V. Khodasevich "Derzhavin"

But something completely incongruous is happening here. Here, under the tombstone of “false classicism,” a simply enormous poet is buried alive, of whom any other literature, more memorable (and therefore more developed), would be proud to this day. There is no need to hide that Derzhavin also has weak things, at least his tragedies. But from what Derzhavin wrote, a collection of 70–100 poems should be compiled, and this book will calmly and confidently stand on a par with Pushkin, Lermontov, Boratynsky, Tyutchev.

V. Khodasevich

From the article “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign”

Among Russian writers of the first half of the 20th century, whose work has been returning to a wide readership in our country in the last two years, Vladislav Khodasevich is certainly one of the largest. Journal publications have already introduced many to examples of his lyrics and, to a lesser extent, memoirs, historical and literary essays and epistolary heritage. However, this book is the first. Khodasevich’s literary career in his homeland, after more than six decades of hiatus, continues not with a collection of poems or memoirs, not with the book “About Pushkin,” but with a biography of Derzhavin. It goes without saying that this is an accident, a kind of game of the publishing industry, but if you wish, you can see some hint in it, that unobtrusive irony of history, of which Khodasevich was such a subtle connoisseur.

“Vladislav Felitsianovich Khodasevich was born in Moscow on May 28 (new style) 1886, graduated from the 3rd classical gymnasium and Moscow University. He began publishing in 1905 in almanacs and symbolist magazines - “Grif”, “Golden Fleece”, etc. He published his first book of poems “Youth” in 1908.

From 1908 to 1914 Khodasevich published in many Moscow publications, translated Polish poets, wrote critical articles about classical and modern Russian poetry, was an employee of the Universal Library, and later of the Russian Vedomosti. In 1914, his second book of poems, “Happy House,” was published. (...)

During the First World War he translated Polish, Armenian and Jewish poets. In 1920 he published his third book of poems, “The Path of Grain.” (...) At the same time he was the Moscow representative " World Literature“. In 1922, before leaving Russia, he published his “Articles on Russian Poetry.”

Since 1922, Khodasevich became an emigrant. This year the fourth book of poems, “Heavy Lyre,” was published (the first edition in Russia, the second in Berlin). Since 1925, he finally settled in Paris, where he collaborated first as a literary critic in the newspaper "Days", then as a critic in the newspaper "Last News", and finally, from 1927 - in the newspaper "Vozrozhdenie", where without interruption, until until his death, June 14, 1939, he was editor of the literary department and a prominent literary critic abroad.

During the 17 years of emigration, Khodasevich was a contributor to many emigrant periodicals: “Modern Notes”, “The Will of Russia”, etc. Gradually, he wrote less and less poetry and became more and more a critic. He wrote at least 300 critical articles and reviews, in addition, from time to time he published his memoirs, from which the book “Necropolis” was later compiled (Brussels, publishing house “Petropolis”, 1939). He published a book of poems in Paris (the fifth and last), which united three collections “The Path of Grain”, “Heavy Lyre” and “European Night”, written in exile (“Collected Poems”. Publishing house “Renaissance”, Paris, 1927). (...)

In those years, he also studied Pushkin and Derzhavin. He wrote a book about the latter (“Derzhavin”, Paris, “Modern Notes” edition, 1931). He was preparing a biography of Pushkin, but death prevented him from realizing this plan. There are still drafts of the first chapter. In 1937, his book “Pushkin’s Poetic Economy” was published, containing a number of articles on Pushkin’s themes,” wrote Khodasevich’s wife and publisher of a number of his books, Nina Nikolaevna Berberova.

In that summary The fate of the writer attracts attention to the diversity of his literary activity. Khodasevich appears before us in at least four guises: poet, memoirist, critic and literary historian. Of course, the comparative importance of these areas of application of his strength was far from the same for him. “Of all the phenomena of the world, I love only poetry, of all people - only poets” (TsGALI, f. 1068, op. 1, item 169, l. 1), he formulated his credo in a 1915 questionnaire. Poetic creativity he invariably perceived it as “God’s,” and everything else, to a greater or lesser extent, lay for him in the realm of “Caesarean.” Chronic lack of money forced him not to put down his pen, starting from his youth, when he informed G.I. Chulkov that he had to write a biography of Paul I “in a month, otherwise he would die of hunger” (OR GBL, f. 371, op. 5, unit. Chronicle 121, l. 7) and up to recent years life, when every Thursday he had to fill the basements of the Vozrozhdenie newspaper with his articles, whose publishers were neither human qualities, nor their literary and political predilections aroused the slightest sympathy in him.

At the same time, it would be a mistake to conclude that writing in prose was for Khodasevich only a means of earning money, something that in today’s language is designated by the expressive term “hack work.” A sense of responsibility to his word excluded for him the possibility of not only bending his heart, but also taking on work alien to himself. Everything that Khodasevich wrote as a memoirist, critic or researcher was essentially the construction of a single edifice of literature, in which poetry was supposed to occupy the place of the highest, but inseparable from all others, floor.

The importance of critical and historical-literary work was especially enhanced for Khodasevich by the fact that he himself was invariably a supporter of creativity based on knowledge and skill. One of the most notable events in the literary life of the Russian emigration was his polemic with G. Adamovich about the so-called “poetry of the human document.” Objecting to an opponent who defended the value of artless but sincere poetic confessions, Khodasevich argued that true poetry cannot exist outside of culture and professionalism. Naturally, a person writing about literature had to meet even higher criteria of this kind. “Intuitive principles,” Khodasevich argued in the article “More on Criticism” (Renaissance, 1928, May 31), “as well-known instinct, taste, etc. have their rights and their significance in critical work. But intuition must be verified by knowledge, like addition by subtraction, and multiplication by division. The intuitive critic is too dangerously similar to a fortune teller. However, even fortune tellers’ predictions about the future are “verified” by her ability to guess the past. Hence: a critic who has not worked in the history of literature is always suspicious in terms of his competence.” Speaking about Yu. I. Aikhenvald, who was considered a prominent representative of impressionistic criticism, Khodasevich considered it necessary to emphasize that in his judgments he “based on known system artistic views and solid knowledge, and not some kind of intuition” (ibid.). Elsewhere, he complained about “condescension,” or even “sympathy,” which “has been used among us for too long,” “cheerful action without skill, judgment without knowledge, but by “inspiration,” amateurism in all forms.”

