Pushkin's lot

(Read at a meeting of the Theological Institute in memory of Pushkin on February 28, 1937) The Russian people, together with the entire cultural world, now commemorate the great poet. But no amount of world veneration can reveal what Pushkin is for us Russians. It contains the self-revelation of the Russian people and the Russian genius. He is in us, we ourselves, opening to ourselves. It speaks to us of the Russian soul, Russian nature, Russian history, Russian creativity, our Russian element itself. He is our love and our joy. It penetrates the soul, merging with it, like a child’s prayer, like a mother’s affection, like golden childhood, fiery youth, the wisdom of maturity. We breathe Pushkin, we carry him within us, he lives in us more than we ourselves know, just as our homeland lives in us. Pushkin is for us, in a sense, our homeland, with its unexplored depth and unsolved mystery, and not only Pushkin’s poetry, but also the poet himself. Pushkin is a wonderful phenomenon of Russia, its apotheosis, as it were, and this is how this anniversary is now experienced, as a holiday of Russia. And this holiday should awaken in us sincerity in veneration of Pushkin, revealing genuine love for him. But such love cannot be limited to just his praise or delight in the captivating sweetness of his poetry. It must also be a serious, responsible matter, a feat of truth in the desire to understand Pushkin in his work, as well as in himself. About the one who is given to create great things, one must know something that is even more important than his creation. This is his life, not only as a factual biography, or a literary history of creativity, but as a feat of his soul, its highest truth and value. Pushkin is not only a great writer, no, he also has his own religious destiny, like Gogol, or Tolstoy, or Dostoevsky, and perhaps even more significant and, in any case, more mysterious. The poet showed us in his work not only works of poetry, but also himself, a revelation about the life of his spirit in its imperishable authenticity. Nowadays every line of his writings, every detail of his biography is being studied. Grateful posterity erected a worthy monument to the poet with this science about Pushkin. But it is permissible to look for internal accomplishments in external events, to discern in the temporal the destinies of the eternal spirit, to comprehend them not only in earthly life, but also beyond it, in death, in eternity. Obviously, such a task exceeds any particular task of “Pushkinism.” It is completely unbearable for anyone. And yet it attracts us with irresistible force, as if it were a certain, albeit difficult, but sacred duty, responsibility to the poet, our love for him. So, let this feeble attempt to understand his spiritual path, in which lies his destiny, the final and highest meaning of his life, be a wreath to his miraculous monument. Centenary of Pushkin’s death... Then, a hundred years ago, this death hit our hearts like a national grief, an irreparable misfortune, a terrible loss. It was experienced as a terrible catastrophe, blind fate, evil nonsense that robbed the Russian people of their highest asset. This feeling is still alive. And now, a hundred years later, Pushkin’s death remains an unhealed wound in the Russian soul. As then, we stand before her in bewildered irresponsibility and painful bewilderment. And we must again drink this cup of bitter wormwood to the bottom, relive this death again in all its terrible, blatant nonsense: as if a stone falling from the roof struck our greatest poet to death, and took him away from us in the flower of his creative powers, at the pinnacle of wisdom. Even if he died from an enemy blow, we would still have someone to focus our anger on. But no, Victim of disastrous wrath. Pushkin was destined to fall in a duel under the bullet of Dantes, an empty socialite, a young cavalry guard, who, moreover, acted in a duel instead of his named father, at the call of Pushkin himself. The enemy, after shooting at Pushkin, waited and took his return shot and, if he was not killed by him, then in any case not due to the lack of desire of Pushkin himself. The contempt and anger of all those who love the poet - at all times and to this day - are usually focused on this stranger, who suffered such a sad fate. But if his red tape for Pushkin’s wife deserves all censure, although it is just as common in the big world as in his life, then Pushkin’s death itself cannot be imputed to Dantes as a matter of his evil will. Pushkin himself put not only another person at the barrier, but also himself, together with his Muse and, in a certain sense, together with his wife and children, 1 with his friends, with his Russia, with all of us. Naturally, for a whole century - and these days even more than ever - the attention of Russian thought has been concentrated around this wound of the Russian heart, inflicted on it at the damned barrier. How could this happen? Who's to blame? What is the reason for the terrible event? The answer is usually given in such a way that the guilt and reason for the duel is sought outside and in others, everywhere, only bypassing Pushkin himself. This has been the case since Lermontov, who, however, could not help but exclaim: Why from peaceful bliss and simple-minded friendship Did he enter this envious and stuffy world? They blamed and blamed “the world”, the poet’s wife, the courtyard. Now they most readily blame Emperor Nicholas I, who supposedly had intimate relations with Pushkin’s wife (a new invention devoid of any credibility). Some of these accusations, of course, are indisputable in their own way. Of course, the secular environment in which Pushkin moved (however, apart from a small number of his loyal and worthy friends) did not correspond to his spiritual personality. He was destined for the loneliness of genius, the inevitable destiny of true greatness. It is also true that he suffered equally from persecution, from the patronage of the authorities, from his chamber cadet uniform, and from the double censorship that weighed on him. It is also true, of course, that Pushkin’s wife, with her secular tastes, was not at the height of her position, however, perhaps even completely unattainable in this case. Taken together, Pushkin’s life, especially his last years, was difficult and painful. However, this still does not entail the conclusion that is usually implied or directly stated as obvious, namely, that these external forces seemed to suppress the personality of Pushkin himself and that it was they - and only they - that led him to the fatal duel. In general, they seek to comprehend the nonsense only by finding the cause of Pushkin’s death in the evil will of others. In an effort to make him an unrequited victim, they do not notice that they are thereby blaspheming Pushkin, abolishing his personality, and belittling his enormous spiritual power. Such an interpretation is partial in relation to Pushkin, who, of course, is humiliated by this bias and does not need such protection at