Poet's disgraced house,

Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;

You delighted the sad day of exile,

You turned his lyceum into a day.

It was in the first half of January 1825. In the village of Trigorsky (Opochetsky district, Pskov province), in the house of the widow-landowner Praskovya Alexandrovna Osipova (nee Vymdonskaya, after her first husband - Wolf) the evening samovar had just been removed from the dining room, and the hostess with three daughters and the only guest went into the living room. A lamp under a green shade was already burning on a small oval table in front of a corner sofa. Praskovya Alexandrovna herself settled down in her chair, in the middle of the sofa, and began to lay out grand solitaire. The eldest daughter (from her first marriage), Anna Nikolaevna Wulf, sat down with her mother in order to better monitor the layout of the cards and, in difficult cases, help with advice. Her sister, Evpraksia Nikolaevna, and among her own - Zina or Zizi, preferred a separate armchair to do some kind of embroidery. The younger sister (from her second marriage), the teenager Masha, crouched down on a bench at the feet of Evpraksia Nikolaevna and, putting her disheveled head with pigtails on her knees, did not take her eyes off the young guest, waiting for him to joke or tell something again, to laugh.

This guest was their closest neighbor, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, who visited them almost every day from his village of Mikhailovsky. But the lively mood had already left Pushkin: he sat with his head downcast in some kind of sad reflection.

Do you, Alexander Sergeevich, have poems on your mind again? - asked the girl.

Pushkin woke up and ran his hand over his eyes.

Poetry? he repeated. - No ... So something ...

He glanced at the mantel clock and quickly got up.

All four hostesses spoke at once:

But where are you, Alexander Sergeevich? It's still early, it's only nine o'clock. Sit!

Something is pulling me home...

And I know what! Mashenka announced. - You need to quickly, quickly write down a pretty rhyme, until you fly away.

No, I have some kind of inner anxiety,” Pushkin replied seriously, “just like a premonition…

You always have these premonitions and signs! Evpraksia Nikolaevna remarked. “So far, nothing has come true.

Something has already come true.

For example?

For example, the prediction of the old fortuneteller Kirchhoff in St. Petersburg: "Du wirst zwei Mal verbannt sein", and here I am for the second time in exile.

So much the better: for the third time, therefore, they would never be exiled for anything. Live and enjoy life.

Yes, twelve years are still ahead.

Why exactly twelve?

Because the same Kirchhoff predicted my death when I was thirty-seven.

What nonsense! Praskovya Alexandrovna interrupted him here. - Play for him, Zina, something cheerful on the piano to disperse his gloomy thoughts.

And I know how to keep it! Mashenka picked up and clapped her hands.

Yes, pickled apples!

That's it, or rather there is no means, - the mother smiled. - Run, my dear, bring it quickly, while Akulina Pamfilovna has not yet subsided.

The girl rushed off in a whirlwind to the old housekeeper. But this time, even the prospect of his beloved village delicacy did not seduce the yearning poet. He took his hat and finally said goodbye. The ladies went, however, to escort him to the front. The servant had just given him a fur coat, when Mashenka flew in with a salad bowl full of pickled apples.

And after that, be nice to the guest! I barely snatched the keys to the pantry from our old grumbler, and he's running! No, my sir, if you please, now eat!

She took one larger apple out of the salad bowl with a spoon and brought it to the young guest's lips. Tom had no choice but to open his mouth wider.

Did you forget to add sugar? one of the sisters asked.

Still to forget for such a sweetie! Isn't it sweet? - the girl reacted to Pushkin.

The other one's mouth was still so full that he could only mumble "mhm!" in response. and nod your head in the affirmative.

Chew, chew like a toothless old man! Mashenka teased him. - Is it possible to treat you with more juice? Well, open your mouth.

He again implicitly complied with the demand; but the refreshment followed with such swiftness that hardly half got to their destination; the rest splashed on his tie and on his fur coat.

This made the naughty laugh so much that she jumped up and down like a goat with a ringing laugh; the pigtails on the back of her head jumped along with her, the apples in the salad bowl jumped, and two or three pieces rolled to the floor, followed by another stream of juice.

Mother and older sisters only gasped and parted to save their dresses; after that they all laughed at once, as did Pushkin.

What a fidget after all! Praskovya Alexandrovna said. - Give me a salad bowl here, otherwise you’ll probably drop it too.

Having freed herself from the salad bowl, Mashenka began to diligently wipe the guest's spattered fur coat with her own handkerchief.

Yes, please stand still! Don't dust yourself off like a poodle. Well, that's dry. In gratitude, you should also write something for me in the album.

About the poodle?

Yes, about the poodle, that is, about himself. Will you write?

We'll see.

Ungrateful!

poured over a man delicious juice and he doesn't even want to appreciate it. The blackest ingratitude! Goodbye mesdames...

Goodbye, Alexander Sergeevich! See you again tomorrow?

If something doesn't happen...

Again you with your premonitions!

What to do! In any case, do not remember dashingly.

Pushkin made his walks from Mikhailovsky to Trigorskoye, where there were not even three versts, in the summer either on horseback or on foot, in the latter case, propped up by a thick stick and accompanied by a large yard dog. In winter, when the road, which lay now in the forest, now in the fields and was open to the winds, was covered with snowdrifts, he was usually harnessed to light sledges. So it was this time.

The moon was in decline and had not yet risen. Thanks, however, to the spreading snow tablecloth around, the general outlines of the surrounding area could be distinguished.

What emptiness, what silence! It was as if the whole world had died out and covered itself with a shroud ... Pushkin was even more seized by inexplicable despondency.

“Isn’t it the same with me?” he said to himself. “All my past life, with all its worries, was also covered with snow. looking?"

