on the second - "improving the courts" (17), in the third place - "the choice of representatives from all states" (17) and on the fourth - "the steadfastness of laws" (17).

III. 2 "Leaning on the steering wheel, our helmsman is smart

The cargo boat ruled in silence "

In 1825, V.K.Küchelbecker moved to St. Petersburg and found himself in a pre-stormy atmosphere of approaching revolutionary events. KF Ryleev, A. Bestuzhev, A. Odoevsky became his closest friends.

Knowing that Griboyedov had been in the capital for several months, he immediately rushed to look for him. He lived with his relative, the Horse Guards officer A. Odoevsky, who lodged not far from the regimental arena on St. Isaac's Square (house N7). Here in the evenings in the company of young people, mainly officers, Griboyedov read "Woe from Wit" from the manuscript. I read slowly: the listeners recorded a comedy under his dictation. Every now and then the reading was interrupted with laughter, well-aimed remarks, applause. Discussing comedy, they imperceptibly began to argue about politics, poetry, history. Kuchelbecker could not fail to note that the views of the capital's youth became bolder and more decisive.

Kuchelbecker immediately liked the owner of the apartment - twenty-two-year-old Alexander Odoevsky. His youth and good looks were happily complemented by a remarkable mind and versatile knowledge. Odoevky wrote poetry, but he read them only to those closest to him. Kuchelbecker immediately became friends with him. Didn't forget Kuchelbecker and old friends - Pletnev, Delvig. Pletnev often attended literary evenings. Here once Lev Pushkin read his brother's poem "Gypsies". Here Ryleev saw in Küchelbecker a person who was in many ways close to himself - determined, eager to fight for justice. He was also attracted by the literary views of Kuchelbecker. From that time on, they could often be seen together.

Kuchelbecker could not find services and found himself, as usual, in extremely tight financial circumstances. At the beginning of June, the opportunity arose to somewhat improve money matters: the journalists F.V.Bulgarin and N.I. Grech offered Kuchelbecker an editorial job, promising to publish a collection of his works.

In the fall, Küchelbecker moved to St. Isaac's Square to Odoevsky. At the same time, an event happened that changed Küchelbecker's life; it is associated with the then sensational story in St. Petersburg. The lieutenant of the Semyonovsky regiment, the son of poor, ignoble nobles, Konstantin Chernov, had a beautiful sister. The adjutant wing VD Novosiltsov fell in love with her. He asked for the girl's hand and received consent. But the groom's mother, Countess Orlova, forbade even thinking about the wedding.

“I cannot admit that my daughter-in-law was“ Pakhomovna ”” (18), the countess said arrogantly. In the simplicity, unpretentiousness of the girl's middle name, she fancied an insult.

An exemplary son said goodbye to the bride and never showed up. In those days, such a situation was considered a dishonor for a girl. Chernov challenged the nobleman to a duel.

They met on the outskirts of Petersburg, on the Vyborg side. Ryleev, as Chernov's second ... gave a sign to converge. They fired at the same time, mortally wounded each other, and died almost simultaneously. The members of the Northern Society (to whom Chernov belonged) turned the funeral of their comrade into a political demonstration, into an open protest against tyranny. Poems were recited at the grave. Not lines - like thunderous blows fell, and the crowd realized: a thunderstorm was going, it was close!

We swear on our honor and Chernov:

Enmity and abuse of temporary workers,

Kings trembling slaves,

Tyrants, ready to carry us away

No, not fatherland sons

Despicable alien pets:

We are alien to their haughty families;

They are alienated from us.

Soon, in the last days of November 1825, he was admitted to the Northern Society. The ideology of society was complex, political currents of different shades fought in it.

For example, the constitution was not an ideological document of the Northern society as a whole. The constitution was developed by Nikita Muravyov.

He began writing a constitution in the fall of 1821. Muravyov studied all kinds of constitutions in force at that time, the basic laws of revolutionary France and the United States. The constitution used the experience of Western Europe. But it was the fruit of independent political creativity based on the processing of Western European and American political experience and its application to Russian reality. The Constitution was not discussed by the entire Northern Society, was not voted on and adopted by the entire organization.

The noble class narrowness of the author was reflected primarily in the resolution of the issue of serfdom. Nikita Muravyov in his constitution announced the liberation of the peasants from serfdom, but at the same time introduced the provision: "The land of the landowners remains with them." According to his project, the peasants were freed without land. Only in the last version of his constitution, under pressure from criticism of his comrades, did he formulate a provision on an insignificant allotment of land to peasants.

The constitution of Nikita Muravyov was characterized by a high property qualification: only the land owner or the owner of capital had the right to fully participate in the political life of the country. Persons who did not have movable and immovable property in the amount of 500 rubles could not participate in the elections. Persons elected to public office were to have an even higher property qualification.

Women under the constitution of Nikita Muravyov were deprived of the right to vote. In addition, it was planned to introduce an educational qualification for citizens of the Russian state. Voting rights were received by persons over 21 years of age. The illiterate was deprived of voting rights. On top of this, the constitution of Nikita Muravyov also introduced a residency requirement: nomads did not have the right to vote.

Nikita Muravyov designed the abolition of serfdom, made the peasant personally free: “Serfdom and slavery are abolished. A slave who touches the Russian land becomes free, ”read the third paragraph of his constitution. Estates were also canceled. “All Russians are equal before the law” (11).

Nikita Muravyov's constitution affirmed the sacred and inviolable right of bourgeois property: a person cannot be the property of another, serfdom must be abolished, and "the right of property, which contains some things, is sacred and inviolable." "Military settlements are immediately destroyed" - read the thirtieth paragraph. The land of the military settlements was transferred to communal peasant property. Specific land, that is, land on the income from which the members of the reigning house were kept, were confiscated and transferred to the ownership of the peasants. All guilds and workshops - the remnants of feudal society - were declared liquidated. The "table of ranks" was canceled. The constitution of Nikita Muravyov, asserted a number of bourgeois freedoms: it proclaimed freedom of movement and occupation of the population, freedom of speech, press and freedom of religion. The estate court was abolished and a general jury trial was introduced for all citizens.

The constitution was limited-monarchist, in extreme cases Nikita Muravyov assumed the introduction of a republic. The legislative, executive and judicial branches were separated. According to the constitution of Nikita Muravyov, the emperor is only the "supreme official of the government", he is only a representative of the executive branch. He received a large salary and, if he pleased, could support the court staff at his own expense. All tsarist courtiers were deprived of the right to vote according to the constitution.

The emperor commanded the troops, but had no right either to start wars or make peace. He could not leave the territory of the empire, otherwise he was deprived of the imperial dignity.

Future Russia was presented as a federal state. The empire was divided into separate federal units, which were called powers. All powers were fifteen, each had its own capital.

Nizhny Novgorod, a city famous for its heroic past, was to become the capital of the federation.

The People's Chamber was to become the supreme body of legislative power. It consisted of two chambers: the upper chamber was called the Supreme Duma, the lower one was called the House of People's Representatives.

The powers also had a bicameral system. Legislative power in each power belonged to the legislative assembly, which consisted of two chambers - the House of Elections and the Sovereign Duma. The powers were divided into counties. The head of the district was called tysyatsky. This office was elective, the judges were also elective.

Nikita Muravyov's constitution, had it been introduced, would have made a breach and would have seriously undermined the feudal-absolutist system. She would unleash the class struggle in the country. Thus, Nikita Muravyov's project should be recognized as progressive for its time.

However, Kuchelbecker was not present at the meetings of the society, but on December 14, upon learning of the intended indignation, he took an active part in it.

IV. 1 "Suddenly the bosom of the waves was crumpled with a raid by a noisy whirlwind"

This day began very early for him. Servant Semyon had just lit candles when there was a knock on the door ... A man from Ryleev brought a note to V.K.Kyukhelbecker. After interrogation, Semyon testified that the master, “having dressed in great haste, went out and was not in the apartment for a full day” (19). Kuchelbecker took a cab and drove to the Blue Bridge home of the American Company. Ryleev already had Pushchin. Küchelbecker was instructed to get from Grech copies of the manifesto on Constantine's abdication. It was supposed to be shown to the soldiers and to point out that the renunciation was forced, fake.

Taking out a manifesto, Kuchelbecker, at the request of Ryleev, tried to establish a connection between the actions of the rebels. Having visited the Guards naval crew, carrying out an assignment from his younger brother M.K.Küchelbecker, he went to the Moscow regiment. According to the plan of the uprising, the Guards crew was ordered to march immediately after this regiment.

He was in a hurry to find out the situation in the barracks and join his comrades in Senate Square, impatiently hurrying the cabby, cursing his bad old horse. At the Blue Bridge, the sled overturned, and he found himself in the snow. Probably, snow was packed into the pistol that Odoevsky gave him, which during the uprising prevented him from killing Grand Duke Mikhail and General Voinov.

The Moscow regiment was ready to march. Kuchelbecker returned to the Marine Guards crew again. Confusion reigned here, no one let him through. The crew was sworn in. However, part of the crew refused to swear allegiance to Nicholas, rebelled and was ready to leave, but the gates were locked and the troops could not enter the square. In the end, Wilhelm managed to break the news, and he left for the Finnish regiment. The atmosphere in him was also not the best: vanity and the same confusion. Not really recognizing anything in the barracks, he went to Senate Square.

Facing the Bronze Horseman, the Moscow regiment stood in disarray. From the side of Admiralteisky Boulevard, a protective rifle chain from a platoon of Muscovites was exposed. There was no dictator - Trubetskoy. Kuchelbecker rushed headlong to the Promenade des Anglais, to the house of Laval (father of Trubetskoy's wife), to call the dictator to action. He was excited - impetuous movements, impudent thoughts. Küchelbecker was met by Trubetskoy's wife. She said that her husband was not at home in the morning. Everything was clear - Tubetskoy would not appear on the square and Küchelbecker had to return with nothing.

On the square, next to the Moscow regiment, the Guards naval crew was already standing. Around the same time, Governor-General Miloradovich made another attempt to persuade the Muscovites to return to the barracks. The leaders of the uprising sensed the danger of his speeches and demanded that he leave. The count did not heed the demand. Wanting to take him out of the ranks of the square, Obolensky with a soldier's rifle bayonet stabbed the horse under the rider, accidentally wounding Miloradovich. Shots of Kakhovsky and two soldiers immediately thundered. Kakhovsky's bullet mortally wounded Miloradovich. Everyone understood - there is no turning back. At 11.30 the company of the Life Grenadier under the command of Suttgorf freely left the barracks and at the beginning of the second hour entered the square. At about an hour, the troops summoned by Nicholas, including horse guards, began to gather to Senate Square. The order was given to attack. The sluggish attack of the Horse Guards was repulsed by discordant rifle fire, mostly directed over their heads, probably they did not want to shoot at their own people.

The first shots were heard in the barracks of the Guards crew. P. Bestuzhev and MK Küchelbecker turned to the sailors: “Guys, why are you standing? Hear the shooting? They are beating ours! " (twenty). At the command of Bestuzhev, the crew went out to the square.

The Decembrists hoped for the performance of the Finnish regiment. It served as 26-year-old lieutenant Baron A. E. Rosen. Three days before the uprising, he did not hesitate to side with the conspirators. Rosen withdrew the troops, but stopped them at Isaac's Bridge and, making sure that the uprising did not have a leader and not wanting to sacrifice people in vain, moved the troops across the Neva and lined them up at the corner of Senate Square from the Angliyskaya Embankment.

At 13.30, sailors of the Guards crew literally burst into the square, breaking the Pavlovtsy's barrier on the narrow Galernaya street. They took their place between the square and the St. Isaac's Cathedral under construction. At 14.40 Panov's life-grenadiers, near the General Staff building, faced Nicholas I, his retinue and the guards accompanying them. The emperor was forced to let them pass, and they joined their comrades, settling on the left flank of the Muscovites from the Neva. This was the end of the influx of forces to the rebels. Soon all exits from the square were practically blocked.

At about three o'clock, the artillery summoned by the emperor approached, but, as it turned out, without warheads. They urgently sent to the Vyborg side for shells filled with buckshot. At that moment, the Grand Duke Mikhail Pavlovich drove up to the column of sailors and began to speak loudly about the fact that Constantine voluntarily renounced the throne and about the legality of the oath to Nicholas. The sailors began to listen to him. V.K.Küchelbecker raised his pistol. It was difficult for him to see, myopia interfered. I pulled the trigger. Shot! A misfire ... “Most likely, the pistol of the poet-tyrant-fighter Küchelbecker fatally stopped short - either the gunpowder got wet, or it was falling off the shelf” (21). Only the fact that the pistol misfired saved the prince from the bullet, and Kuchelbecker from the gallows. Mikhail hastily left. The rebels "... perhaps they did not want Mikhail to die at all. It was important to remove him from the ranks. For them, perhaps it was just an act of intimidation. And it succeeded. The Grand Duke galloped away" (21). A few minutes later, General Voinov drove up to the Guards naval crew. Kuchelbecker stepped out of the ranks of the soldiers and took aim at the drooping general. I pulled the trigger. There was a flash from the shelf of the pistol, but for some reason he did not fire. Once again, another misfire. He felt hot and threw off his overcoat. Friends again threw it on Kuchelbecker and took him aside.

The first salvo of artillery was fired. After the third volley, the ranks of the rebels wavered and fled. This stream of people swept over Küchelbecker. In such an environment, he managed to stop the distraught people. He forms the soldiers in ranks, and they, obediently obeying, follow him. But all is in vain. Later, “Wilhelm Kuchelbecker testified:“ A crowd of soldiers of the Guards crew rushed into the courtyard of the house, passing the Horse Guards Manege. I wanted to build them here and lead them to bayonets; their answer was: “They're firing cannons in us.” When asked by the investigators, what prompted him to move the soldiers “to apparent death,” he replied with remarkable simplicity: “I wanted a story of the soldiers of the Guards crew with bayonets because it seemed to me shameful to flee ... „“ (21).

The uprising was suppressed by five o'clock. Among the latter, Küchelbecker had to leave the square.

What was the number of the rebels? In total, there were about 2870 soldiers and sailors in their ranks, 19 officers and civilians (20), including P.G. Kakhovsky, V.K.Kyukhelbeker and I.I. Pushchin. Two and a half companies of the Finnish regiment, about 500 soldiers, led by Rosen, were ready to support the rebels in the event of their decisive actions. What forces did Nicholas I have? There were up to 4 thousand bayonets in the guardhouses guarding government offices. About 9 thousand bayonets of the guards infantry and 3 thousand cavalry sabers, 36 artillery pieces were brought up directly to the Senate Square. They were summoned from outside the city and stopped at the city outposts as a reserve of 7,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry. On the first call, 800-1000 Cossacks and gendarmes, 88 artillery pieces could arrive (20).

The superiority is clear and obvious, but the researchers draw attention to the fact that the given numbers of the numerical strength of the opposing sides are not an accurate indicator of the balance of forces. First, in the government camp there was no complete confidence in the absolute loyalty of the troops in reserve. Secondly, the mood of some of the troops surrounding the square of rebels was also vacillating.

Another issue that has a direct bearing on the outcome of the events of that day is the arming of the rebel forces. The soldiers of the Moscow and Grenadier regiments managed to take with them live ammunition - 5-10 pieces for each. However, most of the sailors of the Guards crew left without them.

Even such a strong chance as possession of the initiative at first, when the government side had only to respond to the actions of the rebels, was not used. As a result, they turned from an attacking force into a defensive one. Another factor that decisively predetermined the failure of the uprising was the absence of people in the square as an integral part of the movement. The workers who built St. Isaac's Cathedral were ready to support the Decembrists. They even openly threw logs (what was at hand) into the retinue of Nicholas I, had the extraordinary courage to shout "impostor!" The fear of the masses, in which, as clearly as possible, the class narrow-mindedness of the noble revolutionaries, consciously guided by the slogan “for the people, but without the people,” was manifested, doomed the uprising to failure in advance. In the plans of the secret society, the main role was assigned to military force - the masses were deliberately excluded from the participants in the uprising. Turning to the previous experience of the struggle of the peasantry, the Decembrists could not help but see that participation in the movement of the masses gives it the character of a popular uprising with the merciless destruction of the serf-landlords. "They feared the people's revolution most of all," because "in Moscow alone, out of 250 thousand inhabitants of that time, 90 thousand were serfs, ready to take up knives and indulge in all the fury" (20). As Trubetskoy wrote, “horrors that no imagination can imagine will inevitably be combined with the uprising of the peasants, and the state will become a victim of strife and, perhaps, a prey for ambitious people” (21).

One more circumstance. As you know, the actions of the Decembrists were based on soldiers 'discontent, but it is characteristic of noble revolutionaries that the true goals of the uprising being prepared were hidden from the soldiers' masses. Even on the day of the uprising, propaganda speeches addressed to the soldiers only contain a call to remain faithful to the oath of allegiance to Constantine, who, he says, promises to reduce their service to 15 years. As a result, the soldiers during the uprising were not ready to support the actions of the noble officers to the extent that the leaders of the uprising hoped.

But, despite the defeat of the Decembrists, their cause was not lost. The historical mission that fell to the lot of the Decembrists - to give impetus to the awakening of the people - was accomplished by them, accomplished at the cost of self-sacrifice. Shots on Senate Square announced that the first generation of revolutionaries of Russia had appeared on the historical arena, openly and without fear, with arms in hand, who had risen to fight against serfdom and autocracy. They were forced to take up arms by the reluctance and inability of the government to begin the necessary reforms - to free slaves, liberate the economy, streamline finances, enforce the rule of law, and place the executive branch under the control of representative institutions.

As can be seen from the above material, Kuchelbecker played an important role in the uprising on December 14, 1825 on Senate Square. He was a connecting link in the ranks of the rebels, trying to coordinate their actions. It is a pity that those who were with him on that frosty December day in the square could not appreciate Kuchelbecker. If then, more than a hundred years ago, there would have been more such selfless people like him, and, given all the shortcomings in tactics, the uprising would not have been so brutally suppressed, but on the contrary, the thoughts and dreams of the Decembrists themselves would have come true.

V. 1 "From end to end we are chasing a thunderstorm"

On the evening of December 14, Kuchelbecker and his servant Semyon Balashov fled from St. Petersburg. By the end of December, they reached the estate of Yu. K. Glinka. The police have already visited here, looking for “one of the main instigators of the uprising” (19).

Yustnia Karlovna knew how to act decisively. She dressed her brother in peasant clothes, gave him the passport of her carpenter, Semyon - the passport of a retired soldier, provided him with money and sent him with a cart to the Vilensky tract.

What happened on Senate Square? On December 14, only two Decembrists used their weapons. Kakhovsky and Obolensky mortally wounded General Miloradovich and Colonel Sturler. The third person to raise the pistol was Kuchelbecker. It doesn't matter if he hit or missed the target. It is important that he acted. The new emperor was the first to realize this.

Kuchelbecker “to overtake and deliver, alive or dead” (19), ordered Nicholas I to War Minister Tatishchev. Signs of a “criminal”, compiled by F. Bulgarin, were sent along the roads: “Tall, lean, bulging eyes, brown hair, mouth curls during conversation, sideburns do not grow, beard grows a little, stooped”. Only in Warsaw itself did non-commissioned officer Grigoriev recognize the fugitive.

On January 25, Küchelbecker, shackled, was already sitting in the cell of the Alekseevsky Ravelin of the Peter and Paul Fortress.

Kuchelbecker was sentenced to death by “beheading” (19). The "merciful" Nikolai replaced the execution with fifteen years of hard labor. At the request of relatives, hard labor was replaced by solitary confinement in fortresses. How many of them were on the path of the poet! Shlisselburg, Dinaburg, Revel, Sveaborg ...

On October 12, 1827, Küchelbecker was sent to prison companies at the Dinaburg fortress. Long-term wanderings began in the fortress casemates.

Once fate took pity on William by preparing an extraordinary, unexpected meeting. On October 12, 1827, Kuchelbecker was sent from Shlisselburg to Dinaburg. Pushkin left Mikhailovsky for St. Petersburg. The roads of the lyceum friends crossed at the small station Zalazy near Borovichi. Pushkin noticed a strangely familiar figure ... Frightened by an undesirable incident, the courier reported him in a report "Someone Mr. Pushkin ... suddenly rushed to the criminal Kuchelbecker and began to talk to him after kissing" (19). After “they were taken away”, Pushkin “between threats announced” (19) that he himself “was imprisoned in the fortress and then released, why I even more prevented him from having intercourse with the prisoner ...” (19). A. Pushkin described this meeting in his diary: "... At the next station I found Shiller's" Spiritual ", but I barely had time to read the first pages, when suddenly four troikas with a courier drove up. "Right, Poles?" - I said to the hostess. "Yes," she answered, "they are being taken back today." I went out to look at them.