all. He deserves to be accountable before God and people for his deeds. Of course, Pushkin is only a man and, as such, is subject to influences, as well as the limitations of his environment, estate or class, and to determine these influences, of course, all sorts of sociological reagents, which are now so readily resorted to, are appropriate. But they want to fully explain Pushkin’s life, and in particular his duel, and thereby eliminate Pushkin’s very personality in the unique mystery of her self-creativity. In this sociologism, the very problem of all “Pushkinism” is abolished. And in response to such attacks we must say: hands off! Pushkin deserves to be recognized as having personal responsibility for his fate, which here rests entirely on the weak shoulders of these “crafty, cowardly, crazy, spoiled children, villains and stupid and boring people.” The peak is not destroyed by the foothills. Our task is to understand Pushkin’s personality in his own path and in his personal destiny. His life, although it took place in a certain environment and was historically colored and directed by it from the outside, was not determined by it in his own being. The key to understanding Pushkin’s entire life is for us precisely his death, the most important event and self-revelation in the life of every person, and especially in this tragic death. But are these words really compatible: Pushkin and tragedy? Isn’t he glorified precisely as the bearer of the Apollinian principle of bright harmony, joyful service to beauty? However, where is the harmony in this Dionysian riot with self-tearing? Where does this terrible ending come from? Apollo on his deathbed after a duel to the death! In order to comprehend this tragedy, we must turn to Pushkin’s creative life and establish some of its main features. However, they are essentially related to what constitutes his natural character, homo naturalis, and attention must first of all be focused on. Pushkin’s natural appearance is marked not only by exceptional talent, but also by the same personal nobility and spiritual aristocracy. He was born a darling of fate, for by birth he already belonged to the highest cultural stratum of the ancient Russian nobility, which he knew about himself and valued so highly. Of course, he also inherited all the debauchery of the Russian nobility, which was further enhanced by his personal “African” temperament. If desired, it easily and naturally distinguishes the psychology of “class” or estate, as well as the appeal to French culture, with its sophistication, but also with its poison. The greatest Russian poet spoke and thought in French as easily as in Russian, although he wrote only in his native language. This connection to Europe was given to him freely and without difficulty, as was the best school at that time, the lyceum he loved so touchingly. Immediately after school, he entered the path of life in the great world with its emptiness and debauchery, and his bright muse saved him from spiritual death or Onegin’s decay. Pushkin was given by nature, perhaps as a stamp of his genius, exceptional personal nobility. First of all and most of all, it is expressed in his ability for faithful and selfless friendship: he was surrounded by friends in his youth and until his death, and he himself remained faithful to friendship throughout his life. “Pushkinists” are very interested in Pushkin’s “Don Juan” list, but it is no less, if not more interesting to dwell on his friendly list, which includes all his great or significant contemporaries. This ability for friendship is in connection with another of his - and it must be said - an even rarer trait: he was filled with goodwill and sympathetic joy not only personally towards his friends, but also towards their work. He was alien to the deadening envy, the dark and irrational nature of which he saw so deeply in Mozart and Salieri. His Mozart is similar to Pushkin himself, a combination of genius and “idle reveler”: For your health, friend, for a sincere union Connecting Mozart and Salieri, This is the voice of Pushkin himself. Pushkin’s attitude towards modern writers is illuminated by the radiance of this benevolence: who among his contemporaries did he not bless with creativity, did not love, did not appreciate! He was truly a brother to his peers and a grateful son to his elders. One cannot admire this trait of his enough. Even his numerous epigrams, caused by momentary irritation, a fit of anger, mostly noble, or even a misunderstanding, are free from base feelings. There is also another feature - natural, but also consciously cultivated by him, which is of exceptional importance for his appearance: Pushkin did not know fear. On the contrary, his personal courage and the associated self-control gave him freedom and tranquility unknown to many. It is enough to remember him on the Arzerum campaign (from memories and his own notes), or this morning of the last duel, when an hour before leaving home he writes a business letter to Ishimova and reads her book with such composure, as if it were the most ordinary day in his life. “There is pleasure in battle, and on the edge of a dark abyss.” “He who has not seen death before himself has not tasted complete joy.” “You, thirst for death, are the free gift of a hero!” This trait visibly and invisibly permeates his entire life, giving it a special tone of freedom and nobility. It is impossible, however, not to see how often this insane courage of his mastered him, and not he mastered it: hence not only the fearless, but also the frivolous, irresponsible attitude to life, the brute force characteristic of Pushkin’s youth in his dueling challenges over trifles, as well as the final frenzy: “the bloodier the better” (said by him between conversations with Sollogub about the upcoming duel). Fear did not bind Pushkin either in his search for death or in the spontaneous outbursts of his passions. And this property liberated in him the unbridled spontaneity that is generally characteristic of his nature. The movement of passions took possession of him uncontrollably and recklessly. There were no safety valves, and the retention centers did not work. When Pushkin became a playground of passions, he became scary (Zhukovsky’s story in a conversation with Sollogub about Heckern: “his lips trembled, his eyes were bloodshot. He was so scary that only then did I realize that he was really of African origin”). Pushkin was a spontaneous man, in whom the strength of life was inextricably linked with the riot of passions, and his natural qualities were not tempered by either reflection or ascetic self-discipline: he could be - and was - great and lofty in this spontaneity, but he was also capable of a deep fall. Pushkin’s eroticism is also connected with this, which finds sad expression in his youthful poetry, partly under the influence of French literature. Pushkin had to ardently and sincerely repent of this, with true greatness and merciless truthfulness characteristic of him. We see a sad manifestation of the same spontaneity in