Such an assessment of intuition and inspiration may seem unexpected from the lips of a poet, especially one so closely connected with the symbolist culture, in which “epiphany” various kinds“blue-pink mists” was almost the sacred duty of any artist. Here, however, lies the originality of the literary, and life position Khodasevich, who, without abandoning the idea of ​​​​the high, prophetic purpose of poetry (see his article “Blood Food” - Revival, 1931, April 21), “always,” according to N. Berberova, “preferred mathematics to mysticism.” The desire for the bitter non-illusoryness of judgments, assessments and predictions, the painful tearing away from oneself of the most dear passions and beliefs for the sake of gaining the final sobriety of vision determine both the intonation of his poems, starting with the first mature collection “The Way of the Grain”, and the incomparable interest of his memoirs. and his special position among the Russian literary emigration, where he gained a reputation as a demon of skepticism. “It’s me, the one who, with every answer/Yellowmouth, inspires the poets/with disgust and anger and fear,” Khodasevich wrote in the poem “Before the Mirror.”

Khodasevich Vladislav

Derzhavin

And Derzhavin!

But something completely incongruous is happening here. Here, under the tombstone of “false classicism,” a simply enormous poet is buried alive, of whom any other literature, more memorable (and therefore more developed), would be proud to this day. There is no need to hide that Derzhavin also has weak things, at least his tragedies. But from what Derzhavin wrote, a collection of 70-100 poems should be compiled, and this book will calmly and confidently stand on a par with Pushkin, Lermontov, Boratynsky, Tyutchev.

V. Khodasevich

From the article "The Tale of Igor's Campaign"

WRITERS ABOUT WRITERS

V. KHODASEVICH

DERZHAVIN

Moscow "Book" 1988

Introductory article, compilation of the appendix, comments by A.L. Zorin

Reviewer - N.A. Bogomolov, Candidate of Philological Sciences

DERZHAVIN

(OUTLINE OF THE BOOK ABOUT PAUL I)

DERZHAVIN

(On the centenary of his death)

THE LIFE OF VASILY TRAVNIKOV

Application

DERZHAVIN IN RUSSIAN CRITICISM AT THE BEGINNING OF THE XX CENTURY

B. A. Sadovskoy

G. R. DERZHAVIN

B. A. Griftsov

DERZHAVIN

Yu. I. Aikhenvald

IN MEMORY OF DERZHAVIN

P. M. Bicilli

DERZHAVIN

Notes

Among Russian writers of the first half of the 20th century, whose work has been returning to a wide readership in our country in the last two years, Vladislav Khodasevich is certainly one of the largest. Magazine publications have already introduced many to examples of his lyrics and, to a lesser extent, memoirs, historical and literary essays and epistolary heritage. However, this book is the first. Khodasevich’s literary career in his homeland, after more than six decades of hiatus, continues not with a collection of poems or memoirs, not with the book “About Pushkin,” but with a biography of Derzhavin. It goes without saying that this is an accident, a kind of game of the publishing industry, but if you wish, you can see some hint in it, that unobtrusive irony of history, of which Khodasevich was such a subtle connoisseur.

“Vladislav Felitsianovich Khodasevich was born in Moscow on May 28 (new style) 1886, graduated from the 3rd classical gymnasium and Moscow University. He began publishing in 1905 in almanacs and symbolist magazines - “Grif”, “Golden Fleece”, etc. The first He published a book of poems “Youth” in 1908.

From 1908 to 1914 Khodasevich published in many Moscow publications, translated Polish poets, wrote critical articles about classical and modern Russian poetry, was an employee of the Universal Library, and later of the Russian Vedomosti. In 1914, his second book of poems, “Happy House,” was published. (...)

During the First World War he translated Polish, Armenian and Jewish poets. In 1920 he published his third book of poems, “The Path of Grain.” (...) At the same time he was a Moscow

representative of "World Literature". In 1922, before leaving Russia, he published his “Articles on Russian Poetry.”

Since 1922, Khodasevich became an emigrant. This year the fourth book of poems, “Heavy Lyre,” was published (the first edition in Russia, the second in Berlin). Since 1925, he finally settled in Paris, where he collaborated first as a literary critic in the newspaper "Days", then as a critic in the newspaper "Last News", and finally, from 1927, in the newspaper "Vozrozhdenie", where without interruption, until until his death, June 14, 1939, he was editor of the literary department and a prominent literary critic abroad.

During the 17 years of emigration, Khodasevich was a contributor to many emigrant periodicals: “Modern Notes”, “The Will of Russia”, etc. Gradually, he wrote less and less poetry and became more and more a critic. He wrote at least 300 critical articles and reviews, in addition, from time to time he published his memoirs, which were later compiled into the book “Necropolis” (Brussels, publishing house “Petropolis”, 1939). He published a book of poems in Paris (the fifth and last), which united three collections “The Path of Grain”, “Heavy Lyre” and “European Night”, written in exile (“Collected Poems”. Publishing house “Renaissance”, Paris, 1927). (...)

TO THE 270TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF GAVRILA ROMANOVICH DERZHAVIN (1743 - 1816).

CHAPTER 4 FROM THE BOOK: KHODASEVICH V. F. DERZHAVIN.— M.: MYSL, 1988.— P. 79—108

This was perhaps the most fun time of Catherine's reign. The past wars were victorious, the importance of Russia grew, the nobility, showered with favors, came to its senses after the horrors of the Pugachev era; even in royal family the world seemed to blossom: widowed Grand Duke He joined new marriage, and his second wife temporarily brought him closer to his mother. The court and St. Petersburg lived an interesting and ebullient life, in which splendor was mixed with squalor, sophistication with rudeness. Six horses struggled to pull the gilded carriage out of the street mud; ladies-in-waiting played pastorals at Hermitage meetings - it happened that after that they were flogged; nobles collected paintings, bronze, porcelain, made Versailles bows to each other and exchanged slaps; the empress corresponded with Grimm; Mitrofan Prostakov did not want to study, he wanted to get married; whist, pharaoh and macao flourished everywhere - from the palace to the hovel.

Derzhavin mortgaged the received lands in a bank; this did not ensure his future, but together with the card game it made it possible to live decently while waiting for the best. Finding a job meant, first of all, finding friends. Derzhavin began to renew old acquaintances and look for new ones. The service was supposed to be civilian: the uniforms around Derzhavin were gradually replaced by velvet caftans.

