The forest sheds its crimson headdress, The frost turns the withered field silver, The day appears, as if against its will, And disappears over the edge of the surrounding mountains. Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell; And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold, pour a gratifying hangover into my chest, a momentary oblivion of bitter torment. I am sad: there is no friend with me, with whom I would drink the long separation, to whom I could shake hands from the heart and wish many happy years. I drink alone; in vain the 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 call me today... But how many of you feast there too? Who else are you missing? Who changed the captivating habit? Who has been drawn away from you by the cold light? Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call? Who didn't come? Who is missing between you? He did not come, our curly-haired singer, With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar: Under the myrtle trees of beautiful Italy He sleeps quietly, and a friendly chisel did not inscribe over the Russian grave A few words in his native language, So that the sad Son of the north would once find greetings, wandering in the land stranger. Are you sitting in the circle of your friends, a restless lover of foreign skies? Or are you again passing through the sultry tropic And the eternal ice of the midnight seas? Happy journey!.. From the threshold of the Lyceum You stepped onto the ship jokingly, And from that time on, your path has been in the seas, O beloved child of waves and storms! You saved in a wandering fate Have wonderful years original customs: Lyceum noise, lyceum fun Among the stormy waves you dreamed; You stretched out your hand to us from across the sea, You carried us alone in your young soul And repeated: “A secret fate, perhaps, condemned us to a long separation!” My friends, our union is wonderful! He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal - Unshakable, free and carefree, He grew together under the canopy of friendly muses. Wherever fate throws us And wherever happiness leads us, We are still the same: the whole world is foreign to us; Our Fatherland is Tsarskoe Selo. From end to end we are pursued by thunderstorms, entangled in the nets of a harsh fate, I tremblingly into the bosom of a new friendship, Tired, I leaned on the caressing head... With my sad and rebellious prayer, With the trusting hope of the first years, I gave myself up to some friends with a tender soul; But their greeting was bitter and unbrotherly. 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 embraced here. The poet’s house is disgraced, O my Pushchin, you were the first to visit; You sweetened the sad day of exile, You turned it into the day of the Lyceum. You, Gorchakov, have been lucky from the first days, Praise be to you - the cold shine of fortune has not changed your free soul: You are still the same for honor and friends. Strict fate has assigned us different paths; Stepping into life, we quickly parted ways: But by chance, on a country road, We met and embraced brotherly. When the wrath of fate befell me, a stranger to everyone, like a homeless orphan, I hung my languid head under the storm And waited for you, prophet of the Permesian maidens, And you came, inspired son of laziness, O my Delvig: your voice awakened the heat of the heart, so long lulled, And I cheerfully 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 destiny was sweet with their caress: But I already loved applause, You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul; I spent my gift, like life, without attention, You raised your genius in silence. The service of the muses does not tolerate fuss; The beautiful must be majestic: But youth advises us slyly, And noisy dreams delight us... Let us 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 the same with us, My brother by muse, by destiny? It's time, it's time! The world is not worth our mental anguish; Let's leave the misconceptions behind! Let's hide life under the shadow of solitude! I'm waiting for you, my belated friend - Come; with the fire of a magical story, revive heartfelt legends; Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus, About Schiller, about fame, about love. It's time for me... feast, oh friends! I anticipate a pleasant meeting; Remember the poet's prediction: A year will fly by, and I will be with you again, The covenant of my dreams will come true; A year will fly by and I will appear to you! Oh, how many tears and how many exclamations, And how many cups raised to heaven! And the first one is complete, friends, complete! And all the way to the bottom in honor of our union! Bless, jubilant muse, Bless: long live the Lyceum! To the mentors who guarded our youth, With honor to all, both dead and living, Raising a grateful cup to our lips, Without remembering evil, we will reward for good. Fuller, fuller! and, with your heart on fire, drink to the bottom again, to the drop! But for whom? oh, guess what... Hurray, our king! So! Let's drink to the king. He's a man! they are ruled by the moment. He is a slave to rumors, doubts and passions; Let us forgive him his wrongful persecution: He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum. Feast while we're still here! Alas, our circle is thinning hour by hour; Some are sleeping in a coffin, some are orphans in the distance; Fate is watching, we are withering; the days are flying; Invisibly bowing and growing cold, We are approaching our beginning... Which of us, in our old age, will have to celebrate the day of the Lyceum alone? Unhappy friend! among new generations, a tedious guest, superfluous and alien, He will remember us and the days of unions, Closing his eyes with a trembling hand... Let him with joy, even if sad, Then he will spend this day at the cup, As now I, your disgraced recluse, spent it without grief and worries. 1825
Notes:
October 19, 1811 - founding day of Tsarskoye Selo
Lyceum, where Pushchin entered at the same time, Delvig,
Kuchelbecker, Pushkin and other lyceum students of the “first intake”. A.S. Pushkin. Works in three volumes.
St. Petersburg: Golden Age, Diamant, 1997.