Pushkin - and throughout his entire life - also in his passion for cards, which in a strange way is combined in him with complete sobriety and even some practicality in financial matters. This African spontaneity in Pushkin was combined with the captivating spontaneity and charming childishness of the poet. It was impossible not to admire this cheerful laugher, ebullient interlocutor, playful rake. He can sing with the same self-forgetfulness at the market with the blind, travel with the gypsies, childishly clap his hands for his “Boris”, 2 gallop under bullets ahead of the troops in the Caucasus, as well as - alas! - surrender to the violence of Bacchus and Cypris. Childhood is a gift from heaven, but also a difficult, sometimes even dangerous gift; only a thin line separates it from childishness or, as we would say now, from infantilism and irresponsibility. In Pushkin's life we ​​observe the continuously dual nature of this gift. Without him, there would not have been the servant of the muses, the careless Mozart, but there would not have been that unrestrainedness in the face of the temptations of life, internal and external, which we also see in him with such bitterness... For everything is double in fallen nature, even the gifts of heaven, after the lost paradise. All these natural properties form the spiritual atmosphere in which genius lives and develops. Who can tell about the secret of a genius, except himself? Who can feel into the life of a genius who has his own special vision of things - clairvoyance? Genius is contemplated by us as a kind of miracle, a creative revelation that contains something new, original and therefore inaccessible to rational reflection. Probably, the state of creativity of a genius is a feeling of heavenly bliss of a person for whom there are no obstacles between him and the world, his “leather garments” are taken off, and he recognizes himself in his divine primordial state, like a child of God. “But only the divine verb will touch the sensitive ear,” in response to it, the poet’s soul awakens like an eagle. However, even along with his poetic genius, one cannot help but be surprised at Pushkin’s deliberate clarity of mind: where he looks, he sees, grasps, reveals. This applies equally to the depths of the people's soul, to Russian history, to the human spirit and its hiding places, to modernity and contemporaries. It is remarkable that in this work of genius there is no irresponsibility: “the service of the muses does not tolerate vanity, the beautiful must be majestic.” Genius is also work, capable of bringing a thing to completion, of finishing it... Pushkin is able to say: “the longed-for moment has come, my long-term work is finished.” And you can understand the true meaning of these words by looking at his manuscripts. How Pushkin worked is, however, revealed not only by his manuscripts, but also by his entire, so to speak, research methodology, poetic and historical. As a writer, Pushkin is absolutely responsible. He releases from his workshop only perfect sculptures (of course, in addition to that verbal dust, which, unfortunately, was carried away by a gust of wind, a passion “both temporary and vague”). If Pushkin himself, the wisdom of his bright mind could not always protect him from disastrous passions, then for others he is an adviser, a connoisseur, a leader (as, for example, for Gogol). Unfortunately, he himself was under the heavy influence of the era of the French Enlightenment of the 18th century, its Epicureanism, Voltairianism, along with religious unbelief. But this was overcome 3 by Pushkin naturally, with his spiritual growth, with the onset of maturity: “so alien colors fall off like old scales over the years.” What should be especially noted here is what can be defined as Pushkin’s spirituality, or, in our current language, his “Russianness.” Pushkin paid full tribute to the youthful revolutionism poured out in the society of that time, in this era of the Decembrist movement, but he early overcame their intellectual utopianism and lordly groundlessness. Pushkin never betrayed the covenants of freedom, did not lose that love of freedom that was inherent in his nobility and his sincere love for the people (from his youthful “In the Village”: “Will I see, friends, a liberated people” and to the last: “that in our cruel age I glorified freedom”). However, Pushkin completely freed himself from the touch of nihilism, the break with native history, which was and is the weakest side of our revolutionary movement. It is not important for us now to determine to what extent Pushkin went beyond the limit in his conservatism, perhaps under the influence of Zhukovsky. All this is particular, but the defining principle in Pushkin’s thinking at the time of his maturity was a spiritual return to his homeland, a concrete historicism of thinking, and rootedness. In the same context, he understood the significance of Orthodoxy in the historical destinies of the Russian people. The latter, naturally, came along with the overcoming of godlessness and the associated revaluation of values. Indeed, could Pushkin, with his gaze penetrating into the depths of things, remain with the meager and blind doctrine of atheism and not comprehend the full greatness and power of Christianity? 4 Only shamelessness and stupidity are capable of asserting Pushkin’s godlessness in the face of irrefutable evidence of his life, as well as his poetry. The revolution or natural transition of Pushkin from unbelief (in which, however, even before there was more frivolity and snobbery than a serious state of mind) takes place in the mid-20s, when in Pushkin we see a definitely beginning religious life. In general, according to his custom, he hid it, but he seemed to blurt it out in his work, and this evidence is all the more valuable for us. Is it possible, in the face of all his religious inspirations, to talk about Pushkin’s non-religiosity? Pushkin, as a historian, as a poet and writer, and finally - which is perhaps the most important and intimate thing - in his family, of course, represents the image of a believing Christian. Could it be otherwise for someone who was able to see into the depths of things and comprehend reality? In the past of Russia, he acquired the image of a chronicler and a blind man who received his sight on the relics of Tsarevich Demetrius; in the present, he heard the Lenten prayer and even the admonition of Metropolitan Philaret. He comprehended the entire uniqueness of the Bible and the Gospel. By baptism, he invoked the blessing of Christ on his family during his life (in many letters) and before his death. He was touched by the childish simplicity of his wife’s prayer; he knew God. And, however, if we want to determine the measure of this knowledge, of life in God in Pushkin, then we cannot help but say that his personal churchliness was not serious and responsible enough, or rather, it still remained lordly and superficial, with the paganism of his class and era not overcome. 