One of the prisoners was leaning against the column. A tall, pale and thin young man with a black beard, in a frieze overcoat, came up to him.<... >... Seeing me, he looked at me with a lively glance. I involuntarily turned to him. We stare at each other - and I recognize Kuchelbecker. We threw ourselves into each other's arms. The gendarmes took us away. The courier took my hand with threats and curses - I did not hear him. Kuchelbecker felt ill. The gendarmes gave him water, put him in a cart and rode away. I went to my side. At the next station I found out that they were being transported from Shlisselburg - but where to? "(23).

Küchelbecker himself a little later - on July 10, 1828 - in a general letter to Pushkin and Griboyedov wrote: "I will never forget my meeting with you, I will never forget Pushkin" (17). And more than two years later - on October 20, 1830 - in another letter to Pushkin he again recalled this extraordinary meeting: “Do you remember our meeting in an extremely romantic way: my beard? A frieze overcoat? Bear hat? How could you, after seven and a half years, recognize me in such a suit? that's what I don't comprehend! ”(17).

Kuchelbecker sent letters to Pushkin secretly, through loyal people. From the very beginning of his imprisonment, Kuchelbecker took a serious risk, by all means available to him, trying to establish an illegal connection with the outside world in spite of the strict serfdom.

For this he had some possibilities. The divisional commander, Major General Yegor Krishtofovich, a relative of the Smolensk landowners Krishtofovich, with whom the Kuchelbeker family was in close friendly relations, served in the Dinaburg fortress.

Yegor Krishtofovich procured permission for Kuchelbecker to read and write, delivered books to him, secured permission for him to walk on the parade ground, “generally relaxed the strict regulations regarding prisoners” (17) and even arranged for him to meet with his mother in his apartment.

The main thing that Kuchelbecker sought was permission to engage in literary work and correspond with relatives. At the beginning of his imprisonment - in the Peter and Paul Fortress (from January to July 1826), he had only the Holy Scriptures; in Shlisselburg he received some books and even independently learned to read in English. In Dinaburg, at first he was not given any books, pen or ink. But, apparently, already at the end of 1827, thanks to the petition of Yegor Krishtofovich, he was officially reading and writing.

Küchelbecker's first major literary work, performed in the Dinaburg fortress, was the translation of the first three acts of Shakespeare's Macbeth. He conceived to translate this tragedy back in the early 1920s and suggested that V.A.Zhukovsky take up this work together. Zhukovsky refused, leaving Küchelbecker alone to "take up this feat" in the confidence that "luck would be right." It was only in 1828 that Wilhelm Karlovich succeeded in implementing this long-standing plan. The translation was delivered to Delvig, who began to bother to publish it. The next major works, begun in Dinaburg, were the translation of "Richard II" and the poem "David" by Shakespeare.

Here are some excerpts from the letter: “In 5 weeks I finished Richard II; I don’t remember ever working with such ease; moreover, this is the first big undertaking, completely finished by me ... What of my David will be? do not know; but I intend to continue it ... Richard II translated by me, as I could, closer to the original: verse in verse. In addition, I tried to express all the features, metaphors, sometimes rather strange comparisons of Shakespeare, or, at least, to replace them with equivalent ones: I allowed myself more freedom where these shades of my author did not exist. Here I kept only the meaning. - Where he has rhymed poems, and I have the same. You see from all this that this work is not unimportant. We do not yet have a single Shakespearean tragedy translated properly ”(19).

The translation of "Richard II" was not Küchelbecker's last work in translating Shakespeare's tragedies into Russian. Subsequently, he also translated both parts of Henry IV, Richard III and the first act of The Merchant of Venice. Wilhelm Karlovich Kuchelbecker's deep interest in Shakespeare was expressed in the writing of the fundamental essay A detailed analysis of Shakespeare's historical dramas, which still remains unpublished ( as well as the very translations of tragedies).

The poem "David", which Kuchelbecker informs his sister about, was completed by him shortly - on December 13, 1829. This is one of the most significant works of Küchelbecker, unfortunately, has not yet been published in its entirety. The idea of ​​the poem was suggested to Kuchelbecker Griboyedov. The monumental poem (about 8000 lines) reflected the plot points close to the author in color (exile, the death of a friend, the lament of David over Jonathan, reflecting the receipt of the news of the death of Griboyedov); half of the poem consists of direct lyrical digressions, which naturally constitute its main basis. The poem is written in terzins, the digressions - in various stanzas (up to a sonnet). Digressions - lyrics of a prisoner; Direct addresses to friends: to Pushkin, Griboyedov - relate to the main lyrical life theme of Kuchelbecker, who cultivated the lyrics of friendship. "(Yu. N. Tynyanov V.K.

The next letter to my sister is from 1829 or 1830. It opens with the poem "Zakupskaya Chapel", written at the request of Justina Karlovna. (“My brother and friend, the father of my precious family,” mentioned in stanza 5, is the husband of his sister, Professor G. A. Glinka, who died in 1818 and was buried in Zakupa).

Hear, oh friend! my plea:

In your calm abode,

When I complete my destiny

Let me rest from the sultry life!

“Now a word about my studies: I study in Polish. I will never forgive myself that when I was in Italy, Persia and Finland, I did not learn Italian, Persian or Swedish. At least now I will not miss the Polish language: their poets Nemtsevich, Odynets, Mickiewicz are worthy of all respect. I know the latter from translations: his Crimean Sonnets are "marvelously good, even in our non-poetic arrangements: what is in the original."

The question of Kuchelbecker's studies in the Polish language and his reading of Polish poets speaks of the diversity of his literary hobbies.

For a long time, Wilhelm Karlovich did not receive the right to correspond. In 1827, correspondence was allowed, but only with the next of kin. Küchelbecker, apparently unauthorized, expanded the circle of his correspondents, including, in addition to his mother and sisters, also nieces and nephews. This did not satisfy him, and he made attempts in various ways to establish contacts with literary friends. On the one hand, he did this with the help of the same relatives, passing them various orders to Pushkin and Delvig. On the other hand, he tried to establish direct contact with friends, acting illegally.

One of these attempts to establish contact with the outside world had very serious consequences.

Küchelbecker's cellmate in the Dinaburg citadel turned out to be Prince SS Obolensky, a retired hussar staff captain, imprisoned in the fortress for his free behavior and for “rude and impudent” (17) appeal to the authorities. In April 1828 he was sent as a private to the Caucasus. On the way, Obolensky quarreled with the officer accompanying him and was searched. During the search they found several encrypted notes and a letter. The investigation easily established that the author of the letter was Küchelbecker.

Obolensky was deprived of the nobility by the verdict of the Supreme Court and exiled to Siberia for settlements. Küchelbecker, on the other hand, had the right to correspond with his family was revoked. However, on August 5, 1829, he was again allowed to write to his mother from time to time; gradually he regained the right to write to other relatives. At the same time, despite the sad consequences that the transfer of the letter to Obolensky SS entailed, Küchelbecker continued to secretly correspond with his friends.

In the spring of 1831, serious changes took place in the life of Wilhelm Karlovich. In connection with the Polish uprising, it was decided to transfer him from Dinaburg to Revel. Kuchelbecker was ill at that time, was in the fortress hospital. Despite his painful condition, on April 15 he was taken out of Dinaburg "under the strictest supervision" (17) and through Riga was taken to Revel, where he was put in Vyshgorod castle (April 19).

Transfer to Revel greatly worsened Kuchelbecker's position: he lost all the benefits that he enjoyed in Dinaburg thanks to the intercession of General Krishtofovich, lost contact with the few people with whom he managed to meet. Immediately after being transferred to Revel, a question arose before the authorities: how to keep him? Kuchelbecker insisted on being kept in a separate cell, on exemption from work, on a particular dress, on the right to read, write and correspond with relatives, and also - to feed on his own money, referring to the fact that all this was allowed to him in Dinaburg. The authorities asked the higher authorities in St. Petersburg. Nicholas I ordered Kuchelbecker to be kept in the new place as in Dinaburg (17).

Meanwhile, on April 25, 1831, Nicholas I ordered the transfer of Küchelbecker to the Sveaborg fortress. The case dragged on, since it was ordered to ferry Küchelbecker by sea, on a passing vessel. Only on October 7, he was taken out on the ship "Juno" and on October 14 delivered to Sveaborg, where he was kept for more than three years - until December 14, 1835. Here he completely immersed himself in creativity. One after another, monumental epic and dramatic works are created. In January 1832, he began to write the dramatic fairy tale "Ivan, the merchant's son" (completed only ten years later), in April - the poem "Ahasuerus" (the final version refers to 1840-1842), in May he translated "King Lear" into June-August - "Richard III", in August he conceives a poem, which should have included "historical memories" of 1812 and other events, in November he begins to write the vast poem "Yuri and Xenia" on a plot from ancient Russian history. In the same 1832 Kuchelbecker wrote a long article "Discourse on the eight historical dramas of Shakespeare, and especially" Richard III "". In the first half of 1833, Wilhelm Karlovich finished the poem "Yuri and Xenia" and began to write a new large poem "The Orphan". In June 1834 he began a prose novel - The Italian (later - The Last Column, completed in 1842), in August he translated Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. Finally, from October 1 to November 21, he is working with extraordinary enthusiasm on one of his most significant works - the folk-historical tragedy "Prokofiy Lyapunov" (five acts of the tragedy, written with white iambic pentameter, were created in 52 days). The problems touched upon in this work are deeply social with a pronounced orientation towards nationality, towards the realistic character of language and images.

The poem "The Eternal Jew" ("Agasfer"), which Kuchelbecker began to write in April 1832, according to the author's plan, was supposed to represent a kind of overview of world history (in eight excerpts dedicated to the depiction of different historical epochs), performed in a philosophical and satirical spirit. In one of the letters, written in May 1834, Kuchelbecker revealed the content of his plan as follows: “In my imagination, four main moments of the various appearances of Ahasuerus have already been identified: the first will be the destruction of Jerusalem, the second - the fall of Rome, the third - the battlefield after Borodino or Leipzig massacre, fourth - the death of his last descendant, whom I would like to represent together and in general the last person. Then between the third and the second there must certainly be more insertions, for example, the expulsion of the Jews from France in the XIV century, if I am not mistaken ... If it is possible, - "The eternal Jew" mine will be almost my best work. " In 1842, the poem was finally edited. It reflected the religious and pessimistic moods that gradually took possession of Kuchelbecker (it is no coincidence that the poem ended with him during the years of illness and decline of mental strength).

At the end of 1835, Küchelbecker was released from the fortress ahead of schedule and “converted to a settlement” (17) in Eastern Siberia, in the town of Barguzin. On December 14, 1835, Kuchelbecker was taken out of Sveaborg; On January 20, 1836, he was taken to Barguzin, where he met with his brother Mikhail, who had lived there since 1831. Soon, on February 12, he wrote to Pushkin: "My imprisonment is over: I am free, that is, I walk without a nanny and do not sleep under lock and key" (17).

Küchelbecker met the liberation from the fortress as the beginning of a new life, with inspiring hopes that were not destined to come true. Hopes focused primarily on the possibility of returning to literary activity, but persistent requests for permission to publish (under the pseudonym "Garpenko"), which Kuchelbecker threw in his family, did not lead to anything.

Physically weak, sickly, exhausted after ten years of serfdom, he was not adapted to the hard work that the exiles were fed with. In the very first weeks of his stay in Barguzin, he became convinced of his helplessness and was very upset that he could not really help his brother. Everything fell out of his hands.

In the life of Küchelbecker, there comes a time of dire need, the daily struggle for existence, anxiety for a piece of bread and shelter overhead. He lives in a bathhouse, in conditions that preclude the possibility of engaging in creative work.

Weighed down with worries, left to himself, drawn into petty everyday squabbles, Kuchelbecker begins to regret his serf chamber:

For a prisoner in a magical abode

You turned the dungeon, Isfrail ...

Here - stretched "sluggish days of a lifeless thread", and

I am free: what then? - pale worries,

And dirty work, and the cry of dull need,

And the screeching of children, and the knock of stupid work

They shouted the song of golden dreams.

The cry of deaf need resounds in many of his letters. In one of his letters to N. G. Glinka, he compares himself, with Ovid, in the image of Pushkin ("The Gypsies"), with Ovid, forgotten and helpless in his exile. This motive, which Küchelbecker obviously loved, will then be repeated in another letter to Glinka on March 14, 1838: “I am not Ovid, but here I am exactly like Pushkin's Ovid among the gypsies. - Pushkin is right,

Freedom is not always sweet

The one who is accustomed to bliss.

And they will certainly say about me:

He did not understand anything,

He was weak and timid like children;

Strangers to him

Animals and fish were caught in the net.

...........................

And he is to the worries of a poor life

I could never get used to it ”(17).

In the fall of 1836, Kuchelbecker came to the idea of ​​the need to somehow establish family life.

At one time he had a bride - Avdotya Timofeevna Pushkina, which was already mentioned at the beginning of the work. The wedding was postponed several times due to Kuchelbecker's insecurity and disorder. In 1832, from the fortress, in one of the letters to his family, he asked about the bride, conveyed his greetings to her and returned her freedom. Nevertheless, in Siberia, he again had a hope for the possibility of marriage with A. T. Pushkina. In the Küchelbecker family, there was a legend that Wilhelm Karlovich “retained his feeling of deep love with his bride ... and, having arrived in Siberia, summoned her there; but Avdotya Timofeevna, who also loved him very much, due to her weak character did not dare to share the fate of the settler ”(22).

On October 9, 1836, Kuchelbecker informed his mother that he intended to marry Drosida Ivanovna Artenova, the young (born in 1817) daughter of the Barguzin postmaster. On the same day, he sent an official letter to Benckendorff. Here he wrote: “I applied for permission to marry my beloved girl. I will have to support my wife, but the question follows: how? A bullet wound in my left shoulder (a consequence of a duel with N.N.Pokhvistnev in Tiflis, in 1822) and a lack of bodily strength will always be an obstacle for me to get food from chebopowing or some kind of handicraft. “I dare to resort to Your Excellency with a request to show mercy by granting me permission from the Emperor to feed on literary works, without putting my name on them” (17). There was no permission. At the request of Küchelbecker there is a short resolution: "It is impossible" (17).

The wedding took place on January 15, 1837. During his grooming, Küchelbecker, with his characteristic ability to be carried away, idealized his bride, poetically painting her appearance. For example, on October 18, 1836, he wrote to Pushkin about her in such an enthusiastic tone (recalling the heroine of Shakespeare's comedy Much Ado About Nothing): “Great news! I'm going to get married: here I am, Benedick, a married man, and my Beatrice is almost as little obstinate as in Old Man Willie's Much Noise. - Something God will give? For you, the Poet, at least one thing is important, that she is very good in her way: her black eyes burn the soul; in the face of something passionate about which you Europeans hardly have any idea ”(17). In the poem "October 19" sent to Pushkin when writing the poem, the theme of late love of "belated late happiness" that worried Kuchelbecker was touched upon:

And, friend, although my hair has turned white,

And the heart beats young and bold

In me the soul experiences the body;

Also, the world of God did not bother me.

What awaits me? Deception is our destiny.

But many arrows stabbed into this chest,

I endured a lot, bleeding ...

What if in the fall of days I run into love?

Küchelbecker added to these lines: “Think, friend, this last question and don’t laugh, because a person who has been sitting within four walls for ten years and is still able to love quite hotly and young - I swear! worthy of some respect ”(23).

However, Kuchelbecker's family life turned out to be by no means idyllic - and not only because of eternal need, but largely because of the lack of culture, philistine habits and the grumpy nature of his wife. Drosida Ivanovna was illiterate. Kuchelbecker taught her to read, but never managed to introduce her to his spiritual interests.

Somehow he adjusted his economy, but he managed it poorly, ineptly. Need overcame him, he entered into unpaid debts. During these years Küchelbecker wrote almost nothing; from time to time he only corrected and refined the old. Due to continuous droughts in Barguzin, there have been crop failures for three years in a row.

The death of Pushkin was a terrible blow for him.

While still high school students, Küchelbecker and his comrades agreed every year, on October 19, in their close circle, to celebrate the Lyceum day. After 20 years, their circle has thinned out. On October 19, 1837, in a distant, godforsaken corner of Eastern Siberia, Kuchelbecker alone celebrated the lyceum's anniversary - the first since the death of Pushkin. He wrote to his niece: “With whom, if not you, should I talk about the day, which, according to the habit of many years, became for me a day of regrets, memories and affection, although not entirely religious, but nevertheless warm and beneficial to my heart? Yesterday was our lyceum anniversary, I celebrated it completely alone: ​​there was no one to share with. However, I managed to give this day a certain ebb and flow of solemnity for myself ... I began to compose, if I can only call it an essay, poems in which feelings that had long been asking for space were poured out ... It would hurt me if on this day failed to write anything: there are, perhaps, many people among the writing youth with greater talent than me, at least on this day I am the successor of Pushkin's lyre and I wanted to justify the great poet in my own eyes, I wanted to prove not to someone else, so to myself that he did not say for nothing about Wilhelm: My brother is dear to the muse, to the fate "(4). The poems that Kuchelbecker wrote on October 19, 1837 are painful to read:

And I am alone among people alien to me

I stand in the night helpless and frail

Over the terrible grave of all my hopes,

Over the gloomy coffin of all my friends.

Into that bottomless coffin, struck down by lightning,

The last poet, dear to me, fell ...

And here again the Lyceum is a sacred day;

But Pushkin is no longer between us!

In 1939, Kuchelbecker wrote a letter to N. G. Glinka, which contained a review of Gogol's comedy "The Inspector General": ... "I recently read the Inspector General. I expected more from this comedy. There is enough fun in it, but little original: this is a pretty good Kotsebyatina and nothing more. - Woe from wits and the Minor, in my opinion, is not an example above. Even some of Shakhovsky's plays, and between the farces Braggart and the eccentrics of the Prince, almost demanded more talent and consideration. - Only the language, which the Library and even the Contemporary rejects, seemed to me quite easy and even correct. - But should we, Siberians, judge the lightness of the language? The review of The Inspector General, testifying to a complete misunderstanding of Gogol, is explained by the well-known conservation of Kuchelbecker's literary tastes and opinions, who until the end remained in his original aesthetic positions. In a number of cases, he accepted and enthusiastically welcomed the young literature of the 30s and 40s - for example, he highly appreciated the lyrics and novel of Lermontov, became interested in the poems of Khomyakov, Koltsov and Ogarev. But Gogol's realism turned out to be inaccessible to Kuchelbecker by the very nature of his romantic views on art, as happened with other Russian romantics who formed in the 20s of the 19th century.

This stubborn romanticism, highly characteristic of Kuchelbecker throughout his life, determined not only his artistic tastes and literary convictions, but also colored his attitude to life, to people, served as a kind of norm and rule for him - even in sphere of everyday life, household.

In the middle of 1840, Kuchelbecker and his family left Barguzin and moved to the Aksha fortress. First impressions at the new location were favorable. In Aksha, Küchelbecker returned to creativity, it was gone after four years of hard life in Barguzin. He returns to work with his old works "Izhora", "Italian", ponders plans for further creative work.

Kuchelbecker was greatly consoled by the frequent meetings in Aksha with fresh, visiting people. Over the years of imprisonment and exile, he has not lost his sociability, greedy interest in people and the ability to quickly converge with them. From Aksha, Kyukhelbeker maintains contact with the Bestuzhev brothers living nearby - in Selenginsk - and sends them his works.

Hopes for a "new life" in Aksha were not realized. It was not easier to live financially than in Barguzin. Kuchelbecker worked hard on the farm, but he did not have enough funds, he had to go into debt. He is oppressed by lack of money, debts, the death of his son Ivan.

