Tsaritsyn night

Night found a cheerful cavalcade two miles from Tsaritsyn. They involuntarily changed the fast running of their horses to a slow walk when huge ponds opened before them - an eloquent monument to the wise reign of Godunov. Noisy conversations fell silent, and quiet thoughts of their own began to unravel the past life of the fatherland. Meanwhile the month has risen. It illuminated the rough, narrow road, revealed distant fields and groves, and was reflected in the calm waters. The night was quiet; There is not a single cloud in the sky and all the stars. Vladimir was the first to break the silence. “The idea came to me,” he said, “to imagine Boris’s reign in a novel. There is nothing more mysterious than the Russian people at this time. Not everyone bowed to the rising sun. Imagine a person who equally hates Godunov, as a regicide-kidnapper, and Grishka, as an impostor; to what will he link the word: fatherland? It seems to me that here for the first time Russian thought about Russia. In addition, famine, plague, fruitless wars, incessant uprisings of the people and all the disasters of that time must have involuntarily united minds into one common desire; and this only explains the possibility of the successes of Minin and Pozharsky. These ponds, where thousands worked, collected from all over the state, probably also helped a lot to ferment thoughts among the people. But for the novel I would choose a man unnamed by history, brought up at the court of Ivan the Terrible in all the prejudices of that time, and would try to show how the force of circumstances gradually revealed in him the concept of the best, until finally the Polish spear laid him under the wall of the liberated Kremlin. “Of course, such a face will be a mirror of that time,” Falk said, “and the work will give a lot of food to the imagination and heart. But just be careful not to dress up the nineteenth century with the beard of the seventeenth.” “Do you really think,” Vladimir answered, “that by transporting yourself to the past, you can completely abandon the current moment. And when it was possible, should it? “Only relationships to us give meaning and value to those around us, and therefore the present alone warms history for us.” “Yes,” said Cherny, “for whom the past does not warm the present.” An argument ensued; but he was soon stopped by a new phenomenon: from behind the grove a coffin appeared - the royal palace. “All of Bazhenov’s buildings,” said Velsky, “are remarkable for some thought that he knew how to convey to his stones, and this thought is almost always sad and at the same time strange. Who would have thought of making a coffin from Catherine’s amusing palace? And yet, what lofty poetry: to merge earthly grandeur with the memory of death, and to make the very splendor of the royal palace speak of the fragility of earthly blessings. This recent palace is more eloquent for me than all the ruins of Rome and Spain.” “It itself is a ruin,” said Falk, “Catherine never lived in it, and from the very construction it remained empty, and now without windows and doors. They say the Empress did not like the idea of ​​the poet-artist.” In such conversations, the friends approached the garden, crossed the bridge, got off their horses at the tavern and, setting off to explore the beauty of Tsaritsyn, did not forget to order themselves a hearty dinner. Having untied the wide boat and lit their pipes, the friends began to walk along the smooth pond. Silence, a moonlit night, the rocking of the boat, the uniform strokes of the oars, the musical splashing of water, the freshness of the air, the darkly poetic view of the surrounding garden - all this tuned their souls to a heartfelt conversation, and a heartfelt conversation, as usually happened between them, led to dreams about the future, about the purpose of man, about the mysteries of art and life, about love, about their own fate and, finally, about the fate of Russia. Each of them still lived in hope, and Russia was the favorite subject of their conversations, the knot of their union, the incendiary focus of the transparent glass of their hopes and desires. Everything that was hidden in the soul of the most sacred, trustingly poured out into words; and we can say that that night on Godunovsky Pond not a single word was heard that was not warm with thought. True, if a person, experienced by life, who had lost faith in the impossible, in a word, an experienced person, overheard their inexperienced speeches, he would smile at many young, immature, crazy people; but if life had not yet completely killed his heart, then, of course, it would have beaten more than once from a heartfelt word. .. Meanwhile, the boat moored to the place where dinner was prepared. The friends settled down in the open air. The cork popped and, without meeting the ceiling, returned to the table. “Today’s evening was full,” said Vladimir, pouring glasses. “It will surely resonate with each of us throughout our entire lives, and, starting from this moment, it’s true that everyone looks more boldly into the future, and for everyone, the place where fate has placed them has become more sacred. Thank you for the bright Tsaritsyn night!” “Indeed, bright,” said Cherny, “what was hidden in the heart like an inconspicuous spark, its influence dawned on a clear day and, of course, will not go out before the last ray of life. For the health of the Tsaritsyn night! The clinking of glasses was the answer. “We have not forgotten anything that warms the soul,” said Falk, “only one thing is still missing: poetry. Velsky! it's your business! Bless today’s gathering!” "Let's have some champagne!" - Velsky answered. The wine began to boil; the poet, collecting his thoughts, turned his eyes to the sky: there the Big Bear was shining right above his head. He immediately drained his glass... the thought caught fire... he began like this: Look, O friends! There are seven stars above us: Those are the messengers of happiness, oh friends! The guarantee of fulfillment of the best hopes, Yes, friends! over our dark life Seven stars were lit by Providence; And everything that is beautiful on earth - All the gift of the seven-star choir. For us the star of Faith is a comforter in troubles, And in happiness, a reliable counselor; The Star of Songs pours delight into the soul And life warms with dreams. But happy is he who embraced a dream not in a dream! To whom, responding to delight, The azure sky of shy eyes The Star of Love lit up! Who was cherished by the star of Glory. To whom, before the wrong force, I didn’t let the noble head bow Golden star of freedom... Who of the few is chosen as the star of Friendship, I didn’t hide my fear from people’s eyes, Like a thief covers a shrine. The seventh star shines brighter than others, With hope that light is beautiful! But in grief it does not give joy, And he cannot bear happiness with him; She promises suffering and death To those who have a crazy dream He will choose her to be the counselor of life... O friends! Who drinks to the seventh?