5 It seemed that everything in Russian life was open to Pushkin’s eagle gaze. But how come his gaze in church life did not look beyond the Holy Mountain Monastery and even Metropolitan Philaret? 6 How did he not notice, at least through his friends Gogol and Kireevsky, the amazing appearance of the Optina Hermitage with its elders? How could he not know about Saint Tikhon of Zadonsk? And, most importantly, how could he not have heard of St. Seraphim, his great contemporary? How did the two suns of Russia not meet? The latter is a fatal and significant, albeit negative, fact in Pushkin’s life, which has a symbolic meaning: Pushkin passed by the Rev. Seraphim, not noticing him. Obviously, the main highway of his life and his destiny did not lie along the paths of historical, everyday and even mystical Orthodoxy. He had his own personal path and special destiny - standing before God in the ministry of a poet. What is poetry, and what does the poet serve? “Poetry is God in the holy dreams of the earth,” said Pushkin’s friend Zhukovsky. More precisely, this thought should be expressed this way: poetry is divine in its source, it is the contemplation of the glory of the Divine in creation. It is not God, but the Divinity, His revelation in creation, that is primarily accessible to poetry. Poetic service, worthy of its lot, is a sacred and terrible service: the poet in his artistic truth is a witness to the heavenly world, and in this calling he is “his own highest court.” Poets are “born for inspiration, for sweet sounds and prayers,” and this inspiration is “a sign of God,” “the pure intoxication of the love of holy poetry.” But it also knows an even higher judgment over itself, before which it bows: “to the command of God, O muse, be obedient.” Poetry is the service of truth in beauty, but not of lying ghosts, lightened into beauty, corrupting the muse. 7 What exactly makes a poet call poetry holy? Sacred for him (in its special sense) is the service of beauty, the ability to “revere piously before the shrine of beauty,” its vision and evidence of it through creative vision in art. The poet perceives the world as a revelation of beauty, in which and through which wisdom is revealed to him and becomes accessible. The source of beauty is in heaven, true beauty comes from the Holy Spirit. Did Pushkin know this? Did he know what kind of election the hand of God had burdened him with in his poetic gift? It would be naive and “charming” to think that a fallen man, even a great poet, can access heavenly beauty in its purity, its bright flame, the burning bush. Heavenly rays penetrate into the heavenly realm, decomposing and refracting in the human heart, from which all his thoughts, good and evil, emanate. Art is not automatic and not mediumistic in its inspiration; in it personal creativity takes place, the revelation of the personality of the poet, lifted up on the wings of beauty. Plato already knew that there is not one, but two beauties, two Aphrodites: heavenly and common, angelic and demonic. Dostoevsky also knew that “beauty is a terrible thing, here God fights with the devil, and the battlefield is the hearts of people.” Of course, Pushkin also knew this in his own way, who was both a servant of beauty and her captive. 8 It is given to the human heart to corrupt beauty and to be corrupted by it, and art also has this power. In its lowlands fornication creeps, “the great harlot, the mystery, the great Babylon” lives, on the heights the dawn of immortality burns, “God is revealed in the holy dreams of the earth.” What was poetic creativity for Pushkin? Pushkin speaks about the holiness of poetry, about its holy charm, about the shrine of beauty. In general, holiness is the highest category for him. Although least of all a philosopher in his mentality, Pushkin is a true sage regarding poetry as a service to beauty. And the most important question that arises here about Pushkin is this: what was the relationship between poet and man in poetry and life? Who is his muse: “Heavenly Aphrodite” or “common people”? It cannot be denied that Pushkin often allowed the latter to come to him, poeticized the lower, “unsublimated” and untransformed passions, thereby committing a sin against art, profaning it. But still, even with this profanation, for which he later castigated himself, Pushkin firmly knew that poetry comes from above, and inspiration is a “sign of God,” a divine gift. Pushkin was never an atheist in poetry, even in those times when he degraded his lyre to unworthy blasphemies and parodies. 9 Here it is impossible not to dwell on Pushkin’s constant and persistent testimonies about his muse, who “loved him from infancy” and appeared to him in different images on his life’s path. 10 What is this? Literary image? But this image in Pushkin is too concrete and massive not to think that behind it lies a genuine personal experience of some kind of influx, a kind of spiritual obsession. Isn’t Pushkin’s muse a self-evidence of the sophistry of his poetry, perceived by him “like a mirror in fortune-telling”? He describes this influx as a kind of Pythianism, in which the bliss of inspiration is experienced. And I forget the world, and in the sweet silence - I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination, And poetry awakens in me The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement, Trembling and sounding and searching like in a dream To finally pour out with free manifestation. But despite this seemingly involuntary nature, poetry is self-responsible. She is work and service: “be obedient to the command of God, O muse.” To what extent does this obedience extend from the muse to the poet himself? Yes, it is incompatible with baseness and crime; Bonarotti could not be a murderer, for “genius and villainy are two incompatible things.” But does the shrine of beauty require holiness from its servant? If she is holy, is the servant holy? Pushkin in The Poet gives an answer to this question that is as truthful as it is terrible: To the sacred sacrifice Apollo And among the insignificant children of the world Perhaps he is the most insignificant of all. Therefore, in the poet the greatest insignificance can be combined with the Pythian influx of the “divine verb”, “two planes” of life without any connection between them. Did Pushkin express here what he himself considered the normal relationship between the creator and creativity? or is this the groan of a captive soul, which itself is horrified by its captivity and subjects it to merciless judgment? Is the poet here given, so to speak, the right to personal insignificance? And is this latter compatible with the self-sufficient greatness of the “king” in his loneliness and freedom, in the sacrifice of his service? Doesn’t the poet here address the words of reproach and repentance, so characteristic of him, to himself, to his spirit? The second half of the 20s is the most important era in Pushkin’s creative life, when a spiritual awakening takes place in him, and the frivolity of youthful atheism and epicureanism is finally overcome: in the throes of crisis, Pushkin