The forest drops its crimson robe,
Frost will silver the withered field,
The day will appear as if involuntarily
And it will disappear beyond the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, are a friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a gratifying hangover into my chest,
A momentary oblivion of bitter torment.

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom would I drink away the long separation,
Who could I shake hands with from the heart?
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; imagination in vain
Around me my comrades are calling;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my soul does not wait for a sweetheart.

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
Today my friends call me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else are you missing?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who has been drawn away from you by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is missing between you?

He didn’t come, our curly-haired singer,
With fire in the eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtles of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly chisel
Didn’t inscribe it over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that you never find hello sad
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.

Are you sitting with your friends?
Restless lover of foreign skies?
Or again you are passing through the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of the midnight seas?
Happy journey!.. From the Lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And from then on, your road is in the seas,
O beloved child of waves and storms!

You saved in a wandering fate
Wonderful years, original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Among the stormy waves you dreamed;
You stretched out your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in your young soul
And he repeated: “For a long separation
A secret fate, perhaps, has condemned us!”

My friends, our union is wonderful!
He, like a soul, is indivisible and eternal -
Unwavering, free and carefree
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate throws us,
And happiness wherever it leads,
We are still the same: the whole world is foreign to us;
Our Fatherland is Tsarskoe Selo.

From end to end we are pursued by thunderstorms,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
I tremblingly enter the bosom of new friendship,
Tired, with a caressing head...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
He gave himself up to some friends with a tender soul;
But their greeting was bitter and unbrotherly.

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, my soul's friends,
I hugged here. The poet's house is disgraced,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You sweetened the sad day of exile,
You turned his lyceum into a day.

You, Gorchakov, have been lucky from the first days,
Praise be to you - fortune shines cold
Didn't change your free soul:
You are still the same for honor and friends.
Strict fate has assigned us different paths;
Stepping into life, we quickly parted ways:
But by chance on a country road
We met and hugged brotherly.

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

From infancy the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we experienced wonderful excitement;
From infancy two muses flew to us,
And our destiny was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud one, sang for the muses and for the soul;
I spent my gift like life without attention,
You raised your genius in silence.

The service of the muses does not tolerate fuss;
The beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams make us happy...
Let's come to our senses - but it's too late! and sadly
We look back, seeing no traces there.
Tell me, Wilhelm, is that not what happened to us?
Is my brother related by muse, by destiny?

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

It's time for me... feast, oh friends!
I anticipate a pleasant meeting;
Remember the poet's prediction:
A year will fly by, and I will be with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will come true;
A year will fly by and I will appear to you!
Oh how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many cups raised to heaven!

And the first one is complete, friends, complete!
And all the way 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 grateful cup to my lips,
Without remembering evil, we will reward goodness.

Fuller, fuller! and, with my heart on fire,
Again, drink to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? oh others, guess...
Hurray, our king! So! Let's drink to the king.
He's a man! they are ruled by the moment.
He is a slave to rumors, doubts and passions;
Let us forgive him his wrongful persecution:
He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum.

Feast while we're still here!
Alas, our circle is thinning hour by hour;
Some are sleeping in a coffin, some, distant, are orphans;
Fate is watching, we are withering; the days are flying;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are approaching our beginning...
Which of us needs the Lyceum Day in our old age?
Will you have to celebrate alone?

Unhappy friend! among new generations
The annoying guest is both superfluous and alien,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing my eyes with a trembling hand...
Let it be with sad joy
Then he will spend this day at the cup,
Like now I, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.