Here, from the white semi-darkness, three familiar pine trees rose up before him near the road itself. But in their pulled-down white caps they appeared to him like gigantic mummies frozen forever; and one of them split in two at the top - like a huge stringless lyre.

"The strings on my lyre are not broken yet," thought Pushkin, "but for whom am I strumming in my snowy desert? I am only amusing myself!"

And everywhere the same dead silence, snow on everything - in the grove, on the wooden chapel, and beyond the grove, in peasant huts: all coffins and coffins! And here is your house - your coffin ...

The nanny, Arina Rodionovna, was evidently waiting for her pet master. As soon as he stepped out of the passage into the corridor, where the doors to him and her went out, one opposite the other, the old woman appeared on her threshold with a lighted candle in her hand.

Something, my father, did it hurt too early to return? Al can't?

No, nothing ... - answered Pushkin, taking off his fur coat and hanging it on a nail. (He once and for all forbade the weak old woman to help him with this.) - And what, nanny, did nothing happen here without me?

What else will happen? - as if even she was frightened and signed herself with a cross. - Lord have mercy on us!

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.
I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would wash down a long parting,
Who could shake hands from the heart
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; vain imagination
Calls comrades around me;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my dear soul does not wait.
I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?
He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtle of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly cutter
Did not draw over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that once you find a sad hello
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.
Are you sitting with your friends
Is someone else's skies restless lover?
Or again you pass the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of midnight seas?
Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And since that time in the seas your road,
O waves and storms, beloved child!
You saved in a wandering fate
Beautiful years original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Amid the stormy waves dreamed of you;
You extended your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in a young soul
And he repeated: "For a long separation
We may have been condemned by secret fate!”
My friends, our union is beautiful!
He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal -
Unshakable, free and carefree
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate takes us,
And happiness wherever it leads
We are all the same: the whole world is a foreign land for us;
Fatherland to us Tsarskoye Selo.
From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
With trepidation I enter the bosom of a new friendship,
The charter, stuck with a caressing head ...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
To other friends, he surrendered himself to a gentle soul;
But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting.
And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here. Poet's disgraced house,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit ;
You delighted the sad day of exile,
You turned his lyceum into a day.
You, Gorchakov, lucky from the first days,
Praise to you - fortune shine cold
Didn't change your free soul:
All the same you are for honor and friends.
We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.
When fate befell me with anger,
For all a stranger, like a homeless orphan,
Under the storm I drooped head languid
And I was waiting for you, prophet of Permesian maidens,
And you came, inspired son of laziness,
Oh my Delvig: your voice awakened
Heart heat, so long lulled,
And cheerfully I blessed fate.
From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we knew a wondrous excitement;
From infancy, two muses flew to us,
And our lot was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul;
I spent my gift as life without attention,
You brought up your genius in silence.
The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams delight us ...
We will come to our senses - but it's too late! and sadly
We look back, not seeing any traces there.
Tell me Wilhelm, or it was with us,
My own brother by muse, by fate?
It's time, it's time! our mental anguish
The world is not worth it; Let's leave the confusion!
Let's hide life under the canopy of solitude!
I'm waiting for you, my belated friend -
Come; the fire of a fairy tale
Revive heartfelt legends;
Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus,
About Schiller, about fame, about love.
It's time for me too... feast, O friends!
I foresee a pleasant rendezvous;
Remember the poet's prediction:
The year will fly by, and I'm with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will be fulfilled;
A year will pass, and I will come to you!
About how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many bowls raised to heaven!
And the first is fuller, friends, fuller!
And all to the bottom in honor of our union!
Bless, jubilant muse,
Bless: long live the lyceum!
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.
Full, full! and with a burning heart,
Again, to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? oh, guess what...
Hooray, our king! So! let's drink to the king.
He is a human! they are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded a lyceum.
Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who, distant, orphans;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the start...
Which of us is old age Lyceum Day
Will you have to celebrate alone?
Unfortunate friend! among new generations
Annoying guest and superfluous, and a stranger,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing your eyes with a trembling hand...
Let him with joy, even sad
Then this day will spend a cup,
As I am now, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would wash down a long parting,
Who could shake hands from the heart
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; vain imagination
Calls comrades around me;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my dear soul does not wait.

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?

He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtle of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly cutter
Did not draw over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that once you find a sad hello
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.

Are you sitting with your friends
Is someone else's skies restless lover?
Or again you pass the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of midnight seas?
Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And since that time in the seas your road,
O waves and storms, beloved child!

You saved in a wandering fate
Beautiful years original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Amid the stormy waves dreamed of you;
You extended your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in a young soul
And he repeated: "For a long separation
We may have been condemned by secret fate!”

My friends, our union is beautiful!
He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal -
Unshakable, free and carefree
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate takes us,
And happiness wherever it leads
We are all the same: the whole world is a foreign land for us;
Fatherland to us Tsarskoye Selo.

From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
With trepidation I enter the bosom of a new friendship,
The charter, stuck with a caressing head ...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
To other friends, he surrendered himself to a gentle soul;
But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting.

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here. Poet's disgraced house,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You delighted the sad day of exile,
You turned his lyceum into a day.

You, Gorchakov, are lucky from the first days,
Praise to you - fortune shine cold
Didn't change your free soul:
All the same you are for honor and friends.
We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.

When fate befell me with anger,
For all a stranger, like a homeless orphan,
Under the storm I drooped head languid
And I was waiting for you, prophet of Permesian maidens,
And you came, inspired son of laziness,
Oh my Delvig: your voice awakened
Heart heat, so long lulled,
And cheerfully I blessed fate.

