Pushkin's meeting with Griboyedov's body took place on June 11, 1829, on the road from Tiflis to Kars near the pass through the Bezobdal Range (see E. Veidenbaum. Pushkin in the Caucasus in 1829 - "Russian Archive" 1909, No. 4, p. 679). He described this meeting in his article "Journey to Arzrum", from which we extract the passage printed below; This passage was included in an article published by Pushkin himself in the first book of Sovremennik in 1836.
My man with the pack horses lagged behind me. I was driving through a blooming desert, surrounded by mountains from afar. Absent-mindedly, I drove past the post where I was supposed to change horses.
More than six hours passed and I began to marvel at the transition space. I saw piles of stones that looked like saklis in the distance, and I went to them. In fact, I came to an Armenian village. Several women in colorful rags sat on the flat roof of the underground hut. I made myself clear. One of them went down into the hut and brought me cheese and milk. After resting for a few minutes, I set off further and on the high bank of the river I saw the fortress of Gergera opposite me. Three streams with noise and foam rushed down from the high bank. I moved across the river. Two oxen, harnessed to a cart, climbed a steep road. Several Georgians accompanied the cart. - Where are you from? I asked them. - From Tehran. — What are you carrying? - Mushrooms. It was the body of the murdered Griboedov, which was escorted to Tiflis.
I didn't think I'd ever meet our Griboyedov! I parted from him last year, in St. Petersburg, before he left for Persia.
He was sad, and had strange forebodings. I wanted to calm him down, he said to me: Vous ne connaissez pas ces gens-là: vous verrez qu'il faudra jouer des couteaux. He believed that the cause of bloodshed would be the death of the Shah and the civil strife of his seventy sons. But the aged Shah is still alive, and Griboyedov's prophetic words have come true. He died under the daggers of the Persians, a victim of ignorance and treachery. His mutilated corpse, which had been the plaything of the Tehran rabble for three days*, was recognized only by his hand, which had once been pierced by a pistol bullet.
[* A Persian dignitary, an eyewitness to the murder of Griboyedov, who sent his memoirs about this to Paris in 1830 in the journal Nouvelles Annales des Voyages, writes the following about the mockery of Griboedov’s corpse: “I learned from my servants that the mutilated corpse of Mirza Yakub was dragged along throughout the city and finally thrown into a deep ditch. The same was done with the alleged body of Mr. Griboyedov. Ropes were tied to his feet, and a clownish procession accompanied him through the main streets and bazaars of Tehran, shouting from time to time: “The road, the road to the Russian envoy, who is visiting the Shah. Arise to pay your respects, and salute him in the fashion of the Franks, baring your head. Dragging the corpse in this way for a long time, he was put in a prominent place on the square adjacent to the main gate of the fortress. (This passage was translated into Russian for the first time in the article by M. Ya. Alaverdyants “The death of A. S. Griboyedov according to Armenian sources” - “Russian Antiquity” of 1901, No. 10; in the publication of Serchevsky, where these memoirs were first translated, these lines were skipped]
I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholy character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the very weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of mankind, everything about him was extraordinarily attractive. Born with an ambition equal to his gifts, he has long been entangled in networks of petty needs and obscurity. The abilities of a statesman remained unused; the poet's talent was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time in suspicion. Several of his friends knew his worth and saw a smile of incredulity, that stupid, unbearable smile, when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary man. People believe only in glory, and do not understand that between them there can be some kind of Napoleon, who did not lead a single jaeger company, or another Descartes, who did not print a single line in the Moscow Telegraph.
However, our respect for glory comes, perhaps, from self-love: our voice also enters into the composition of glory.
Griboyedov's life was darkened by some clouds: a consequence of ardent passions and powerful circumstances [Probably, the poet is referring to the role of Griboyedov in the duel between A.P. Zavadovsky and V.V. Sheremetev. — In the 1830s. Pushkin intended to bring out Zavadovsky, Istomin and Griboedov in the novel "Russian Peslam"; their names are repeatedly mentioned in the plans of this unwritten work that have survived to this day].