Analysis of the poem October 19, 1825 by Pushkin

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

Pushkin celebrates a significant anniversary alone. He raises a glass to his true friends and has a mental conversation with them. In the poem, each of the lyceum students is given special sensitive lines. “Our curly singer” is N. A. Korsakov, who died in 1820 in Florence and is now sleeping “under the myrtles of Italy.” “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 forever connected by their shared youth.

Next, the poet turns to those who visited him in “exile”: Pushchin, Gorchakov and Delvig. They were the closest to Pushkin, with them he shared his most secret thoughts and ideas. The poet is sincerely happy about the success of his comrades. For a modern reader, when mentioning the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, first of all, an association arises 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 to him and not to forget that the emperor is also a person, he is prone to mistakes and delusions. For the sake of founding the Lyceum and defeating Napoleon, the poet forgives the insult.

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 circle of friends over time sound sad. He feels sorry for the poor soul who will be forced to celebrate 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.”

N.V. KOLENCHIKOVA,
laureate of the Pushkin Prize 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 wonderful talents with which the poet was so generously endowed, the talent of friendship especially stands out. 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: “Pushkin by nature, perhaps as a stamp of his genius, was given exceptional personal nobility. First of all, it is expressed in his ability to faithfully and selfless friendship: he was surrounded by friends in his youth and until his death, and he himself remained faithful to friendship all his life.”

A special place in the poet’s soul was occupied by the friends of his youth - lyceum students; He carried his loyalty to the lyceum brotherhood throughout his life. The essence of the relationship between the lyceum students was that they were a union with the rights of unique spiritual intimacy. This is not even friendship in the usual sense of the word, but something higher, at least different, unusual phenomenon a type of connection never seen before or since.

The determining factor in the inextricable connection between the lyceum students was the work of Pushkin. Pushkin dedicated 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,” the poet wrote. Let's tackle this most entertaining of sciences.

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1st stanza

Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell...

The poem begins with a picture of nature, completely in harmony with the poet’s mood:

The forest drops its crimson robe,
Frost will silver the withered field,
The day will appear as if involuntarily
And it will disappear beyond the edge of the surrounding mountains.

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

The forest is falling...
The frost will silver...
The day will pass...

Pushkin is the first Russian poet who made the connection between man and the natural world almost inextricable. The day will pass as if involuntarily... It’s as if the day is also in exile, forced, and he doesn’t really want to perform his everyday function - to look through. The autumn day is short; there is little light, little joy. In nature it is the same as in the poet’s soul.

The frost will silver the withered field. Amazingly capacious word faded(field). An idea arises of a field with drooping, withered grass, covered with silvery frost. Communion faded not only creates an accurate visual image, but also gives Pushkin’s description a deeply personal, sad tone, after which the following lines about himself are so natural:

Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, are a friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a gratifying hangover into my chest,
A momentary oblivion of bitter torment.

Appeals-commands to the fireplace (blaze) to wine (shed your hangover) very expressive. For now, the poet has only these inanimate objects that can brighten up the sadness and melancholy of exile.

2nd stanza

I'm sad: I don't have a friend with me...

The second stanza is the “motive of non-meeting”, a gloomy reference 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 the Mikhailovsky groves, when the old man is lonely, and he is twenty-five years old, and his exile has been dragging on for five years, and there is no end in sight. :

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom would I drink away the long separation...

3rd stanza

Today my friends call 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
Today my friends call me...

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

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

But how many of you feast there too?
Who else are you missing?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who has been drawn away from you by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is missing between you?

Vaguely addressed questions express the poet’s various feelings - guesses, doubts, thoughts... But he does not feel isolated or alienated from his 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 towards me...

Friends come to him in his imagination, surround him, he talks to them, talks about them. "October 19" is a "feast of imagination." And if this is a feast, then there should be hearty toasts. Therefore, stanzas 4–8 are a series of hearty toasts.

4th stanza

He didn’t come, our curly-haired 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 didn’t come, our curly-haired singer,
With fire in the 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, and set Pushkin’s poems “Oh Delia Delia...” and “Yesterday Masha ordered me...” to music. He died of consumption in Italy, writing himself an epitaph:

Passer-by, hurry to your native country.
Oh! It's sad to die far from friends.

5th and 6th stanzas

Oh, beloved child of waves and storms!

These two stanzas of Pushkin are addressed to his 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 completing the course, he became a midshipman and circumnavigated the world on the ship “Kamchatka”; subsequently, becoming military sailor, did a few more circumnavigation of the world, explored the shores Eastern Siberia, where one cape was named after him. At the end of his life, Matyushkin was a rear admiral and senator.

