Pass us more. Bypass us more than all sorrows and lordly anger, and lordly love ...

Written by A.A. Bestuzhev: "I'm not talking about poetry, half of it should become a proverb."

Many of Griboedov's aphorisms have become part of everyday speech:

We use popular expressions, no longer thinking about their authorship.

Of course, quotes from "Woe from Wit" gained popularity not only thanks to Griboyedov's talent. After the 1917 coup, the accusatory play was included in school programs and theater repertoires.

Griboedov's catchphrases given below are correlated with the characters in the play. Their characteristics were obtained through catchphrases. There are eighty proverbs in total.

The headings contain the most popular, and, therefore, the most appropriate proverbs for this person.

Lisa - Bypass us more than all sorrows and master's anger, and master's love

Famusov - That's it, you are all proud!

Sofia - The Hero of Not My Romance

Chatsky - And who are the judges?

Puffer – In my opinion, the fire contributed a lot to her decoration

Molchalin - Ah! evil tongues are worse than a gun

Khlestova - Everyone lies calendars.

Repetilov - Look and something

Princess - He is a chemist, he is a botanist

Blessed is he who believes, he is warm in the world! Chatsky

When you wander, you return home, and the smoke of the Fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us! Chatsky

Who is poor, he is not a couple for you. Famusov

Happy hours are not observed. Sofia

I would be glad to serve, it is sickening to serve. Chatsky

Bypass us more than all sorrows and lordly anger, and lordly love. Lisa

No other model is needed when the example of a father is in the eyes. Famusov

Fresh legend, but hard to believe. Chatsky

You can share laughter with everyone. Sofia

Signed, so off your shoulders. Famusov

And grief awaits around the corner. Sofia

Are they bothering to recruit teachers for regiments, more in number, at cheaper prices? Chatsky

I don't care what's behind him, what's in the water. Sofia

Terrible age! Don't know what to start! All managed beyond their years. Famusov

Who serves a cause, not individuals... Chatsky

ABOUT! if someone penetrated into people: what is worse in them? soul or language? Chatsky

Read not like a sexton, but with feeling, with sense, with arrangement. Famusov

Like all Moscow ones, your father is like this: he would like a son-in-law with stars, but with ranks. Lisa

Who needs it: for those who are arrogant, they lie in the dust, and for those who are higher, flattery, like lace, was woven. Chatsky

And the golden bag, and marks the generals. Lisa

You, young people, have no other business than to notice girlish beauty. Famusov

Yes, at least someone will be confused by the questions of a quick and curious look ... Sofia

Fools believe, they tell others, old women instantly sound the alarm - and here is public opinion! Chatsky

My father bequeathed to me: firstly, to please all people without exception - the Master, where I happen to live, the Chief, with whom I will serve, his Servant, who cleans dresses, the Doorman, the janitor, to avoid evil, the dog of the janitor, so that he was affectionate. Molchalin

Written by A.A. Bestuzhev: "I'm not talking about poetry, half of it should become a proverb."

Many of Griboedov's aphorisms have become part of everyday speech:

We use popular expressions, no longer thinking about their authorship.

Of course, quotes from "Woe from Wit" gained popularity not only thanks to Griboyedov's talent. After the 1917 coup, the accusatory play was included in school programs and theater repertoires.

Griboedov's catchphrases given below are correlated with the characters in the play. Their characteristics were obtained through catchphrases. There are eighty proverbs in total.

The headings contain the most popular, and, therefore, the most appropriate proverbs for this person.

Lisa - Bypass us more than all sorrows and master's anger, and master's love

Famusov - That's it, you are all proud!

Sofia - The Hero of Not My Romance

Chatsky - And who are the judges?

Puffer – In my opinion, the fire contributed a lot to her decoration

Molchalin - Ah! evil tongues are worse than a gun

Khlestova - Everyone lies calendars.

Repetilov - Look and something

Princess - He is a chemist, he is a botanist

6. BOTH THE MANAGER'S ANGER AND THE MANAGER'S LOVE...

The year forty-eight was approaching Magadan, with gloomy inevitability breaking through the twilight of the icy fog, through the gloomy anger of people.