seems to be born spiritually. At this time he experiences the horror of spiritual emptiness: “an instant gift, a random gift, life, why were you given to me?” He now judges his youth with a higher, impartial court: “and reading my life with disgust, I tremble and curse, and complain bitterly, and bitterly shed tears, but I do not wash away the sad lines.” "Crazy years of faded fun It's hard for me, like a vague hangover, But like wine the sadness of days gone by In my soul, the older, the stronger” (1830). One must take into account how Pushkin knew how to hide himself, and how truthful and authentic he was in his poetry, when judging these relatively few statements, in order to appreciate in all their significance these milestones of his hidden path to God. And these milestones lead us to what is not only the peak of Pushkin’s poetry, but also of his entire life, its greatest event. We mean the Prophet. Depending on how we understand the Prophet, we understand the whole of Pushkin. If this is only an aesthetic invention, one of the themes that writers are looking for, then there is no great Pushkin, and we have nothing to celebrate today. Or is Pushkin describing here what happened to him, that is, the vision given to him of the divine world under the cover of matter? First, it speaks of the languor of spiritual thirst that drives him into the desert: it is no longer Apollo who calls “the most insignificant of the children of the world” to his sacrifice, but the prophetic spirit calls him, and not to his own inspiration, but to a meeting with the six-winged seraphim, in whose terrible image the Muse now appears to him. And so And they were filled with noise and ringing. And I heard the sky tremble, And the reptile of the sea underwater, And the valley of the vine is vegetated. This is followed by mystical death and the highest initiation: And he came to my lips, And my sinner tore out my tongue, And idle and crafty, He put it with his bloody right hand. And he cut my chest with a sword, And he took out my trembling heart, I pushed the hole into my chest. I lay like a corpse in the desert... And after this, the poet is called by God to prophetic service: “Be fulfilled by My will.” What is this will? “With the verb, burn the hearts of people”! If we did not have all the other works of Pushkin, but only this one peak sparkled before us like eternal snows, we could quite clearly see not only the greatness of his poetic gift, but also the entire height of his calling. Such lines cannot be composed, or taken as a literary theme, an arrangement, and this is not an arrangement. There is no direct original for the Pushkin Prophet in the Bible. We have only the image of the coal with which Seraphim touched the lips of the Prophet in the 6th chapter of the book. Isaiah. But its main content, with the description of the theophany in the church, differs significantly from the content of Pushkin’s Prophet: Isaiah describes the appearance of God in the church, and the sophistic nature of nature is revealed in the Prophet. These are completely different topics and different revelations. However, here too we have a kind of circumcision of the heart, God’s calling to prophetic ministry. The one to whom it was given to say these words about the Prophet was himself called by them to prophetic service. Has this turning point been accomplished in Pushkin, has he embarked on a new path that he himself realized? We do not dare to judge here, boldly taking upon ourselves the judgment of God. But only in the light of this calling and dedication can we understand Pushkin’s further destinies. There is no doubt that his poetic gift, together with his wonderful insight, increased as much as he could still increase until the very end of his days. It is impossible to discern any weakening or decline in Pushkin as a writer. However, the question remains open: is it possible to see in him that spiritual growth, that growing tension of the spirit, which would naturally be expected after the 20s, throughout the 30s of his life? Doesn't mastery prevail here over spiritual intensity, art over prophecy? Isn’t there rather some kind of spiritual exhaustion felt here, in which the poet, who is in the prime of his strength, would like to hide in a transcendental cell, albeit “in the neighborhood of God,” and the heart, which knew how to want to “live in order to think and suffer,” asks for “peace and freedom” - “long ago, a tired slave, I planned to escape”? 11 We want to understand this subtle, almost imperceptible change in Pushkin, so that we can learn from him in this too. One can endlessly strain oneself in denunciations of the environment in which Pushkin moved. And yet, all this is not enough to explain his spiritual exhaustion, which has been clearly evident in him since the 30s. What exactly happened to him, in his freedom, in his spirit, abstracted from everything external, even if he took it into account? Is it really that the same Russia that could give birth and nurture Pushkin, from a certain time turned out to be only capable of strangling him and, finally, destroying him? 12 At the “noon” of Pushkin’s life, after the debauchery of his stormy youth, he feels the need for family comfort: “my ideal is now a housewife, a pot of cabbage soup, and a big one.” However, fulfilling this “Flemish” program of life for a non-Flemish poet was not so simple, not to say impossible, as it would have been impossible for his “Poor Knight”, scorched by the vision of otherworldly beauty. It was precisely the tragedy of beauty, revealed in the images of feminine charm, that lay in wait for Pushkin on his Flemish paths. Earthly beauty is tragic, and the passion for it in earthly incarnations is fraught with tragedy and death. Aphrodite and Hades are one: the ancients knew this. And the very revelation of love also testifies: “love is strong as death, and jealousy as the grave” (Song of Songs). And Pushkin was destined to burn in this fire. However, initially the knot of tragedy is tied in an idyll: Pushkin is trying to build a family nest for himself. From now on, his fate was determined by his meeting with the beautiful Goncharova. He experienced this meeting (after other “visions of pure beauty”) once again, as the appearance of a “shrine of beauty,” 13 which, however, clothed itself in rather prosaic mediocrity. Pushkin, in the blindness of love, even called her “Madonna,” clearly confusing and identifying external beauty and spiritual holiness. However, she turned out to be neither a “hostess”, because this was prevented by her calling to be the queen of balls, nor a muse (her indifference to Pushkin’s work is known). However, it was beauty that became for him the bonds of all kinds of slavery. 