In January 1844, Küchelbecker began, with the assistance of V.A.Glinka, to work for a transfer to Western Siberia, to Kurgan. The permit comes in August; On September 2, he leaves Aksha. On the way, he is staying with his brother in Barguzin, with the Volkonskys - in Irkutsk, with Pushchin - in Yalutorovsk (“Wilhelm stayed with me for three days. I had him with the same lyceum feeling. This meeting reminded me vividly of the old days: he is the same original, only with gray in his head. He read me out in poetry to the point ... I can't tell you that his family life convinced me of the pleasantness of marriage ... I confess you, I thought more than once, looking at this picture, listening to the poems, the exclamations of a muzhish Dronyushka, as her hubby calls her, and the incessant screeching of children. the best. Her temper is unusually heavy, and there is no sympathy between them "(17)). The road to a new place of residence was long and dangerous. While crossing Lake Baikal, Kuchelbecker and his family got into a terrible storm. Wilhelm Karlovich miraculously saved his wife and two children (Mikhail and Justina) from death. He himself caught a cold so much that chronic tuberculosis, inherited from his father, revived.

In March 1845, the family of the exiled poet arrived in Kurgan. Here he meets the Decembrists: Bassargin, Annenkov, Briggen, Povalo-Shveikovsky, Shchepin-Rostovsky, Bashmakov. However, by order of the authorities, Kuchelbecker was supposed to settle in Smolino, three versts from Kurgan. In the city itself, he was forbidden to live as a special state criminal who attempted the life of a member of the royal family. They had to start building a small house in Smolino, where the poet and his family moved on September 21, 1845. Living conditions in the new place turned out to be harsh. There was no income. Kuchelbecker suffered from tuberculosis. In addition, he began to develop blindness. He makes further desperate attempts to get permission to print, but is again refused. In the Kurgan period, despite his ill health, Wilhelm Kuchelbecker creates his best works, imbued with thoughts about the role and vocation of the poet, memories of his friends, a premonition of the near end: “Country works are coming to an end”, “Blindness”, “Fatigue”, “ On the death of Yakubovich ”and others. On his birthday, he writes:

What will happen, I know in advance:

There is no deception in life for me,

The sunrise was brilliant and cheerful,

And the west is all in the haze of fog.

Memories of friends will forever remain sacred to Küchelbecker. On May 26, 1845, he celebrated the birthday of Alexander Pushkin. On this day, the Decembrists A. F. Briggen, M. V. Basargin, D. A. Schepkin-Rostovsky, F. M. Bashmakov, exiled Poles, and the local intelligentsia came to him. This day can be called the first Pushkin holiday in Siberia.

Loyalty to revolutionary ideals, participation in the struggle against autocracy will never be considered by Kuchelbecker to be erroneous and unnecessary. There is a wonderful stanza in the letter to Volkonskaya, which clearly indicates that until the end of his life, Kuchelbecker remained faithful to the ideals of youth:

And deep in my soul

One beautiful desire lives.

I want to leave a memory to my friends,

The pledge that I am the same

That I am worthy of you, friends ...

From the middle of June, Wilhelm Karlovich felt much worse. The disease was getting worse. Complete blindness was getting closer and closer. On October 9, 1845, Kuchelbecker made the last entry in his diary. There was no longer any way to write. He saw almost nothing. The poem "Blindness" is born.

The sun is pouring from the azure red

The rivers are bright fire.

Happy day, clear morning,

For people - not for me!

Everything is dressed on a dull night,

All my hours are dark

The Lord gave me a sweet wife,

But I don’t see my wife either.

The friends were worried about Kuchelbecker's health. Together they achieved permission for the poet to move to Tobolsk, where he could receive medical care. On March 7, 1846, Kuchelbecker arrived in Tobolsk. But it turned out to be impossible to improve his health. On August 11, 1846, at 11:30 am the Decembrist poet died of consumption.

Blessed and glorious is my lot:

Freedom for the Russian people

With a mighty voice I sang

He sang and died for freedom!

Lucky man, I captured

Love for the land with dear blood!

The glorious and painful path of the last of the three lyceum poets, Wilhelm Karlovich Kuchelbecker, ended. He was a talented and courageous person. The memory is alive about him. Millions of people read and will read his works with interest. This means that he lived, rejoiced and suffered not in vain.

Conclusion.

Russian history is rich in examples of the tragic fates of writers and poets. The fate of Kuchelbecker, a talented philologist, poet, Decembrist, is not one of the most tragic?

For comrades, like-minded people, he was an outstanding personality. True, in almost all statements about him, a sad note perceptibly appears. As a foresight, a prophecy: "He is a wonderful man in many respects and sooner or later in the Rousseau family he will be very noticeable between our writers, a man born for the love of glory (maybe for glory) and for misfortune" (18), - E. Baratynsky wrote.

If Küchelbecker's behavior, lifestyle and work until December 14 were a response to calls, to the shocks of history, if his wanderings were an expression of the spiritual wanderings characteristic of a whole generation of noble intellectuals, then the day of the uprising was the culmination of these searches. It turned out to be the day of the greatest setbacks, but also the greatest happiness that fell to the lot of Küchelbecker. And when the Decembrist movement, with which he could pin hopes for solving all the issues of his life, failed, he found himself in the position of a person for whom "time stood still" once and for all - even before being imprisoned in a fortress, since all his activities are in including literary creation - was a product of his time. To look for a place for himself in another time, in another era, he was unable and unwilling. After all, everything that he lived and cherished dreams and impulses, friendship, love, art, ideas and ideals - all this was born in the atmosphere of Decembrism and was possible only at that stage of history that brought him and his friends to Senate Square. “William's hour has struck, and he is the master of this hour. Then he will pay. " All my past life was waiting for this hour. Now he is “a part of the whole, the center of which is outside Wilhelm” (8). The ecstasy experienced by Kuchelbecker in the last days before the uprising, and the self-forgetfulness that gripped him on Petrovskaya Square, are generated by the fact that now the hero - albeit briefly, but completely - is merged with history, with its forward movement. On December 14, a certain era of Russian life ended, and with it the life of Küchelbecker ended, although his gloomy existence lasted for many more years.

Kuchelbecker is another example of the fact that a person's active involvement in history, in the liberation movement does not doom him to the loss of his individuality, but, on the contrary, enriches him as a person, giving the highest meaning to his existence ...

The words of V.K.Küchelbecker, written in the casemate of Shlisselburg, have come true:

The malice of the black will be silenced

Forget delusions

human;

But the clear voice will be remembered

And hearts will respond to him

And virgins and youths of a different age.

The proposed essay would never have seen the light of day if
circumstances important to the author alone did not induce him to do so. This
the work of his eighteen years of youth. Not accepting to judge neither about
dignity, nor about its shortcomings and providing it to an enlightened public,
Let's just say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived;
they probably connected more now scattered passages and completed
image of the main character. At least we are proud of the fact that
Opportunities fostered the world to become familiar with the creation of young talent.

PICTURE I

Day is breaking. Here the village looked through,
Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.
The bell tower shines in gold
And a ray shines on an old fence.
Everything turned captivatingly
Head down in silver water:
The fence, and the house, and the garden in it are so well.
Everything moves in silver water:
The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds are walking,
And the forest is alive only does not make noise.

On a shore far out into the sea,
Under the shade of the lindens, there is a cozy house
Paste_o_ra. The old man has been living in it for a long time.
It is decaying, and the old roof
I poked my head around; the pipe is all black;
And flowery moss is molded for a long time
Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;
But somehow sweet in him, and for nothing
The old man would not give it up. Here is that linden tree
Where he likes to rest, then he grows decrepit.
But around her are green counters
From fresh turf. In hollow holes
Her birds nest, old house
And announcing the garden with a merry song.
The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn
Already went out to sleep in clean air;
And he sleeps under a linden tree in old armchairs,
And the breeze freshens his face,
And white hair blows.

But who is the perfect fit?
Like a fresh morning, it burns
And he looks at him?
Is it charmingly worth it?
Look how cute it wakes
Her lily hand
Touching it lightly,
And it is boring to return to our world.
And now he looks in half a glare,
And now, asleep, he says:

O wondrous, wondrous visitor!
You have visited my abode!
Why secret longing
My whole soul goes right through me
And on the gray-haired old man
Your image is wonderful from afar
Does the strange excitement induce?
Look: I'm already sick,
Has long cooled down to the living,
I buried myself in myself for a long time,
From day to day I wait for peace,
I'm used to thinking about him,
About him and grinds my tongue.
Why are you, young guest,
Are you drawn to yourself so ardently?
Or, the dweller of heaven-paradise,
You give me hope
Are you calling me to heaven?
Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.
The grave sins are great:
And I was a scarlet warrior in the world,
The shepherds were intimidated by me;
Fierce deeds are not news to me;
But I have denied the devil,
And the rest of my life is
My small patch
For a former life, an evil story ...

Longing, full of confusion,
"To say, - she thought, -
God knows where he will go ...
Tell him that he's delusional. "

But he is sunk into oblivion.
Sleep engulfs him again.
Leaning over him, she barely breathes.
How he sleeps! how he sleeps!
A barely noticeable sigh, the chest quivers;
Enveloped in invisible air,
The archangel is guarding him;
Paradise smile shines
The holy forehead dawns.

Here he opened his eyes:
“Louise, are you? I dreamed ... strange ...
You got up early, minx;
The dew has not yet dried.
It seems to be foggy today.

No, grandfather, it is light, the vault is clear;
The sun shines brightly through the grove;
A fresh leaf does not sway,
And in the morning everything is already hot.
Do you know why I am here? -
We will have a holiday today.
We already have old Lodelgam,
Skrypach, with him Fritz the prankster;
We will ride on the waters ...
When would Gantz ... - Kind-hearted
Past_o_r is waiting with a sly smile,
What the story will lead
The baby is playful and carefree.

You grandpa you can help
Alone to unheard-of grief:
My Gantz fear is sick; day and night
Everything goes to the dark sea;
Everything is not according to him, everything is not happy,
He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,
Asking - will answer out of place,
And all terribly exhausted.
He should be conceited with longing -
Yes, so he will ruin himself.
At the thought, I tremble alone:
Perhaps dissatisfied with me;
Maybe he doesn't love me. -
It's a steel knife in my heart.
I ask you, my angel, I dare ... -
And threw herself on his neck,
Constricted chest slightly breathing;
And everything blushed, everything was confused
My beautiful soul;
A tear appeared in my eyes ...
Oh, how good Louise is!

Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!
After all, it's a shame to cry, finally -
The spiritual father told her. -
God gives us patience, strength;
With your fervent prayer.
He will not refuse you anything.
Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;
Believe me, he will prove it to you.
Why is an empty thought
To poison the peace of mind?

So he consoles his Louise.
Pressing her to her decrepit chest.
Here is old Gertrude putting on the coffee
Hot and all light as amber.
The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,
Holding a cherry shank in my mouth.
The smoke went away and fell in rings.
And lost in thought, Louise bread
She fed the cat from her hands, which
Purring crept, hearing the sweet smell.
The old man got up from the colored old armchairs,
He brought a supplication and gave his hand to his granddaughter;
And now he put on his elegant robe,
All of brocade silver, shiny,
And a party hat, unworn
(His as a gift to our pastor
Recently brought Gantz from the city),
And leaning on Louise's shoulder
Lily, our old man went out into the field.
What a day! Merry curled
And the larks sang; there were waves
From the wind of gold in the field of bread;
Trees thickened over them,
On them the fruits were poured in front of the sun
Transparent; the waters darkened in the distance
Green; through the rainbow mist
The seas of fragrant aromas rushed;
Bee worker plucked honey
From fresh flowers; frisky dragonfly
Cracking curled; riotous in the distance
There was a song - that song of daring rowers.
The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,
Playful herds moo along it;
And from a distance you can already see the roof
Louisina; shingles turn red
And a bright ray glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are worried about an incomprehensible thought,
Our Gantz looked absentmindedly
To a great, immense world,
To your unknown destiny.
Hitherto quiet, serene
He played joyfully with life;
Innocent and tender soul
I didn’t see any bitter troubles in her;
A native of the earthly world,
Earthly destructive passions
He did not carry in his chest,
A careless, windy baby.
And it was fun for him
He cut sweetly, lively
In a crowd of children; did not believe in evil:
Before him, the world blossomed as if in a miracle.
His girlfriend from childhood
Child Louise, a bright angel,
She shone with the charm of her speeches;
Light brown curls through the rings
The sly glance burned imperceptibly;
In a green skirt herself
Sings if she dances
Everything is innocent, everything is alive in her,
Everything about her is childish and eloquent;
There is a pink scarf on the neck
Little by little flies off my chest,
And a slender white slipper
The leg covers it.
In the forest he plays with him -
He will overtake him, everything will penetrate,
Hiding in a bush with an evil desire,
Suddenly he will shout loudly in his ears -
And it will frighten; is he sleeping -
His face will paint everything
And, with a sonorous laughter, I awakened,
He leaves the sweet dream,
The playful kisses the minx.

Spring is leaving for spring.
The circle of their children's games has become too modest.
Between them, playfulness is not visible;
The fire of his eyes became languid,
She is shyly sad.
They guessed right
You, the first speech of love!
As long as sweet sorrows!
As long as the days are bright!
What could you wish with dear Louise?
He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,
He is attracted to her by a wondrous force,
Like a true shadow wandering.
Full of heartfelt sympathy
The old people will not see enough
Their simple-minded for good luck
Your children; and far away
From them days of grief, days of doubt:
A peaceful genius dawns on them.

But soon a secret sadness
Has taken possession of him; the eyes are foggy
And he often looks into the distance,
And all restless and strange.
The mind is boldly looking for something,
Something secretly indignant;
Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts.
About something, sorrowful, yearning;
He sits chained,
Looks at the violent sea.
In a dream, someone hears everything
With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

Or the Duma is walking in the valley;
Eyes shine solemnly
When the noisy wind blows
And the thunders speak hotly;
Instant fire pierces the clouds;
Rain sources of combustible
They split loudly and make noise.
Or at the hour of midnight, at the hour of dreams
Sits at the book of legends,
And, turning the sheet,
He catches the letters in her dumb
- They say the gray centuries in them,
And the wondrous word thunders. -
Going deep in thought for an hour,
He will not take his eyes off her;
Whoever passes by Gantz,
Whoever looks will say boldly:
Back far away he lives.
Fascinated by a wonderful thought,
Under the gloomy oak canopy
It often goes on a summer day,
Chained to something secret;
He secretly sees someone's shadow
And he stretches out his hands to her.
Embraces her in oblivion.

And simple-minded and alone
Louise is an angel, what? where?
Loyal to him with all my heart,
Doesn't know, poor thing, sleep;
It brings the same caresses;
Wrap his arm around him;
Kiss him innocently;
He will long for a minute
And again the same will sing.

They are beautiful, those moments
When the transparent crowd
Far away sweet visions
They take the young man with them.
But if the soul world is destroyed
Forgotten a happy corner
He will become indifferent to him,
And for ordinary people it is high.
Will they fill the young man?
And will the heart be filled with joy? ..

While in the home of vanity
We will eavesdrop on him by stealth.
Hitherto formerly a mystery.
Diverse dreams.

PICTURE III

The land of classic, beautiful creations,
And glorious deeds, and liberty, the land!
Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,
I'm chained by my soul!
From the tripods to Piraeus itself
The solemn people are seething, worried;
Where are the speeches of Eskhinov, thundering and flaming,
Everything is capricious afterwards,
Like the noisy waters of the transparent Illis.
Great is this marble graceful Parthenon!
It is surrounded by Doric columns nearby;
Phidias moved Minerva in it with an incisor,
And the brush of Parrasius, Zeuxis shines.
Under the portico the divine sage
Leads a lofty word about the world;
To whom immortality is ready for valor.
Some shame, some a crown.
Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant songs of cliques;
As the day rises, the crowd falls into the amphitheater,
Persian candis all speckled glistens,
And light tunics are twisted.
Sophocles' poems sound impetuously;
Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;
From the honey-flowing lips of Epicurus' favorite
Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid
Slash excellent science to explore:
How to live life, how to enjoy drinking.
But here's Aspazia! Doesn't dare to die
A confused youth, with these black eyes meeting.
How hot those lips are! how fiery are those speeches!
And dark as night, those curls somehow,
Excitedly fall on the chest
On white marble shoulders.
But what is the wild howl at the sound of the tympanum bowls?
Bacchic maidens are crowned with ivy,
Running in a discordant, violent crowd
Into the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..

But you are lost, I am alone.
Again melancholy, again annoyance;
At least Faun came from the valleys;
At least the beautiful Dryad
It seemed to me in the gloom of the garden.
Oh how wonderful you are your world
Dream, Greeks, inhabited!
How you fascinated him!
And ours is both poor and sire,
And squared all over for miles.

And again new dreams
They hug him, laughing;
It is lifted up in the air
From the ocean of vanity.

PICTURE IV

In a country where live springs sparkle;
Where, wonderfully shining, the rays shine;
Breath of amra and night rose
Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;
And clouds of incense hang in the air;
Golden mangosteen fruits are burning;
The carpet of the Kandatarian meadows sparkles;
And they will boldly throw on the heavenly tent;
The rain of bright colors is falling luxuriously,
Then swarms of moths shine, tremble; -
I see Peri there: in oblivion she
Does not see, does not heed, full of dreams.
Like two suns, the eyes of heaven burn;
Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;
Breath - lilies of silver dust,
When the fallen garden falls asleep
And the wind will scatter their sighs at times;
And the voice, like the sounds of the night sirinda,
Or the fluttering of silver wings
When they sound, frolicking, Israzil,
Ile Hindara's splashes of mysterious streams;
And what about a smile? What about a kiss?
But I see how the air is already flying,
He is in a hurry to the celestial lands, to his relatives.
Wait, look around! She does not heed.
And drowning in a rainbow, and now it is not visible.
But the world keeps the memory for a long time,
And the whole air is entwined with a fragrance.

Living youth aspirations
So dreams were fired.
Sometimes the heavenly features
Souls of a wonderful impression
They lay on it; but why
In the excitement of his heart
He was looking for an obscure thought,
What I wanted, what I wanted
Why did he fly so ardently
Soul and greedy and passionate,
As if the world wanted to hug, -
That he himself could not understand.
It seemed to him stuffy, dusty
In this abandoned country;
And my heart was beating hard, hard
On the far, far side.
Then, when would you have seen,
How the chest rose violently,
How the gaze trembled proudly,
How my heart longed to snuggle
To your dream, an obscure dream;
What a wonderful ardor boiled in him;
What a hot tear
Lively filled my eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village
Where the faces of our world are limited.
I don't know how now, but Lunensdorf
She was then, cheerful, called.
Already from a distance, a modest house turns white
Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. For a long time,
Married to the daughter of a pastor,
He built it! Cheerful house!
It is painted green, covered
Beautiful and ringing tiles;
Old chestnuts stand around
Hanging in your_you, as if through the windows
They want to get through; because of them flickers
A trellis of fine vines, beautiful
And cleverly done by Wilhelm himself;
On it hangs and snake hops;
A pole will be stretched from the window, on it is linen
White shines before the sun. Here
There's a flock in the hole in the attic
Shaggy pigeons; lingering cluck
Turkeys; clapping meets the day
The rooster is crowing and it is important in the yard,
He rakes heaps among the motley chickens
Grainy; two are walking right there
Tame goats and frolicking nibbles
Fragrant herb. Smoked for a long time
Already smoke from white pipes, he is curly
Curled up and the clouds multiplied.
From the side where paint fell from the walls
And gray bricks stuck out,
Where ancient chestnuts cast a shadow
That the sun ran across
When the wind swayed briskly at their top, -
Under the shade of those trees forever sweet
In the morning there was an oak table, all clean
Covered with a tablecloth and all lined up
Fragrant food: tasty yellow cheese,
Radish and oil in f_a_ rfor duck,
And beer, and wine, and a sweet bichef,
Both sugar and brown waffles;
Ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:
A transparent bunch of fragrant raspberries.
And yellow pears like amber,
And blue plums, and a bright peach,
Everything was in order in the intricate one.
Celebrated living Wilhelm today
The birth of his dear wife,
With past_o_rom and precious daughters:
Louise older and younger Fanny.
But Fanny is not, she went a long time ago
Call Gantz and did not return. Right,
He wanders around somewhere again in thought.
And dear Louise keeps looking
Closely at the dark window
Neighbor Gantz. Two steps in total
To him; but my Luiaa did not go:
So that he does not notice in her face
Boring anguish, so as not to read
In her eyes, he is a caustic reproach.
Father Wilhelm says to Luige:
- Look, you scold Gantz in order:
Why has he not come to us for so long?
After all, you yourself have spoiled him. -
And here is Child Louise in response:
- I'm afraid to scold the beautiful I Gantz:
And without that he is sick, pale, thin ...
“What a disease,” said the mother.
Live Bertha - not a disease, melancholy
The uninvited stuck to him herself;
When he gets married, the melancholy will disappear.
So a young escape, completely deaf,
Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;
And what is the wife, if not the husband's fun?
- The speech is clever, - the gray-haired past_o_r said. -
Everything, believe, will pass when God wants,
And be in everything his holy will. -
Already twice he knocked out of the pipe
Zolu, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,
Talking about newspaper news
About a bad harvest, about the Greeks and about the Turks,
About Misolungi, about the affairs of the war,
About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,
About Kaning, about parlam_e_nt,
About disasters and riots in Madrit.
Suddenly Louise screamed and instantly,
Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.
An airy camp embracing her slender one,
With excitement, the young man kissed her.
Turning to him, the pastor says:
- Eh, it's a shame, Gantz, forget your friend!
Why, if you have already forgotten Louise,
Should we, old people, even think about? - Full
It's all for you Gantsa, papa, to scold, -
Bertha said - we'd better sit down
Now at the table, otherwise everything will get cold:
And porridge with rice and fragrant wine,
And the sugar peas, the capon is hot,
Fried with raisins in oil. - Here
They sit down peacefully at the table;
And soon in a moment the wine revived everything
And, bright, laughter shed into the soul.
Old man fiddler and Fritz on the ringing flute
According to the hostess burst in honor.
Everyone rushed and began to spin in a waltz.
Cheer up, our ruddy Wilhelm
He set off himself with his wife, as with a pea;
Gantz flew like a whirlwind with his Louise
In a stormy waltz; and before them the world
Spun all over in a wonderful, noisy order.
And dear Louise never die,
Can't look around, all
Lost in movement. By them
Without admiring, says past_o_r:
- Dear, wonderful couple!
My dear merry Louise,
Gantz is beautiful and smart and modest;
They were already made for each other
And they will spend their lives happily.
Thank you, oh merciful God!
That has sent down grace for old age,
Mine extended decrepit strength -
To see such beautiful grandchildren
To say, saying goodbye to the decrepit body:
I have seen beautiful things on earth.