From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we knew a wondrous excitement;
From infancy, two muses flew to us,
And our lot was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul;
I spent my gift as life without attention,
You brought up your genius in silence.

The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams delight us ...
We will come to our senses - but it's too late! and sadly
We look back, not seeing any traces there.
Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not so with us,
My own brother by muse, by fate?

It's time, it's time! our mental anguish
The world is not worth it; Let's leave the confusion!
Let's hide life under the canopy of solitude!
I'm waiting for you, my belated friend -
Come; the fire of a fairy tale
Revive heartfelt legends;
Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus,
About Schiller, about fame, about love.

It's time for me too ... feast, O friends!
I foresee a pleasant rendezvous;
Remember the poet's prediction:
The year will fly by, and I'm with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will be fulfilled;
A year will pass, and I will come to you!
About how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many bowls raised to heaven!

And the first is fuller, friends, fuller!
And all to the bottom in honor of our union!
Bless, jubilant muse,
Bless: long live the lyceum!
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Full, full! and with a burning heart,
Again, to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? other than that, guess...
Hooray, our king! So! let's drink to the king.
He is a human! they are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded a lyceum.

Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who, distant, orphans;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the beginning of our...
Which one of us, in old age, is the day of the lyceum
Will you have to celebrate alone?

Unfortunate friend! among new generations
Annoying guest and superfluous, and a stranger,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing your eyes with a trembling hand...
Let him with joy, even sad
Then this day will spend a cup,
As I am now, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.

Analysis of the poem October 19, 1825 by Pushkin

October 19 was a significant date for Pushkin. In 1811, on this day, the opening of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum took place, which became the cradle of his talent for the poet. During his studies, his main life views and beliefs were formed. Pushkin found real friends, to whom he remained faithful until the end of his life. On the graduation day of the lyceum, the comrades agreed to gather together on October 19 every year so as not to break their “sacred union”, to share their sorrows and joys. In 1825, Pushkin for the first time could not attend this friendly meeting, as he was in exile in the village. Mikhailovsky. Instead of himself, he sent a poetic message.

Pushkin celebrates a significant anniversary in solitude. He raises a glass to true friends and has a mental conversation with them. In the poem, each of the lyceum students is assigned special sensitive lines. “Our curly-haired singer” is N. A. Korsakov, who died in 1820 in Florence and is now sleeping “under the myrtle of Italy.” "The Restless Lover" - F. F. Matyushkin, famous for his numerous sea ​​voyages. Pushkin notes that neither death nor distance can interfere with the spiritual communication of friends who are forever bound by their joint youth.

Then the poet turns to those who visited him in "exile": Pushchin, Gorchakov and Delvig. They were closest to Pushkin, with them he shared his most intimate thoughts and ideas. The poet is sincerely glad of the success of his comrades. At the mention of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, the modern reader, first of all, associates with Pushkin. The rest of the graduates also achieved success in various fields, which gave the poet the right to be proud that he studied with them.

Under the influence of a joyful feeling of spiritual closeness, Pushkin is ready to forgive the tsar who "offended" him. He offers to drink for him and not to forget that the emperor is also a man, he is prone to mistakes and delusions. For the sake of founding the Lyceum and defeating Napoleon, the poet forgives the offense.

In the finale, Pushkin expresses the hope that the annual meeting will be repeated more than once. The poet's words about the inevitable narrowing of the friendly circle over time sound sad. He regrets the unfortunate one who will be forced to meet another anniversary alone. Pushkin turns his message to the future and wishes the last living lyceum student to spend this day "without grief and worries."

May 4 (15), 1798 - April 3 (15), 1859

Pushchin Ivan Ivanovich, 1837. Artist N. A. Bestuzhev

The son of Senator Ivan Petrovich Pushchin and Alexandra Mikhailovna, nee Ryabinina. Educated at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum (1810-1817). He served in the Life Guards of the Horse Artillery (October 1817 - ensign; April 1820 - second lieutenant; December 1822 - lieutenant). Shortly after leaving the lyceum, Pushchin joined the first secret society (“Holy Artel”), founded by guards officers in 1814. The artel included Alexander Nikolaevich and Mikhail Nikolaevich Muravyov, Pavel Koloshin, Ivan Burtsov, Vladimir Valkhovsky, Wilhelm Kuchelbecker. Member of the Salvation Union (1817) and the Welfare Union (1818). After a conflict with Grand Duke Mikhail Pavlovich, he left military service (dismissed on January 26, 1823). From 5/6/1823 he served in the St. Petersburg Criminal Chamber. Judge of the Moscow court court from 12/13/1823.

... [Pushchin] left military service and exchanged the uniform of the Horse Guards artillery for a modest service in the Criminal Chamber, hoping to be of significant benefit in this field and by his example to induce others to take on duties from which the nobility was eliminated, preferring shiny epaulettes to the benefits that they could bring, introducing into the lower courts that noble way of thinking, those pure motives that adorn a person both in private life and in public arena ...
(E. P. Obolensky).

Pushchin Ivan Ivanovich.

Collegiate assessor, judge of the Moscow court.
Judicial service in the eyes of the then nobles was considered humiliating. Pushkin, a friend of Pushchin from Lyceum times, noted in his poem "October 19" (1825):

You, consecrating your chosen dignity
Him in the eyes of public opinion
Won the respect of the citizens.

(quote from an earlier edition, not published afterwards)

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would wash down a long parting,
Who could shake hands from the heart
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; vain imagination
Calls comrades around me;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my dear soul does not wait.

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?

He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtle of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly cutter
Did not draw over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that once you find a sad hello
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.