He felt the need to brush once and for all with his youth and turn his life around. He said goodbye to St. Petersburg and, with idle absent-mindedness, left for Georgia, where he spent eight years in solitary vigilant studies. His return to Moscow in 1824 was a revolution in his life and the beginning of uninterrupted success. His handwritten comedy "Woe from Wit" produced an indescribable effect and suddenly put him on a par with our first poets.
[The following review of Pushkin about Griboyedov has been preserved when receiving news of his death: “Last year (in April 1829) I [V. A. Ushakov] met in the theater with one of our first-class poets [Pushkin] and learned from his conversations that he intended to go to Georgia.
“Oh my God,” I said mournfully, “don't tell me about going to Georgia. This paradise can be called the enemy of our literature. He deprived us of Griboyedov.”
— So what? - answered the poet, - after all, Griboyedov did his own. He has already written Woe from Wit. - See V. A. Ushakov. "Moscow Telegraph" 1830, No. 12]
After some time, then, a perfect knowledge of the region where the war began, opened up a new field for him; he was appointed envoy. Arriving in Georgia, he married the one he loved ... I don’t know anything more enviable recent years his turbulent life. The very death that befell him in the midst of a bold, unequal battle had nothing terrible for Griboyedov, nothing agonizing. She was instant and beautiful.
[In a letter dated March 21, 1829, to his brother K. Ya. volunteer, maybe sing it all. “Oh, don’t go,” Katya told him, “Griboyedov was killed there.” “Be at peace, madam—is it possible that two Alexandrov Sergeevichevs will be killed in the same year? There will be one." - See "Russian Archive" 1901, No. 11]
What a pity that Griboedov did not leave his notes! It would be the business of his friends to write his biography; But wonderful people disappear from us, leaving no trace. We are lazy and incurious.
* *
People are never satisfied with the present and, having little hope for the future by experience, adorn the irrevocable past with all the colors of their imagination.
* *
To follow the thoughts of a great man is the most entertaining science.
A. Pushkin
January 15 marked the 220th anniversary of the birth of A.S. Griboyedov - the most misunderstood and mysterious character of the "Golden Age" of Russian literature.
The Rimsky-Korsakov mansion, known for one and a half years as the "Famusov House", because it was this two-storey house and its inhabitants acted as prototypes of "Woe from Wit", stood in Moscow in the corner of Strastnaya Square - now Pushkinskaya. And this detail of Moscow geography is quite symbolic.
Because we involuntarily perceive Griboedov - the namesake, senior comrade and friend of Pushkin, who was not inferior to him in his early manifestation of fantastic talent and, alas, also died young, as a kind of "understudy" of Pushkin. "Eugene Onegin" is an encyclopedia of Russian life, but "Woe from Wit" is also an encyclopedia of Moscow life. The young Pushkin was known not only for his flying poems, but also for his pranks with a touch of freethinking; and the 22-year-old vaudevillian Griboyedov, long before Woe from Wit, became famous in narrow circles as a participant in the bloody "quadruple duel" because of the ballerina Istomina (later sung by Pushkin, by the way), which cost him a mutilated left hand (a tragedy for a gifted pianist and composer) . Pushkin to maturity "reconciled with the tsar" - and Griboedov rose to the rank of state councilor, becoming statesman, a key figure in the Russian foreign policy in the Caucasus. In a word, Pushkin understands very well what he is talking about when, with forced nebula, he hints in Journey to Arzrum that "Griboedov's life was darkened by some clouds: the result of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to brush his hair once and for all with his youth and coolly turn your life around."
This famous fragment, describing Pushkin next to the body of Griboedov, which is being transported from Tehran on a cart drawn by two oxen, I would like to quote in full, but still we will limit ourselves to a part: “I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholy character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the most weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of mankind - everything in him was unusually attractive. Born with ambition equal to his talents, he was entangled in networks of petty needs and obscurity for a long time. The abilities of a statesman remained unused; the talent of the poet was not recognized "Even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time in suspicion. Several friends knew his worth and saw a smile of incredulity - that stupid, unbearable smile - when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary person ... What a pity that Griboedov did not leave his notes It would be the business of his friends to write his biography, but remarkable people are disappearing from us, leaving no trace behind. We are lazy and incurious...