His difficult youth made him somewhat secretive and withdrawn, but at the same time he knew how to be pleasant. With Alexei Petrovich Melgunov, on the shady Melgunovsky island (the one that later passed to Elagin, the chief chamberlain), at picnics, amid intelligent and enlightened conversation, he was entertaining. Masons from Melgunov's friends invited him to their lodge, but he abstained. He was his man both at the magnificent feasts of Prince Meshchersky with General Perfilyev, and among people not so noble, where an old silver mug, filled in half with Russian and English beer, was simply foaming (croutons and lemon peel were poured into the beer). Women, most often available participants in bachelor parties, found in him an enterprising and cheerful admirer. Between lovers, like between wines, he had no special preferences: he loved everyone equally.

Here is a red-rose wine:

Let's drink to the health of the rosy-cheeked wives.

How sweet it is to the heart

With a kiss from the crimson lips!

You are also good, blush:

So kiss me, soul!

Here is the black tint wine:

Let's drink to the health of the black-browed people.

How sweet it is to the heart

To us with a kiss from the lilac lips!

You, too, dark-skinned, are good:

So kiss me, soul!

Here is the golden Cypriot wine:

Let's drink to the health of the fair-haired ones.

How sweet it is to the heart

With a kiss to our beautiful lips!

You too, white girl, are good:

So kiss me, soul!..

The Okunev brothers, from whom five years ago, having become an ensign, he purchased his first carriage on loan, now brought him into the house of Prince Vyazemsky. This was an acquaintance of particular importance: Prince Alexander Alekseevich was St. Andrew’s Knight and the Prosecutor General of the Senate, that is, he approximately combined the positions of Ministers of Finance, Internal Affairs and Justice. He owed his rise to his stupidity: entrusting him with the management of important affairs, Catherine could be calm that it would not occur to anyone to attribute her own merits to Vyazemsky. However, having been recommended to the empress by the Orlovs, Vyazemsky knew how to be an excellent campaigner; while pleasing the empress, he did not forget himself, that is, he stole, but in moderation; he was unscrupulous in his means and active because he was envious. He lived on Malaya Sadovaya in own home, where, by the way, the secret office was located: sometimes he was personally present during interrogations. Nobody loved him, but everyone visited him: how could one not visit the Prosecutor General? He was fifty years old. His wife, nee Princess Trubetskoy, was much younger than her husband and tried to give the house some pleasantness.

Seeking the protection of the Vyazemskys, Derzhavin decided to charm them and soon achieved this. He began to spend whole days with them and became his own man. Sometimes I read aloud to the prince, “ for the most part novels, over which both the reader and the listener often dozed off”: Vyazemsky - because that’s exactly how he looked at literature, as a sleeping pill, and Derzhavin - due to his innate drowsiness (for all the ebullience of his character, he had strange property: sometimes, even in the middle of a lively conversation, he was suddenly overcome by sleep). In the evenings they played whist; This game was not easy for Derzhavin. Fortunately, while other nobles played for diamonds, scooping them out of the box with a spoon, the Vyazemskys played at the smallest level (the owner of the house was stingy). As for the princess, Derzhavin sometimes composed poems on her behalf addressed to her husband, “although not very fair about her passion and affection for him, for they knew the fashionable art of giving each other freedom.” The princess was so supportive of Derzhavin that she even wanted to marry him to her cousin, Princess Urusova, a famous poet of that time, but Derzhavin laughed it off. (The princess remained an old maid.)

After all this, it will not seem surprising that Derzhavin spent the summer of 1777 on the Vyazemsky estate near St. Petersburg. Finally, in August, a vacancy opened in the Senate, and Derzhavin was appointed executor of the 1st Department (state revenues). The position was quite prominent, but required considerable work. Relations with his colleagues immediately developed excellent: the main boss was Prince Vyazemsky, and the closest and most immediate was the Chief Prosecutor of the 1st Department Rezanov, with whose entire family Derzhavin had long been on friendly terms.

In the same way, he knew each other before, but now he became friends with Chief Secretary Alexander Vasilyevich Khrapovitsky. It was fat cheerful man, not devoid of slyness, loved to observe in silence, but sometimes knew how to say a sharp and insightful word. In his youth, he showed poetic hopes, but almost abandoned the lyre, but he diligently wrote down free poems written by others in a special book. In general, he liked to collect documents, notes, letters, and kept diaries. A historian was dozing inside.

Osip Petrovich Kozodavlev, the same executor as Derzhavin, but in the 2nd department, had a much simpler mind, but at one time he studied at the University of Leipzig, translated from German and dabbled in rhymes himself (however, who didn’t dabble in them?). He was very nimble and responsible person. Soon after their acquaintance began, on August 30, Alexander Nevsky Day, Derzhavin was invited to Kozodavlev to watch the religious procession from the window. There were other guests, among whom one girl especially attracted attention. She was seventeen years old. Jet-black hair, a sharp nose with a slight hump, under black eyebrows - fiery eyes on a somewhat pale, as if non-Russian, slightly bronzed-olive face - everything amazed Derzhavin. She was with her mother. Derzhavin inquired about the name. Bastidonov's answer was. Derzhavin left. The dark beauty never left his memory. In winter he met her at the theater, and again she amazed him.

On February 23, Shrove Friday, the youngest of the Okunev brothers, while at a horse race, quarreled with Khrapovitsky over something. It got to the point that they hit each other with whips and decided to have a duel. Khrapovitsky announced the junior Senate secretary Alexander Semenovich Khvostov as his second (Khvostov wrote poetry, and his twenty-year-old cousin, Dmitry Ivanovich, also wrote, and so badly that they laughed at that time). Okunev galloped up to Derzhavin, in turn asking to be a second. Derzhavin did not smile at this request: he was afraid of ruining his relationship with Khrapovitsky. What should I do? He gave Okunev consent, but on the condition that he consulted with Rezanov in advance: if Rezanov did not look askance, Derzhavin would be a second, otherwise he would bring Gasvitsky in his place, the same officer whom he had once saved from cheaters in Moscow. He had no doubt about Gasvitsky’s consent.

That's what they decided on. Derzhavin went to see Rezanov, but did not find him at home: they said that he was on Vasilyevsky Island with the Herald of Arms Trediakovsky for pancakes. (It was Lev Vasilyevich Trediakovsky, the son of the late poet.) There was nothing to do, Derzhavin went to Vasilyevsky Island. It was already evening, dinner was over, and the guests were leaving. Covered in snow, Derzhavin ran into the hallway, there, next to his mother, she stood waiting for her carriage!

The meeting was instant. A minute later the beauty was no longer there, but after that Derzhavin spoke to Rezanov hastily and stupidly - either about the duel or about the girl Bastidonova. Suddenly he announced that he was ready to get married: Rezanov laughed, not understanding whether he was joking or telling the truth. He advised me to avoid being a second if possible, recalling that Khrapovitsky is Vyazemsky’s favorite.