Are you sitting with your friends
Is someone else's skies restless lover?
Or again you pass the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of midnight seas?
Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And since that time in the seas your road,
O waves and storms, beloved child!

You saved in a wandering fate
Beautiful years original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Amid the stormy waves dreamed of you;
You extended your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in a young soul
And he repeated: "For a long separation
We may have been condemned by secret fate!”

My friends, our union is beautiful!
He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal -
Unshakable, free and carefree
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate takes us,
And happiness wherever it leads
We are all the same: the whole world is a foreign land for us;
Fatherland to us Tsarskoye Selo.

From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
With trepidation I enter the bosom of a new friendship,
The charter, stuck with a caressing head ...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
To other friends, he surrendered himself to a gentle soul;
But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting.

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here. Poet's disgraced house,

You delighted the sad day of exile,
You turned his lyceum into a day.

You, Gorchakov, are lucky from the first days,
Praise to you - fortune shine cold
Didn't change your free soul:
All the same you are for honor and friends.
We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.

When fate befell me with anger,
For all a stranger, like a homeless orphan,
Under the storm I drooped head languid
And I was waiting for you, prophet of Permesian maidens,
And you came, inspired son of laziness,
Oh my Delvig: your voice awakened
Heart heat, so long lulled,
And cheerfully I blessed fate.

From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we knew a wondrous excitement;
From infancy, two muses flew to us,
And our lot was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul;
I spent my gift as life without attention,
You brought up your genius in silence.

The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams delight us ...
We will come to our senses - but it's too late! and sadly
We look back, not seeing any traces there.
Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not so with us,
My own brother by muse, by fate?

It's time, it's time! our mental anguish
The world is not worth it; Let's leave the confusion!
Let's hide life under the canopy of solitude!
I'm waiting for you, my belated friend -
Come; the fire of a fairy tale
Revive heartfelt legends;
Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus,
About Schiller, about fame, about love.

It's time for me too... feast, O friends!
I foresee a pleasant rendezvous;
Remember the poet's prediction:
The year will fly by, and I'm with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will be fulfilled;
A year will pass, and I will come to you!
About how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many bowls raised to heaven!

And the first is fuller, friends, fuller!
And all to the bottom in honor of our union!
Bless, jubilant muse,
Bless: long live the lyceum!
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Full, full! and with a burning heart,
Again, to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? oh, guess what...
Hooray, our king! So! let's drink to the king.
He is a human! they are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded a lyceum.

Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who, distant, orphans;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the start...
Which one of us, in old age, is the day of the lyceum
Will you have to celebrate alone?

Unfortunate friend! among new generations
Annoying guest and superfluous, and a stranger,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing your eyes with a trembling hand...
Let him with joy, even sad
Then this day will spend a cup,
As I am now, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.

Arrived in St. Petersburg shortly before the events of December 14th. The Supreme Criminal Court of 1826, finding him “guilty of participating in the intent to kill regicide by approving the choice of the person intended for that, participating in the management of the society, accepting members and giving instructions, and, finally, that he personally acted in rebellion and excited the lower ranks, ”sentenced him to death penalty, which was replaced by life imprisonment. On July 29, 1826, he was imprisoned in the Shlisselburg Fortress. He served a term of hard labor in the Chita prison and the Petrovsky plant. One of the managers of the Small artel of the Decembrists.

“My first friend, my priceless friend!
And I blessed fate
When my yard is secluded
covered in sad snow,
Your bell has rung.

After 20 years, he was settled first in Turinsk (where Pushchin, according to the testimony of local authorities, “did nothing but read books”), and then in Yalutorovsk (here he became addicted to agriculture). In the settlement and after returning from Siberia, he maintained relations with almost all the Decembrists and members of their families, conducted extensive correspondence, and helped those in need. Returned from exile in 1856.
At the request of Yevgeny Yakushkin, he wrote memoirs, including about Pushkin. “Notes on friendly relations with A. S. Pushkin” (published in “Athene”, 1859, part II, No. 8), “Letters from Yalutorovsk” (1845) to Engelhardt, reporting information about his life there, about comrades, about Yalutorovsk itself and its inhabitants, etc. (published in the Russian Archive, 1879, III vol.).
Pushkin wrote a message to Pushchin in 1826, filled with extraordinary warmth and received by him in Chita only two years later. The last time the great poet mentions him was in 1827, in the poem "October 19".

On May 22, 1857, Pushchin married Natalya Dmitrievna Apukhtina, the widow of the Decembrist Mikhail Aleksandrovich Fonvizin. Last years Pushchin spent his life on the estate of his wife Maryino in Bronnitsy, where he died. He was buried in the same place, near the walls of the Cathedral of Michael the Archangel in the family tomb of the Fonvizins.

The grave of I. I. Pushchin in Bronnitsy

House Pushchin

Pushchin Ivan Ivanovich, a memorial plaque on his house on the street. Wash house number 14

At the address st. Moika house number 14 is a historical building associated with the life and work of one of the best, noblest people of Russia in the 19th century - Ivan Ivanovich Pushchin. The plot of this house in the 18th century belonged to Admiral Pyotr Pushchin; In this house, the childhood years of the grandson of the old admiral, the closest friend of A. S. Pushkin, I. I. Pushchin, passed.

Since 1817, Pushchin was an active member of secret (in the future - Decembrist) organizations. Future Decembrists often gathered in this house at Pushchin's apartment. Here Pushchin accepted KF Ryleev into the Northern Society. Here, in October 1823, a meeting was held at which the Duma of the Northern Society (Northern Secret Society) was elected. Pushchin took an active part in the uprising on December 14, 1825 on Senate Square and remained unharmed only by a lucky chance - the raincoat of his grandfather-admiral he wore that day was pierced by many bullets and buckshot.