The last words have become proverbial; but few people think that they refer not only to memoirs and biographies, but also to the most famous, textbook works - and at least to the same "I'm Burning with Wit". Generations of schoolchildren talk about Chatsky's conflict with the inert environment, but few dared to think: is Chatsky really smart? Pushkin had big doubts about this: “Everything he says is very clever,” he wrote to A.A. Bestuzhev after the Decembrist Pushchin brought him a handwritten copy (“list”) of the comedy. “But to whom does he say all this? Famusov? Skalozub? At the ball for Moscow grandmothers? Molchalin? This is unforgivable. The first sign smart person- to know at a glance who you are dealing with, and not to cast pearls in front of the Repetilovs and the like.
One hundred and fifty years later, Vail and Genis offered their own answer in "Native Speech": Chatsky is smart, but not in Russian, where everything is serious, but in a European way, with a great deal of lightness and buffoonery. “At the heart of the idea of a fighter opposing society is a belief in seriousness. Everything that is fun is recognized as frivolous and superficial. Everything that is serious must be gloomy and boring. over their Don Quixotes, Pantagruels, Simplicissimus, Gullivers, and in Russia, writers were valued not so much for humor and fun, but in spite of them. Even Pushkin.
And Sophia? It is better not to quote Pushkin's words about her from the same letter to Bestuzhev. But even without him, generations of teenage schoolchildren were keenly, due to their age, interested in the question - to what extent did the intimacy of her nightly gatherings with Molchalin reach? And here the owner of a sharp and clear mind, Alexander Sergeevich Griboyedov, does not give an unambiguous answer, leaving it to the discretion of each era.
But perhaps the biggest mystery of Griboyedov is connected not with literary, but with foreign policy activities. It is often forgotten that, going as an envoy to Persia, Griboedov submitted to the governor of Transcaucasia, Count Paskevich, a "Note on the establishment of the Russian Transcaucasian Company" - which was supposed to become for Russia the same as the East India Company was for Great Britain two centuries earlier: a powerful instrument of influence in region. These extensive and well-thought-out plans were not destined to be realized. Which involuntarily makes one wonder: is it really by chance and spontaneously that a popular uprising broke out in Tehran, completely unnecessary to the Shah, who later had to give away the most valuable diamond of his collection?
All these questions are unlikely to ever receive an unambiguous answer. But they will be asked regularly. And not only because Griboyedov is still one of the most sought-after Russian playwrights, but also because Iranian oil is still one of the trump cards of global foreign policy. And the relations between Russia and Georgia, for the strengthening of which Griboedov, who married a Georgian, did a lot, is still one of critical factors internal policy.
"Another Alexander Sergeevich" is with us just like the one whose last name usually pops up in memory when pronouncing this name and patronymic. Yes, and the "Griboedov House" in Moscow has not disappeared either - after all, that's exactly how it is with light hand the writer of the next century, Bulgakov, is often called Herzen's mansion in the neighborhood, on Tverskoy Boulevard, sung under this name in The Master and Margarita.
The body of Griboyedov happened on June 11, 1829 on the road from Tiflis to Kars at the pass through the Bezobdalsky ridge (see E. Weidenbaum. Pushkin in the Caucasus in 1829 - "Russian Archive" 1909, No. 4, p. 679). He described this meeting in his article "Journey to Arzrum", from which we extract the passage printed below; This passage was included in an article published by Pushkin himself in the first book of Sovremennik in 1836. - On Pushkin and Griboedov, see the article by I. Rozanova in the Pushkin collection of students of Moscow University, M. 1900, pp. 100-135.
My man with the pack horses lagged behind me. I was driving through a blooming desert, surrounded by mountains from afar. Absent-mindedly, I drove past the post where I was supposed to change horses.
More than six hours passed and I began to marvel at the transition space. I saw piles of stones that looked like saklis in the distance, and I went to them. In fact, I came to an Armenian village. Several women in colorful rags sat on the flat roof of the underground hut. I cleared up somehow. One of them went down into the hut and brought me cheese and milk. After resting for a few minutes, I set off further and on the high bank of the river I saw the fortress of Gergera opposite me. Three streams with noise and foam rushed down from the high bank. I moved across the river. Two oxen, harnessed to a cart, climbed a steep road. Several Georgians accompanied the cart. - Where are you from? I asked them. - From Tehran. - What are you carrying? - Griboed. It was the body of the murdered Griboedov, which was escorted to Tiflis.