PICTURE VII

Calm quiet evening with coolness
Goes down; farewell rays
They kiss where and where the gloomy sea;
And living sparks, golden
The trees are touched; and in the distance
The cliffs of the sea can be seen through the fog,
All are multi-colored. Quiet everything
Shepherd's only horns depressing voice
Rushing into the distance from the merry shores,
Yes, the quiet noise in the water of the splashed fish
Runs a little and ripples the sea,
Yes, a swallow, drawing the seas with a wing,
Gliding circles through the air gives;
Here the boat shone like a dot in the distance;
And who is sitting in it, in that boat?
Sitting past_o_r, our gray-haired old man.
And with dear wife Wilhelm;
And the playful always minx Fanny,
Milk in hand and hanging from the railing,
Laughing, the waves chattered with their hand;
Near the stern with Louise sweet Gantz.
And for a long time everyone admired in silence:
How wide went astern
A wave and in a spray of fire-colored, suddenly
Torn by an oar, trembled;
As explained by the pink range
And the south wind blew its breath.
And here is the past_o_r, filled with tenderness,
He said: "How lovely this God's evening!
Beautiful, quiet he is, like a good life
Sinless; she's also peaceful
The path ends, and tears of tenderness
Sacred dust, beautiful, sprinkle.
It's time for me too; the deadline is appointed,
And soon, soon I won't be yours,
But is it so wonderful to be in bed? .. "
Everyone shed a tear; Gantz who song
Played the sweet oboe
Lost in thought and dropped the oboe;
And again some kind of dream came over
His brow; thoughts rushed far
And the miraculous flowed into my soul.
And so Louise says to him:
- Tell me, Gantz, when else do you love
Me when I can awaken
At least pity, at least living compassion
In your soul, do not torment me, tell me -
Why alone with some book
Are you sitting at night? (I can see everything
And the windows are, after all, we are against each other).
Why are you shy of everyone? why are you sad?
Oh, how your sad appearance worries me!
Oh, how your sorrow grieves me! -
And, moved, Gantz was embarrassed;
Presses her to her chest with anguish,
And an involuntary tear gushed out.
- Don't ask me, my Louise,
And do not multiply this anguish by worry.
When I seem to be immersed in thoughts -
Believe, busy and then you alone,
And I think how to turn away
All sad doubts from you
How to fill your heart with joy,
How to keep your soul in peace,
Protect your childish sleep innocent,
So that the evil does not come near,
So that the shadow of longing does not touch,
So that your happiness always blooms. -
Going down to his head on the chest,
In abundance of feelings, in gratitude of the heart
She cannot utter a word.
The boat rushed along the shore smoothly
And suddenly she landed. Everybody went out
Instantly out of it. "Well! Beware, children, -
Wilhelm said, - it's damp and dew here,
So as not to get an unbearable cough. "
Our dear Gantz thinks: "What will happen,
When he hears what he would know
Shouldn't she? "And he looks at her.
And he feels reproach in his heart:
As if I did something unkind,
As if he was a hypocrite before God.

PICTURE VIII

The midnight hour strikes on the tower.
So, this is an hour, an hour of doom,
How Gantz always sits alone!
The light of the lamp in front of him trembles
And a pale twilight illuminates,
As if he pours doubts.
Everything is asleep. No one's wandering gaze
He will not meet anyone on the field;
And, like a distant conversation,
The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.
Everything is quiet, the night alone breathes.
Now his deep thoughts
Will not disturb daytime noise:
There is such silence over him.

And what is she? - She gets up,
Sits right by the window:
"He will not look, will not notice,
And I'll see enough of him;
Doesn't sleep for my happiness! ..
God bless him! "

The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.
And now a dream hovers over her
And involuntarily bows his head.
But Gantz is still drowning in thoughts
Deep into them is deeply immersed.

"Everything is decided. Now it’s possible
Do I die here in my soul?
And not to know another goal for me?
And you can't find a better goal?
Doom yourself as a sacrifice by dishonor?
To be dead to the world in life?

Whether with a soul that has fallen in love with glory,
Love the insignificance of the world?
Is it a soul, fortunately not cold,
Can't drink the excitement of the world?
And there is no beauty in it?
Not to mention the existence?

Why are you so attracted to yourself,
Are the lands of luxurious lands?
And day and night, like birds singing,
I hear the inviting voice;
And day and night chained by dreams,
I am fascinated by you.

I am your! I am your! from this desert
I will enter heavenly places;
As the pilgrim wanders to the shrine,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The ship will go, the waves will splash;
Feelings after them, full of fun.

And he will fall, the veil is unclear,
By whom the dream knew you,
And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful
Will open the wondrous gates
Greet the young man ready
And always new in delights.

Creators of wonderful experiences!
Your cutter, I will see the brush,
And your fiery creations
My soul will be fulfilled;
Make noise, my ocean is wide!
Carry my lonely ship!

Forgive me, my corner is tight
Both the forest and the field! meadow, I'm sorry!
Sprinkle heavenly rain on you more often!
And God forbid to bloom more!
The soul seems to suffer for you,
It yearns to hug you for the last time.

Sorry, my angel is serene!
Do not sprinkle your brows with tears!
Do not indulge in rebellious melancholy
And forgive poor Gantz!
Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon
I will return - will I forget you? .. "

PICTURE IX

Who is this sometimes
Steps quietly, carefully?
The knapsack is visible behind the back,
Travel staff in a belt.
To the right is the house in front of him,
To the left is a long road
Walk the way he wants sim
And asks for firmness from God.
But, we languish in secret torment,
He draws his legs back
And he hurries to that house.

One window is open in it;
Lean against that window
The beauty girl is resting
And, blowing the wind over her wing.
She inspires wonderful dreams;
And, dear, they are full,
Here she smiles.
He approaches her with emotion ...
Shy chest; a tear is trembling ...
And leads to the beautiful
Your shiny eyes.
He bent down to her, glowing,
She kisses and groans.

And, startled, quickly he runs
Again on a distant road;
But the restless look is gloomy,
But it's sad in this one. deep soul.
Here he looked back:
But the neighborhood covers the fog,
And worse than a young man's chest aches,
Sending a farewell look.
Wind awakened harsh
Swung the green oak tree.
Everything disappeared in the distance empty.
Through a dream only vaguely, sometimes
Gottlieb the gatekeeper seemed to hear
That someone came out of the gate,
Yes, a faithful dog, as if in reproach,
Barked loudly throughout the yard.

PICTURE X

The bright leader does not rise for a long time.
Rainy morning; to the glades
Gray fogs are falling
Frequent rain is ringing on the roofs.
At dawn the beauty woke up;
She herself wonders that she
I slept all night by the window.
Having straightened her curls, she smiled
But, against will, the gaze is alive
He flashed an annoyed tear.
"What's Gantz not coming for so long?
He promised me to be a little light.
What a day! leads to melancholy;
Thick fog walks across the field,
And the wind whistles; and Gantz is not. "

Full of lively impatience
Looks at the pretty window:
It does not open.
Gantz is surely asleep, and dreaming
Any object is created for him;
But the day is long gone. Tearing up the valleys
Streams of rain; oak tops
They make noise; and Gantz is not there.

It will soon be noon. Inconspicuous
The fog goes away; the forest is silent;
Thunder in thought thunders
Far away ... in a seven-color arc
Paradise light burns in the sky;
An ancient oak is strewn with sparks;
And sonorous songs from the village
Sound; and Gantz is not there.

What would that mean? .. finds
The villainess is sadness; hearing tired
Count the hours ... here someone comes in
And at the door ... He! he! .. ah, no, not him!
In a pink robe, deceased,
In a colored apron with a border,
Bertha comes: "My angel!
Tell me what happened to you?
You slept restlessly all night;
You are all languid, you are all pale.
Was it the rain that prevented the noisy one?
Or a roaring wave?
Or a rooster, a loud brawler,
Sleepless all night?
Or disturbed the unclean spirit
In a dream, the peace of a pure girl,
Inspired by black sadness?
Say, I am sorry for you with all my heart! "

No, the noisy rain did not bother me,
And not a roaring wave
And not a rooster, loud brawler,
Sleepless all night;
Not these dreams, not those sorrows
My young chest was agitated,
My spirit is not outraged by them,
Sometimes I had a wonderful dream.

I dreamed: in the dark desert I am,
Fog and wilderness all around me.
And on a swampy plain
There is no dry place.
Heavy odor; marshy, viscous;
What step, then the abyss below me:
I'm afraid to step foot;
And suddenly it felt so hard for me
It's so hard that you can't say ...
Where ever, Gantz is wild, strange
- Blood ran, flowing from the wound -
Suddenly he began to sob over me;
But instead of tears, streams poured
Some kind of muddy water ...
I woke up: on my chest, on my cheeks,
On the curls of a light brown head,
An annoying rain ran in streams;
And it was not pleasant to my heart.
A premonition takes me ...
And I did not squeeze the curls;
And I was longing all morning;
Where is he? and what about him? what is not there? -

Stands, shakes his head
Reasonable mother before her:
- Well, daughter! me with your misfortune,
I don’t know how to cope.
Let's go to him, find out for ourselves
May the holy power be with us! -

Here one enters the room;
But everything is empty in it. Aside
Lies, in thick dust, the old one,
Plato and Schiller are wayward,
Petrarch, Teak, Aristophanes
Yes forgotten Winckelmann;
Pieces of torn paper;
Fresh flowers on the shelf;
The pen with which, full of courage,
Passing on my dreams.
But something flashed on the table.
A note! .. took
Louise in hand. From someone?
To whom? .. and what did she read? ..
The tongue babbles strangely ...
And suddenly she fell to her knees;
Her grudge presses, burns,
Deathly cold flows in her.

PICTURE XI

Look, the tyrant is cruel,
To the sadness of a murdered soul!
How this lonely color withers,
Forgotten in the gloomy wilderness!
Peer, peer at your creation:
You deprived her of happiness
And life made joy
To her longing, to hellish torment,
Into the nest of ruined graves.
Oh, how she loved you!
With what delight the senses are alive
She spoke simple speeches!
And how you listened to these speeches!
How fiery and how innocent
There was this shine of her eyes!
How often does she, in her anguish,
That day seemed boring, long
When, betrayed by thought,
She didn't see you.
Did you and did you leave her?
Have you turned your back on everything?
He sent someone else's path to the country,
And for whom? and for what?
But look, the tyrant is cruel:
She is still the same, under the window,
Sits and waits in deep anguish,
Will not the dear flash in it.
The day is dying out; the evening is shining;
Everything is covered with a wondrous splendor;
A cool wind winds in the sky;
A distant splash is barely audible on the waves.
Already the night is covering the shadows;
But the west still shines.
The pipe is pouring a little; and she
Sits motionless by the window.

NIGHT VISIONS

It gets dark, the red evening goes out;
The earth sleeps in rapture;
And now on our already fields
It turns out that the important month is clear.
And everything is transparent, everything is light;
The sea sparkles like glass. -

There are wonderful shadows in the sky
Evolved and coiled
And they rushed wonderfully
To the heavenly steps.
Cleared up: two candles;
Two shaggy knights;
Two jagged swords
And minted armor;
They are looking for something; stood in a row.
And for some reason they pass;
And they fight and shine;
And they don't find something ...
Everything has disappeared, merged with darkness;
The moon shines over the water.

Brilliantly announces the whole grove
The king is the nightingale. The sound is quietly spread out.
The night breathes a little; earth through a dream
Dreamily hears the singer.
The forest does not sway; everything is asleep
Only an inspired song sounds.

Seemed a wondrous fairy
A leaked palace
And the singer sings in the window
Inspirational ventures.
On a silver carpet
All covered with clouds
A wonderful spirit flies in the fire;
North, south covered with wings.
Sees: the fairy sleeps in captivity
Behind the coral bars;
Mother-of-pearl wall
He destroys with a crystal tear.
Embraced ... merged with the darkness ...
The moon shines over the water.

Through the steam, the neighborhood sparkles a little.
What a bunch of secret thoughts
A strange noise makes the seas!
A huge whale flashes its back;
The fisherman is wrapped up and sleeping;
And the sea keeps making noise, making noise.

Here are young people from the sea
The wonderful virgins swim;
Blue, fire
White waves are rowing.
Lost in thought, sways
Lily water chest
And the beauty barely breathes ...
And a luxurious leg
Spreads the spray in two rows ...
Smiles, laughs,
Passionately beckons and calls
And floats thoughtfully
As if he wants and does not want
And sings thoughtfully
To myself, young siren,
About insidious betrayal,
And on the firmament blue
The moon shines over the water.

Here is a deaf cemetery aside:
A dilapidated fence all around
Crosses, stones ... hidden by moss
The dumb dead are dwellings.
Flying and screaming only owls
The sleep of empty coffins is disturbing.

Rises lingeringly
A dead man in a white shroud,
The bones are dusty it is important
He wipes it off, well done.
From the forehead of a long time cold blows,
There is a fawn fire in the eye,
And under him is a great horse,
Immense, all turns white
And it grows more and more
Soon the sky will embrace;
And the dead with peace
A terrible crowd.
The earth is pricked and - boo
Shadows at once into the abyss ... Phew!

And she became afraid; instantly
She slammed the window.
Everything in a tremulous heart is confused,
And heat and shiver alternately
They flow over it. It is in anguish.
Attention is entertained.
When, with a merciless hand,
Fate will push a cold stone
Poor heart - then
Tell me, who is faithful to reason?
Whose soul is strong against evil?
Who is always the same forever?
In misfortune, who is not superstitious?
Who did not turn pale in soul
Before an insignificant dream?

With fear, with secret sorrow,
She throws herself into bed;
But waits in vain in the bed of sleep.
In the dark, will anything be heard by accident,
Will the scraper mouse run, -
An insidious dream flies from the eyes.

PICTURE XIII

The antiquities of Athens are sad.
Columns, statues row dilapidated
There is a plain among the deaf.
The trail of the tired centuries is sad:
The graceful monument is broken
The feeble granite is broken,
Some fragments survived.
Still dignified to this day,
The decrepit architrave turns black,
And ivy curls by capitals;
Split cornice fell
Into the long dead trenches.
This marvelous frieze still shines,
These are relief metopes;
Still sad here to this day
Corinthian order glorious
A swarm of lizards glides on it, -
He looks at the world with contempt;
He is still the same gorgeous
The times of the past are pressed into the darkness,
And without attention to everything.

The antiquities of Athens are sad.
A number of old pictures are foggy.
Leaning on the cold marble,
In vain the greedy traveler hungers
Resurrect the past in my soul,
Efforts in vain to develop
Decayed scroll of lost deeds, -
The labor of impotent torture is insignificant;
A vague gaze reads everywhere
And destruction and shame.
The turban flashes between the columns,
And a muslim on the walls
On these debris, stones, ditches,
The horse fiercely presses,
With a cry he ravages the remains.
Inexpressible sadness
Instantly embraces the traveler,
He hears the heavy murmur of the soul;
He is both sad and sorry,
Why did he direct the way here.
For decayed graves
I left my serene shelter,
Forgot your quiet?
Let them dwell in my thoughts
These airy dreams!
Let your heart worry
A mirror of pure beauty!
But also murderous and cold
You have become divorced now.
Ruthless and merciless
You slammed the door before him,
Sons of a pitiful materiality,
The door to a quiet world of dreams, hot! -
And sadly, with a slow foot
The traveler leaves the ruins;
He swears to forget them with his soul;
And everything involuntarily thinks
The blind man about the sacrifices of frailty.

PAINTING XVI

It took two years. In peaceful Lunensdorf
It still flaunts, blooms;
All the same worries and the same fun
The deceased hearts excite the inhabitants.
But not as before in the Wilhelm family:
Past_o_ra has been gone for a long time.
After graduating from a path both painful and difficult,
It was not our sleep that he slept soundly.
All residents saw off the remains
Sacred, with tears in their eyes;
His deeds, actions were remembered:
Didn't he serve us as salvation?
He endowed us with his spiritual bread,
Good teaching in words.
Was not he the joy of the mourners,
Orphans and widows with an unwavering shield?
On a holiday, how meek he used to be,
Climbed to the pulpit! and with tenderness
He told us about the pure martyrs,
About the heavy sufferings of Christ,
And we, moved, listened to him,
They wondered and shed tears.

From Wismar when someone is on the way,
Occurs to the left of the road
Him a cemetery: old crosses
Leaned, sheathed with moss,
And time is plagued by a chisel.
But between them the urn sharply turns white
On a black stone, and humbly over her.
Two green sycamores are rustling
Far away cool embracing shadow.
Here mortal remains rest
Paste_o_ra. Have volunteered at your own expense
Build good villagers over it
The last sign of his existence
In this world. Inscription on four sides
It says how he lived and how many peaceful years
Spent on the flock, and when he left
His long way, and the spirit handed over to God.

And at the hour when the bashful one develops
The ruddy east is its hair;
A fresh wind will rise across the field;
Dew will sprinkle with diamonds;
The robin will flood in its bushes;
Half of the sun on the rising earth is burning, -
Young villagers go to him,
With carnations and roses in their hands.
Are hung with fragrant flowers
They will wrap a green garland,
And again they go on the designated path.
One of them, young, remains
And, leaning on a lily hand,
Sits over him in thought for a long, long time,
As if he thinks about the incomprehensible
In this brooding, grieving maiden
Who wouldn't have recognized the sad Louise?
For a long time in the eyes of fun does not shine;
Doesn't seem like an innocent grin
In her face; will not run over it,
Although a mistake, | a joyful feeling;
But how sweet she is and in languid sadness!
Oh, how sublime this innocent look!
So the bright seraphim yearns
About the pernicious fall of man.
Mila was a happy Louise,
But somehow in misery it is dearer to me.
Eighteen years then passed her,
When the wise past_or_r passed away.
With all her childlike soul
She loved the godlike old man;
And he thinks in the depths of his soul:
"No, living hopes have not come true
Yours. How, good old man, did you desire
To marry us in front of the holy tax,
To unite our union forever.
How you loved the dreamy Gantz!
And he..."