The day after the defeat of the uprising, here, on the Moika, Pushchin was visited by his fellow student at the Lyceum, Alexander Mikhailovich Gorchakov, brought a completed foreign passport, and persuaded Pushchin to immediately flee from St. But Pushchin refused to flee, and answered Gorchakov that he considered it shameful to avoid the fate that awaited his comrades in the uprising. On December 16, Pushchin was arrested in this house on the Moika.

After the death of his father (1842), the brother of I. I. Pushchin, Mikhail, took possession of house No. 14. In the 1840s, the facade of the building was rebuilt according to the project of the academician of architecture D. T. Heidenreich. Now in this historic place, a minute's walk from the Hermitage and Palace Square, the hotel "Pushka Inn" is located.

The hotel building is an architectural monument of the 18th century (the house of Ivan Pushchin).

Nadya Rusheva. 16-year-old lyceums Pushkin and Pushchin. 1968

Pushchin Ivan Ivanovich, Pushkin's comrade at the Lyceum, one of his closest friends.
Artist F. Berne. 1817

Once upon a time, two boys met and became friends in the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum: Sasha Pushkin and Vanya Pushchin. They seemed to be very different. Pushkin is impulsive and quick-tempered, Pushchin is balanced, stubborn, reasonable.

Favorsky V.A. "Pushkin Lyceum student". 1935

A. S. Pushkin. Drawing for Geitman's engraving.

“We all saw that Pushkin was ahead of us, he read a lot that we hadn’t even heard of, everything he read, he remembered,” Pushchin wrote many years later, “but his merit consisted in the fact that he did not even think to show himself and put on airs, as is very often the case in those years (each of us was 12 years old)".

But now they have grown. The Lyceum years are behind us. Both already quite clearly realized that they live in a country without rights, crushed by tsarist autocracy. The young man Pushchin immediately chose the path of struggle for himself - he joined a secret society. “This high goal of life, by its very secrecy and the outline of new duties, sharply and deeply penetrated into my soul ... - Pushchin later recalled. - My first thought was to open up to Pushkin: he always thought with me about the common cause ... I don’t know , fortunately or unfortunately, he was not then in Petersburg, otherwise I can’t guarantee that in the first impulses, due to my exceptional friendship for him, I might have carried him away with me. Subsequently ... I no longer dared to entrust him with a secret that did not belong to me alone, where the slightest negligence could be detrimental to the whole thing. In addition, Pushchin and his friends saw that Pushkin, even though he was not a member of a secret society, with his poetic word "acts in the best possible way, for a good purpose."

Pushkin's freedom-loving poems went from hand to hand in St. Petersburg and throughout Russia. Tsar Alexander I also found out about them. And he ordered the poet to be sent from St. Petersburg, first to the south of Russia, and then to the Pskov village of Mikhailovskoye, under the supervision of local authorities.

N. Ge Pushchin visiting Pushkin in Mikhailovsky.

Here Pushkin lived in an old manor together with an old nanny, away from friends and relatives. Here in January 1825, in a sleigh on a snowy road, his faithful friend Ivan Pushchin came to see him.

Poet's disgraced house,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You have delighted the sad day of exile ...

This is how Pushkin later wrote about this visit of a friend.

And Pushchin accepted only the poet Ryleev into the secret society. Togo Ryleev, who then led the preparation of the uprising in St. Petersburg ...

In November 1825, while making a trip to the south of Russia, in the city of Taganrog, Tsar Alexander I suddenly died. For members of the secret society, this message sounded like a signal for decisive action.

The uprising was scheduled for December 14th. On this day, the officers, participants in the uprising, decided to withdraw their regiments in St. Petersburg to Senate Square, from where it was already very close to the Tsar's Winter Palace.

Officer Kakhovsky was preparing to shoot at the new Emperor Nicholas. On the eve of the decisive day, Ryleyev hugged Kakhovsky and said: "I know your selflessness ... Kill the emperor tomorrow!" And then Pushchin also embraced Kakhovsky, admiring the courage of this man.

But on December 14, on the Senate Square pierced by the cold wind, the rebels were defeated. They did not calculate their strength. And some were simply confused - the uprising began without a clearly thought-out plan ... From the memoirs of the Decembrist Rosen, it is known that "I.I. his calmness and vivacity. Pushchin came to the square in a fur coat and a hat, and when they started shooting at the rebels with buckshot, his fur coat was pierced in many places ...

He could have immediately escaped from Petersburg, but did not want to. He considered it his duty to share the fate of his comrades.

Arrested and imprisoned in the Peter and Paul Fortress, he steadfastly held on to the interrogation and did not betray any of his comrades.

The news of the unsuccessful uprising reached the quiet village of Mikhailovsky. Pushkin wrote a letter to St. Petersburg, to the poet Delvig, asking: "But what about Ivan Pushchin? .. My heart is not in the right place, but I strongly hope for the mercy of the tsar." I really hoped. Nicholas I, who survived the day of the uprising, did not want to spare anyone.

Pushchin, as one of the main instigators, was convicted "in the first category." He was sentenced to death with beheading. Then the death sentence was commuted to eternal penal servitude. Five main participants in the uprising were hanged, among them Pushchin's friends - Ryleyev and Kakhovskiy.

"The hanged are hanged, but hard labor of 120 friends, brothers, comrades is terrible," Pushkin exclaimed in a letter to the poet Vyazemsky. And in his draft papers he once drew a gallows and thoughtfully added next to it: "And I could ..."

Pushchin was driven to hard labor for several thousand miles - in Transbaikalia.