14 His destiny was to look for money at all costs for his wife’s toilets and social life. One cannot help but feel a burning pain in front of this picture of the life of Pushkin, who, to a certain extent, himself plunged into this emptiness of secular life. 15 And, of course, it is not in the insignificant Dantes or in the insidious Heeckeren, who were the instruments of his fate, that one must see the true cause of Pushkin’s death, but in this whole path of life on which he was placed after his marriage. He is neither the path of the poet nor the seer of the world. At the end of his life, Pushkin was suffocating and seeking death, and this pushed him to death in a duel. Previously, he challenged Dantes and Heckeren to a duel in 1836 with his friend Count Sollogub and was close to the same with respect to Prince Repnin. The despair that took possession of him found in the harassment and intrigues of both Heckerens the most natural and seemingly justified outcome. But this meeting (together with the anonymous letters and diploma) is still secondary and relatively accidental. The decisive thing was that Pushkin could not live like this, and his life would inevitably end in disaster. Rather, one should be surprised at how long he could endure this life, which consisted of an endless series of balls, the search for money, and the bustle of the court. Here, of course, one should not belittle, just as one should not exaggerate, the irritating effect of government supervision, the senselessness of censorship, the bondage of the chamber cadets. Pushkin was saved only by his wonderful poetic gift: Mikhailovsky groves drank in him A tired alien. I was still young, but fate The unequal struggle has exhausted me. I was alone. I saw an enemy in everyone A traitor - in a momentary comrade, And stormy feelings boiled in the heart, And hatred and the dream of pale revenge. But here I am a mysterious shield Poetry is like a comforting angel, According to friends, Pushkin, almost on the eve of the duel, was filled with special religious inspiration; he spoke about the ways of Providence, about benevolence. But these were luminous lightning bolts in the darkness of his own unsuccessful life. What happened in the fate of Pushkin, how was this hopelessness created in the life of the one to whom it was given to give life? We can now depict with almost photographic precision the external course of events with all their fatal inevitability and then - according to personal views - brand with the greatest force: the world, the court, the tsar, Pushkin’s wife. But in spiritual life, external compulsion has not an absolute, but only a relative force: there is no iron fate, but there is a spiritual destiny in which internal self-determinations are consistently unfolded and realized. And in this sense, Pushkin’s fate is, first of all, his own business. To reject this means to completely deprive him of his most important gift - freedom, turning his fate into a playground of external events. Neither Benckendorff's police, nor the opinion of the world, nor the court had complete control over Pushkin's freedom. So, we are talking about what exactly happened in the soul of Pushkin himself? Death in a duel was not an unexpected accident in Pushkin’s life. On the contrary, her ghost, like some kind of fate, like an obsession, haunted his imagination. It was as if he had experienced it in advance in his creative imagination, already in Eugene Onegin (after the murder of Lensky, “a bloody shadow appeared to him every day”), and even as if he had pronounced judgment on himself in advance. 16 He was also tormented by the premonition of imminent death, which he both expected and at the same time, like a pagan, averted. In his poetic imagination he also comprehended in advance the torments of jealousy. 17 Pushkin’s opponent was so unworthy of him that we need to talk not about him, but about that volcano of passion that raged in the poet’s heart and was looking for an eruption. This was the fate of Pushkin, like a tragedy of beauty. On her wings he was raised to heights, but the servant of unearthly beauty found himself in the chains of bondage of earthly beauty. And this captivity seemed to drown out in him what he had heard in the desert, the road of life was lost. For the life of me, no trace is visible, We are lost, what should we do! The demon leads us into the field, apparently What happened, besides the vulgar diplomas and lampoons, the courtship of Dantes, the judgments of the world, etc. - where did the breakdown of life occur, the deviation of its path from its own trajectory? When Pushkin met his future wife, she was a 16-year-old girl. He was captivated by her beauty, which made the strings of his lyre ring again and stirred the deepest layer of his soul. He contemplated her, reverently “piously before the shrine of beauty,” about her he wrote: “The Creator sent you, my Madonna, the purest example of pure beauty.” She became the dream of his inspiration. But this beauty was only prettiness, a form without content, a deceptive radiance. Don't be Goncharova a beauty. Pushkin would have passed by without noticing her. But now he has become a slave - no longer of beauty, but of Natalya Goncharova. This was the first tragic contradiction leading to the tragic death of Pushkin. Dostoevsky speaks of the seductive mixture of Madonna and Venus under the veil of beauty. Here the “Madonna” and the maid of honor of the St. Petersburg court, a society lady with a philistine psychology, came together. And, besides, Pushkin married the object of his poetic worship, wanting at the same time to get a “mistress” and wife in her. In Pushkin, who at one time paid full tribute to the dissipation of youth, a father and family man (although, however, by no means impeccable) has now awakened. His letters to his wife are filled with family feelings and concerns, and provide touching evidence of this. But the universal worship of Pushkin’s wife was by no means “pious reverence for the shrine of beauty,” but ordinary red tape, which received its most vivid expression in the image of Dantes. Pushkin’s own “reverence,” or poetic contemplation of beauty, turned into frenzied jealousy, a real madness of passion. This, first smoldering fire under the ashes, then a violently flared flame, we painfully observe in the last years of Pushkin’s life. From time to time the slave wants to throw off these chains, break out of the enchanted circle of the St. Petersburg court, go to the village, 18 but these impulses remain powerless: the court, his wife, circumstances do not let him go, and was there a strong enough will for this, not weakened by captivity? Pushkin saves himself in creativity, the prophet seeks refuge in the poet. Pushkin's poetic gift does not weaken. True, he no longer achieves those spiritual ascents to which the prophet was called. Prophetic creativity in him, so “Apollinian” from the outside, coexists with the dark abysses of tragic Dionysism,” the coexistence of two planes in which creativity continues its life primarily as writing. For many writers, if not most, such duality is a satisfying outcome in life, a spiritual philistinism crowned by a muse. So for many, but not for Pushkin. For Pushkin was Pushkin, and his life could not and should not fit safely into two separate plans. The molten lava of passion easily breaks the thin