Matyushkin’s last meeting with the poet took place at the Lyceum anniversary of 1836 with his 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 was killed! Yakovlev! How did you let this happen? What scoundrel raised his hand against him? Yakovlev, Yakovlev! How could you let this happen? Our circle is thinning...” Word fate occurs eight times in the poem, but the first time it is used by the poet in the stanza about F. Matyushkin:

You saved in wandering fate
Have wonderful years with original morals...

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

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

7th stanza

My friends, our union is wonderful!

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

My friends, our union is wonderful!

These words were repeated by generations of lyceum students. They are carved on the granite pedestal of the monument to Pushkin the Lyceum student in the Lyceum garden. When addressing friends, there is confidence that they will carry brotherhood and spiritual kinship throughout their 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 and creativity. The Lyceum brotherhood was not only a human, but also a poetic brotherhood.

8th stanza

But their greetings were bitter and unbrotherly...

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

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

It’s as if fate does nothing but lay out nets all the time, and he gets entangled in them. He determines his destiny as harsh: exile, persecution (driven, tormented, dependent).

In his forced wanderings around Russia, Pushkin was very bored without his lyceum and literary friends. In the south, he tried to get along with new people, but he was bored with some, and with others, like Alexander Raevsky, he was disappointed. Let us pay attention to the key words that speak of the feeling with which the poet surrendered to his new friendship: with trepidation; pressed with a caressing head; with a sad and rebellious prayer; with trusting hope... I surrendered to the tender soul. And as a result of all this openness and tenderness: “But their unbrotherly greeting was bitter.” What characterized the friendship of lyceum students - holy brotherhood - is given here as a negation - Not brotherly hello.

9th stanza

...The poet's house is disgraced,
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, my soul's friends,
I hugged here.

These two words, which are similar in meaning, occur in the same stanza. It's a pleasure to meet three people at Mikhailovsky soul friends. And delight - for Pushchin with his arrival sad day of exile turned into the day of the Lyceum.

10th stanza

We have been assigned different paths by strict fate...

Pushkin established a peculiar relationship with Prince A.M. from his school days. Gorchakov (1798–1883) – a handsome, strong, brilliant and cold man, the darling of fate. In a lyceum message to Gorchakov, the poet gave his comrade a characteristic similar to a prophecy:

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

Indeed, Prince Gorchakov became an outstanding diplomat. Having graduated from the Lyceum with the first category, with a gold medal, Gorchakov joined the College of Foreign Affairs, where he quickly began to advance in service and subsequently reached the position of Minister of Foreign Affairs.

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

Strict fate has assigned us different paths;
Stepping into life, we quickly parted ways:
But by chance on a country road
We met and hugged brotherly.

Let us also note here the word brotherly.

11th and 12th stanzas

The poet is a special friend for Pushkin, he is brother by blood, by soul. 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. Generous and unenvious, Pushkin reproaches himself and admires his friend:

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

Memories of two fellow poets - Delvig and Kuchelbecker - enable Pushkin to express his thoughts about the essence of beauty:

The service of the muses does not tolerate fuss;
The beautiful must be majestic.

13th and 14th stanzas

My brother is dear by muse, by fate...

Tell me, Wilhelm, is that not what happened to them?
Is my brother related by muse, by destiny?

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

15th stanza

A year will fly by, 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: “A year will fly by, and I will appear to you!”... (In September 1826 (even less than a year later!) Pushkin was released from exile.)

And the structure of the narrative immediately changes. Immediately - an abundance of exclamatory intonations, delight, rapture. And you and I 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 any 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-haired, mischievous boy turned into a brilliant poet.

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

To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a grateful cup to my lips,
Without remembering evil, we will reward goodness.

Not all Lyceum professors left a big mark on spiritual development Pushkin, but the poet addressed his wise lines of gratitude to everyone 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 to heart and wine!
He created us, he raised our flame,
They set the cornerstone,
They lit a clean lamp...

Professor of moral and political sciences (let's think about this amazing educational subject!) Alexander Petrovich Kunitsyn, speaking to lyceum students, said: “When people enter society, they desire freedom and prosperity, and not slavery and poverty; they offer their powers at the disposal of society, but only so that they are directed to the common and, therefore, to their own benefit.”