This time, not so much prisoners and former convicts, as freemen, carried a furious charge of anger. The monetary reform at the end of forty-seven, perhaps more painfully than the inhabitants of any other corner of the country, hit them, the Kolyma conquistadors, the local simple Soviet millionaires. In the upper stratum of the treaties, the detachments of these socialist millionaires were already quite significant. But even average freemen who lived in Kolyma for several years counted hundreds and hundreds of thousands on their passbooks.

All these people, accustomed to feeling like the beloved children of the Soviet regime, were stunned by the blow that fell upon them. How! Do likewise with them, with those who constituted the stronghold of the regime in this land inhabited by enemies of the people! With those who survived so many cold winters here, depriving their bodies of vitamins!

For many, this reform was the beginning of the collapse of the illusory world in which they lived and which seemed to them so impeccably organized. I remember a conversation with the former commander of the Tuscan Vohra platoon. I met this "acquaintance" on the street, on my way to work, and he kept me for a long time so that I could take on the explosion of his words. Oh, and these were amazing words! The commander's voice hissed, gurgled, choked.

Justice is called! For seven years he mantulated like a damned man! He risked his life... What bison he guarded! My grandmother left the children for the benefit of the saints, she ran to work herself, she beat out these percentages. And now ... Only, you understand, they took shape on the mainland, quit Dalstroy. Well, we think we'll buy a hut in the Poltava region, all sorts of junk ... We'll go to the resorts ... And now - on you! You can buy spruce pine here...

I willingly led mass educational work with such an unusual interlocutor. Say, war and all that ... Inflation ... Recovery of the economy ...

Oh come on, you understand! It’s good for you, hungry people, to talk about the economy! You have nothing to lose... Yes, and you are desperate people. They didn’t spare not only money, but their children, they turned into enemies ... - And suddenly he interrupted himself, looked at me intently, waved his hand and growled: - Or maybe everyone lied about you! Damn him!

The mood of the freemen was also spoiled by the fact that new stages of prisoners appeared, who received fresh terms precisely for the machinations associated with the reform. They were given the article "economic counter-revolution", and thus they again fell into the category of enemies of the people. There were such cases among the residents of Magadan.

In the corners they whispered anxiously, conveying sensational details of various monetary transactions. The very essence of fraud was absolutely incomprehensible to me: someone warned someone, someone sold it to someone, someone took money from the book at the wrong time, or, on the contrary, put it on the book at the right time. But the denouement in all cases was standard: ten, sometimes eight years in prison for economic counter-revolution.

Yulia rejoiced like a child that we had not suffered at all from the monetary reform. Not a single dime!

I'm fine, I'm an orphan! - she joked and added: - No, I still have an intuition ... As if some inner voice told me: buy a second folding bed!

We made this capital outlay with Vaska's forthcoming arrival in mind. But so far, all this has remained within the limits of baseless dreams, because by the beginning of the forty-eighth year I had already received eight - EIGHT from the personnel department of Dalstroy! - refusals to issue my son a pass to Magadan.

The whole technology of "permanent" filing of applications was already worked out for me with the utmost clarity. I left the room where they told me "You were denied", and immediately went into the next room, where I handed in a new, pre-prepared application. New applications were accepted mechanically and flawlessly. Each time they said: "You will come for an answer on such and such a date." And after that, despair again gave way to deceptive hopes.

Yes, I was still hoping for a meeting with Vaska. Because there were letters from him. Stingy, rare, but went. And he expressed in them an interest in the forthcoming, the first long journey in his life.

On the other hand, the thought of Anton and his fate woke me in the middle of the night with a push to the very heart, poured cold sweat over me, covered my eyes with cloudy darkness.

After the sack of pine nuts, long months dragged on without any news, without signs of life. I developed a frenzied energy. I wrote to all of our people who, after leaving the camp, lived in the area of ​​Yagodnoye and Shturmovoye. And just before the New Year, an answer came, worse than which it was hard to imagine. One of my acquaintances from Elgen found out everything and told me that Anton had long been gone from Shturmovy. He was sent to the stage, and under very strange circumstances. In strict secrecy. Without any violation of the regime on his part. They sent one by special escort. It seems that on demand from somewhere above.