On a frosty winter day, new convicts were brought to the Chita jail. From behind the guarded palisade, Pushchin heard a woman's voice calling him. It turned out that this was the wife of the Decembrist Muravyov, Alexandra Grigorievna, one of those selfless women who followed their husbands to hard labor. She called Pushchin and handed him, slipping between the stakes, a piece of paper.

“Alexandra Grigorievna told me,” Pushchin said in his “Notes”, “that she received this sheet from one of her acquaintances just before leaving Petersburg, kept it until goodbye to me and was glad that she could finally fulfill the poet’s instructions.” Commissioned by Pushkin!

Pushchin unfolded the sheet, and one can imagine how excited Pushkin's lines addressed to him, Pushchin:

My first friend, my priceless friend,
And I blessed fate
When my yard is secluded
covered in sad snow,
Your bell has sounded;
I pray holy providence:
Yes, my voice to your soul
Gives the same comfort
May he illuminate the prison
Beam lyceum clear days!

Until the end of his life, Pushchin kept this message of Pushkin as a shrine.

The stunning news of the death of the poet in a duel came to Pushchin already at the convict Petrovsky factory, also in Transbaikalia, where Pushchin was transferred from Chita. “It seems that if his unfortunate story were to happen in my presence, and if I were in the place of K. Danzas, then the fatal bullet would meet my chest: I would find a way to save the poet-comrade, the property of Russia,” he wrote to one of old friends in Petersburg.

And these were not just words.

The Decembrist Basargin recalled Pushchin: “His open character, his readiness to render a service and be useful, his straightforwardness, honesty, and supreme disinterestedness placed him highly in moral terms ... In Chita and Petrovsky, he only bothered to none of his comrades was in need. The money sent by his relatives he put almost everything into a common artel ... "

In 1839, together with many other Decembrists, Pushchin was transferred from hard labor to a settlement. And he spent another seventeen years in exile, in small Siberian towns: first in Turinsk, then in Yalutorovsk.

Pushchin was allowed to return to European Russia only thirty years after he was driven to hard labor in Siberia.

In St. Petersburg, he was met by an old lyceum comrade Konstantin Danzas. And he spoke about how Pushkin, wounded in a duel, regretted before his death that Pushchin was not around:

It would be easier to die...

Pushchin found out about this twenty years after the death of the poet. Now he himself did not have long to live.

But the memory of Pushkin's first friend is still alive.

Pushkin and his contemporaries.

N.V. KOLENCHIKOV,
winner of the Pushkin Prize in 2004
in the CIS and Baltic countries,
Minsk

My friends!
Our union is wonderful!

Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.
Rice. A. Pushkin

Among all the high and beautiful talents with which the poet was so generously endowed, the talent of friendship stands out in particular. He was given a rare gift of friendship. “For Pushkin, friendship was a sacred need,” wrote P.A. Pletnev.

Russian religious philosopher and writer S.N. Bulgakov noted: “By nature, perhaps, as a seal of his genius, Pushkin was given exceptional personal nobility. First of all, it is expressed in his ability to correct and selfless friendship: he was surrounded by friends in his youth and to death, and he himself remained faithful to friendship all his life.

A special place in the soul of the poet was occupied by friends of his youth - lyceum students; he carried loyalty to the lyceum brotherhood through his whole life. The essence of the relations of the lyceum students was that they are an alliance with the rights of a unique spiritual closeness. This is not even friendship in the usual sense of the word, but something higher, in any case different, unusual phenomenon never seen before or since this type of connection.

Pushkin's work became decisive in the inseparable connection of the lyceum students. Pushkin devoted five poems to the lyceum anniversary: ​​1825, 1827, 1828, 1831, 1936.

Friendship for Pushkin is a saving feeling. And it often helped him in life's difficulties.

The poem "October 19", 1825, was written in exile, in Mikhailovsky. “Following the thoughts of a great man is the most entertaining science,” wrote the poet. Let us take up this most entertaining of the sciences.

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1st stanza

Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell...

The poem begins with a picture of nature, in complete harmony with the mood of the poet:

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.

To enhance the expressiveness of this description, inversion is used.

Drops the forest...
It's freezing cold...
The day will pass...

Pushkin is the first Russian poet who made the connection between man and the natural world almost inseparable. The day will pass as if involuntarily ... As if the day is also in exile, forced, and he does not really want to fulfill his everyday function - to look through. The autumn day is short; light, little joy. In nature - the same as in the soul of the poet.

Srebrit frost wilted field. Amazingly capacious word withered(field). There is an idea of ​​a field with drooping withered grass, covered with silver frost. Participle withered not only creates an accurate visual image, but also gives Pushkin's description a deeply personal, sad shade, after which the following lines about himself are so natural:

Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.

Appeals-commands to the fireplace (blaze) to wine (shed hangover) very expressive. With the poet, so far, only these inanimate objects that can brighten up the sadness and melancholy of the link.

2nd stanza

I am sad: there is no friend with me ...

The second stanza is “the motive of non-meeting”, a gloomy appeal to oneself, to one’s loneliness. We see the poet at the end of October, when “the grove is already shaking off the last leaves from its naked branches”, when it is dank and dark in Mikhailov’s groves, when the old one is lonely, and he is twenty-five years old, and the link has been stretching for the fifth year, and there is no end in sight :

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would drink a long parting ...

3rd stanza

My friends are calling me...

I drink alone... This expression is used in the 2nd stanza and repeated in the 3rd. Through repetition, the poet highlights the key concept - loneliness: "I drink alone" ... But when he says in the 3rd stanza:

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...

then one feels the poet's confidence in friends who have not changed captivating habit meet on the day of the Lyceum.