crust of the ghostly appolinism, and an eruption begins. The spiritual center has shifted. The balance necessary for creativity was lost, and this loss was only covered up by his iron self-control. The spiritual source of creativity was drying up, despite the fact that all the artistic means of his poetic gift, the entire palette of colors remained at his disposal. Having reached the fatal line of the barrier, he stood before the lot: kill, or be killed. Of course, Pushkin, if fate had destined him to become a murderer, would have turned out to be higher than his Onegin, and would never have been able to forget this and sink to his spiritual emptiness. In any case, beyond this line a new life must still begin for him with the destruction of two plans, with the triumph of one, that higher plan to which he was called “in the desert.” It is beyond human knowledge to judge whether a new birth on the paths of life was possible for Pushkin’s soul. But the Providence of God judged differently: with this new birth, death appeared for him, and the path to him went through the gates of death. The tragic death was a catharsis in his tragic life; Pushkin’s soul ascended purified and free. Without this tragic meaning, Pushkin's death would be unworthy of his life and work, and would truly be the greatest nonsense, or an accident. And only this saving catharsis fulfills it with a tragic and majestic meaning, which was given to him to reveal on his deathbed in the great dying sufferings. With them he bought the freedom he had lost, freed himself from earthly captivity; ascending to the abode of Eternal Beauty. In Pushkin's tragedy, the insufficiency of poetry alone was revealed for life, for a writer, even a genius, does not exhaust and does not define a person. In the history of the duel and death of Pushkin, we observe two alternating images: an angry lion, who can be even beautiful, and at the same time terrible in the royal lionism of his nature, and an enlightened Christian, meekly and peacefully retiring to his rest. This image was preserved for us by Zhukovsky, along with other witnesses to Pushkin’s death. Zhukovsky's evidence is equally convincing both in its positive features and in the absence of dissonance, even if we allow for a certain stylization. This cannot be invented or invented even by Zhukovsky. In the dying Pushkin, everything that was inherent in him on the eve of the duel recedes. There is a clear transformation of his spiritual face - a spiritual miracle. From under the blackened outer layer, a “renewed” face illuminates, the luminous image of Pushkin, all-forgiving, gentle, looking death in the face with courageous humility, reaching that spiritual world that he lost in passion. The commandment: love your enemies became available to him. He was reconciled, forgave the enemies whose blood he had just thirsted for. The simple Danish faith in God and in His mercy, so characteristic of the bright childishness of his spirit, illuminates him with its peace. Having accepted the church's parting words, he blesses his family, says goodbye to his friends and meekly and fearlessly suffers his last hours. We can recognize, as it were, individual moments in this Gethsemane night, discern its coming accomplishments in these bodily sufferings and mortal melancholy, which concealed terrible pangs of repentance and horror at what they had done. But all this was overcome by Christian trust in Providence: Thy will be done! On his deathbed, the Christian poet, in his silence, rises again to the enlightenment of the prophet, through death ascending to spiritual resurrection... Earthly life has already ended in a duel. There came only a short but decisive epilogue, in which its content was lived out in sacred silence and the results were summed up. Hours and minutes felt like years. Alien colors fell off like decrepit scales, passions subsided, and the primordial element was revealed from the saving explosion. “...I looked alone at his face for a long time after his death (writes Zhukovsky). Never on this face have I seen anything like what was on him in that first minute of death... It was not sleep or peace. This was not the expression of intelligence that had previously been characteristic of this face. It was also not a poetic expression. No! some kind of deep, amazing thought spilled over him, something similar to a vision, some kind of complete, deep, contented knowledge... At that moment, one might say, I saw death itself, a divinely secret death without a veil.” Pushkin's death is illuminated by an otherworldly light. It is a destructive chord in his spiritual tragedy; it is its catharsis. It seems to be a worthy conclusion to the life of the great poet and in this sense, as if his apotheosis. On the way to the place of the duel, Pushkin met his wife, from whom he turned away (his wife did not recognize him either). There is no mention in the materials of his farewell to the children before the duel, and, of course, it could not have taken place. The family he loved dearly seemed to have dropped out of his consciousness at that fateful hour. L.N. Tolstoy told me (in one of our few meetings), from the words of some contemporary of Pushkin, how he boasted of his Tatyana that she had done Onegin well. In this story of one great master about another, all the spontaneity and creative genius is revealed. In the essay “Alexander Radishchev” (1836) we read about Helvetius: “they greedily studied the beginnings of his vulgar and sterile metaphysics... Now it would be incomprehensible to us how the cold and dry Helvetius could become the favorite of young people.” Regarding Radishchev’s essay: “On Man and His Mortality and Immortality,” Pushkin says: “His speculations are vulgar and not animated by style. Although Radishchev is armed against materialism, he is still visible as a disciple of Helvetius. He is more willing to present rather than refute the arguments of pure atheism.” (In the same essay, by the way, Pushkin calls thought “a sacred gift of God”). “Thoughts on the Road” speaks of the beneficial influence of German philosophy on Moscow youth in that “it saved the youth from the cold skepticism of French philosophy.” In his youthful poem “Unbelief” (1817), Pushkin, based on experience, depicts its corrupting influence on minds - “when the mind seeks the Divine, but the heart does not find it.” Pushkin himself knew how to treat his past mercilessly: “I started writing at the age of 13 and publishing almost from the same time. I would like to destroy many things, as unworthy even of my talent, whatever it may be. Something else weighs on my conscience like a reproach. At least I shouldn’t be responsible for my pranks,” “poems that I consigned to oblivion or wrote not for publication, or that it would have been excusable for me to write at the age of 19, but unforgivable to admit publicly at a mature and sedate age.” The attitude of the mature Pushkin to the Bible and the Gospel in all their holy uniqueness is known. The same is true in relation to Christianity as a historical