On sleepless nights, pictures of the recent war years floated before me. How many German prisoners (Soviet citizens) went to secret stages in the same way, never to arrive anywhere. True, now the war is over. But who will vouch for the Kolyma authorities! I drew scenes of beatings, interrogations, execution. I saw the taiga prison "Serpantinka", about which no one knew anything, because not a single person had yet returned from there.

Worst of all was the consciousness of his own impotence. I could not even make a formal request about his fate. Because I'm not a relative. On reflection, she wrote to Kazakhstan to one of his four sisters, who were in exile there. She asked her to make a request on behalf of her relatives. They wrote. They didn't answer.

In the meantime, my work was also undergoing significant changes. Shortly after our return from the "Northern Artek", where I was given a certificate of honor, I was summoned by the head of the children's institutions, Dr. Gorbatova. She began the conversation by saying that she was very pleased with my work.

You have everything: education, diligence, affection for children. But...

I got cold under my stomach. The meaning of this BUT was clear. Probably, the personnel department is killing her from the world because she keeps a terrorist-Turzach on the "ideological front". And now this kind woman is looking for words to soften the blow. My God, what am I going to send Vaska?

No, no, no one is firing you,” Gorbatova exclaimed, reading all this on my face, “I just want to take some measures to strengthen your position ...

It turned out that a place for a music worker was being vacated in our kindergarten. Our manager, who part-time taught music classes, is leaving for the 1st kindergarten. Thus, a wonderful opportunity is presented to me.

I was told that you play well.

It doesn't matter. I studied a long time ago, in deep childhood.

Nothing. Exercise - restore. But, you know...

And then Gorbatova spoke so openly, as if she herself were not a boss, but a terrorist terrorist.

In the near future, several graduate teachers will arrive from the Krasnoyarsk Preschool Pedagogical School. Then it will be next to impossible for me to defend you any further. And the pianist... There are no pianists among them. This is a defensive additional qualification for you. In addition, the word "pianist" sounds somehow more neutral. Away from ideology ... Well, do you agree? The salary is the same.

These arguments could not arouse objections. But still, I reluctantly agreed. After all, this is not the taiga Tuskan, where it was enough to disassemble the "Songs of a Preschooler". Here you will have to hold matinees with a large audience, play bravura marches at a fast pace. In a word - it was necessary to urgently return the lost equipment.

I sent a telegram to Rybinsk, where my mother lived after the war, remaining at the place of her evacuation from Leningrad. Poor girl, she kept thinking that Rybinsk, maybe they would let me ... Now I asked to send the sheet music, not really hoping that she would be able to buy what she needed in Rybinsk. But the package arrived, and I was surprised to find my old childhood notes in it. How did she manage to save them, to take them out of two conflagrations, her own and mine? However, the fact is that I had in my hands my own Ganon, over which I, an eight-year-old, once suffered. The yellowed glued pages were full of the teacher's sharp pencil marks, and I remembered her large hand, circling purple circles over those notes on which I was out of tune. On one page it was written in crooked childish letters: "I don't know how to take an octave. I don't have enough hands!" And "I can" - through YAT.

Ganon! I looked at him with deep remorse. After all, it was in him that all the forces of the old world once embodied for me. It was this notebook that I threw away when I applied to the Komsomol and announced to my parents that now I have more important worries. Let the daughters of the world bourgeoisie study Ganon!

Did I think then that the day would come when the rejected Ganon would arrive in the Far North to save me from dismissal from work, from trouble, from all sorts of villainy? Forgive me, Ganon! And forgive me, Czerny and Clementi!

Moscow opera theaters are increasingly turning to the modern repertoire. Previously, the scenes were dominated by Onegins and La Traviata, and the works of the new era were forlornly shown once a decade, if not less often. True, there was the Boris Pokrovsky Chamber Musical in the capital, which was known as the "laboratory of modern opera" and regularly worked with living composers. Now, newfangled opuses are a good tone in the best opera houses. There are such in Stasik and Novaya Opera, even the stronghold of conservatism - the Bolshoi - descends not only to Shostakovich and Britten, who are still registered with us in the modern department, but also to Weinberg and Banevich. The restless "Helikon" does not lag behind colleagues. Not so long ago, he only sometimes diluted the mainstream poster with novelties (as a rule, they did not stay for long), and proven classical masterpieces made the theater box office. Now, however, cooperation with contemporary composers looks like one of the strategic directions of Dmitry Bertman's multi-vector activity.