The worldview of Pushkin and his Decembrist friends was formed under the great influence of Kunitsyn.

In 1821, Kunitsyn was removed from his chair and even dismissed from service in the Ministry of Public Education for the book “Natural Law” he published, which, in the opinion of the government, contained “very harmful, contrary to the truths of Christianity and tending to overthrow all family ties.” and government teaching."

Pushkin expressed his indignation at the banning of Kunitsyn’s book in his “Message to the Censor” (1822), which was circulated in lists. Sending his book “The History of the Pugachev Rebellion” to Kunitsyn on January 11, 1835, Pushkin wrote in it: “To Alexander Petrovich Kunitsyn from the Author as a sign of deep respect and gratitude.”

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

Do you remember: when the Lyceum appeared,
How the king opened the palace of the Tsaritsyn for us.
And we came. And Kunitsyn met us
Greetings among royal guests.

(It was time..., 1836)

17th stanza

Let's forgive him for his wrongful persecution...

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

He's a man! They are ruled by the moment.
He is a slave to rumors, doubts and passions;
Let us forgive him his wrongful persecution:
He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum.

Let's pay attention to these two words: He's a man! It is this purely human dimension of Alexander that now occupies Pushkin most of all. Pushkin seems to be saying that all tsars are deeply unhappy people. They don't belong to themselves. They think that there 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 Pushkin’s previously unthinkable words appeared: Let's forgive him for his wrongful persecution. Pushkin offers to forgive Alexander I a lot for the fact that he took Paris, he founded the Lyceum, as if equating these two events.

18th stanza

Fate is watching, we are withering; days are flying...

This stanza is a touch on 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:

Feast while we're still here!
Alas, our circle is thinning hour by hour;
Some are sleeping in a coffin, some are orphans in the distance;
Fate is watching, we are withering; the days are flying;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the beginning...

The poem “October 19” of 1825 brought V.G. Belinsky is completely delighted. He wrote: “Pushkin does not allow fate to overcome him; he snatches from her at least part of the joy that was taken from him. Like a true artist, he possessed this instinct of truth, which pointed him to the source of both grief and consolation and forced him to seek healing in the same essentiality where his illness visited him.”

19th stanza

A bothersome guest, superfluous and alien...

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

Fate ordained it this way: the last lyceum student from Pushkin’s graduating class, who had to celebrate the anniversary of the Lyceum alone, turned out to be A.M. Gorchakov. Why is he an “unfortunate friend”? Because someone who is superfluous and alien among new generations is a “nuisance 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 his friends gave him this feeling of happiness.

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

On January 11 (23), 1825, Pushkin’s lyceum friend Ivan Ivanovich Pushchin came to Mikhailovskoye. This was their last meeting.

Pushchin Ivan Ivanovich (4 (15 n.s.) May 1798 - 3 (15 n.s.) April 1859) - one of Pushkin’s closest lyceum friends, his “first” and “invaluable” friend. The report of success certifies: "In Russian and Latin languages- excellent successes and more solid than brilliant; rare diligence, happy talents". In the review of M. A. Korf, who is very stingy with his assessments: “With a bright mind, with a pure soul, with the most noble intentions, he was the favorite of all his comrades at the Lyceum.”.

Pushkin became friends with Pushchin even before entrance exams, and this friendship remained unchanged until the death of the great poet. At the Lyceum, their rooms were nearby - Ivan Pushchin No. 13, Alexander Pushkin No. 14, and this also contributed to the rapprochement of the serious and reasonable Pushchin with the ardent and enthusiastic Pushkin. The poet expressed his love and devotion to his friend in a number of poems written while still at the Lyceum: “To Pushchin” (1815), “Memory” (1815), “Here lies a sick student...” (1817) and “To the Album of Pushchin” - on the eve of graduation from the Lyceum:

Do you remember the quick minutes of the first days,
Peaceful bondage, six years of union,
Sorrows, joys, dreams of your soul,
The quarrels of friendship and the sweetness of reconciliation...

After graduating from the Lyceum, Pushchin joined the Guards Horse Artillery, and in 1823 he transferred to civil service to the Moscow Court, where he took the humble seat of a judge. He energetically fought against bribery and injustice and, according to a contemporary, was “the first honest man who ever sat in the Russian treasury chamber.”