Then Derzhavin went to call Gasvitsky, but did not find him either. Still thinking about the black-eyed girl, he left a note: he outlined the matter, said that the duel would take place tomorrow, at such and such an hour, in the forest near Yekateringhof, and asked her to come. Then he finally returned home, ordered candles to be served, remembered this whole strange and fussy day, and fell asleep irrevocably in love.

On Saturday morning, having no answer from Gasvitsky, Derzhavin had to go to Yekateringhof. Everyone was already there. We headed towards the forest. On the way, Derzhavin tried to reconcile the opponents, and he easily succeeded, for they were not brave bullies. By the time they reached the appointed place, the enemies were already kissing. Khvostov, however, said that they should at least scratch themselves for appearance’s sake, so as not to be ashamed. Derzhavin objected: if opponents made peace without a fight, there is no shame in that. Khvostov began to argue, Derzhavin flared up, and word by word, it got to the point where the hot seconds grabbed their weapons. Waist-deep in snow, they had already drawn their swords and stood in pose. At that very moment, all red from haste and from the fact that he was straight from the bathhouse, Gasvitsky appeared. Rushing between Derzhavin and Khvostov, he stopped the battle. Then the whole company went to the tavern, drank tea, some punch, and celebrated the general reconciliation.

Meanwhile, the beauty kept appearing in Derzhavin’s imagination. Driving home with Gasvitsky, he opened up to him. The next day, Forgiveness Sunday, there was a big masquerade at court. The lover appeared on it together with his confidant, both wearing masks. Gasvitsky had to look at the girl with impartial, friendly eyes. Derzhavin immediately saw her in the crowd and exclaimed loudly:

- Here she is!

Both mother and daughter turned around and looked intently. In full masquerade, following on their heels, our gentlemen tried to notice the behavior of the young beauty, with whom and how she treated. “They saw a sedate acquaintance and the girl’s gait, in any case, modest, so that at the slightest gaze from an unfamiliar person, her face was covered with a sweet, rosy shyness. Sighs were already escaping from the chest of the smiling executor.” The confidant completely sympathized with them. Immediately they roughly calculated Derzhavin’s wealth, and it was decided to get married.

Derzhavin did not hide his delight from other friends who were at the masquerade. So the next day, on Clean Monday, at dinner at the Vyazemskys’ they began to make fun of Derzhavin for yesterday’s masquerade tricks. Vyazemsky asked:

- Who is this beauty who captivated you so suddenly?

Derzhavin gave his last name. This did not please the manager of the assignation bank, actual state councilor Kirilov, who was present at the dinner. When they got up from the table, he took Derzhavin aside:

- Listen, brother, it’s not good to joke about an honest family. This house is briefly familiar to me: the late father of the girl in question was a friend of mine, and her mother is also a friend of mine; I won’t allow you to joke about this girl in front of me.

“I’m not kidding, I’m truly mortally in love.”

- When that happens, what do you want to do?

- Look for acquaintances and get married.

- I can serve you with this.

It was planned that tomorrow evening, as if by accident, we would stop by Bastidonova’s house.

Grand Duke Pavel Petrovich was born on September 20, 1754. Immediately after the cleansing prayer was read by their Highnesses' confessor, Empress Elisaveta Petrovna appeared in the Grand Duchess's bedroom and took the baby to her place. From that moment on, his mother hardly saw him and with all her soul once and for all began to hate the mothers and nannies into whose care he was entrusted. The first place among these women, naturally, was occupied by a nurse named Matryona Dmitrievna. Her last name at that time has not survived to us. Soon, however, she became a widow, and in 1757 she entered into a second marriage. The chosen one of her heart was Jacob Benedict Bastidon, a Portuguese by birth, who came to Russia from Holstein: Peter III, then still a Grand Duke, brought him as his valet. From Bastidon - in Russia they called him Bastidonov - Matryona Dmitrievna had four children: a son and three daughters. Of these, seventeen-year-old Ekaterina Yakovlevna was the one who won Derzhavin’s heart.

By the time this significant meeting took place, Yakov Bastidon himself was no longer in the world: Matryona Dmitrievna was widowed for the second time. She was an experienced woman, crafty and greedy, but her circumstances were quite difficult. She tried to give her children a decent upbringing; her daughters had to be clothed and taken out, but her late husband did not leave much money. Long gone happy times, when Elisaveta Petrovna herself dressed Matryona Dmitrievna for the crown, when court music thundered at the wedding and the empress deigned to dance. There was nothing to think about the favors of the current empress: Catherine, as said, could not stand Bastidonikha. There was no help from Grand Duke Pavel Petrovich either: the fosterling of Matryona Dmitrievna himself was constantly in need of money. Therefore, the family lived modestly, almost poverty-strickenly, in their own, but not big house at the Church of the Ascension.

On February 27, Tuesday in the first week of Lent, in the evening Kirilov and Derzhavin drove up to this house. No guests were expected on such a day. A barefoot girl with a tallow candle in a copper candlestick met them in the entryway. Kirilov announced to the housewives that, while driving past with a friend, he wanted to drink tea. Here he introduced Derzhavin. After the usual politeness, we sat down. The same barefoot girl served tea. We spent two hours in social conversation. The beautiful sisters laughed and talked a lot, launching into cunning gossip in order to show their wit and ability to live in the big world. Katenka sat quietly, knitting a stocking and intervened in the conversation with great modesty, judiciously and decently. The lover not only “with greedy eyes devoured all the amenities that enchanted him,” but also tried to notice everything - from conversation to utensils. Finally, I concluded that the people were not rich, but honest, pious in character and neat in dress. Taking his leave, the new acquaintance asked permission to continue visiting them in the future.

The next day, Kirilov came to Matryona Dmitrievna and made an urgent proposal on behalf of Derzhavin. The mother replied that she could not make up her mind right away, and asked to be given a few days to find out about the groom. But Derzhavin, of course, was impatient. Another acquaintance of the Bastidonovs, a certain Yavorsky, served in the Senate. Derzhavin asked him to support the proposal made. Yavorsky promised.

Meanwhile, the lover began to often drive in front of the kind person’s house. This was part of the rules of courtship. Katya, for her part, fell in love with sitting by the window. Soon after the conversation with Yavorsky, Derzhavin tracked down an hour when his mother was not at home and decided to stop by. He wanted to know the thoughts of the bride herself. When he entered, he kissed his hand as usual and sat down next to Katenka. Then he simply, without mincing words, asked if she knew about the search for him.