I didn't think I'd ever meet our Griboyedov! I parted from him last year, in Petersburg, before he left for Persia.
He was sad, and had strange forebodings. I wanted to calm him down, he said to me: Vous ne connaissez pas ces gens-là: vous verrez qu'il faudra jouer des couteaux lang>. He believed that the cause of bloodshed would be the death of the Shah and the civil strife of his seventy sons. But the aged Shah is still alive, and Griboyedov's prophetic words have come true. He died under the daggers of the Persians, a victim of ignorance and treachery. His disfigured corpse, which had been the plaything of the Tehran mob for three days, was recognized only by his hand, which had once been shot through with a pistol bullet.
I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholy character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the very weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of mankind, everything about him was extraordinarily attractive. Born with an ambition equal to his gifts, he has long been entangled in networks of petty needs and obscurity. The abilities of a statesman remained unused; the poet's talent was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time in suspicion. Several of his friends knew his worth and saw a smile of incredulity, that stupid, unbearable smile, when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary man. People believe only in glory, and do not understand that between them there may be some kind of Napoleon, who did not lead a single jaeger company, or another Descartes, who did not print a single line in the Moscow Telegraph.
However, our respect for glory comes, perhaps, from self-love: our voice also enters into the composition of glory.
Griboyedov's life was darkened by some clouds: a consequence of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to brush once and for all with his youth and turn his life around. He said goodbye to St. Petersburg and, with idle absent-mindedness, left for Georgia, where he spent eight years in solitary vigilant studies. His return to Moscow in 1824 was a revolution in his life and the beginning of uninterrupted success. His handwritten comedy "Woe from Wit" produced an indescribable effect and suddenly put him on a par with our first poets. After some time, then, a perfect knowledge of the region where the war began, opened up a new field for him; he was appointed envoy. Arriving in Georgia, he married the one he loved ... I don’t know anything more enviable than the last years of his turbulent life. The very death
that befell him in the midst of a bold, unequal battle, had nothing terrible for Griboyedov, nothing agonizing. She was instant and beautiful.
What a pity that Griboedov did not leave his notes! It would be the business of his friends to write his biography; but wonderful people disappear from us, leaving no trace. We are lazy and incurious.
Footnotes
Probably, the poet is referring to the role of Griboyedov in the duel between A.P. Zavadovsky and V.V. Sheremetev. - In the 1830s. Pushkin intended to bring out Zavadovsky, Istomin and Griboedov in the novel "Russian Peslam"; in the plans of this unwritten work that have survived to this day, their names are repeatedly mentioned. By the way, characterizing Zavadovsky's society, Pushkin calls it - in the fourth plan of "Peslama" - "les parasites". - Undoubtedly, Pushkin's unpublished prose passage "Les deux danseusses" refers to the "Russian Peslam", in which the names of Zavadovsky and Istomina are mentioned; see V.I. Sreznevsky“The Pushkin Collection Donated to the Library of the Academy of Sciences by A. A. Maykova” - “Pushkin and His Contemporaries 1905, no. IV, p. 23.
Apr 05 2010
For a more complete understanding of the personality of the artist, it is necessary to draw on data that are beyond the boundaries of not only this work of his, but also his entire heritage, and, above all, turn to the documents and testimonies of his contemporaries. But it must be borne in mind that this is a complicated matter, and in our case especially: most of letters and manuscripts of Griboedov, as well as letters to him, according to different reasons has not been preserved, and as for the testimonies and memoirs of contemporaries, then the situation is even worse. Those who knew Griboyedov closely only guessed after his death who Russia had lost! Time was lost, the freshness of impressions was lost. Fortunately, shortly after his death, one of the great playwright's contemporaries wrote such lines about him that will always be the most reliable guide for anyone who wants to imagine Griboedov in its true dimensions.