Let's take a look at Wilhelm's hut.
It's already autumn. Cold. And at home he
Carved with art of artful mugs
Made of sturdy beech with layers,
Decorating with intricate carvings;
At his feet lay curled up
Beloved friend, faithful comrade, Hector.
But the sensible mistress Bertha
In the morning he is already caring about
About everything. Crowds also under the window
Long-necked gang of geese; same way
Restless chickens cackle;
Sparrows chill insolently,
Digging in a dung heap all day.
We've seen a handsome bullfinch;
And in the autumn it smelled long ago in the field,
And the green leaf turned yellow long ago,
And the swallows flew away long ago
For the distant, luxurious seas.
The sensible mistress Bertha shouts:
"Louise won't be good for so long!
The day is getting dark. Now it's not like in summer;
Already damp, wet, and thick fog
So it penetrates everything with the coldness.
Why roam? trouble is with this girl;
She will not get rid of Gantz's thoughts;
And God knows whether he is alive or not. "
Fanny thinks otherwise,
Sitting at the embroidery frame in your corner.
She is sixteen years old, and full of longing
And secret thoughts for an ideal friend,
Absentmindedly, indistinctly says:
"And I would, and I would love him."

PAINTING XVII

It's time for autumn;
But today is beautiful:
There are waves of silver in the sky
And the face of the sun is brilliant and clear.
One dear postage
Wanders, with a knapsack behind his back,
A sad traveler from a foreign land.
Dull, and languid, and wild,
Goes bent over like an old man
There is not even half of Gantz in it.
The half-faded gaze wanders
On the green hills, yellow cornfields,
Along the multi-colored chain of mountains.
As if in happy oblivion
A dream touches him;
But the thought is not so busy. -
He is immersed in strong thoughts.
He would need peace now.

He walked a long way, evidently;
Suffering in pain, evidently the chest;
The soul suffers, sorry for noah;
He is now not up to rest.

What are those thoughts about?
He himself marvels at the vanity:
How exhausted he was by fate;
And evil laughs at itself,
That I believed in my dream
Hateful light, feeble-minded;
That wondered into the empty shine
With your unreasonable soul;
That, without hesitation, he boldly
Sim threw himself into the arms of the people;
And, bewitched, drunk,
I believed in their evil undertakings.
How cold they are coffins;
Low as the most despicable creature;
Self-interest and honor are the same
They are only dear and close.
They disgrace the wondrous gift:
And trample on inspiration;
And despise revelation;
Their feigned heat is cold
And their awakening is disastrous.
Oh, who would have penetrated without trepidation
Into their sleepy tongue!
How poisonous is their breath!
How false is the trembling of the heart!
How insidious is their head!
How empty their words are!

And there are many truths he, sad,
Now I have tasted and found out;
But did he become happier himself?
Disgraced deep down?
A radiant, distant star
He was attracted, pulled by glory,
But her thick fumes are false,
Bitter is a shiny poison.

Leaning westward the day
The evening shadow grows long.
And the clouds are shiny, white
Brighter scarlet edges;
On dark, yellow leaves
A stream of gold sparkles.
And then the poor wanderer saw
Their native meadows.
And the gaze instantly flashed pale,
A hot tear gleamed.
A swarm of old, those innocent fun
And those pranks, those old thoughts -
All at once leaned on the chest
And does not let him die.
And he thinks: what does it mean? ..
And, like a weak child, she cries.

Blessed is that wondrous moment
When, at the time of self-knowledge,
In the time of his mighty powers,
He, chosen by heaven, comprehended
The goal of the highest existence;
When there is no empty shadow,
When glory is not glitter tinsel
He is disturbed by night and day,
He is attracted to the noisy, stormy world;
But the thought is strong and vigorous
One embraces him, torments him
Desire for the good and the good;
He teaches great works.
For them, he does not spare life.
In vain the rabble screams madly,
He is solid among these living debris.
And only hears the noise
Blessing of the descendants.

When will the insidious dreams
Excite the thirst for a bright share,
And there is no iron will in the soul,
There is no strength to stand in the midst of vanity, -
Is it not better in a secluded silence
Flow through the field of life,
Family content with modest
And not to listen to the noise of the light?

PAINTING XVIII

The stars come out in a smooth chorus
Observe meek gaze
The rest of the world
They are watching a quiet person's sleep,
Send the good world
And the evil poison is disastrous reproach.
Why, stars, are you sad
Do you send no peace?
For a wretched head
You are joy, and rest on you
Your sad yearning gaze,
Passion he hears conversation
In my soul, and he calls you,
And he will trust you.
Always languid as before.
Louise hadn't undressed yet;
She cannot sleep; in dreams she
I looked into the autumn night.
The subject, the same and the same ...
And here delight enters her soul:
She starts a harmonious song;
A merry harpsichord sounds.

Listening to the noise of the falling leaves,
Between the trees where it shines through
From the walls of the lattice fence,
In a sweet oblivion, by the garden,
Our Gantz wrapped up is worth it.
And what about him when he sounds
I learned from my acquaintances for a long time
And that voice, from the day of parting
That for a long, long time did not hear;
And the song that is hot in passion,
In love, in an abundance of wondrous powers,
To the tunes of the soul in bright tunes,
Did you fold it, enthusiastic?
Through the garden she rings, rushes
And in a quiet rapture it pours:

"I call you! I call you!
I am enchanted with your smile
I'm not sitting with you for an hour, not two,
I can't take my eyes off you:
I am amazed, not hoping.
Do you sing - and the ringing of speeches
Yours, mysterious, innocent,
Will the desert blow into the air
-
A nightingale sound is pouring in the sky,
A silver stream thunders.

Come to me, snuggle to me
In the heat of wonderful excitement.
The heart burns in silence;
They are burning, they are on fire
Your dead movements.

I am sad without you, longing,
And there is no strength to forget you.
And whether I wake up, I lie down
All about you, I pray, I pray
Everything about you, my dear angel. "

And then it seemed to her:
With a wonderful glow of eyes
Someone is shining near her,
And she hears someone's sigh,
And fear, and a shiver takes her ...
And she looked back ...
"Gantz!" ...
Oh who will understand
All this joy of a wonderful meeting!
And fiery speeches!
And this happy oppression of feelings!
Oh, who will describe so ardently
This very emotional wave
When she tears her chest and puffs,
Heartbreaking deep
And you yourself tremble, you melt in joy,
You dare not find any thoughts or words;
Delighted, in a heap of sweet torments,
You will merge into a slender, light sound!

Recovering himself, Gantz looks through tears
Into the eyes of my friend;
And he thinks: "Completely, these are dreams;
Let me not wake up.
She is still the same, and she loved so much
Me with all my childish soul!
The brow covered sorrow,
Fresh blush dried up,
She ruined her young age;
And I, crazy, stupid,
I flew to look for a new one! .. "
And slept suffering heavy sleep
From his soul; lively, calm,
He was reborn again.
For the time being outraged by the storm,
So our harmonious world shines again;
Tempered damask steel on fire
So it's a hundred times brighter again.

Guests are feasting; glasses, bowls
They go around and thunder;
And our old people chat;
And the youths are boiling in the dances.
Sounds a lingering, noisy thunder
The music is bright all day;
Tossing fun at home;
The canopy shines hospitably.
And the villagers are young
A couple in love are given:
They carry blue violets,
They bring them fire roses,
They are cleaned and made noise:
May their young days bloom
Like those violets of the field;
Let hearts burn with love
Like these roses are fire.

And in rapture, in the bliss of feelings
In advance the young man trembles, -
And the bright gaze shines with joy;
And unfeignedly, without arts,
Throwing off the shackles of compulsion,
Tastes the heart of pleasure.
And you insidious dreams
He will not idolize, -

An earthly admirer of beauty.
But what will confuse him again?
(How incomprehensible the person is!)
Saying goodbye to them forever, -
As if for an old faithful friend,
Sad in diligent oblivion.
So, in confinement, the schoolboy waits,
When the desired time comes.
Summer towards the end of his studies -
He is full of thoughts and rapture,
Dreams are aerial leads:
He is independent, he is free,
Happy with myself and the world,
But, parting with family
Your comrades, soul
He shared prank, work, peace with whom, -
And he thinks, and groans,
And with inexpressible longing
Will drop an involuntary tear.

In solitude, in the desert
In an unknown wilderness,
In my unknown shrine
This is how they are created from now on
Dreams are quiet souls.
Will the sound come like noise
Will anyone excite
Whether a young man's thought,
Or a virgin's fiery chest?
I lead with involuntary tenderness
I am my quiet song,
And with unsolved excitement
I sing my Germany.
A land of lofty thoughts!
Air ghosts country!
Oh, how your soul is full of you!
Hugging you like a genius
The great Goethe protects
And a wonderful system of chants
The clouds of worries are shining.

GANZ KÜCHELGARTEN

The idyll was published in a separate edition in 1829 by N.V.
Gogol under the pseudonym V. Alov and with an explanation: "(Written in 1827)". This
dating raised doubts among researchers of the life and work of Gogol; not
the possibility is excluded that the author worked on "Gantz Küchelgarten" and in
1828 g.
Ganz Küchelgarten's appearance drew negative reviews
"Moscow Telegraph" (1829, Љ 12, N. Polevoy) and "Northern Bee" (1829, Љ
87). Under the influence of these harsh assessments, the young writer took away
booksellers copies of his book and destroyed them.

P. 310. To become proficient - here in the meaning of getting to know, to learn
(Ukrainianism).
P. 316. Candice - long dress with sleeves; in ancient times it was worn in
Medes and Persia.
P. 318. Mangosteen is a fruit tree in India.
P. 318. Kandahar is a region in Afghanistan.
P. 318. Israzil - Israfil, according to the beliefs of the Mohammedans, is one of the main
four angels.
P. 320. Bishef - more correctly bischoff, a drink made of wine with sugar and
lemon.
P. 321. Misolungi - a city in Greece, the center of Greek resistance during
the time of the national liberation war. In 1826 the fortress was taken
Turks.
P. 321. Kolokotroni - Kolokotroni Fedor (1770-1843), prominent figure
Greek National Liberation War.

Current page: 1 (total of the book has 3 pages)

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
GANZ KÜCHELGARTEN
Idyll in pictures

The proposed essay would never have seen the light of day if the circumstances important to the Author alone had not prompted him to do so. This is the work of his eighteen years of youth. Not accepting to judge either its dignity or its shortcomings, and leaving it to an enlightened public, let us only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived; they probably connected more now scattered passages and completed the image of the main character. At least we are proud that, whenever possible, we helped the world get acquainted with the creation of young talent.

PICTURE I

Day is breaking. Here the village looked through,

Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.

The bell tower shines in gold

And a ray shines on an old fence.

Everything turned captivatingly

Head down in silver water:

The fence, and the house, and the garden in it are so well.

Everything moves in silver water:

The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds are walking,

And the forest is alive only does not make noise.

On a shore far into the sea,

Under the shade of the lindens, there is a cozy house

Pastor. The old man has been living in it for a long time.

It is decaying, and the old roof

I poked my head around; the pipe is all black;

And flowery moss is molded for a long time

Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;

But somehow sweet in him, and for nothing

The old man would not give it up.

Here is that linden tree

Where he loves to rest, he also grows decrepit.

But around her are green counters

From fresh turf.

In hollow holes

Her birds nest, old house

And announcing the garden with a merry song.

The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn

Already went out to sleep in clean air;

And he sleeps under a linden tree in old armchairs,

And the breeze freshens his face,

And white hair blows.

But who is the perfect fit?

Like a fresh morning, it burns

And he looks at him?

Is it charmingly worth it?

Look how cute it wakes

Her lily hand

Touching it lightly,

And it is boring to return to our world.

And now he looks half an eye,

And now, asleep, he says:

“O wondrous, wondrous visitor!

You have visited my abode!

Why secret longing

My whole soul goes right through me

And on the gray-haired old man

Your image is wonderful from afar

Does the strange excitement induce?

Look: I'm already sick,

Has long cooled down to the living,

I buried myself in myself for a long time,

From day to day I wait for peace,

I'm used to thinking about him,

About him and grinds my tongue.

Why are you, young guest,

Are you drawn to yourself so ardently?

Or, the dweller of heaven-paradise,

You give me hope

Are you calling me to heaven?

Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.

The grave sins are great:

And I was the wicked warrior in the world,

The shepherds were intimidated by me;

Fierce deeds are not new to me;

But I have denied the devil,

And the rest of my life is

My small patch

For the former life, an evil story ... "

Longing, full of confusion,

Say, she thought.

“He, God knows where he will go ...

Tell him that he is delusional. "

But he is sunk into oblivion.

Sleep engulfs him again.

Leaning over him, she breathes a little.

How he sleeps! how he sleeps!

A barely noticeable sigh, the chest quivers;

Enveloped in invisible air,

The archangel is guarding him;

Paradise smile shines

The holy forehead dawns.

Here he opened his eyes:

“Louise, are you? I dreamed ... strange ...

You got up early, minx;

The dew has not yet dried.

It seems to be foggy today. "

“No, grandfather, it's light, the vault is clean;

The sun shines brightly through the grove;

A fresh leaf does not sway,

And in the morning everything is already hot.

Do you know why I am here? -

We will have a holiday today.

We already have old Lodelgam,

Skrypach, with him Fritz the prankster;

We will ride on the waters ...

When would Gantz ... "

The pastor is waiting with a sly smile,

What the story will lead

The baby is playful and carefree.

“You grandpa, you can help

Alone to unheard-of grief:

My Gantz fear is sick; day and night

Everything goes to the dark sea;

Everything is not according to him, everything is not happy,

He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,

Asking - will answer out of place,

And all terribly exhausted.

He should be conceited with longing -

Yes, so he will ruin himself.

At the thought, I tremble alone:

Perhaps dissatisfied with me;

Maybe he doesn't love me. -

It's a steel knife in my heart.

I ask you, my angel, I dare ... "

And threw herself on his neck,

Constricted chest slightly breathing;

And everything blushed, everything was confused

My beautiful soul;

A tear appeared on my eyes ...

Oh, how good Louise is!

“Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!

After all, it's a shame to cry, finally, "

The spiritual father told her. -

“God gives us patience, strength;

With your fervent prayer

He will not refuse you anything.

Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;

Believe me, he will prove it to you.

Why is an empty thought

To poison the peace of mind? "

So he consoles his Louise,

Pressing her to her decrepit chest.

Here is old Gertrude putting on the coffee

Hot and all light as amber.

The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,

Holding a cherry shank in my mouth.

The smoke went away and went down as businessmen.

And, lost in thought, Louise bread

She fed the cat from her hands, which

Purring crept, hearing the sweet smell.

The old man got up from the colored old armchairs,

He brought a supplication and gave his hand to his granddaughter;

And now he put on his elegant robe,

All of brocade silver, shiny,

And a festive unworn cap -

Him as a gift to our pastor

Gantz has recently brought from the city, -

And leaning on Louise's shoulder

Lily, our old man went out into the field.

What a day! Merry curled

And the larks sang; there were waves

From the wind of gold in the field of bread;

Trees thickened over them,

On them the fruits were poured in front of the sun

Transparent; the waters darkened in the distance

Green; through the rainbow mist

The seas of fragrant aromas rushed;

Bee worker plucked honey

From fresh flowers; frisky dragonfly

Cracking curled; riotous in the distance

There was a song - that song of daring rowers.

The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,

Playful herds moo along it;

And from a distance you can already see the roof

Louisina; shingles turn red

And a bright ray glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are worried about an incomprehensible thought,

Our Gantz looked absentmindedly

To a great, immense world,

To your unknown destiny.

Hitherto quiet, serene

He played joyfully with life;

Innocent and tender soul

I didn’t see any bitter troubles in her;

A native of the earthly world,

Earthly destructive passions

He did not carry in his chest,

A carefree, windy baby.

And it was fun for him.

He cut sweetly, lively

In a crowd of children; did not believe in evil;

Before him, the world blossomed as if in a miracle.

His girlfriend from childhood

Child Louise, a bright angel,

She shone with the charm of her speeches;

Light brown curls through the rings

The sly glance burned imperceptibly;

In a green skirt herself

Sings if she dances

Everything is innocent, everything is alive in her,

Everything about her is childish and eloquent;

There is a pink scarf on the neck

Little by little flies off my chest,

And a slender white slipper

The leg covers it.

In the forest he plays with him -

He will overtake him, everything will penetrate,

Hiding in a bush with an evil desire,

Suddenly he will shout loudly in his ears -

And it will frighten; is he sleeping -

His face will paint everything

And, with a sonorous laughter, I awakened,

He leaves the sweet dream,

The playful kisses the minx.

Spring is leaving for spring.

The circle of their children's games has become too modest. -

Between them, playfulness is not visible;

The fire of his eyes became languid,

She is shyly sad.

They got it right

You, the first speech of love!

As long as sweet sorrows!

As long as the days are bright!

What could you wish with dear Louise?

He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,

He is attracted to her by a wondrous force,

Like a true shadow wandering.

Full of heartfelt sympathy

The old people will not see enough

Their simple-minded for good luck

Your children; and far away

From them days of grief, days of doubt:

They are overshadowed by a peaceful Genius.

But soon a secret sadness

Has taken possession of him; the eyes are foggy

And he often looks into the distance,

And all restless and strange.

The mind is boldly looking for something,

Something secretly indignant;

Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,

About something, sorrowful, yearning;

He sits chained,

Looks at the violent sea.

In a dream, someone hears everything

With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

Or the Duma is walking in the valley;

Eyes shine solemnly

When the noisy wind blows

And the thunders speak hotly;

Instant fire pierces the clouds;

Rain sources of combustible

They split loudly and make noise. -

Or at the hour of midnight, at the hour of dreams

Sits at the book of legends,

And, turning the sheet,

He catches the letters in her dumb

- They say the gray centuries in them,

And the wondrous word thunders. -

An hour deep in meditation whole,

He will not take his eyes off her;

Whoever passes by Gantz,

Whoever looks will say boldly:

Back far away he lives.

Fascinated by a wonderful thought,

Under the gloomy oak canopy

It often goes on a summer day,

Chained to something secret;

He secretly sees someone's shadow

And he stretches out his hands to her,

Embraces her in oblivion. -

And simple-minded and alone

Louise is an angel, what? where?

Loyal to him with all my heart,

Doesn't know, poor thing, sleep;

It brings the same caresses;

Wrap him with a hand;

Kiss him innocently;

He will long for a minute

And again the same will sing.

They are beautiful, those moments

When the transparent crowd

Far away sweet visions

They take the young man with them.

But if the soul world is destroyed

Forgotten a happy corner

He will become indifferent to him,

And for ordinary people it is high,

Will they fill the young man?

And will the heart be filled with joy?

While in the home of vanity

We will eavesdrop on him,

Hitherto formerly a mystery

Diverse dreams.

PICTURE III

The land of classic, beautiful creations,

And glorious deeds, and liberty, the land!

Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,

I'm chained by my soul!

From the tripods to Piraeus itself

The solemn people are seething, worried;

Where is the speech of Eskhinov, thundering and flaming,

Everything is capricious afterwards,

Like the noisy waters of the transparent Illis.

Great is this marble graceful Parthenon!

It is surrounded by Doric columns;

Phidias moved Minerva in it with an incisor,

And the brush of Parrasius, Zeuxis shines.

Under the portico the divine sage

Leads a lofty word about the world;

To whom immortality is ready for valor,

Some shame, some a crown.

Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant songs of cliques;

As the day rises, the crowd falls into the amphitheater,

Persian candis all speckled glistens,

And light tunics are twisted.

Sophocles' poems sound impetuously;

Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;

From the honey-flowing lips of Epicurus' favorite

Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid

They are in a hurry to study wonderful science:

How to live life, how to enjoy drinking.

But here's Aspazia! Doesn't dare to die

A confused youth, with these black eyes meeting.

How hot those lips are! how fiery are those speeches!

And dark as night, those curls somehow,

Excitedly fall on the chest

On white marble shoulders.

But what about the sound of the tympanum bowls a wild howl?

Bacchic maidens are crowned with ivy,

Running in a discordant, violent crowd

Into the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..

But you are lost, I am alone.

Again melancholy, again annoyance;

At least Faun came from the valleys;

At least the beautiful Dryad

It seemed to me in the gloom of the garden.

Oh how wonderful you are your world

Dream, Greeks, inhabited!

How you fascinated him!

And ours is both poor and sire,

And squared all over for miles.

And again new dreams

They hug him, laughing;

It is lifted up in the air

From the ocean of vanity.