While still at the Lyceum, Pushchin participated in the pre-Decembrist organization “Sacred Artel” and somewhat later became a member of the Union of Welfare and the Northern Society. In January 1825, Pushchin visited the disgraced poet in Mikhailovskoye. “He, like a child, was glad to see us,” Pushchin later recalled. They talked about political situation in the country, they read the manuscript of the comedy “Woe from Wit” brought by Pushchin.

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
...The poet's house is disgraced,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You sweetened the sad day of exile,
You turned it into the day of the Lyceum.

The friends were never destined to meet again. The December uprising of 1825 separated them forever. For his participation in it, the Decembrist Pushchin was exiled to hard labor in Siberia. A year later, Pushkin’s heartfelt poem addressed to the exile reached Pushchin:

My first friend, my priceless friend!
And I blessed fate
When my yard is secluded,
Covered in sad snow,
Your bell rang.

In the original unfinished message to I. I. Pushchin in 1825, the verse “Your bell rang out” was followed by:

Forgotten shelter, disgraced hut
You suddenly revived me with joy,
On the side deaf and distant
You are the day of exile, a sad day
I shared it with a sad friend.
Tell me where the years went
Days of hope and freedom,
Tell me what are ours? what friends?
Where are these linden vaults?
Where is youth? Where are you? Where am I?
Fate, fate with an iron hand
She broke our peaceful lyceum,
But you are happy, oh dear brother,
In his chosen turn.
You have conquered prejudice
And from grateful citizens
He knew how to demand respect,
In the eyes public opinion
You exalted the dark rank.
In his humble foundation
You uphold justice
You are an honor.........
...................

At the end of the message, it is precisely about the position of judge elected by Pushchin after his departure from the guard. About the same lines from the draft manuscript “October 19”, which I. I. Pushchin will quote later in “Notes on Pushkin”:

You, having consecrated your chosen dignity,
Him in the eyes of public opinion
He won the respect of citizens.

A few years later, Pushkin met in the Caucasus with the Decembrist Mikhail Ivanovich Pushchin, who soon wrote to his brother: “He loves you the same way and hopes that you still have the same feelings for him.” Pushchin perceived the death of the great poet as a personal and public loss. “Pushkin’s last grave! It seems that if his unfortunate story were to happen to me... then the fatal bullet would meet my chest: I would find a way to save my poet-comrade, the heritage of Russia...”

Who lived for a long time in the sad wilderness,
Friends, he knows for sure,
How far is the bell
Sometimes our hearts are troubled.
Isn’t a friend coming late,
Comrade of your daring youth?..

...After spending the holiday with my father in St. Petersburg, after baptism I went to Pskov. Visited my sister(Ekaterina Ivanovna, who was married to Ivan Aleksandrovich Nabokov, commander of the division stationed at that time in Pskov) several days and left Pskov in the evening; In Ostrov, while passing through at night, I took three bottles of Clicquot and by the morning of the next day I was already approaching my desired goal. We finally turned off the road to the side, rushing through the forest along a mountainous dirt road: everything didn’t seem quite fast to me! Descending from the mountain, not far from the estate, which could not be seen behind the dense pine trees, our sleigh leaned so heavily to one side in a pothole that the coachman fell off. Alexei and I, my constant companion from the Lyceum threshold to the fortress gates, somehow managed to stay in the sleigh. They grabbed the reins.

The horses are carried among the snowdrifts, there is no danger: they will not rush to the side, the whole forest and snow are up to their bellies, there is no need to steer. We gallop up the mountain again along a winding path; suddenly there was a sharp turn, and it was as if they had suddenly burst into the closed gate, with the sound of a bell. There was no strength to stop the horses at the porch, they dragged them past and settled in the snow of the uncleaned yard...

I look around: I see Pushkin on the porch, barefoot, in only a shirt, with his hands raised up. There is no need to say what was happening in me then. I jump out of the sleigh, take him in my arms and drag him into the room. There is a terrible cold outside, but at other times a person does not catch a cold. We look at each other, kiss, remain silent. He forgot that he needed to cover his nakedness, I didn’t think about the frosty fur coat and hat.