This contemporary was Pushkin: “I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholic character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the very weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of mankind - everything about him was extraordinarily attractive. Born with an ambition equal to his talents, he has long been entangled in networks of petty needs and obscurity. The abilities of a statesman remained unused; the poet's talent was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time in suspicion. Several friends knew his worth and saw a smile of distrust, that stupid, unbearable smile, when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary person. People believe only in Slava and do not understand that between them there can be some kind of Napoleon, who did not lead a single jaeger company, or another Descartes, who did not print a single line in the Moscow Telegraph. However, our respect for Glory comes, perhaps, from self-love: after all, our voice also enters into the composition of glory.
Griboyedov's life was obscured by some clouds: a consequence of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to brush once and for all with his youth and sharply turn his. What seemingly incompatible properties merged in one person! What a range of gifts! And what is the measure of these gifts! Napoleon and Descartes are probably mentioned here in relation to Griboyedov. His talents were not only varied, but, if I may say so, persistent: each sought to be fully incarnated and capture all the powers of its owner. And he gave in to these desires. Perhaps the main feature of his character was what he himself called "the insatiability of the soul", "a fiery passion for new inventions, for new knowledge, for a change of place and occupation, for people and extraordinary deeds."
It showed up already in childhood and youth. At the age of fourteen he graduated from the verbal department of Moscow University. After that, he immediately entered the law department and two years later graduated as a candidate of law (this degree was then awarded to the best of those who completed the course). But this time, too, he did not leave the university, but began to study mathematics and natural sciences. One cannot say about him: years of study; all his life he did not stop learning - enthusiastically and thoroughly: nothing without verification, nothing second-hand. If he studied history, then he immersed himself in reading chronicles, special works in archeology, historical geography, etc. And so it is in everything: in diplomacy and in military affairs, in political economy and in linguistics. There were no difficulties for him: he knew ancient Greek, Latin, French, English, German, Italian, Persian, Arabic, Turkish. In addition to all this, Griboyedov was also a musician, an excellent pianist; his game, according to the most demanding contemporaries, was distinguished by genuine artistry. This truly renaissance versatility cannot but arouse feelings of surprise and admiration. But at the same time, it is difficult to resist the assumption that, perhaps, this universality prevented him from concentrating all his forces on one thing. Now, armed with the experience of history, we can firmly say that Griboyedov's vocation was not in diplomacy, not in military affairs, not in science, and not even in music: he was an artist of the word, a born playwright.
But he even after the unprecedented success of Woe from Wit, he still did not have a very clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat he did succeed. In this sense, the following lines from his letter to S. N. Begichev are indicative: “There is no end to thunder, noise, admiration, curiosity. Shakhovskoy resolutely admits that he has been defeated this time.” 2 Just think: the “victory” over Shakhovsky, a prolific, skillful, but far from original playwright, seemed to him almost a worthy reward for his artistic work. In the history of Russian literature, there is hardly another one that would occupy such an exceptional place in everything of its author as Woe from Wit occupied in creative destiny Griboyedov. This is especially evident when you get acquainted with his plays, composed before the completion of Woe from Wit. The style of these plays reflected not so much the properties of his talent as the nature of the repertoire of the then capital theater, auditorium which was filled with high-society or bureaucratic public. She demanded a spectacle that was entertaining and necessarily in the taste of the latest French theatrical fashion. And in response to this request in the repertoire of long years the genre of the so-called "secular" was established. Hundreds of them were then on the Russian stage, and all of them were similar to each other, like products of mass production: secular people were displayed in each with their "noble" speeches and manners, stereotyped love affairs, easy, quickly overcome jealousy and related pranks. Therefore, in case of urgent need, these comedies were produced in an accelerated manner, by an artel: one composes “conversations”, the other - couplets, “the other six put to music ...”. Griboyedov also took part in such crafts. But neither in the plays of artel production, nor in the sole alteration from French ("The Young Spouses"), his creative interests and opportunities were not expressed even in a small share. It is characteristic that at the end of 1823, that is, after the completion of the first edition of "Woe from Wit", Griboedov, composing together with P. A. Vyazemsky the vaudeville "Who is brother, who is sister ...", seemed to forget everything that he achieved in his great comedy, and returned to the style of his earlier plays. In "Woe from Wit" he put all his artistic energy, all his life experience.