“Mother told me,” was the answer.

- What do you think?

- It doesn’t depend on us.

- But if it were from you, can I hope?

“You don’t disgust me,” the beauty said in a low voice and blushed.

Then he threw himself on his knees and began to kiss her hands. Then, as in a good old comedy, the door opened and Yavorsky entered.

- Bah, bah! And it worked out without me! - he cried. “Where is mother?”

“She went to find out about Gavril Romanych.

— What to scout about? I know him, and, as I see, you too have decided in his favor. It seems that the job is done.

Soon Matryona Dmitrievna returned. Among the hugs, tears, and kisses, Derzhavin and Katenka were engaged. Mrs. Bastidonova nevertheless announced that the final agreement required the permission of the Grand Duke, who, as Katenka’s foster brother, was considered her patron. Of course, the matter was not so much about permission, but about help in settling the dowry. A few days later, Derzhavin and his future mother-in-law appeared before the heir. Sensitive and wounded Pavel Petrovich heartily rejoiced at every sign of attention. He received the guests in his office, spoke with them for a long time, treated them extremely kindly and sent them away, promising a good dowry, “as soon as he can.” However, he never turned out to be able to do so.

The wedding took place on April 18, 1778. Two days before, the following letter was sent from Kazan:

« My Empress, Ekaterina Yakovlevna! I accepted your kind letter of March 14 with considerable pleasure, and when, by the blessing of God, fate unites you in marriage to my son, this is my joy, and I mutually encourage you with my zeal for you and mother's love fervor, and I wish that I would be happy in my old age with your respect and love, which I already foresee, on which my well-being and consolation depends, and as a sign of my love for you, I am sending a gift, although it does not consist of other things, but it from my sincere zeal; accept; my dear, and be blessed by God’s mercy and be assured that I am diligent to you all my life.

To your mother, my gracious empress, show my respect and ask to accept me into her favor, and on my part, of course, I will not fail to preserve it, and then I remain willing to serve you

Fekla Derzhavina».

Derzhavin married quickly, but not at all headlong. Having crossed the threshold of Bastidon's house for the first time (on that memorable evening when he arrived there with Kirilov), he immediately began to peer vigilantly at the bride and, if he had not found what he needed, he would not have begun to get married, he would have given up. Among his strong and simple views was the view of family life. He wanted to be the head of the house, especially having married a thirty-five-year-old girl who was exactly half his age. Being himself impetuous and unyielding (which he considered partly even as virtues), he demanded completely different virtues from his wife: “quietness and humility are the first virtues of women, and they are the only true superiorities that adorn all their charms and their most blameless behavior. Without them, the most passionate love is nonsense.”

He noticed quietness and humility in Ekaterina Yakovlevna at the first conversation, and guessed, perhaps, even earlier - at the first glance at her. And in fact, these were her first virtues. If he was going to be strict with her, it immediately turned out that this was not required. She was quiet and humble in front of her husband, and this was given to her without any struggle, without self-sacrifice: firstly, because this is how she understood her duty, secondly, because she considered her husband smarter than herself and superior in all respects, and thirdly, and this, of course, is the main thing, because she loved him. She married him, perhaps without much passion, but then she seemed to fall in love more and more passionately and deeply. Her heartfelt devotion was boundless, her loyalty was, to say the least, unshakable: she simply had never been and could not be subjected to any test.

For all her meekness, Ekaterina Yakovlevna was not, however, weak-willed. Benevolent towards everyone, she was compliant only to a certain extent and, if necessary, could stand up for herself, and especially for her husband. She was kind without intrusiveness, almost imperceptibly, affectionate - without sweetness, friendly - without humiliation. In a word, the very feelings and virtues, strong, but subordinate inner harmony, were developed in her as slender as she was slender in appearance. Derzhavin himself only gradually discovered its charm. And he did not soften in front of her, but what kind of talk could there be about severity or severity if his love only grew and strengthened day after day, and after that from year to year? At that time, poets loved to give nicknames to their lovers. Temirs, Daphnes, Li-lets, Chloes, like foreign birds, flew into poetry. Derzhavin gave his wife the Russian, sincere name Plenira.

Soon after the wedding, he took a four-month vacation and took his wife to Kazan to show her to his mother. Ekaterina Yakovlevna effortlessly captivated both her mother-in-law and the entire Kazan society. When the Derzhavins returned to St. Petersburg, the director of the Kazan gymnasium, Kanits, wrote: “ Noch lange werden die verntiftigen unter den Casanschen Schonnen, daran gedenken, dass die junge, verehrungswerte Catharina Jakowna sich cine Zeitlang hier aufgehalten habe» .

Money matters were improving. Maslov's estate, put up for public auction, almost entirely went to Derzhavin as the main creditor. The twenty thousand paid from the winnings returned to him in the form of three hundred souls in the Ryazan province. Having made peace with one of his Kazan neighbors, he received another eighty. When the government began distributing the newly acquired Dnieper lands without money, Derzhavin got himself 6,000 dessiatines in the Kherson province with one hundred and thirty souls of Cossacks. Thus, together with the three hundred granted upon leaving the regiment, as well as the maternal and paternal ones, more than a thousand souls ended up behind Derzhavin. This was already a well-known wealth. The Senate salary must be added to this. The Derzhavins could live in a “decent house.”

They settled on Sennaya Square. Happy Derzhavin was an extremely hospitable host. He knew the poetry of hospitality. Khvostov, Khrapovitsky, Rezanovs, Kozodavlev, Okunevs, and sometimes the Prosecutor General himself and his wife became his guests. But my heart lay more with several new acquaintances.

The first meeting with the young poet Vasily Vasilyevich Kapnist took place in the regiment. Now the acquaintance has turned into friendship. Originally a Little Russian (he not only spoke, but also wrote with a Little Russian accent: Katenka’s name was Katerina Yakovlevna), Kapnist was somewhat of a lump, was sometimes gloomy and prone to touchiness, but for all that, he was the kindest man and a great family man. However, he was married only recently.

The two young couples briefly became close, and this led to the fact that a whole circle soon formed around the Derzhavins. The fact is that Alexandra Alekseevna Kapnist (nee Dyakova, the daughter of the Senate Chief Prosecutor) had a sister, Marya Alekseevna, a very sweet girl and very pretty. Two of the Kapnistovs’ friends were in love with her (need I add that both were poets?).