The only thing that remains unknown is whether everyone has gathered. That is why a series of questions follows (seven in one 3rd stanza!):

But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?

Vaguely addressed questions express various feelings of the poet - conjectures, doubts, reflections... But he does not feel torn off, alienated from friends. In the central stanzas, what happens is what the poet will say later in the poem "Autumn" (1833):

And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me ...

Friends come to him in his imagination, surround him, he talks with them, talks about them. "October 19" is a "feast of the imagination." And if this is a feast, then healthy toasts should be present. Therefore, the 4-8th stanzas are a series of healthy toasts.

4th stanza

He didn't come, our curly singer...

But the first words are about those "who did not come, who are not among you." The 4th stanza is dedicated to Nikolai Korsakov:

He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar ...

Korsakov N.A. (1800-1820) - Pushkin's lyceum comrade, active employee and editor of lyceum magazines; he was very musical, played the guitar beautifully, set to music Pushkin's poems "O Delia Dragaya ..." and "Yesterday Masha ordered me ...". He died of consumption in Italy, writing his own epitaph:

Passerby, hasten to your native country.
Oh! It's sad to die far away from friends.

5th and 6th stanzas

Oh, waves and storms, beloved child!

These two stanzas of Pushkin are addressed to the lyceum friend Fyodor Matyushkin:

Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly ...

Even at the Lyceum, Matyushkin dreamed of becoming a sailor. After graduating from the course, he decided to be a midshipman and made a round-the-world voyage on the ship "Kamchatka"; later, becoming a sailor, he made several more voyages around the world, explored the shores of Eastern Siberia, where one cape was named after him. At the end of his life, Matyushkin was a rear admiral and a senator.

Matyushkin's last meeting with the poet took place at the lyceum anniversary in 1836 at the lyceum comrade Yakovlev.

In February 1837, Fyodor Matyushkin, while in Sevastopol, received a terrible letter from St. Petersburg. Here is his answer to his lyceum classmate Yakovlev: “Pushkin has been killed! Yakovlev! How did you allow this? What scoundrel raised his hand to him? Yakovlev, Yakovlev! How could you let that happen. Our circle is thinning ... ". Word fate occurs eight times in the poem, but the first time it is used by the poet in a stanza about F. Matyushkin:

you saved in wandering destiny
Beautiful years, original morals ...

Pushkin also defines his fate with this word. Let's remember:

How often in sorrowful separation,
In my wandering fate
Moscow, I thought about you.

7th stanza

My friends, our union is beautiful!

In the seventh stanza, Pushkin addresses all his friends with a general greeting, acquiring the character of an affirmation of a high fraternal union of like-minded friends:

My friends, our union is beautiful!

These words were repeated by generations of lyceum students. They are carved on a granite pedestal of the monument to Pushkin the lyceum student in the lyceum garden. In an appeal to friends, there is confidence that they will carry brotherhood and spiritual kinship through their whole lives, despite any bitterness of fate.

Why the union of lyceum students unshakable? Because he grew together under the shadow of friendly muses, those. under the cover of poetic inspiration, creativity. The lyceum brotherhood was not only a human, but also a poetic brotherhood.

8th stanza

But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting...

This stanza is a return to oneself and clarification of oneself:

From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate...

As if fate only does what it does, which all the time sets up networks, and he gets entangled in them. He defines his destiny as severe: exile, persecution (drive, languish, depend).

In his forced wanderings around Russia, Pushkin really missed his friends, lyceum and literary. In the south, he tried to get along with new people, but he was bored with some, in others, as in Alexander Raevsky, he was disappointed. Let us pay attention to the key words that speak of the feeling with which the poet indulged in a new friendship: with trepidation; pricked with a caressing head; with a sad and rebellious prayer; with gullible hope ... indulged in tender soul. And as a result of all this openness and tenderness: "But their non-brotherly greeting was bitter." What characterized the friendship of the lyceum students - the holy brotherhood - is given here as a negation - Not fraternal hello.

9th stanza

... The disgraced house of the poet,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit...

Pushchin, Gorchakov, Delvig - a separate stanza (there was a meeting with them).

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here.

In one stanza, these two words, close in meaning, occur. It is a joy to meet three people in Mikhailovsky soul friends. And delight - for Pushchin with his arrival sad day of exile turned into a Lyceum day.

10th stanza

We are assigned a different path by fate strict ...

A peculiar relationship from the school bench was established between Pushkin and Prince A.M. Gorchakov (1798-1883) - a handsome, strong, brilliant and cold man, a darling of fate. In a lyceum letter to Gorchakov, the poet gave his friend a description similar to a prophecy:

My dear friend, we are entering a new world;
But there the destiny assigned to us is not equal,
And we will leave a trace in our lives.
To you by the wayward hand of Fortune
The path is indicated, both happy and glorious, -
My path is sad and dark...

Indeed, Prince Gorchakov became an outstanding diplomat. After graduating from the Lyceum in the first category, with a gold medal, Gorchakov decided to join the Collegium of Foreign Affairs, where he quickly began to advance in the service and subsequently reached the post of Minister of Foreign Affairs.

In 1825, while on vacation, he visited his uncle, the marshal of the nobility in Pskov, and saw Pushkin. “We met and parted rather coldly, at least on my part,” Pushkin wrote to Vyazemsky. But, despite this, he dedicated a few lines to Gorchakov:

We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.

Note here the word brotherly.

11th and 12th stanzas

A poet for Pushkin is a special friend, he is brother by blood. Pushkin responded with deeply felt lines to Delvig's arrival in Mikhailovskoye in the spring of 1825:

This meeting brought the poet back to life, to action, to creativity. Magnanimous and unenvious, Pushkin reproaches himself and admires his friend:

But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul ...