It was about eight o'clock in the morning. I don't know what was done. The old woman came running and found us in each other’s arms in the same form as we got into the house: one almost naked, the other covered in snow. Finally a tear came (even now, thirty-three years later, it prevents me from writing with glasses), we woke up. I felt ashamed in front of this woman, however, she understood everything. I don’t know who she took me for, but without asking anything, she rushed to hug me. I immediately guessed that this was his kind nanny, whom he had praised so many times, and I almost strangled her in my arms.

All this happened in a small space. Alexander's room was near the porch, with a window onto the courtyard, through which he saw me, hearing the bell. This small room contained his canopy bed, desk, bookcase, etc. and so on. Everything was a poetic disorder, scribbled sheets of paper were scattered everywhere, bitten, burnt pieces of feathers were lying everywhere (he had always written with stubs that he could barely hold in his fingers, ever since the Lyceum). The entrance to it is directly from the corridor; Opposite his door is the door to the nanny's room, where there were many embroidery hoops.

After our first hugs, Alexey also came, who, in turn, rushed to kiss Pushkin; he not only knew and loved the poet closely, but also read many of his poems by heart. Meanwhile, I was looking around for somewhere to wash myself and at least somewhat recover. The door to the interior rooms was locked, the house was not heated. Somehow they sorted it all out right away, fumbling around among the abrupt questions: what? How? Where? and so on. Most of the questions did not expect answers. Finally, little by little they tidied up; they served us coffee; we sat down with our pipes. The conversation went better; there was a lot to be told chronologically, a lot to ask each other about. Now I don’t undertake to convey all this.

In general, Pushkin seemed to me somewhat more serious than before, although retaining the same gaiety; Perhaps his very position made this impression on me. He, like a child, was glad to see us and repeated several times that he still couldn’t believe that we were together. His former liveliness was evident in everything, in every word, in every memory: there was no end to them in our incessant chatter. Outwardly he had changed little, having acquired only sideburns; I found that he was then very similar to the portrait that I later saw in “Northern Flowers”...

Pushkin made me tell him about all our first-year Lyceum students; demanded an explanation of how I was transformed from artillerymen into a judge. It was to his heart, he was proud of me and for me!

... I brought Pushkin “Woe from Wit” as a gift; he was very pleased with this then handwritten comedy, which was almost completely unfamiliar to him before. After lunch, over a cup of coffee, he began to read it aloud; but again it’s a pity that I don’t remember now his apt remarks, which, however, later appeared in part in the press...

... Pushkin, as if nothing had happened, continued reading the comedy; I listened with extraordinary pleasure to his expressive and full of life reading, pleased that I was able to give him such high pleasure. Then he read me something of his own, mostly in excerpts that later became part of his wonderful plays; dictated the beginning from the poem “Gypsies” for “ North Star”and asked, hugging Ryleev tightly, to thank him for his patriotic “Dumas” ...

….Meanwhile, time was passing midnight. We were served a snack: the third cork slammed goodbye. We hugged tightly in the hope of maybe seeing each other in Moscow soon. This shaky hope made parting easier after such a joyful passing day. The coachman had already harnessed the horses, the bell rang at the porch, and the clock struck three. We still clinked our glasses, but we drank sadly: it seemed as if last time We drink together, and we drink into eternal separation! Silently, I threw my fur coat over my shoulders and ran away into the sleigh. Pushkin said something else after me; Hearing nothing, I looked at him: he stopped on the porch with a candle in his hand. The horses rushed downhill. I heard: “Goodbye, friend!” The gate creaked behind me...

Ivan Ivanovich concludes his “Notes” with the words:

...In St. Petersburg, Konstantin Danzas visited me, who was sick. I talked a lot about Pushkin with his second. He incidentally told me that once, during his last illness, W. K. Glinka, Kuchelbecker’s sister, arrived; but then they gave him leeches. Pushkin, asking to thank her for her participation, apologized that he could not accept. Soon afterwards he said with a sigh:

“What a pity that neither Pushchin nor Malinovsky are here now!”

This is Pushkin's last breath about me. This dying voice of a friend reached me more than twenty years later!

This is where I end my story.