The first name was Lvov Nikolai Alexandrovich. Fate was favorable to him. Pleasant in face, wealthy, well-connected, well-educated, he was at once a poet, musician, painter and architect. He did not manage to create anything completely remarkable either in poetry, or in painting, or in architecture, or in music. But everywhere he was an intelligent and subtle connoisseur. Not without pleasant frivolity, he simultaneously translated Anacreon and built churches. His poems were not deep, but funny, cheerful, cheerful, just as he himself was always light, cheerful and cheerful. He fussed a lot, loved to fuss over his friends, patronize, make noise and shine. However, he did all this with taste and not without subtlety. He was sensitive. Masha Dyakova responded to his feelings with tender reciprocity; but for some reason her father was against this marriage.

Another admirer was the son of a Russified German, Ivan Ivanovich Khemnitser. He was nothing like Lvov. He was in a mood: philosophical, restrained, thoughtful, partly, perhaps, because he was very bad-looking, even to the point of ugliness. Just shortly before Derzhavin’s marriage, he returned from a trip abroad, fell in love with Masha Dyakova and began to court her in the most regrettable way. He pretended to be a dandy, a petimeter, thickly powdered his ugly face and put flies on it. He didn’t hide his love, he even dedicated the first book of his fairy tales and fables to Mashenka, but it was all in vain. Neither Masha nor the happy rival laughed at Khemnitser (at least in front of him); his feelings were treated with care. Lvov, perhaps, was even especially affectionate with him, but poor Khemnitser did not yet know the most bitter circumstance: Masha Dyakova lived with her father, was listed as a girl, but was already secretly married to Lvov.

The seven friends met often. Three lovely women and four poets were connected by love, friendship, and conversations about the arts. Ekaterina Yakovlevna painted silhouettes or did needlework. Lvov supervised her skillful embroidery. Sometimes we visited Lvov at his dacha, near the Nevsky Monastery, on Okhta. There, in memory of a strong union, everyone planted a young elm or a pine tree. Sometimes a beautiful, black-haired girl, tall beyond her years, flashed among this company. This was the third of the Dyakov sisters - Dasha. However, she was only eleven years old.

Sumarokov died in 1777. Now on the heights of Russian Parnassus thundered the actual state councilor Kheraskov and the office translator Vasily Petrov, a seminarian who had the honor of being known as “Her Majesty’s pocket poet,” a nickname he was very proud of. Both, however, were much older than Derzhavin: their fame began under Lomonosov. But Derzhavin’s closest peers did not remain in the shadows. Knyazhnin was born in 1742, Bogdanovich - in 1743, Fonvizin - in 1744. From each of them, Derzhavin differed in age not by years, but by months. But Knyazhnin was already known for “Dido”, Bogdanovich wrote “Darling” and was “on the roses”, Fonvizin became famous for the “Brigadier”, traveled abroad and was friends with Nikita Panin himself. Next to them, Derzhavin was simply a nobody.

Two poems, published by him just before the Pugachev war, rightly went unnoticed. After the Pugachev war, he published “Odes translated and composed at Mount Chitalagai.” They were noticed only among poetic youth. Being much older, Derzhavin turned out to be literary, the same age as Kapnist and Lvov. He humbly bowed before the authorities; they were ready to fight the authorities. But, looking for novelty and even partly sensing the right path to it, they themselves remained ordinary poets. On the contrary, Derzhavin, trying to imitate, involuntarily turned out to be original.

His knowledge was too limited. He replenished them greedily, but randomly. From the day he left the gymnasium, he had no time to study, and besides, he did not know how to study. The Chitalagai odes were a miraculous victory of genius over illiteracy. Derzhavin found his own verse, having very confused concepts about poetry in general, not knowing the simplest rules, which for Kapnist and Lvov were a child's alphabet, Derzhavin made mistakes in meter, in rhyme, in caesura, even in language: the most uncouth provincialisms got along with him next to obvious Germanisms ( German was for him the language of poetry).

His inexperience was obvious to Kapnist and Lvov, but they may have sensed that Derzhavin was superior to them in talent. In general, they considered him their equal, saw him as a possible comrade-in-arms and tried to enlighten him in the spirit of new trends. These new trends were not very clear to them, but they were read by Horace and found great revelations in Batte’s theory. Now we can say that these were the first, acutely experienced, but vaguely realized attractions to realism, which, by the force of things, it was time to arise in Russian poetry. These drives were destined to have a long and glorious life, but then, at their first inception, they were expressed in attempts to replace the conventions of the Lomonosov school with new conventions, which, however, represented a certain step forward.

Subsequently, it seemed to Derzhavin that it was at this time, under the influence of Lvov, Kapnist and Khemnitser, that a profound change took place in his poetry. In reality, there was no such fracture. Inexperienced teachers who did not fully understand the essence of their teaching, Lvov and Kapnist did not so much instill in Derzhavin new poetic ideas as simply correct his prosodic and stylistic errors, without being able, however, to give the student the right ways to avoid the same mistakes in the future. Lvov especially tried here, repairing Derzhavin’s poems with the same friendly fussiness with which he arranged the official affairs of Khemnitser and Kapnist.

In the depths of Derzhavin’s poetry there was a slow and natural development. Indeed, in some ways it coincided with the aspirations of Kapnist and Lvov: here their instincts did not deceive them, Derzhavin was their natural ally. But this development proceeded more independently than it seemed to Derzhavin himself. After the “Chitalagai Odes,” written before the literary meeting with Kapnist and Lvov, the next important stage his poetry included poems on the death of Meshchersky. But it is precisely these that are most directly connected with the same “Chitalagai Odes.”

I barely saw this light,

Death is already gnashing his teeth,

Like lightning, a scythe shines,

And my days are cut down like grain.

Nothing from the fatal claws,

No creature runs away:

The monarch and the prisoner are food for worms,

The tombs are consumed by the wrath of the elements;

Time is gaping to erase the glory:

Like fast waters flowing into the sea,

So days and years flow into eternity;

The greedy Death swallows the kingdoms.

We are sliding on the edge of the abyss,

Into which we will fall headlong;

Let us accept our death with life;

We are born in order to die;

Without pity, Death strikes everything:

And the stars will be crushed by it,

And the suns will be extinguished by it,

And it threatens all the worlds.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Death, the trembling of nature and fear!

We are pride, together with poverty:

Today is God, tomorrow is dust;

Today hope is flattering,

And tomorrow - where are you, man?

The hours had barely passed,

Chaos flew into the abyss,

And all your life passed like a dream...