The librettists (Manotskov and his partner, artist Pavel Kaplevich, the author of the project idea) took Griboedov's immortal comedy Woe from Wit as a basis. The plot, dramaturgy, characters and roles, and the lion's share of the aphoristic text - all from the textbook classics, known to everyone since school. But, in order not to bind themselves with the need to strictly follow Griboedov, the directors came up with a clever move - they combined Chatsky, the “extra man” of Russian literature, with Chaadaev, the “extra man” of Russian reality of the 19th century, supplementing the text of the comedy with excerpts from the latter’s “Philosophical Letters” and modifying last name of the main character. The result was a significant symbiosis, allowing us to talk about Russia and its timeless problems.

The idea, frankly, is not fresh: Griboedov’s contemporaries “read” Chaadaev in Chatsky, and Pyotr Yakovlevich is still called one of the “prototypes” of the main character of “Woe from Wit” (the author himself did not leave any indications on this).

The no less fashionable Kirill Serebrennikov was called to direct the world premiere. The situation around the Gogol Center headed by him attracted additional attention to the production. For PR - just a gift, especially considering that modern opera, as a rule, scares the public. Serebrennikov remained true to himself, although this production of his does not differ in particular radicalism. The action begins with a crowd of naked men. To the sounds of Griboedov's waltz in E minor, the guys of athletic build change their costumes in order to take up their usual work - knead clay with their feet or, more precisely, stomp black, scorched earth and carry huge platforms on their hands, where, in fact, the highest light. The idea of ​​social inequality, segregation, presented more than intelligibly, if not to say - in the forehead, there is little novelty in it, it is read at a time. Everything else worked out on “recognition”: conversations on mobile phones (including the sacramental “Carriage to me, carriage!”), Olympic costumes with the inscription “RUSSIA” on the inhabitants of the Famusov’s house, soulless bureaucracy in business office deuces and a secular ball a la Ryus in kokoshniks (with a hint of the famous Romanov costumed masquerade of 1903).

Signs of the present time are scattered throughout the performance, strung like beads on each stage - they cause the audience to giggle approvingly, where at the premiere shows, of course, there are a fair number of admirers of the director's talent. He speaks in his usual language, the satisfied audience understands this, which is inexpressibly glad. There were also some small obscenities. The maid of the Famusovs, Liza, for matters of the heart, chooses for herself a textured cavalier from the people (the bartender Petrusha), an “atlant” supporting the platform, but before taking him to the social top, she strips him naked and washes him of dirt, pouring water from a hose. Lisa, in another picture, is raped by Molchalin - while Famusov makes pathetic speeches, she rhythmically screeches in an ultra-high tessitura. In general, nothing sensational. We regularly see something similar on the stage of the drama theater, and not only at Serebrennikov's. In a word, put it in any way you like, and everything will be fine, all in a suit, straight into the history of the national scene.

The question, what does Chaadaev have to do with it, remains open.

Let us not forget that we are after all an opera, a work for musical theatre, for singers, an orchestra and a choir, and, in addition to a topical theme and fashionable direction, it would be nice if the score were a phenomenon. Somehow this part didn't work at all. Even in comparison with Manotskov's previous opuses (for example, Guidon and Titius the Impeccable), Chaadsky appears to be the least expressive and striking product. The music is monotonous and boring, does not have its own face, does not captivate or shock, leaving the listener absolutely indifferent. Griboedov's exploited waltzes are the only thing that an ear can "catch on to", the rest is a set of commonplaces: postmodernist scraping along the bottom of the barrel, that is, along all conceivable musical styles of the past. And the performance leaves much to be desired. Whether it is the fault of the soloists, conductor, composer or sound engineers (the use of subsound is quite obvious), but the singing is poorly audible, and the words cannot be made out - all hope is for your own memory and the running line. Maestro Felix Korobov courageously collects the score of "Chaadsky" into a single canvas, but he does not quite succeed either - it seems that the monotony of the sound context tires even such an experienced interpreter of modern music.

Photo on the announcement: Dmitry Serebryakov/TASS