The forest drops its crimson attire, the frost turns the withered field silver, the day appears as if against its will, and disappears over the edge of the surrounding mountains. Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell; And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold, pour a gratifying hangover into my chest, a momentary oblivion of bitter torment. I am sad: there is no friend with me, with whom I would drink the long separation, to whom I could shake hands from the heart and wish many happy years. I drink alone; in vain the 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 call me today... But how many of you feast there too? Who else are you missing? Who changed the captivating habit? Who has been drawn away from you by the cold light? Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call? Who didn't come? Who is missing between you? He did not come, our curly-haired singer, With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar: Under the myrtle trees of beautiful Italy He sleeps quietly, and a friendly chisel did not inscribe over the Russian grave A few words in his native language, So that the sad Son of the north would once find greetings, wandering in the land stranger. Are you sitting in the circle of your friends, a restless lover of foreign skies? Or are you again passing through the sultry tropic And the eternal ice of the midnight seas? Happy journey!.. From the threshold of the Lyceum You stepped onto the ship jokingly, And from that time on, your path in the seas, O beloved child of waves and storms! You have preserved in the wandering fate of the beautiful years the original morals: Lyceum noise, lyceum fun Among the stormy waves you dreamed; You stretched out your hand to us from across the sea, You carried us alone in your young soul And repeated: “A secret fate, perhaps, condemned us to a long separation!” My friends, our union is wonderful! He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal - Unshakable, free and carefree, He grew together under the canopy of friendly muses. Wherever fate throws us And wherever happiness leads us, We are still the same: the whole world is foreign to us; Our Fatherland is Tsarskoe Selo. From end to end we are pursued by thunderstorms, entangled in the nets of a harsh fate, I tremblingly into the bosom of a new friendship, Tired, I leaned on the caressing head... With my sad and rebellious prayer, With the trusting hope of the first years, I gave myself up to some friends with a tender soul; But their greeting was bitter and unbrotherly. 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 embraced here. The poet’s house is disgraced, O my Pushchin, you were the first to visit; You sweetened the sad day of exile, You turned it into the day of the Lyceum. You, Gorchakov, have been lucky from the first days, Praise be to you - the cold shine of fortune has not changed your free soul: You are still the same for honor and friends. Strict fate has assigned us different paths; Stepping into life, we quickly parted ways: But by chance, on a country road, We met and embraced brotherly. When the wrath of fate befell me, a stranger to everyone, like a homeless orphan, I hung my languid head under the storm And waited for you, prophet of the Permesian maidens, And you came, inspired son of laziness, O my Delvig: your voice awakened the heat of the heart, so long lulled, And I cheerfully 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 destiny was sweet with their caress: But I already loved applause, You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul; I spent my gift, like life, without attention, You raised your genius in silence. The service of the muses does not tolerate fuss; The beautiful should be majestic: But youth advises us slyly, And noisy dreams make us happy... Let's 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 the same with us, My brother by muse, by destiny? It's time, it's time! The world is not worth our mental anguish; Let's leave the misconceptions behind! Let's hide life under the shadow of solitude! I'm waiting for you, my belated friend - Come; with the fire of a magical story, revive heartfelt legends; Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus, About Schiller, about fame, about love. It's time for me... feast, oh friends! I anticipate a pleasant meeting; Remember the poet's prediction: A year will fly by, and I will be with you again, The covenant of my dreams will come true; A year will fly by and I will come to you! Oh, how many tears and how many exclamations, And how many cups raised to heaven! And the first one is complete, friends, complete! And all the way to the bottom in honor of our union! Bless, jubilant muse, Bless: long live the Lyceum! To the mentors who guarded our youth, With honor to all, both dead and living, Raising a grateful cup to our lips, Without remembering evil, we will reward for good. Fuller, fuller! and, with your heart on fire, drink to the bottom again, to the drop! But for whom? oh, guess what... Hurray, our king! So! Let's drink to the king. He's a man! they are ruled by the moment. He is a slave to rumors, doubts and passions; Let us forgive him his wrongful persecution: He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum. Feast while we're still here! Alas, our circle is thinning hour by hour; Some are sleeping in a coffin, some are orphans in the distance; Fate is watching, we are withering; the days are flying; Invisibly bowing and growing cold, We are approaching our beginning... Which of us, in our old age, will have to celebrate the day of the Lyceum alone? Unhappy friend! among new generations, a tedious guest, superfluous and alien, He will remember us and the days of unions, Closing his eyes with a trembling hand... Let him with joy, even if sad, Then he will spend this day at the cup, As now I, your disgraced recluse, spent it without grief and worries.