They looked everywhere for sources from which individual details and the very idea of ​​these verses were supposedly drawn! And in Horace, and in Heller, and in Petrov, and in the Bible... They did not pay attention only to the fact that both the thought and all the noticed parallel passages (and a number of unnoticed ones) are much closer: in one of the “Chitalagai Odes” ”, which is translated from Friedrich and is called “Life is a dream”: “O Moverpy, dear Moverpy, how small our life is!.. As soon as you were born, the fate of that day already draws you to a destructive night...” Many thoughts and the images were transferred from Friedrich’s ode to the ode to the death of Meshchersky, right up to the famous appeal to Perfilyev: “Today or to die tomorrow, Perfilyev! “Of course we owe it,” inspired by Frederick’s appeal to Mouterpius.

There is no leap between the “Chitalagai Odes” and the ode “On the Death of Prince Meshchersky,” there is only a huge poetic development, which becomes especially noticeable precisely because the connection between them is so obvious. In verses akin to those of the “Chitalagai Odes,” but incomparably more perfect, Derzhavin speaks of the dominion of death. In this he follows Frederick, but surpasses him. Derzhavin's ode is shorter and stronger. Every word in it hits the target. Derzhavin, perhaps, never achieved such lapidaryness and accuracy later. The very presentation of the topic is remarkable. Derzhavin does not argue like Friedrich, but develops his theme on a specific example, which, however, is chosen in such a way that the ode does not turn out to be too attached to the case.

Meshchersky was not an outstanding person. In his person, Derzhavin does not mourn either a hero, or an interrupted career, or a loss suffered by anyone. Meshchersky is just a rich man, “the son of luxury, coolness and bliss,” nothing more; His life represents the very sweetness of life. The more sensual and abundant the blessings of life from which death snatches him away, the more strikingly the subject of the entire ode appears. The picture is further enhanced by the suddenness of death. “Where there was a table of food, there is a coffin”: it is impossible to say something general and at the same time more specific, shorter and at the same time stronger.

Derzhavin was not a friend of Meshchersky, he was just an acquaintance. There was a rumor that during the Pugachev era he hanged people “more out of poetic curiosity than out of real necessity.” This is not true. But it is true that from the time of Chitalagai, thoughts about death became attractive to him. He willingly indulged in them - especially in the midst of happiness and contentment. There is a certain poetic voluptuousness in the way the healthy, prosperous, surrounded by friends, beloved and loving Derzhavin contemplates the death of Meshchersky and philosophizes about it. For four years he hid and nurtured these dark images, waiting only for the last push, the right opportunity to give them shape and throw them out of himself with creative pleasure. Such a case was the death of Meshchersky. Sharp contrasts in life fascinated Derzhavin just as sharp collisions of words and images. He wrote these poems about the transience of life and the falsity of happiness precisely in those days when he firmly believed in his happy future. This belief broke through; it was not without reason that in one of the final stanzas he said about himself: “It’s calling, I hear, the noise of glory.” This was the first of a number of prophecies of which he later found many in his poems and of which he was so proud.

Then all poets served - the title of writer did not exist. Social significance literature was already recognized, but the pursuit of literature was viewed as a private matter, not a public one. As for Derzhavin, in his concepts poetry and service were connected in a special way.

He, of course, did not think that rank or order could add dignity to his poems; in the same way, he did not look at poetry as a way to obtain orders and ranks; It's time to forget this vulgar idea. The situation was different, much more serious and dignified. By the beginning of the eighties, when Derzhavin achieved a fairly prominent position in the service and began to advance in literature, poetry and service became for him, as it were, two fields of a single civic feat.

A trip along the Volga, undertaken by Catherine in 1767, confirmed her disappointing thoughts about internal position Russia. Chance would have it that these sad observations were made in the very places where bitter childhood Derzhavin and his sad youth. Oppression, arbitrariness, lack of rights, lack of justice - this is what the empress saw in the depths of the country. What was shown to her only from a distance and in part, Derzhavin had long known without any embellishment from personal experience and from the experience of his loved ones. Congenital poverty, despite his noble rank, early brought him closer to to the common people, and the memory of this closeness never faded in him: it lived in the memories of his beaten father, of the petitioner-mother crying at the front door, of his own orphanhood, of the rudeness and insults of the soldiers; This memory lived in his mentality, partly peasant, and in the features of everyday life, and in his attitude towards his own serfs, and, finally, in his very language.

Derzhavin went to pacify Pugachevism for career reasons; he pacified her with all diligence - for the same reasons and out of duty of oath, and because Emelyan Pugachev was in his eyes a cruel and dirty deceiver. But here’s what’s quite remarkable: not in Pugachev’s personality, of course, but in Pugachevism as a people’s movement, he very soon sensed, if not the truth, then at least the logic. I realized that indignation has its reasons and justifications. The trace of these thoughts is in his letter to the Kazan governor Brant dated June 4, 1774: “I have to report to your Excellency: bribes must be eradicated. I take it upon myself to talk about the extermination of this infection because its spread most of all, in my thoughts, contributes to the evil that is tormenting our fatherland.” But this is only a trace, only what Derzhavin, due to his position, could say verbally and in an official paper. His thoughts moved on. This is evident from the attitude that, during the Pugachev era, he began to develop towards autocratic power and to the personality of the autocrat.

Already in Derzhavin’s early (very weak) poems dedicated to Catherine, we find verbose discussions about her merits and social virtues. However, the author nowhere says that these merits are the basis and justification of her power. From an early age, Derzhavin was instilled with the idea of ​​the holiness of autocracy, of its origin from above. In the eyes of young Derzhavin, the anointed one is right and great by virtue of his anointing. (Of course, it’s very good if, moreover, there are merits behind him.)

After the Pugachev era, he had nothing left of these views. It is impossible to decide how much influence the Pugachevism had here; we have no direct data. But there can be no doubt about the fact itself: already at the time of writing the “Chitalagai Odes” Derzhavin somehow parted with the idea of divine origin royal power. The anointing and the title ceased to mean anything to him. From now on, in his eyes, the “pomp of clothing” equates kings not only with gods, but also with dolls. The imperial porphyry does not prevent its wearer from falling even lower:

Caligula, to be an imaginary god,

Are you not equal with your cattle?

Two years later, in “Epistol to I. I. Shuvalov” this idea was repeated:

ABOUT! a pathetic demigod who wears the title in vain:

Before the throne he is nothing, on the throne he is an idol.

It does not at all follow from this that Derzhavin does not recognize tsarist power. He is only looking for another source and another support for her. Here negative formula, from which, however, it is easy to derive a positive one:

Let him blow the sunflower

The tyrant fears with his wealth;

When people don't like someone,

His shelves and money are dust.