In 1856 it was Griboyedov's letter was published, written in Tabriz and dated November 17, 1820; in it, he tells the addressee that he saw him in a dream: “Here you pestered me for a long time with questions, did I write anything for you? - They forced me to confess that I had long ago recoiled, postponed from any letter, there was no desire, no mind - you were annoyed. - Give me a promise that you will write. - What do you want? - You know. - When should it be ready? - In a year, by all means. - I undertake. - In a year, take an oath ... And I gave it with trepidation ... Muezzin from the height of the minar ringing voice announced the early hour of prayer ... he was echoed from all the mosques, finally the wind blew stronger, the night cold dispelled my unconsciousness, lit a candle in my temple, I sit down to write, and vividly remember my promise; given in a dream, fulfill it in reality.
This letter speaks could only talk about "Woe from Wit": there is no information that Griboyedov worked in Tabriz on any other of his works. This letter, as researchers believe, is addressed to A. A. Shakhovsky, who was in charge of the repertoire of the Alexandria Theater in St. Petersburg. The conversation was thus, as one would say in our time, professional; and the most remarkable thing in it is not what is said, but how it is said, and, rather, even what is not said: both interlocutors understand each other without words, and therefore do not even name the work they are talking about. He, a Petersburger, rejects the very idea of the possibility of choosing from several plans of Griboedov: what he requires from him is, so to speak, beyond comparison: "You know yourself ...". But the interlocutor also knows that Griboyedov is especially jealous of this plan of his, makes exorbitantly high demands on himself and therefore endlessly hesitates ... That is why the St. Petersburg friend demands an oath and sets a deadline.
Of course, talking like this, we must not forget that the letter tells about a dream, and the above dialogue can only be taken as such only conditionally. But one can hardly doubt that before his departure for the Caucasus, no later than August 1818, Griboyedov retold Woe from Wit to one of his St. Petersburg friends, and perhaps even read some of the scenes. So at the turn of 1820-1821 in Tabriz, he began to write a comedy, conceived and carefully considered more than two years ago. The last changes and amendments were made to the text of the comedy in 1828; it turns out that Griboedov worked on it (of course, not with the same intensity) for about ten years. However, there are good reasons to believe that this count is far from complete. closest friend Griboyedov - S. N. Begichev in his memoirs said the following: "... I know that the plan for this comedy was made by him back in St. Petersburg in 1816 and even several scenes were written ..."
Need a cheat sheet? Then save it - "Life of Griboyedov: The abilities of a statesman remained without use. Literary writings!Leonid Arinstein
With and without seconds… Murders that shook Russia: Griboyedov, Pushkin, Lermontov
© Griffin, 2010
© Arinstein L. M., 2010
Elena Eduardovna Budygina behind original idea combine in one book tragic fates three great Russian poets;
To the artist Vladimir Sergeevich Golubev for the original design of the book;
Irina Yurievna Yurieva for invaluable help in preparing the manuscript;
Dmitry Nikolaevich Bakun for careful reading of the text and constant attention to its editing and correction;
Ekaterina Myagkova for fast and clear technical training text;
Elena Gennadievna Shcherbakova for clear and excellent work in creating the original layout
A tribe that is not afraid to die...
petrarch
Between 1829 and 1841 - in just twelve years - Russia lost three of its most remarkable poets.
On January 30, 1829, Alexander Sergeevich Griboedov died tragically. He was brutally torn to pieces by a mob that attacked Russian embassy in Tehran. Griboyedov was only 33 years old.
On January 27, 1837, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin was mortally wounded in a duel. He died two days later, on January 29, at the age of 37.
On July 15, 1841, 27-year-old Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov was shot dead in a duel near Pyatigorsk. Moreover, whether it was at least a duel or just a murder is still not entirely clear.
Involuntarily, a banal truth comes to mind. If something happened once, it's an accident; if it happened twice, it's a coincidence; if it happened three times, it's a pattern.
But what is surprising: shortly before all these tragic events in Russia an equally sad cycle ended in England.
Three romantic poets died here in three years. In England, as you know, everything happens faster and earlier than here. “What fits London is too early for Moscow” (Pushkin).
So, five years before the death of Griboedov on April 19, 1824, George Gordon Byron died fighting for the freedom of Greece. He was 36 years old.