force. This is how he talks about “preaching the Gospel” among the Caucasian mountaineers: “is the truth given in order to be hidden under a bushel? Is this how we fulfill the duty of a Christian? Which of us, a man of faith and humility, has become like the holy elders wandering through the deserts of Africa, Asia and America, in rags, often without shoes, shelter or food, but enlivened by the warmth of zeal?.. We know how to calmly shine with grandeur in magnificent churches... The Caucasus awaits Christian missionaries.” (Travel to Arzurum). Pushkin checks with alarming interest the rumor that the Yazidis worship Satan. Convinced of her infidelity, he adds: “This explanation reassured me. I was very glad for the Yazidis that they do not worship Satan, and their errors seemed to me much more forgivable.” In relation to the meaning of Orthodoxy for the Russian people, one should recall the following judgments of Pushkin: “Catherine clearly persecuted the clergy, thereby sacrificing her unlimited lust for power and pleasing the spirit of the times.” But “the Greek religion, separate from all others, gives us a special national character. In Russia, the influence of the clergy was as beneficial as it was harmful in the lands of the Roman Catholics... protected by the shrine of religion, it was always a mediator between the people and the sovereign, as between man and deity. We owe our history to the monks, and therefore our enlightenment.” (Historical Sketches, 1822). It is painful to read in a letter to his wife - especially in the light of Pushkin’s own fate - his completely pagan, although characteristic of his circle, judgment about the duel. “What you write about Pavlov reconciled me with him. I'm glad he called Aprelev. With us, murder can be a vile calculation: it saves you from a duel and is subject to one punishment, and not the death penalty.” Pushkin’s own attitude towards Metropolitan Philaret (at least the later one) is by no means positive: in his notes of 1835 he calls him “an old sly man.” Ambiguous and seductive-sounding words: “The darkness of low truths is dearer to meˆThe deception that elevates us” in context they lose their direct meaning that “viel lügen die Dichter”. In hours of fun or idle boredom, I used to be my muse Entrusted the pampered sounds of madness, laziness and passions, butˆby your fire the soul was burnedˆRejected the darkness of earthly vanities, And the poet listens to the harp of the Seraphim in sacred horror. Two beauties, two inspirations, like two lyres. His attitude towards Gavriliad, which represents Pushkin’s main poetic sin (precisely poetic, not aesthetic, because aesthetically it stands at the level of his mastery), is characteristic. One can hardly doubt that it belongs to Pushkin’s pen, and yet we observe his desire, even in front of his friends, to deny this work in every possible way (and, of course, not for purely practical reasons). So he writes the book. Vyazemsky (in 1828): “A stupid joke was forced on my neck. Gavriliada finally reached the government, they attribute it to me, they denounced me, and I will probably answer for other people’s mischief if Gorchakov does not come from the other world to defend the rights to his property.” Apart from shameless aesthetes (or stupid atheists), all Pushkin’s readers would heave a sigh of relief if they could really believe in Gorchakov’s authorship and his ability to master Pushkin’s verse. In Pushkin's poetry we have varied and numerous evidence of the muse. These include: "The Muse 1821" (In my infancy), “My epitaph” (1815), “To Chaadaev” (1821), “Confidant of the merry old times” (1821), “Here is the muse, a frisky chatterbox” (1821), “To xxx” (1822), “You’re right,” “A bookseller’s conversation with poets” (1824), “October 19, 1825 g.”, especially the 8th chapter of “Eugene Onegin”, stanzas 1–6, which depicts Pushkin’s poetic life in various phenomena of his muse, which seem to permeate with beauty and meaning the flickering life, its “mouse running”, from the small and ordinary to the highest. Took me to listen to the sound of the sea, Deep eternal chorus of shafts, Hymn of praise to the Father of the worlds (6). True, almost simultaneously with this groan, the poet wants to assure himself: Oh no, I'm not tired of life, I want to live, I love to live, The soul has not completely cooled, having lost its youth. Indeed, Pushkin once said in a letter to his wife (already in 1836): “... it dawned on me to be born in Russia with soul and talent.” However, this is a groan of exhaustion from his life, but not an expression of his basic feeling for his homeland, his rootedness. “Into the beauty’s album” usually refers specifically to N. N. Goncharova. True, the only autograph of this poem, found in 1930, turned out to be torn from the album of another beauty, gr. E. M. Zavadovskaya, but this is not decisive for the question of its original purpose and dedication. Pushkin assures himself in a letter to his wife (already in 1832): “I never thought of blaming you for my dependence. I had to marry you because I would have been unhappy all my life without you.” (This statement is completely inconsistent with the actual circumstances surrounding his marriage: Pushkin even then was relatively easily consoled by his failures). “But,” the poet continues, “I should not have entered the service, and what’s even worse, entangled myself with financial obligations. ...Now they look at me like a slave. But you are not to blame for all this, but I am to blame out of good nature, with which I am filled to the point of stupidity, despite the experiences of life.” Gogol complains to Danilevsky: “You won’t meet Pushkin anywhere except at balls. So he will spend his whole life, unless some chance or more necessity drags him to the village.” We see how Pushkin from time to time tried to resign, throw off his chains, leave, and when this happened, inspiration visited him in the solitude of the village. But this desire was inevitably dashed by various kinds of obstacles that turned out to be insurmountable for Pushkin. (Onegin) had to prove himselfˆNot a ball of prejudice, Not an ardent boy, a fighter, But a husband with honor and intelligence. But the whispers, the laughter of fools, And here is public opinion, Spring of honor, our idol, And that's what the world revolves on. (Eug. Oneg., chapter 6, p. 11). It is difficult to say anything stronger about this than what he himself said. (Evg. Oneg., ch. 6, p. 15): Yes, yes, because jealousy attacks - The disease is just like the plague Like a black spleen, like a fever, She has her own heat, her own delirium, God have mercy, my friends, There is nothing more painful in the world of execution than the fatal torment. Believe me, who carried them out, He, of course, will ascend the fiery bonfire without fear. Or he will bend his neck under the ax. After the poem “It’s time, my friend, it’s time,” we read the postscript: “Oh, how soon will I move my penates to the village! Fields, garden, peasants, books, poetic works, family, love. Religion, death."