PICTURE IV

In a country where live springs sparkle;

Where, wonderfully shining, the rays shine;

Breath of amra and night rose

Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;

And clouds of incense hang in the air;

Golden mangosteen fruits are burning;

The Kandahar meadows sparkle with a carpet;

And they will boldly throw on the heavenly tent;

The rain of bright colors is falling luxuriously,

Then swarms of moths shine, tremble; -

I see Peri there: in oblivion she

Does not see, does not heed, full of dreams.

Like two suns, the eyes of heaven burn;

Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;

Breath - lilies of silver dust,

When the weary garden falls asleep

And the wind will scatter their sighs at times;

Or the fluttering of silver wings

When they sound, frolicking, Israzil,

Ile Hindara's splashes of mysterious streams;

And what about a smile? What about a kiss?

But I see how the air is already flying,

He is in a hurry to the lands of the Middle Kingdom, to his relatives.

Wait, look around! She does not heed.

And drowning in a rainbow, and now it is not visible.

But the world keeps the memory for a long time,

And the whole air is entwined with a fragrance.

Living youth aspirations

So dreams were fired.

Sometimes the heavenly features

Souls of a wonderful impression

They lay on it; but why

In the excitement of his heart

He was looking for an obscure thought,

What I wanted, what I wanted

Why did he fly so ardently

Soul and greedy and passionate,

As if the world wanted to hug, -

That he himself could not understand.

It seemed to him stuffy, dusty

In this abandoned country;

And my heart was beating hard, hard

On the far, far side.

Then when you saw

How the chest rose violently,

How the gaze trembled proudly,

How my heart longed to snuggle

To your dream, an obscure dream;

What ardor in him boiled beautiful;

What a hot tear

Lively filled my eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village

Where the faces of our world are limited.

I don't know how now, but Lunensdorf

She was then, cheerful, called.

Already from a distance, a modest house turns white

Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. - For a long time,

Married to the daughter of a pastor,

He built it! Cheerful house!

It is painted green, covered

Beautiful and ringing tiles;

Old chestnuts stand around

Hanging branches, as if through the windows

They want to get through; because of them flickers

A trellis of fine vines, beautiful

And cleverly done by Wilhelm himself;

On it hangs and snake hops;

A pole will be stretched from the window, on it is linen

White shines before the sun. Here

There's a flock in the hole in the attic

Shaggy pigeons; lingering cluck

Turkeys; clapping meets the day

The rooster is crowing and it is important in the yard,

Among the motley hens, he rakes heaps

Grainy; two are walking right there

Tame goats and frolicking nibbles

Fragrant herb. Smoked for a long time

Already smoke from white pipes, he is curly

Curled up and the clouds multiplied.

From the side where paint fell from the walls

And gray bricks stuck out,

Where ancient chestnuts cast a shadow

That the sun ran across

When the wind swayed briskly at their top, -

Under the shade of those trees forever sweet

In the morning there was an oak table, all clean

Covered with a tablecloth and all lined up

Fragrant food: tasty yellow cheese,

Radish and butter in porcelain duck,

And beer, and wine, and sweet bishef,

Both sugar and brown waffles;

Ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:

Transparent bunch, fragrant raspberries,

And yellow pears like amber,

And blue plums, and a bright peach,

Everything was in order in the intricate one.

Celebrated living Wilhelm today

The birth of his dear wife,

With the pastor and daughters:

Louise older and younger Fanny.

But Fanny is not, she went a long time ago

Call Gantz and did not return. Right,

He wanders around somewhere again in thought.

And dear Louise keeps looking

Closely at the dark window

Neighbor Gantz. Two steps in total

To him; but my Louise did not go:

So that he does not notice in her face

Boring anguish, so as not to read

In her eyes, he is a caustic reproach.

Father Wilhelm says to Louise:

“Look, you scold Gantz in order:

Why has he not come to us for so long?

After all, you yourself have spoiled him. "

And here is Child Louise in response:

“I'm afraid to scold the beautiful I Gantz:

And without that he is sick, pale, thin ... "

- "What a disease," said the mother,

Live Bertha: “not a disease, melancholy

The uninvited stuck to him herself;

Now he gets married, and the melancholy will disappear.

So a young escape, completely deaf,

Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;

And what is the wife, if not the fun of her husband? "

“Smart speech,” the gray-haired pastor said:

“Everything, believe, will pass when God wants,

And be in everything his holy will. " -

Already twice he knocked out of the pipe

Zolu, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,

Talking about newspaper news

About a bad harvest, about the Greeks and about the Turks,

About Misolungi, about the affairs of the war,

About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,

About Kaninga, about parliament,

About disasters and riots in Madrit.

Suddenly Louise screamed and instantly,

Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.

An airy camp embracing her slender one,

With excitement, the young man kissed her.

Turning to him, the pastor says:

“Eh, it's a shame, Gantz, forget your friend!

Why, if you have already forgotten Louise,

Should I even think about us old people? " - "Complete

You’re all Gantz, papa, scold ”,

Bertha said: “we'd better sit

Now at the table, otherwise everything will get cold:

And porridge with rice and fragrant wine,

And the sugar peas, the capon is hot,

Fried with raisins in oil. " Here

They sit down peacefully at the table;

And soon in a moment the wine revived everything

And, bright, laughter shed into the soul.

Old man fiddler and Fritz on the ringing flute

According to the hostess burst in honor.

Everyone rushed and began to spin in a waltz.

Cheer up, our ruddy Wilhelm

He set off himself with his wife, as with a pea;

Gantz flew like a whirlwind with his Louise

In a stormy waltz; and before them the world

Spun all over in a wonderful, noisy order.

And dear Louise never die,

Can't look around, all

Lost in motion. By them

Without admiring, the pastor says:

“Dear, wonderful couple!

My dear merry Louise,

Gantz is beautiful and smart and modest; -

They were already made for each other

And they will spend their lives happily.

Thank you, oh merciful God!

That has sent down grace for old age,

Mine extended decrepit strength -

To see such beautiful grandchildren

To say goodbye to the decrepit body;

I have seen beauty on earth. "

PICTURE VII

Calm quiet evening with coolness

Goes down; farewell rays

They kiss where and where the gloomy sea;

And living sparks, golden

The trees are touched; and in the distance

They see, through the fog of the sea, the cliffs,

All are multi-colored. Quiet everything.

Rushing into the distance from the merry shores,

Yes, the quiet noise in the water of the splashed fish

Runs a little and ripples the sea,

Yes, a swallow, drawing the seas with a wing,

Gliding circles through the air gives.

Here the boat shone like a dot in the distance;

And who is sitting in it, in that boat?

The pastor is sitting, our gray-haired old man

And with dear wife Wilhelm;

And the playful always minx Fanny,

Milk in hand and hanging from the railing,

Laughing, the waves chattered to Ruchenko;

Near the stern with Louise sweet Gantz.

And for a long time everyone admired in silence:

How wide went astern

A wave and in a spray of fire-colored, suddenly

Torn by an oar, trembled;

As explained by the pink range

And the south wind blew its breath.

And here is the pastor, filled with tenderness,

He said: “How lovely this God's evening!

Beautiful, quiet he is, like a good life

Sinless; she's also peaceful

The path ends, and tears of tenderness

Sacred dust, beautiful, sprinkle.

It's time for me too; the deadline is appointed,

And soon, soon I won't be yours,

But is it so wonderful to be in bed? .. "

Everyone shed a tear. Gantz who song

Played the sweet oboe

Lost in thought and dropped the oboe;

And again some kind of dream came over

His brow; thoughts rushed far

And the miraculous flowed into my soul.

And so Louise says to him:

"Tell me, Gantz, when else do you love

Me when I can awaken

At least pity, at least living compassion

In your soul, do not torment me, tell me -

Why alone with some book

Are you sitting at night? (I can see everything

And the windows are, after all, we are against each other).

Why are you shy of everyone? why are you sad?

Oh, how your sad appearance worries me!

Oh, how your sorrow grieves me! "

And, moved, Gantz was embarrassed;

Presses her to her chest with anguish,

And an involuntary tear gushed out.

“Don't ask me, my Louise,

And do not multiply this anguish by worry.

When I seem to be immersed in thoughts -

Believe, busy and then you alone,

And I think how to turn away

All sad doubts from you

How to fill your heart with joy,

How to keep your soul in peace,

Protect your childish sleep innocent:

So that the evil does not come near,

So that the shadow of longing does not touch,

So that your happiness always blooms. "

Going down to his head on the chest,

In abundance of feelings, in gratitude of the heart

She cannot utter a word. -

The boat rushed along the shore smoothly

And suddenly she landed. Everybody went out

Instantly out of it. "Well! beware, children "-

Wilhelm said: “It's damp and dew here,

So as not to get an unbearable cough. " -

Our dear Gantz thinks: “what will happen,

When he hears what he would know

Shouldn't she? " And looks at her

And he feels reproach in his heart:

As if I did something unkind,

As if he was a hypocrite before God.

PICTURE VIII

The midnight hour strikes on the tower.

So, this is an hour, an hour of doom,

How Gantz always sits alone!

The light of the lamp in front of him trembles

And a pale twilight illuminates,

As if he pours doubts.

Everything is asleep. No one's wandering gaze

He will not meet anyone on the field;

And, like a distant conversation,

The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.

Everything is quiet, the night alone breathes.

Now his deep thoughts

Will not disturb daytime noise:

There is such silence over him.

And what is she? - She gets up,

Sits right by the window:

“He will not look, will not notice,

And I'll see enough of him;

Doesn't sleep for my happiness! ..

God bless him! "

The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.

And now a dream hovers over her

And involuntarily bows his head.

But Gantz is still drowning in thoughts

Deep into them is deeply immersed.

1.

All is decided. Now it’s already

Do I die here in my soul?

And not to know another goal for me?

And you can't find a better goal?

Doom yourself as a sacrifice by dishonor?

To be dead to the world in life?

2.

Whether with a soul that has fallen in love with glory,

Love the insignificance of the world?

Is it a soul, fortunately not cold,

Can't drink the excitement of the world?

And there is no beauty in it?

Not to mention the existence?

3.

Why are you so attracted to yourself,

Are the lands of luxurious lands?

And day and night, like birds singing,

And day and night chained by dreams,

I am fascinated by you.

4.

I am your! I am your! from this desert

I will enter heavenly places;

As the pilgrim wanders to the shrine,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ship will go, the waves will splash;

Feelings after them, full of fun.

5.

And he will fall, the veil is unclear,

By whom the dream knew you,

And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful

Will open the wondrous gates

Greet the young man ready

And always new in delights.

6.

Creators of wonderful experiences!

Your cutter, I will see the brush,

And your fiery creations

My soul will be fulfilled.

Make noise, my ocean is wide!

Carry my lonely ship!

7.

Forgive me, my corner is tight

Both the forest and the field! meadow, I'm sorry!

Sprinkle heavenly rain on you more often!

And God forbid to bloom more!

For you, the soul is like a guardian,

Longs to embrace you for the last time

8.

Sorry, my angel is serene!

Do not sprinkle your brows with tears!

Do not indulge in rebellious melancholy

And forgive poor Gantz!

Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon

I will return - will I forget you? ..

IDYLL IN PAINTINGS

The proposed essay would never have seen the light of day if the circumstances important to the Author alone had not prompted him to do so. This is the work of his eighteen years of youth. Not accepting to judge either its dignity or its shortcomings, and leaving it to an enlightened public, let us only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived; they probably connected more now scattered passages and completed the image of the main character. At least we are proud that, whenever possible, we helped the world get acquainted with the creation of young talent.

PICTURE I

Day is breaking. Here the village looked through,

Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.

The bell tower shines in gold

And a ray shines on an old fence.

Everything turned captivatingly

Head down in silver water:

The fence, and the house, and the garden in it are so well.

Everything moves in silver water:

The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds are walking,

And the forest is alive only does not make noise.

On a shore far into the sea,

Under the shade of the lindens, there is a cozy house

Pastor. The old man has been living in it for a long time.

It is decaying, and the old roof

I poked my head around; the pipe is all black;

And flowery moss is molded for a long time

Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;

But somehow sweet in him, and for nothing

The old man would not give it up.

Here is that linden tree

Where he loves to rest, he also grows decrepit.

But around her are green counters

From fresh turf.

In hollow holes

Her birds nest, old house

And announcing the garden with a merry song.

The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn

Already went out to sleep in clean air;

And he sleeps under a linden tree in old armchairs,

And the breeze freshens his face,

And white hair blows.

But who is the perfect fit?

Like a fresh morning, it burns

And he looks at him?

Is it charmingly worth it?

Look how cute it wakes

Her lily hand

Touching it lightly,

And it is boring to return to our world.

And now he looks half an eye,

And now, asleep, he says:

“O wondrous, wondrous visitor!

You have visited my abode!

Why secret longing

My whole soul goes right through me

And on the gray-haired old man

Your image is wonderful from afar

Does the strange excitement induce?

Look: I'm already sick,

Has long cooled down to the living,

I buried myself in myself for a long time,

From day to day I wait for peace,

I'm used to thinking about him,

About him and grinds my tongue.

Why are you, young guest,

Are you drawn to yourself so ardently?

Or, the dweller of heaven-paradise,

You give me hope

Are you calling me to heaven?

Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.

The grave sins are great:

And I was the wicked warrior in the world,

The shepherds were intimidated by me;

Fierce deeds are not new to me;

But I have denied the devil,

And the rest of my life is

My small patch

For a former life, an evil story ... "

Longing, full of confusion,

Say, she thought,

“He, God knows where he will go ...

Tell him that he is delusional. "

But he is sunk into oblivion.

Sleep engulfs him again.

Leaning over him, she breathes a little.

How he sleeps! how he sleeps!

A barely noticeable sigh, the chest quivers;

Enveloped in invisible air,

The archangel is guarding him;

Paradise smile shines

The holy forehead dawns.

Here he opened his eyes:

“Louise, are you? I dreamed ... strange ...

You got up early, minx;

The dew has not yet dried.

It seems hazy today. ”

“No, grandfather, it is light, the vault is clear;

The sun shines brightly through the grove;

A fresh leaf does not sway,

And in the morning everything is already hot.

Do you know why I am here? -

We will have a holiday today.

We already have old Lodelgam,

Skrypach, with him Fritz the prankster;

We will ride on the waters ...

When would Gantz ... "

The pastor is waiting with a sly smile,

What the story will lead

The baby is playful and carefree.

“You grandpa, you can help

Alone to unheard-of grief:

My Gantz fear is sick; day and night

Everything goes to the dark sea;

Everything is not according to him, everything is not happy,

He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,

Asking - will answer out of place,

And all terribly exhausted.

He should be conceited with longing -

Yes, so he will ruin himself.

At the thought, I tremble alone:

Perhaps dissatisfied with me;

Maybe he doesn't love me. -

It's a steel knife in my heart.

I ask you, my angel, I dare ... "

And threw herself on his neck,

Constricted chest slightly breathing;

And everything blushed, everything was confused

My beautiful soul;

A tear appeared on my eyes ...

Oh, how good Louise is!

“Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!

After all, it's a shame to cry, finally, ”

The spiritual father told her. -

“God gives us patience, strength;

With your fervent prayer

He will not refuse you anything.

Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;

Believe me, he will prove it to you.

Why is an empty thought

To poison the peace of mind? "

So he consoles his Louise,

Pressing her to her decrepit chest.

Here is old Gertrude putting on the coffee

Hot and all light as amber.

The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,

Holding a cherry shank in my mouth.

The smoke went away and went down as businessmen.

And, lost in thought, Louise bread

She fed the cat from her hands, which

Purring crept, hearing the sweet smell.

The old man got up from the colored old armchairs,

He brought a supplication and gave his hand to his granddaughter;

And now he put on his elegant robe,

All of brocade silver, shiny,

And a festive unworn cap -

Him as a gift to our pastor

Gantz has recently brought from the city, -

And leaning on Louise's shoulder

Lily, our old man went out into the field.

What a day! Merry curled

And the larks sang; there were waves

From the wind of gold in the field of bread;

Trees thickened over them,

On them the fruits were poured in front of the sun

Transparent; the waters darkened in the distance

Green; through the rainbow mist

The seas of fragrant aromas rushed;

Bee worker plucked honey

From fresh flowers; frisky dragonfly

Cracking curled; riotous in the distance

There was a song - that song of daring rowers.

The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,

Playful herds moo along it;

And from a distance you can already see the roof

Louisina; shingles turn red

And a bright ray glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are worried about an incomprehensible thought,

Our Gantz looked absentmindedly

To a great, immense world,

To your unknown destiny.

Hitherto quiet, serene

He played joyfully with life;

Innocent and tender soul

I didn’t see any bitter troubles in her;

A native of the earthly world,

Earthly destructive passions

He did not carry in his chest,

A carefree, windy baby.

And it was fun for him.

He cut sweetly, lively

In a crowd of children; did not believe in evil;

Before him, the world blossomed as if in a miracle.

His girlfriend from childhood

Child Louise, a bright angel,

She shone with the charm of her speeches;

Light brown curls through the rings

The sly glance burned imperceptibly;

In a green skirt herself

Sings if she dances

Everything is innocent, everything is alive in her,

Everything about her is childish and eloquent;

There is a pink scarf on the neck

Little by little flies off my chest,

And a slender white slipper

The leg covers it.

In the forest he plays with him -

He will overtake him, everything will penetrate,

Hiding in a bush with an evil desire,

Suddenly he will shout loudly in his ears -

And it will frighten; is he sleeping -

His face will paint everything

And, with a sonorous laughter, I awakened,

He leaves the sweet dream,

The playful kisses the minx.

Spring is leaving for spring.

The circle of their children's games has become too modest. -

Between them, playfulness is not visible;

The fire of his eyes became languid,

She is shyly sad.

They got it right

You, the first speech of love!

As long as sweet sorrows!

As long as the days are bright!

What could you wish with dear Louise?

He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,

He is attracted to her by a wondrous force,

Like a true shadow wandering.

Full of heartfelt sympathy

The old people will not see enough

Their simple-minded for good luck

Your children; and far away

From them days of grief, days of doubt:

They are overshadowed by a peaceful Genius.

But soon a secret sadness

Has taken possession of him; the eyes are foggy

And he often looks into the distance,

And all restless and strange.

The mind is boldly looking for something,

Something secretly indignant;

Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,

About something, sorrowful, yearning;

He sits chained,

Looks at the violent sea.

In a dream, someone hears everything

With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

* * *

Or the Duma is walking in the valley;

Eyes shine solemnly

When the noisy wind blows

And the thunders speak hotly;

Instant fire pierces the clouds;

Rain sources of combustible

They split loudly and make noise. -

Or at the hour of midnight, at the hour of dreams

Sits at the book of legends,

And, turning the sheet,

He catches the letters in her dumb

- They say the gray centuries in them,

And the wondrous word thunders. -

An hour deep in meditation whole,

He will not take his eyes off her;

Whoever passes by Gantz,

Whoever looks will say boldly:

Back far away he lives.

Fascinated by a wonderful thought,

Under the gloomy oak canopy

It often goes on a summer day,

Chained to something secret;

He secretly sees someone's shadow

And he stretches out his hands to her,

Embraces her in oblivion. -

And simple-minded and alone

Louise is an angel, what? where?

Loyal to him with all my heart,

Doesn't know, poor thing, sleep;

It brings the same caresses;

Wrap him with a hand;

Kiss him innocently;

He will long for a minute

And again the same will sing.

They are beautiful, those moments

When the transparent crowd

Far away sweet visions

They take the young man with them.

But if the soul world is destroyed

Forgotten a happy corner

He will become indifferent to him,

And for ordinary people it is high,

Will they fill the young man?

And will the heart be filled with joy?

While in the home of vanity

We will eavesdrop on him,

Hitherto formerly a mystery

Diverse dreams.

PICTURE III

The land of classic, beautiful creations,

And glorious deeds, and liberty, the land!

Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,

I'm chained by my soul!

From the tripods to Piraeus itself

The solemn people are seething, worried;

Where is the speech of Eskhinov, thundering and flaming,

Everything is capricious afterwards,

Like the noisy waters of the transparent Illis.

Great is this marble graceful Parthenon!

It is surrounded by Doric columns;

Phidias moved Minerva in it with an incisor,

And the brush of Parrasius, Zeuxis shines.

Under the portico the divine sage

Leads a lofty word about the world;

To whom immortality is ready for valor,

Some shame, some a crown.

Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant songs of cliques;

As the day rises, the crowd falls into the amphitheater,

Persian candis all speckled glistens,

And light tunics are twisted.

Sophocles' poems sound impetuously;

Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;

From the honey-flowing lips of Epicurus' favorite

Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid

They are in a hurry to study wonderful science:

How to live life, how to enjoy drinking.

But here's Aspazia! Doesn't dare to die

A confused youth, with these black eyes meeting.

How hot those lips are! how fiery are those speeches!

And dark as night, those curls somehow,

Excitedly fall on the chest

On white marble shoulders.

But what about the sound of the tympanum bowls a wild howl?

Bacchic maidens are crowned with ivy,

Running in a discordant, violent crowd

Into the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..

But you are lost, I am alone.

Again melancholy, again annoyance;

At least Faun came from the valleys;

At least the beautiful Dryad

It seemed to me in the gloom of the garden.

Oh how wonderful you are your world

Dream, Greeks, inhabited!

How you fascinated him!

And ours is both poor and sire,

And squared all over for miles.

And again new dreams

They hug him, laughing;

It is lifted up in the air

From the ocean of vanity.

PICTURE IV

In a country where live springs sparkle;

Where, wonderfully shining, the rays shine;

Breath of amra and night rose

Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;

And clouds of incense hang in the air;

Golden mangosteen fruits are burning;

The Kandahar meadows sparkle with a carpet;

And they will boldly throw on the heavenly tent;

The rain of bright colors is falling luxuriously,

Then swarms of moths shine, tremble; -

I see Peri there: in oblivion she

Does not see, does not heed, full of dreams.

Like two suns, the eyes of heaven burn;

Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;

Breath - lilies of silver dust,

When the weary garden falls asleep

And the wind will scatter their sighs at times;

Or the fluttering of silver wings

When they sound, frolicking, Israzil,

Ile Hindara's splashes of mysterious streams;

And what about a smile? What about a kiss?

But I see how the air is already flying,

He is in a hurry to the lands of the Middle Kingdom, to his relatives.

Wait, look around! She does not heed.

And drowning in a rainbow, and now it is not visible.

But the world keeps the memory for a long time,

And the whole air is entwined with a fragrance.

* * *

Living youth aspirations

So dreams were fired.

Sometimes the heavenly features

Souls of a wonderful impression

They lay on it; but why

In the excitement of his heart

He was looking for an obscure thought,

What I wanted, what I wanted

Why did he fly so ardently

Soul and greedy and passionate,

As if the world wanted to hug, -

That he himself could not understand.

It seemed to him stuffy, dusty

In this abandoned country;

And my heart was beating hard, hard

On the far, far side.

Then when you saw

How the chest rose violently,

How the gaze trembled proudly,

How my heart longed to snuggle

To your dream, an obscure dream;

What ardor in him boiled beautiful;

What a hot tear

Lively filled my eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village

Where the faces of our world are limited.

I don't know how now, but Lunensdorf

She was then, cheerful, called.

Already from a distance, a modest house turns white

Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. - For a long time,

Married to the daughter of a pastor,

He built it! Cheerful house!

It is painted green, covered

Beautiful and ringing tiles;

Old chestnuts stand around

Hanging branches, as if through the windows

They want to get through; because of them flickers

A trellis of fine vines, beautiful

And cleverly done by Wilhelm himself;

On it hangs and snake hops;

A pole will be stretched from the window, on it is linen

White shines before the sun. Here

There's a flock in the hole in the attic

Shaggy pigeons; lingering cluck

Turkeys; clapping meets the day

The rooster is crowing and it is important in the yard,

Among the motley hens, he rakes heaps

Grainy; two are walking right there

Tame goats and frolicking nibbles

Fragrant herb. Smoked for a long time

Already smoke from white pipes, he is curly

Curled up and the clouds multiplied.

From the side where paint fell from the walls

And gray bricks stuck out,

Where ancient chestnuts cast a shadow

That the sun ran across

When the wind swayed briskly at their top, -

Under the shade of those trees forever sweet

In the morning there was an oak table, all clean

Covered with a tablecloth and all lined up

Fragrant food: tasty yellow cheese,

Radish and butter in porcelain duck,

And beer, and wine, and sweet bishef,

Both sugar and brown waffles;

Ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:

Transparent bunch, fragrant raspberries,

And yellow pears like amber,

And blue plums, and a bright peach,

Everything was in order in the intricate one.

Celebrated living Wilhelm today

The birth of his dear wife,

With the pastor and daughters:

Louise older and younger Fanny.

But Fanny is not, she went a long time ago

Call Gantz and did not return. Right,

He wanders around somewhere again in thought.

And dear Louise keeps looking

Closely at the dark window

Neighbor Gantz. Two steps in total

To him; but my Louise did not go:

So that he does not notice in her face

Boring anguish, so as not to read

In her eyes, he is a caustic reproach.

Father Wilhelm says to Louise:

“Look, you scold Gantz in order:

Why has he not come to us for so long?

After all, you yourself have spoiled him. "

And here is Child Louise in response:

“I'm afraid to scold the beautiful I Gantz:

And without that he is sick, pale, thin ... "

- “What a disease,” said the mother,

Live Bertha: “not a disease, melancholy

The uninvited stuck to him herself;

Now he gets married, and the melancholy will disappear.

So a young escape, completely deaf,

Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;

And what is the wife, if not the fun of her husband? "

“Smart speech,” the gray-haired pastor said:

“Everything, believe, will pass when God wants,

And be in everything his holy will ”. -

Already twice he knocked out of the pipe

Zolu, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,

Talking about newspaper news

About a bad harvest, about the Greeks and about the Turks,

About Misolungi, about the affairs of the war,

About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,

About Kaninga, about parliament,

About disasters and riots in Madrit.

Suddenly Louise screamed and instantly,

Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.

An airy camp embracing her slender one,

With excitement, the young man kissed her.

Turning to him, the pastor says:

“Eh, it's a shame, Gantz, forget your friend!

Why, if you have already forgotten Louise,

Should we, old people, even think about? " - “Complete

It's all for you Gantsa, papa, to scold ”,

Bertha said: “we'd better sit

Now at the table, otherwise everything will get cold:

And porridge with rice and fragrant wine,

And the sugar peas, the capon is hot,

Fried with raisins in oil ”. Here

They sit down peacefully at the table;

And soon in a moment the wine revived everything

And, bright, laughter shed into the soul.

Old man fiddler and Fritz on the ringing flute

According to the hostess burst in honor.

Everyone rushed and began to spin in a waltz.

Cheer up, our ruddy Wilhelm

He set off himself with his wife, as with a pea;

Gantz flew like a whirlwind with his Louise

In a stormy waltz; and before them the world

Spun all over in a wonderful, noisy order.

And dear Louise never die,

Can't look around, all

Lost in motion. By them

Without admiring, the pastor says:

“Dear, wonderful couple!

My dear merry Louise,

Gantz is beautiful and smart and modest; -

They were already made for each other

And they will spend their lives happily.

Thank you, oh merciful God!

That has sent down grace for old age,

Mine extended decrepit strength -

To see such beautiful grandchildren

To say goodbye to the decrepit body;

I have seen beautiful things on earth. ”

PICTURE VII

Calm quiet evening with coolness

Goes down; farewell rays

They kiss where and where the gloomy sea;

And living sparks, golden

The trees are touched; and in the distance

They see, through the fog of the sea, the cliffs,

All are multi-colored. Quiet everything.

Rushing into the distance from the merry shores,

Yes, the quiet noise in the water of the splashed fish

Runs a little and ripples the sea,

Yes, a swallow, drawing the seas with a wing,

Gliding circles through the air gives.

Here the boat shone like a dot in the distance;

And who is sitting in it, in that boat?

The pastor is sitting, our gray-haired old man

And with dear wife Wilhelm;

And the playful always minx Fanny,

Milk in hand and hanging from the railing,

Laughing, the waves chattered to Ruchenko;

Near the stern with Louise sweet Gantz.

And for a long time everyone admired in silence:

How wide went astern

A wave and in a spray of fire-colored, suddenly

Torn by an oar, trembled;

As explained by the pink range

And the south wind blew its breath.

And here is the pastor, filled with tenderness,

He said: “How lovely this God's evening!

Beautiful, quiet he is, like a good life

Sinless; she's also peaceful

The path ends, and tears of tenderness

Sacred dust, beautiful, sprinkle.

It's time for me too; the deadline is appointed,

And soon, soon I won't be yours,

But is it so wonderful to be in bed? .. "

Everyone shed a tear. Gantz who song

Played the sweet oboe

Lost in thought and dropped the oboe;

And again some kind of dream came over

His brow; thoughts rushed far

And the miraculous flowed into my soul.

And so Louise says to him:

“Tell me, Gantz, when else do you love

Me when I can awaken

At least pity, at least living compassion

In your soul, do not torment me, tell me -

Why alone with some book

Are you sitting at night? (I can see everything

And the windows are, after all, we are against each other).

Why are you shy of everyone? why are you sad?

Oh, how your sad appearance worries me!

Oh, how your sorrow grieves me! "

And, moved, Gantz was embarrassed;

Presses her to her chest with anguish,

And an involuntary tear gushed out.

“Don't ask me, my Louise,

And do not multiply this anguish by worry.

When I seem to be immersed in thoughts -

Believe, busy and then you alone,

And I think how to turn away

All sad doubts from you

How to fill your heart with joy,

How to keep your soul in peace,

Protect your childish sleep innocent:

So that the evil does not come near,

So that the shadow of longing does not touch,

So that your happiness always blooms. "

Going down to his head on the chest,

In abundance of feelings, in gratitude of the heart

She cannot utter a word. -

The boat rushed along the shore smoothly

And suddenly she landed. Everybody went out

Instantly out of it. "Well! beware, children ”, -

Wilhelm said: “It's damp and dew here,

So as not to get an unbearable cough. " -

Our dear Gantz thinks: “what will happen,

When he hears what he would know

Shouldn't she? " And looks at her

And he feels reproach in his heart:

As if I did something unkind,

As if he was a hypocrite before God.

PICTURE VIII

The midnight hour strikes on the tower.

So, this is an hour, an hour of doom,

How Gantz always sits alone!

The light of the lamp in front of him trembles

And a pale twilight illuminates,

As if he pours doubts.

Everything is asleep. No one's wandering gaze

He will not meet anyone on the field;

And, like a distant conversation,

The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.

Everything is quiet, the night alone breathes.

Now his deep thoughts

Will not disturb daytime noise:

There is such silence over him.

And what is she? - She gets up,

Sits right by the window:

“He will not look, will not notice,

And I'll see enough of him;

Doesn't sleep for my happiness! ..

God bless him! "

The wave is making noise, and the moon is shining.

And now a dream hovers over her

And involuntarily bows his head.

But Gantz is still drowning in thoughts

Deep into them is deeply immersed.

Whether with a soul that has fallen in love with glory,

Love the insignificance of the world?

Is it a soul, fortunately not cold,

Can't drink the excitement of the world?

And there is no beauty in it?

Not to mention the existence?

Why are you so attracted to yourself,

Are the lands of luxurious lands?

And day and night, like birds singing,

And day and night chained by dreams,

I am fascinated by you.

I am your! I am your! from this desert

I will enter heavenly places;

As the pilgrim wanders to the shrine,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ship will go, the waves will splash;

Feelings after them, full of fun.

And he will fall, the veil is unclear,

By whom the dream knew you,

And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful

Will open the wondrous gates

Greet the young man ready

And always new in delights.

Creators of wonderful experiences!

Your cutter, I will see the brush,

And your fiery creations

My soul will be fulfilled.

Make noise, my ocean is wide!

Carry my lonely ship!

Forgive me, my corner is tight

Both the forest and the field! meadow, I'm sorry!

Sprinkle heavenly rain on you more often!

And God forbid to bloom more!

For you, the soul is like a guardian,

Longs to embrace you for the last time

Sorry, my angel is serene!

Do not sprinkle your brows with tears!

Do not indulge in rebellious melancholy

And forgive poor Gantz!

Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon

I will return - will I forget you? ..

PICTURE IX

Who is this sometimes

Steps quietly, carefully?

The knapsack is visible behind the back,

Travel staff in a belt.

To the right is the house in front of him,

To the left is a long road

Go the way he wants sim

And asks for firmness from God.

But we languish in secret torment,

He draws his legs back

And he hurries to that house.

One window is open in it;

Leaning against that window

The beauty girl is resting

And, blowing the wind over her wing,

She inspires wonderful dreams;

And, dear, they are full,

Here she smiles.

He approaches her with emotion ...

Shy chest; a tear is trembling ...

And leads to the beautiful

Your shiny eyes.

He bent down to her, glowing,

She kisses and groans.

And, startled, quickly he runs

Again on a distant road;

But the restless look is gloomy,

But it is sad in this deep soul.

Here he looked back:

But the neighborhood covers the fog,

And worse than a young man's chest aches,

Sending a farewell look.

Wind awakened harsh

Swung the green oak tree.

Everything disappeared in the distance empty.

Through a dream only vaguely sometimes -

Gottlieb the gatekeeper seemed to hear

That someone came out of the gate,

Yes, a faithful dog, as if in reproach,

Barked loudly throughout the yard.

PICTURE X

The bright leader does not rise for a long time.

Rainy morning; to the glades

Gray fogs are falling;

Frequent rain is ringing on the roofs.

At dawn the beauty woke up;

She herself wonders that she

I slept all night by the window.

Having straightened her curls, she smiled

But, against will, the gaze is alive,

He flashed an annoyed tear.

“That Gantz hasn't come for so long?

He promised me to be a little light.

What a day! leads to melancholy;

Thick fog walks across the field,

And the wind whistles; but Gantz is not. "

Full of lively impatience

Looks at the pretty window:

It does not open.

Gantz is surely asleep, and dreaming

Any object is created for him;

But the day is long gone. Tearing up the valleys

Streams of rain; oak tops

They make noise; and Gantz is not there.

It will soon be noon. Inconspicuous

The fog goes away; the forest is silent;

Thunder in thought thunders

Far away ... in a seven-color arc

Paradise light burns in the sky;

An ancient oak is strewn with sparks;

And sonorous songs from the village

Sound; and Gantz is not there.

What would that mean? .. finds

And at the door ... He! he! .. ah, no, not him!

In a pink deceased robe,

In a colored apron with a border,

Bertha comes: “My angel!

Tell me what happened to you?

You slept restlessly all night;

You are all languid, you are all pale.

Was it the rain that prevented the noisy one?

Or a roaring wave?

Or a rooster, a loud brawler,

Sleepless all night?

Or disturbed an unclean spirit

In a dream, the peace of a pure girl,

Inspired by black sadness?

Say, I am sorry for you with all my heart! " -

“No, the noisy rain did not bother me,

And not a roaring wave

And not a rooster, loud brawler,

Sleepless all night;

Not these dreams, not those sorrows

My young breast was agitated.

My spirit is not outraged by them,

Sometimes I had a wonderful dream.

“I dreamed: in the dark desert I am,

Fog and wilderness all around me.

And on a swampy plain

There is no dry place.

Heavy odor; marshy, viscous;

What step, then the abyss below me:

I'm afraid to step foot;

And suddenly it felt so hard for me

It's so hard that you can't say ...

Wherever Gantz is wild, strange

- Blood ran, flowing from the wound -

Suddenly he began to sob over me;

But instead of tears, streams poured

Some kind of muddy water ...

I woke up: on my chest, on my cheeks,

On the curls of a light brown head,

An annoying rain ran in streams;

And it was not pleasant to my heart.

A premonition takes me ...

And I did not squeeze the curls;

And I was longing all morning;

Where is he? and what about him? what's not there? "

Stands, shakes his head,

Reasonable, before her mother:

“Well, daughter! me with your misfortune,

I don’t know how to cope.

Let's go to him, find out for ourselves

May the holy power be with us! "

Here one enters the room;

But everything is empty in it. Aside

Lies, in thick dust, the old one,

Plato and Schiller are wayward,

Petrarch, Teak, Aristophanes

Yes forgotten Winckelmann;

Pieces of torn paper;

Fresh flowers on the shelf;

The pen with which, full of courage,

Passing on my dreams.

But something flashed on the table.

A note! .. took

Louise in hand. From someone?

To whom? .. And what did she read? ..

The tongue babbles strangely ...

And suddenly she fell to her knees;

Her grudge presses, burns,

Deathly cold flows in her.

PICTURE XI

Look, the tyrant is cruel,

To the sadness of a murdered soul!

How this lonely color withers,

Forgotten in the gloomy wilderness!

Peer, peer at your creation!

You deprived her of happiness

And life made joy

To her longing, to hellish torment,

Into the nest of ruined graves.

Oh, how she loved you!

With what delight the senses are alive

She spoke simple speeches!

And how you listened to these speeches!

How fiery and how innocent

There was this shine of her eyes!

How often does she, in her anguish,

That day seemed boring, long

When, betrayed by thought,

She didn't see you.

Did you and did you leave her?

Have you turned your back on everything?

He sent someone else's path to the country,

And for whom? and for what?

But look, the tyrant is cruel:

She is still under the window

Sits and waits in deep anguish,

Will not the dear flash in it.

The day is dying out; the evening is shining;

Everything is covered with a wondrous splendor;

A cool wind winds in the sky;

A distant splash is barely audible on the waves.

Already the night is covering the shadows,

But the west still shines.

The pipe is pouring a little; and she

Sits motionless by the window.

NIGHT VISIONS

It gets dark, the red evening goes out;

The earth sleeps in rapture;

And now on our already fields

It turns out that the important month is clear.

And everything is transparent, everything is light;

The sea sparkles like glass. -

There are wonderful shadows in the sky

Evolved and coiled

And they rushed wonderfully

To the heavenly steps.

Cleared up: two candles;

Two shaggy knights;

Two jagged swords

And minted armor;

They are looking for something; stood in a row.

And for some reason they pass;

And they fight and shine;

And they don't find something ...

Everything has disappeared, merged with the darkness;

The moon shines over the water.

Brilliantly announces the whole grove

The king is the nightingale. The sound is quietly spread out.

The night breathes a little; earth through a dream

Dreamily hears the singer.

The forest does not sway; everything is asleep

Only an inspired song sounds

Seemed a wondrous fairy

A leaked palace

And the singer sings in the window

Inspirational ventures.

On a silver carpet

All covered with clouds

A wonderful spirit flies in the fire;

North, south covered with wings.

Sees: the fairy sleeps in captivity

Behind the coral bars;

Mother-of-pearl wall

He destroys with a crystal tear.

Hugged ... merged with darkness ...

The moon shines over the water.

Through the steam, the neighborhood sparkles a little.

What a bunch of secret thoughts

A strange noise makes the seas!

A huge whale flashes its back;

The fisherman is wrapped up and sleeping;

And the sea keeps making noise, making noise.

Here are young people from the sea

The wonderful virgins swim;

Blue, fire

White waves are rowing.

Lost in thought, sways

Lily water chest

And the beauty barely breathes ...

And a luxurious leg

Spray spreads in two rows ...

Smiles, laughs,

Passionately beckons and calls

And floats thoughtfully

As if he wants and does not want

And sings thoughtfully

To myself, young siren,

About insidious betrayal,

And in the blue firmament,

The moon shines over the water.

Here is a deaf cemetery aside:

A dilapidated fence all around

Crosses, stones ... hidden by moss

The dumb dead are dwellings.

Flying and screaming only owls

The sleep of empty coffins is disturbing.

Rises lingeringly

A dead man in a white shroud,

The bones are dusty it is important

He wipes it off, well done.

From the forehead of a long time cold blows,

There is a fawn fire in the eye,

And under him is a great horse,

Immense, all turns white

And it grows more and more

Soon the sky will embrace;

And the dead with peace

A terrible crowd.

The earth is pricked and - boo

Shadows at once into the abyss ... Phew!

And she became afraid; instantly

She slammed the window.

Everything in a tremulous heart is confused,

And heat and shivering alternately

They flow over it. It is in anguish.

Attention is entertained.

When, with a merciless hand,

Fate will push a cold stone

Poor heart - then

Tell me, who is faithful to reason?

Whose soul is strong against evil?

Who is always the same forever?

In misfortune, who is not superstitious?

Who did not turn pale in soul

Before an insignificant dream?

With fear, with secret sorrow,

She throws herself into bed;

But waits in vain in the bed of sleep.