Two years before him, on July 8, 1822, his friend, the second romantic poet of England, Percy Bysshe Shelley, drowned. Unable to swim, he went on a sea crossing in a small sailing boat from Livorno to the seaside town of Lericce and was caught in a storm. He was 29 years old.
A year earlier, on February 23, 1821, the third Romantic poet, John Keats, died in Shelley's arms. He was only 25 years old.
I was in the house in the Piazza di Spagna in Rome, where I spent the last years and Kite died. I was struck by the resemblance to Pushkin's last apartment on Moika 12 in St. Petersburg. The same circular layout, small rooms, along the walls, in cupboards and on shelves - a lot of books, an inkwell, a quill, knick-knacks ... Only Pushkin died on the sofa, and Keith - on a wooden bed, unreasonably large for his height.
So it's still a pattern. And it is even clear what. But it is best to talk about this after the specific circumstances are considered and, if possible, the reasons for the early death of the great Russian poets are identified.
The first in time was Griboyedov.
By whom and why was Griboyedov killed?
Are you rewarded? Forget it!
Are the days running by? Forget it!
Wrong wind: in eternal book life
Could move the wrong page.
Omar Khayyam
From "Journey to Arzrum ..." by A. S. Pushkin
After resting for a few minutes, I set off further and on the high bank of the river I saw the fortress of Gergera opposite me. Three streams with noise and foam rushed down from the high bank. I moved across the river. Two oxen, harnessed to a cart, climbed a steep road. Several Georgians accompanied the cart. "Where are you from?" I asked them. From Tehran. - "What are you carrying?" - "Mushroom". It was the body of the murdered Griboedov, which was escorted to Tiflis.
I didn't think I'd ever meet our Griboyedov! I parted from him last year in Petersburg before he left for Persia. He was sad and had strange forebodings. I wanted to calm him down; he told me: “Vous ne connaissez pas ces gens-la: vous verrez qu" il faudra jouer des couteaux". He believed that the death of the Shah and the internecine strife of his seventy sons would be the cause of the bloodshed. But the aged Shah is still alive, and the prophetic words of Griboyedov He died under the daggers of the Persians, a victim of ignorance and perfidy.His mutilated corpse, which had been the plaything of the Tehran rabble for three days, was recognized only by his hand, which had once been shot through by a pistol bullet.
I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholy character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the very weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of mankind - everything about him was extraordinarily attractive. Born with an ambition equal to his gifts, he has long been entangled in networks of petty needs and obscurity. The abilities of a statesman remained unused; the poet's talent was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time in suspicion. Several friends knew his worth and saw a smile of incredulity, that stupid, unbearable smile, when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary man. People believe only in fame and do not understand that between them there may be some Napoleon who did not lead a single jaeger company, or another Descartes who did not publish a single line in the Moscow Telegraph. However, our respect for glory comes, perhaps, from self-love: after all, our voice also enters into the composition of glory.
Griboyedov's life was darkened by some clouds: the result of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to brush once and for all with his youth and turn his life around. He said goodbye to St. Petersburg and, with idle absent-mindedness, left for Georgia, where he spent eight years in solitary, vigilant studies. His return to Moscow in 1824 was a revolution in his life and the beginning of uninterrupted success. His handwritten comedy "Woe from Wit" had an indescribable effect and suddenly put him along with our first poets. Some time later, perfect knowledge of the region where the war began, opened up a new field for him; he was appointed envoy. Arriving in Georgia, he married the one he loved ... I don’t know anything more enviable than the last years of his stormy life. The very death that befell him in the midst of a bold, uneven battle had nothing terrible for Griboyedov, nothing agonizing. She was instant and beautiful.
What a pity that Griboedov did not leave his notes! It would be the business of his friends to write his biography; but wonderful people disappear from us, leaving no trace. We are lazy and incurious...
"The Blue Motherland of Firdusi..."
180 years ago, on Wednesday, February 11 (6 Shaaban), 1829, a fanatical crowd of Persians attacked the mansion of Mohammed Khan-Zambor-Ekchi-bashi in Tehran, where the Russian envoy Alexander Sergeevich Griboyedov and his retinue, who arrived from Tabriz for negotiations with the Shah, settled down . During the fierce but unequal fight that ensued, Griboedov and with him almost all the members of the embassy, service staff and guards were brutally murdered.