Memories of two fellow poets - Delvig and Kuchelbecker - enable Pushkin to express the idea of ​​the essence of beauty:

The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic.

13th and 14th stanzas

My dear brother by muse, by fate ...

Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not so with them,
My own brother by muse, by fate?

This question appears at the end of the 13th stanza. He creates a sense of the presence of a friend, as if Wilhelm is nearby and will immediately answer this question. In Mikhailov exile, Pushkin was looking forward to the arrival of a friend with whom so many youthful memories were associated, but they would meet by chance only in 1827, when the exiled Decembrist Küchelbecker was transported from one fortress to another. This was their last date.

15th stanza

A year will pass, and I will be with you again...

As a reward for the feat of love for friends, the poet is given two gifts. The first gift is the gift of foresight: “The year will rush by, and I will come to you!” ... (In September 1826 (even less than a year later!) Pushkin was released from exile.)

And immediately the structure of the story changes. Immediately - an abundance of exclamatory intonations, delight, ecstasy. And we are also beginning to believe in this meeting.

16th stanza

To the mentors who guarded our youth...

Favorite mentors - Galich, Koshansky, Kunitsyn - were both outstanding and young people. Researcher A.V. Tyrkova-Williams rightly notes: “All three professors - Kunitsyn, Koshansky, Galich - survived the poet. But none of them left memories of him. They respectfully tinkered with the German and Latin four-degree poets, but did not think to write down, to preserve for future generations the memory of how, before their eyes, a curly, mischievous boy turned into a poet of genius.

But royally magnanimous Pushkin repaid them for all their worries with the majestic beauty of the verse:

To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Not all professors of the Lyceum left a big mark on Pushkin's spiritual development, but the poet turned his wise lines of gratitude to all without exception.

Stanzas 14-18 are filled with jubilant, joyful vocabulary. The abundance of exclamatory intonations is combined with imperative forms of verbs: come - revive, feast, drink, remember, bless, long live etc., in which confidence and will sound.

Kunitsyn tribute of heart and wine!
He created us, he raised our fire,
They set the cornerstone
They lit a clean lamp...

Professor of moral and political sciences (let's think about this amazing academic subject!) Alexander Petrovich Kunitsyn, speaking to lyceum students, said: “People, entering society, want freedom and prosperity, and not slavery and poverty; they offer their forces at the disposal of society, but only so that they are turned to the common and, consequently, to their own benefit.

The worldview of Pushkin and his Decembrist friends took shape under the great influence of Kunitsyn.

In 1821, Kunitsyn was dismissed from his chair and even dismissed from service in the Ministry of Public Education for the book he published "Natural Law", which, according to the government, set out "very harmful, contrary to the truths of Christianity and tending to overthrow all family ties and state teachings.

Pushkin expressed his indignation at the ban on Kunitsyn's book in his "Message to the Censor" (1822), which went from hand to hand on lists. On January 11, 1835, sending Kunitsyn his book The History of the Pugachev Rebellion, Pushkin wrote in it: “To Alexander Petrovich Kunitsyn from the Author as a token of deep respect and gratitude.”

Pushkin retained his gratitude to Kunitsyn throughout his life, and in the last poem dedicated to the lyceum anniversary, he again recalls Kunitsyn's speech:

Do you remember: when the Lyceum arose,
As the tsar opened the palace of the tsaritsyn for us.
And we came. And Kunitsyn met us
Greetings between royal guests.

(It was time..., 1836)

17th stanza

Forgive him the wrong persecution ...

The second gift that was given to Pushkin as a reward for the feat of love is the gift of forgiveness to Alexander I, the persecutor:

He is a human! They are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum.

Let's take a look at these two words: He is a human! It is this purely human dimension of Alexander that interests Pushkin most of all now. Pushkin, as it were, says that all tsars are deeply unhappy people. They don't belong to themselves. They think that they are slaves down there, but it turns out that they themselves are slaves. rumors, doubts and passions. We can only feel sorry for them.

And it is no longer surprising that in 1825, the words previously unthinkable in Pushkin appear: Forgive him the wrong persecution. Pushkin offers a lot to forgive Alexander I for the fact that he took Paris, he founded the Lyceum, as if equating these two events.

18th stanza

Fate looks, we wither; days are running...

This stanza is a touch to the mystery of eternity. Pushkin speaks about death calmly, like people close to nature. The constant thought of death does not leave bitterness in his heart, does not disturb the clarity of his soul:

Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who is a distant orphan;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the start...

The poem "October 19" in 1825 led V.G. Belinsky was completely delighted. He wrote: “Pushkin does not give fate victory over him; he wrests from her at least a part of the joy taken from him. As a true artist, he possessed this instinct of truth, which pointed to him as a source of both grief and consolation and forced him to seek healing in the same essentiality where his illness had visited.

19th stanza

An annoying guest and an extra one, and a stranger ...

This is an appeal to an unfortunate friend who will outlive everyone and will celebrate the day of the Lyceum alone:

Fate put it this way: the last lyceum student of the Pushkin graduation, who had to celebrate the anniversary of the Lyceum alone, was A.M. Gorchakov. Why is he an "unfortunate friend"? Because superfluous and alien among new generations is a “boring guest”. In this stanza, the poet contrasts himself with him, a lonely exile, but at an imaginary feast of friends (who today certainly call him on the banks of the Neva!). Pushkin, it turns out, is happy today, as he spent the day "without grief and worries." This is how he came out of the poem - happy! And the beginning was sad - "I drink alone ...". And this feeling of happiness was given to him by his friends.

"October 19" is a poem about the victory of the imagination. The poet's imagination triumphs over reality!