In the dark, will it rumble by chance,

Will the scraper mouse run, -

An insidious dream flies from the eyes.

PICTURE XIII

The antiquities of Athens are sad.

Colon, statues row dilapidated

There is a plain among the deaf.

The trail of the tired centuries is sad:

The graceful monument is broken

The feeble granite is broken,

Some fragments survived.

Still dignified to this day,

The decrepit architrave turns black,

And ivy curls by capitals;

Split cornice fell

Into the long-dead trenches.

This marvelous frieze still shines,

These are relief metopes;

Still sad here to this day

The Corinthian Order is magnificent,

- A swarm of lizards glides on it -

He looks at the world with contempt;

He is still the same gorgeous

The times of the past are pressed into the darkness,

And without attention to everything.

The antiquities of Athens are sad.

A number of old pictures are foggy.

Leaning on the cold marble,

In vain the greedy traveler hungers

Resurrect the past in my soul,

Efforts in vain to develop

Decayed scroll of lost deeds, -

The labor of impotent torture is insignificant;

A vague gaze reads everywhere

And destruction and shame.

A turban flashes between the columns,

And a muslim on the walls

On these debris, stones, ditches,

The horse fiercely presses,

With a cry he ravages the remains.

Inexpressible sadness

Instantly embraces the traveler,

He hears the heavy murmur of the soul;

He is both sad and sorry,

Why did he direct the way here.

For decayed graves

I left my serene shelter,

Forgot your quiet?

Let them dwell in my thoughts

These airy dreams!

Let your heart worry

A mirror of pure beauty!

But it is also murderous and cold

You have become divorced now.

Ruthless and merciless

You slammed the door before him,

Sons of a pitiful materiality,

The door to a quiet world of hot dreams! -

And sadly, with a slow foot

The traveler leaves the ruins;

He swears to forget them with his soul;

And everything involuntarily thinks

The blind man about the sacrifices of frailty.

PAINTING XVI

It took two years. In peaceful Lunensdorf

It still flaunts, blooms;

All the same worries and the same fun

The deceased hearts excite the inhabitants.

But not still in the Wilhelm family:

The pastor has been gone for a long time.

Having finished the path both painful and difficult,

It was not our sleep that he slept soundly.

All residents saw off the remains

Sacred, with tears in their eyes;

His deeds, actions were remembered:

Didn't he serve us as salvation?

He endowed us with his spiritual bread,

Good teaching in words.

Was not he the joy of the mourners;

Orphans and widows are an unwavering shield. -

On a holiday, how meek he used to be,

Climbed to the pulpit! and with tenderness

He told us about the pure martyrs,

About the heavy sufferings of Christ,

And we, moved, listened to him,

They wondered and shed tears.

From Wismar when someone is on the way,

Occurs to the left of the road

Him a cemetery: old crosses

Leaned, sheathed with moss,

And time is plagued by a chisel.

But between them the urn sharply turns white

On a black stone, and over her humbly

Two green sycamores are rustling

Far away cool embracing shadow. -

Here the mortal remains of the Pastor rest.

Have volunteered at your own expense

Build good villagers over it

The last sign of his existence

In this world. Inscription on four sides

It says how he lived and how many peaceful years

Spent on the flock, and when he left

His long way, and the spirit handed over to God. -

And at the hour when the bashful one develops

The ruddy east is its hair;

A fresh wind will rise across the field;

Dew will sprinkle with diamonds;

The robin will flood in its bushes;

Half of the sun on the rising earth burns; -

Young villagers go to him,

With carnations and roses in their hands.

Are hung with fragrant flowers

They will wrap a green garland,

And again they go on the designated path.

One of them, young, remains

And, leaning on a lily hand,

Sits over him in thought for a long, long time,

As if he thinks about the incomprehensible.

In this brooding, grieving maiden

Who wouldn't have recognized the sad Louise?

For a long time in the eyes of fun does not shine;

Doesn't seem like an innocent grin

In her face; will not run over it,

Though a mistake, a joyous feeling;

But how sweet she is and in languid sadness!

Oh, how sublime this innocent look!

So the bright seraphim yearns

About the pernicious fall of man.

Mila was a happy Louise,

But somehow in misery it is dearer to me.

Eighteen years then passed her,

When the wise pastor passed away.

With all her childlike soul

She loved the godlike old man;

And he thinks in the depths of his soul:

“No, living hopes have not come true

Yours. How, good old man, did you desire

To marry us in front of the holy tax,

To unite our union forever.

How you loved the dreamy Gantz! And he…"

Let's take a look at Wilhelm's hut.

It's already autumn. Cold. And at home he

Carved with art of artful mugs

Made of sturdy beech with layers,

Decorating with intricate carvings;

At his feet lay curled up

Beloved friend, faithful comrade, Hector.

But the sensible mistress Bertha

In the morning he is already caring about

About everything. Crowds also under the window

Long-necked gang of geese; same way

Restless chickens cackle;

Sparrows chill insolently,

Digging in a dung heap all day.

Have already seen a handsome snigir;

And in the autumn it smelled long ago in the field,

And the green leaf turned yellow long ago,

And the swallows flew away long ago

For the distant, luxurious seas.

The sensible mistress Bertha shouts:

“It’s not good for Louise to be that long!

The day is getting dark. Now it's not like in summer;

Already damp, wet, and thick fog

So it penetrates everything with the coldness.

Why roam? trouble is with this girl;

She will not get rid of Gantz's thoughts;

And God knows whether he is alive or not. "

Fanny thinks otherwise,

Sitting at the embroidery frame in your corner.

She is sixteen years old, and full of longing

And secret thoughts for an ideal friend,

Absentmindedly, indistinctly says:

"And I would, and I would love him." -

PAINTING XVII

It's time for autumn;

But today is a beautiful day:

There are waves of silver in the sky

And the face of the sun is brilliant and clear.

One dear postage

Wanders, with a knapsack behind his back,

A sad traveler from a foreign land.

Dull, and languid, and wild,

He walks bent over like an old man;

There is not even half of Gantz in it.

The half-faded gaze wanders

On the green hills, yellow cornfields,

Along the multi-colored chain of mountains.

As if in happy oblivion,

A dream touches him;

But the thought is not so busy. -

He is immersed in strong thoughts.

He would need peace now.

He walked a long way, evidently;

Suffering in pain, evidently the chest;

The soul suffers, sorry for noah;

He is now not up to rest.

What are those thoughts about?

He himself marvels at the vanity:

How exhausted he was by fate;

And evil laughs at itself,

That I believed in my dream

Hateful light, feeble-minded;

That wondered into the empty shine

With your unreasonable soul;

That, without hesitation, he boldly

Sim threw himself into the arms of the people;

And, bewitched, drunk,

I believed in their evil undertakings. -

How cold they are coffins;

Low as the most despicable creature;

Self-interest and honor are the same

They are only dear and close.

They disgrace the wondrous gift:

And trample on inspiration

And despise revelation;

Their feigned heat is cold

And their awakening is disastrous.

Oh, who would have penetrated without trepidation

Into their sleepy tongue!

How poisonous is their breath!

How false is the trembling of the heart!

How insidious is their head!

How empty their words are!

And there are many truths he, sad,

Now I have tasted and learned

But did he become happier himself?

Disgraced deep down?

A radiant, distant star

He was attracted, pulled by glory,

But her thick fumes are false,

Bitter is a shiny poison. -

Leaning westward the day

The evening shadow grows long.

And the clouds are shiny, white

Brighter scarlet edges;

On dark, yellow leaves

A stream of gold sparkles.

And then the poor wanderer saw

Their native meadows.

And the gaze instantly flashed pale,

A hot tear gleamed.

A swarm of old, those innocent fun

And those pranks, those old thoughts -

All at once leaned on the chest

And does not let him die.

And he thinks: what does it mean? ..

And, like a weak child, she cries.

Blessed is that wondrous moment

When, at the time of self-knowledge,

In the time of his mighty powers,

He, chosen by heaven, comprehended

The goal of the highest existence;

When there is no empty shadow,

When glory is not glitter tinsel

He is disturbed by night and day,

He is attracted to the noisy, stormy world;

But the thought is strong and vigorous

One embraces him, torments him

Desire for the good and the good;

He teaches great works.

For them, he does not spare life.

In vain, the rabble cries out madly:

He is solid among these living debris.

And only hears the noise

Blessing of the descendants.

When will the insidious dreams

Excite the thirst for a bright share,

And there is no iron will in the soul,

There is no strength to stand in the midst of vanity, -

Is it not better in a secluded silence

Flow through the field of life,

Family content with modest

And not to listen to the noise of the light?

PAINTING XVIII

The stars come out in a smooth chorus

Observe meek gaze

The rest of the world;

They are watching a quiet person's sleep,

Send peace to the good;

And the evil poison is disastrous reproach.

Why, stars, are you sad

Do you send no peace?

For a wretched head

You are joy, and rest on you

Your sad yearning gaze,

Passion he hears conversation

In my soul, and he calls you,

And he will trust you.

Still always languid.

Louise hadn't undressed yet;

She cannot sleep; in dreams she

I looked into the autumn night.

The subject is the same, and one ...

And here delight enters her soul:

She starts a slender song,

A merry harpsichord sounds.

Listening to the noise of the falling leaves,

Between the trees where it shines through

From the walls of the lattice fence,

In a sweet oblivion, by the garden,

Our Gantz wrapped up is worth it.

And what about him when he sounds

That for a long, long time did not hear;

And the song that is hot in passion,

In love, in an abundance of wondrous powers,

To the tunes of the soul in bright tunes,

Did you fold it, enthusiastic?

Through the garden she rings, rushes

And in a quiet rapture it pours:

I call you! I'm calling you!

I am enchanted with your smile

I'm not sitting with you for an hour, not two,

I can't take my eyes off you:

I am amazed, not hoping.

* * *

Do you sing - and the ringing of speeches

Yours, mysterious, innocent,

Heartbreaking deep

And you yourself tremble, you melt in joy,

You dare not find any thoughts or words;

Delighted, in a heap of sweet torments,

You will merge into a slender, light sound!

Recovering himself, Gantz looks through tears

Into the eyes of my friend;

And he thinks: “Completely, these are dreams;

Let me not wake up.

She is still the same, and she loved so much

Me with all my childish soul!

The brow covered sorrow,

Fresh blush dried up,

She ruined her young age;

And I, crazy, stupid,

I flew to look for a new one! .. "

And slept suffering heavy sleep

From his soul; lively, calm,

He was reborn again.

For the time being outraged by the storm,

So our slender world shines again;

Tempered damask steel on fire

So it's a hundred times brighter again.

Guests are feasting, glasses, bowls

They go around and thunder; -

And our old people chat;

And the youths are boiling in the dances.

Sounds a lingering, noisy thunder

The music is bright all day;

Tossing fun at home;

The canopy shines hospitably.

And the villagers are young

A couple in love are given:

They carry blue violets,

They bring them fire roses,

They are cleaned and made noise:

May their young days bloom

Like those violets of the field;

Let hearts burn with love

How are these roses of fire! -

And in rapture, in the bliss of feelings

In advance the young man trembles, -

And the bright gaze shines with joy;

And unfeignedly, without arts,

Throwing off the shackles of compulsion,

Tastes the heart of pleasure.

And you insidious dreams

He will not idolize, -

An earthly admirer of beauty.

But what will confuse him again?

(How incomprehensible the person is!)

Saying goodbye to them forever, -

As if for an old faithful friend,

Sad in diligent oblivion.

So, in confinement, the schoolboy waits,

When the desired time comes.

Summer towards the end of his studies -

He is full of thoughts and rapture,

Dreams are aerial leads:

He is independent, he is free,

Happy with myself and the world,

But, parting with family

Your comrades, soul

He shared prank, work, peace with whom, -

And he thinks, and groans,

And with inexpressible longing

Will drop an involuntary tear.

In solitude, in the desert

In an unknown wilderness,

In my unknown shrine

This is how they are created from now on

Dreams are quiet souls.

Will the sound come like noise

Will anyone excite

Whether a young man's thought,

Or a virgin's fiery chest?

I lead with involuntary tenderness

I am my quiet song,

And with unsolved excitement

I sing my Germany.

A land of lofty thoughts!

Air ghosts country!

Oh, how your soul is full of you!

Hugging you like a genius,

The great Goethe protects

And a wonderful system of chants

The clouds of worries are shining. -

Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol is known to the overwhelming majority of the population as the author of Taras Bulba, Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka, Viya, and so on. However, few people know that other, now almost forgotten works also belong to him. One of them is Ganz Küchelgarten.

Brief curriculum vitae

Nikolai Gogol was born on March 20, 1809 in the village of Velikiye Sorochintsy and was named in honor of St. Nicholas Dikansky - his mother believed that this would help the child survive (she gave birth many times, but the children were born weak and died quickly). Since childhood, he drew well, in general he did not shine in his studies.

At the age of nineteen, he moved to St. Petersburg, where at first he worked as an official, and then served in the theater. He did not like either one or the other, and he decided to try himself in literature. The first work that brought success to the novice author was the story "The Evening on the Eve of Ivan Kupala". In addition to writing novels and short stories, Gogol was engaged in drama - he still loved theater very much and wanted to somehow be connected with it.

In the mid-thirties, the writer traveled a lot, it was abroad that he began work on the first volume of Dead Souls. Nikolai Gogol died on February 21, 1852.

Major writings

Of the famous works of Gogol, in addition to those already mentioned above, the following can be distinguished: "The Story of how Ivan Ivanovich quarreled with Ivan Nikiforovich", "The Inspector General", "The Marriage", "The Overcoat", "The Nose".

Among the works of Gogol is a certain "Gantz Kuchelgarten". However, on the contrary, it is rather little known - it is not studied either in schools or institutes. What this story is about ("Ganz Küchelgarten"), will be described above. It should be noted first that, strictly speaking, this work cannot be called a story; rather, it is a poem. Gogol himself designated it as "a romantic idyll in verse."

Ganz Küchelgarten at a glance

As it was already possible to understand from the above, this work is poetic. Gogol split it into several paintings. In addition to Gantz Kuchelgarten, there are several other characters in it - his beloved Louise, with whom he has been friends since childhood, her parents, younger sister and grandparents, and grandfather, moreover, is a pastor, a respected and respected person in the local village. It is with the appearance of the pastor that this work opens. He is already old; sitting in an armchair in the fresh air, he is now enjoying a good warm morning, then dozing.

The granddaughter Louise, who has come running, seems alarmed, she tells her grandfather that her "dear Gantz" is not himself lately, he is saddened by something, he is preoccupied with something. She worries that he would not stop loving her, and asks her grandfather to talk with the young man. When the next picture begins on behalf of Gantz, the reader becomes aware that he is passionate about reading. He raves about Ancient Greece, its culture, its heroes. He is fascinated, it seems to him that there is "life" here, but here he is - so, vegetation. The further plot of "Gantz Küchelgarten" is simple and obvious - Gantz leaves, leaving Louise a note and breaking her heart. He goes to his dream.

Two years later, a lot has changed in the native village of Gantz - the old pastor, for example, is no longer alive, and his desire to attend his granddaughter's wedding never came true. And the granddaughter herself, Louise, despite the past time, is still waiting for her Gantz, no-no, but looking out the window. And he waits - Gantz returns home, tired and broken - he found in Athens not at all what he expected. Illusions collapsed, he realized that true happiness was always with him.

History of creation

The story of the creation of the poem "Gantz Kuchelgarten" by Gogol is interesting. At first, by the way, it was not known that it belonged to the pen of Gogol - it became clear only after the death of the prose writer. Having written his "romantic idyll" at the age of eighteen (and according to some sources, at nineteen or twenty; the valid years of the poem's composition are, therefore, 1827-1829), the young man took it to the publisher Adolphe Plushard, informing that this work of his friend, V. Alova. Under such a pseudonym (and, of course, with their own last money and even borrowed from friends), the poem was published.

Gogol provided it with a short preface, in which he pointed out that this thing would never have seen the light of day, if not for the circumstances "known only to the author." At that time, only two knew that the "Gantz Kuchelgarten" did not belong to some Alov, but to Gogol himself - the young man's servant Yakim and one of his friends, with whom he shared a shelter at that time.

sources of inspiration

It is no secret that many authors, writing their works, draw inspiration from the events of their own destiny. Sometimes they talk about something that has already happened to them or their acquaintances, sometimes, on the contrary, having composed some thing and identifying themselves with the hero, they strive to implement what has been described in life. Something like this happened with Gogol.

After graduating from high school, Gogol left for St. Petersburg, which in his dreams seemed to him to be something majestic and sublime. He saw himself in this city in a halo of glory, with excellent work, bringing him happiness, with success in the literary field. He dreamed of what he did not have, but what seemed so easy to achieve - you just need to get to this city of dreams. This is exactly how the hero of "Gantz Kuchelgarten" reasoned - by the way, Gogol pinned unthinkable hopes on this poem, believing that it would bring him both glory and honor.

In fact, everything turned out to be far from being as rosy as imagined. The impression of St. Petersburg remained dull: the city is dirty, gray, and life is dear, and even the theater does not have enough funds, only for food. There were enough temptations that attracted bright signs and showcases, but due to the lack of money they were inaccessible, which could not but plunge Gogol into despair. He had no luck with his career - the desired place worthy of him was never found.

In addition to the troubles of life, it is obvious that the source that inspired Gogol to create his poem was Foss's idyll "Louise" - he even borrowed the name of the main character from there. In addition to the name of the girl, Gogol took from this work the image of a pastor and a description of rural life, which is so reminiscent of his pastoral. Nevertheless, one cannot talk about the exceptional influence of Foss's work on Gogol, if only because the first traces the features of a sentimental idyll, the second also has them, but besides them, one can also notice the influence of romanticism, which came from Zhukovsky and Byron, whom Gogol undoubtedly read. Also, researchers distinguish in Gogol's poem something from Pushkin and his poetics - for example, Louise's dream obviously reminds of Tatyana's dream in Eugene Onegin. And there are many similar references in the content of "Gantz Kuchelgarten".

Why is Germany depicted in the poem? This is easy to explain. Gogol's youth passed under the sign of the Germans - the aspiring writer passionately loved German literature and philosophy, was fond of the country itself and its inhabitants and, as he himself admitted much later in one of his letters, perhaps he simply mixed love for art with people, creating a kind of romanticized ideal in his representation. German romantics agitated Gogol's mind, he tried to write, adjusting to them, and, while still in high school, gained some fame as a poet among his comrades.

Features of the poem

The main idea of ​​the work, clear even from the summary of Gogol's Gantz Kuchelgarten, is the danger of falling under the influence of one's imagination, being completely in its power. In other words, wearing pink glasses. Gogol showed in his work (and he himself felt in life) what such a situation can lead to.

Another feature of the poem is that the author himself calls it an idyll, but at the same time destroys all the canons of this genre. The classical idyll depicts happiness in full, while Gogol's idyll is filled with elegy, in which the end is inevitable - far from happy. Subsequently, the destruction of the idyll will become one of the popular topics in literature, so one can assume that in the "Gantz Küchelgarten" Gogol took the first step towards this.

Also, a significant difference between the poem and subsequent works of the writer was that in it he described events that did not exist in reality, but which were supposed to happen (he himself planned a trip to the West), and later, in his future stories and stories, Gogol wrote already, based solely on past life experience and observations.

The image of the main character

It is already obvious that Gogol identified his Gantz with himself. The author put his ideas and dreams, his plans and hopes into the hero's head - this is easy to trace if you read the letters of Gogol of this period, which he wrote to his mother and some friends.

The hero of "Gantz Küchelgarten" is the desire to say goodbye to the hated bourgeois world, to express his abilities in something else. There is a hint of the Decembrists here - it is no coincidence that Gantz's surname is so similar to the surname of a participant in the December uprising - Wilhelm Kuchelbecker, who was a poet and friend of Pushkin. Just like the Decembrists, just like Gogol himself, Gantz Kuchelgarten is defeated in his attempts and thoughts - everything turns out to be completely different than he imagined. Life plays a cruel joke with him, but if the rest of the Decembrists paid with their freedom, Gantz, like Gogol himself, had only to say goodbye to his illusions. However, in some ways this is also the absence of freedom.

The name of the protagonist is also interesting - Gantz. In German, the word ganz means "all", "entirely" - the hero of Gogol's work also wants to "embrace the immense", to let the whole world into his life.