It's awkward, but clear. This means, firstly, that a ruler who does not rely on popular love is essentially powerless. Secondly, that he is not a king, but a tyrant, a usurper of power, who can be driven from the throne without committing any sacrilege. Therefore, what distinguishes a king from a tyrant is not anointing, but the love of the people. Only this love is true anointing. Thus, the people become not only the support, but also the very source of royal power. This idea does not fit with established ideas about Derzhavin. However, it was not by chance that it was expressed in “poetic fervour”: Derzhavin constantly returns to it, from now on it lies at the basis of his views, and without it it is impossible to understand Derzhavin.

By the word people, he was inclined to mean the entire nation, and he succeeded in this as long as the discussion was about military or diplomatic affairs, as long as the Russian people were opposed to some other people. But as soon as Derzhavin’s gaze turned to the depths of the country, an immediate feeling immediately prompted him to call only the dispossessed, powerless part of the nation the people. The matter, however, was not at all about the peasantry alone: ​​a poor nobleman, vainly seeking court and justice against a rich neighbor, or a petty official, pressed by a large one, in Derzhavin’s eyes were the same representatives of the people as a peasant suffering from the tyranny of the landowner. In a word, it turned out that whoever suffers belongs to the people; the king of the people is the protection and protection of everything weak and oppressed from everything strong and oppressive.

Derzhavin looked at Catherine with reverence. He expected that it was given to her to become such a people’s monarch, “the joy of hearts,” capable of easing the people’s lot, protecting the weak, taming the strong, and wiping away the tears of widows and orphans. These hopes seemed all the more solid to him because the first lessons of freethinking were given to him by life itself, and the second, more systematic ones, he learned from Catherine's Order, this collection of the most advanced, most humane and liberal ideas hitherto expressed in Russia (and not only in Russia: it was not for nothing that the dissemination of the Mandate was prohibited in France). Catherine was his mentor: already in the “Chitalagai Odes” he makes direct borrowings from the Nakaz. Moreover: The order and convening of the Commission to draft a new code inspired Derzhavin main idea, which was destined to become the basis of his poetic and professional pathos.

After the existing legislation was declared from the height of the throne to be imperfect and not protect the people from arbitrariness and misinterpretation; after the lack of legality was recognized as the first evil of Russian life; after obedience to the law was called the main virtue not only of a subject, but also of a monarch, Derzhavin, one might say, had his eyes opened. The simple word law in the Russian air of that time sounded like a revelation. For Derzhavin it became a source of the highest and purest feelings, an object of heartfelt affection. The law became, as it were, his new religion; in his poetry, the word law, like God, became surrounded by love and fear.

Meanwhile, the order lay shelved for a long time, and the Commission was dissolved. This did not bother Derzhavin. In his eyes, Catherine was forever illuminated by the radiance of Nakaz. Stubborn and straightforward, in his imagination he endowed her with these two properties, which she simply did not have. He partly did not know and partly did not want to know those difficult political and personal circumstances in which the empress’s life took place and which gradually led her away from the lofty plans of the Order. Having very rationalistically deprived the monarchy of its religious halo, he transferred this halo intact to the head of this monarch. His poetic hyperbolism here turned into political. In his eyes, Catherine became the owner of civil, that is, completely human, virtues, but in fullness and degree they were no longer human, but titanic. He admitted that there might be obstacles and misfortunes along her path, but with the ruthless demands of an adorer he was ready to rejoice in them:

Hear, all earthly lords

And all the sovereign heads!

You're not big yet,

If you haven’t suffered any troubles!

Evil must be endured with the fifth,

Take up arms against the Peruns,

Don't be afraid of the heavens themselves

With a virtuous soul.

He wanted to surround the goddess with priests worthy of her. He saw the vices and machinations of nobles. He was presented with a choice: to scourge vice or to encourage virtue. He did not want to completely abandon the first, but chose mainly the second: that is why he did not become a satirist. The image of good seemed to him more fruitful than the exposure of evil. He tried to create an example of a nobleman who was virtuous, generous, selfless, and caring for the people’s welfare:

I am a Prince, since my spirit shines,

Owner, since I have passions,

Bolyarin, since I’m rooting for everyone...

“Friend, royal and people's” - this, by his definition, is a true nobleman. This is how he saw Bibikov and I.I. Shuvalov. This is what he wanted to become himself. Here, precisely at this point, his poetic activity came into contact with his official one. In his opinion, the words of the poet should be translated into deeds by him. The admirer of Catherine dreamed of being her faithful companion, the admirer of the Law wanted to become its unwavering guardian.

In 1779, the Senate building was rebuilt. Derzhavin, as an executor, supervised the work. By the way, the general meeting hall was decorated with new bas-reliefs sculpted by Rashet. After completing the work, Vyazemsky decided to inspect the hall. One of the bas-reliefs depicted the Temple of Justice; the empress in the image of the Russian Minerva introduced Truth, Philanthropy and Conscience into him. Looking at the naked figure of Truth, Vyazemsky made a sour face and turned to Derzhavin:

“Tell her, brother, to cover her up a little.”

Perhaps he did not intend to give these words an allegorical meaning, but for Derzhavin they sounded exactly like that. The closer he became acquainted with affairs, the more clearly he saw that “they began to cover up the truth in the government more and more every hour.” He had already noticed some of the Prosecutor General's tricks. The following year, a black cat ran between him and his boss for the first time.

Expeditions on government revenues and expenditures have just been established. They were under the jurisdiction of the Prosecutor General. Derzhavin was appointed one of the advisers to the revenue expedition, and this put him in close official proximity to Vyazemsky. To begin with, it was necessary to draw up an “outline” of the range of actions and the responsibilities of the expeditions. It so happened that those who should have been involved in this (including Khrapovitsky) declined, and Vyazemsky entrusted the work to Derzhavin - with reluctance, because he considered him not quite experienced. The latter was true. Derzhavin himself, not without despair, set to work, deciding, however, not to lose face in the dirt. He locked himself in his room and did not order to receive anyone. “Since the matter was almost wild and incomprehensible to him, he scribbled, changed, and finally, after two weeks, he somehow compiled a whole book without any outside help.” On general meeting expedition, when Derzhavin’s work was read, Vyazemsky found fault in every possible way, but still was forced to present the “outline” to the empress; it was confirmed and entered into Full Assembly Laws (XXI, 15. 120).

Of course, Derzhavin was very proud: without knowledge, without preparation, he managed to complete an important and responsible assignment. He was waiting for a reward - and did not receive it. It even turned out that they almost tried to attribute his work to Khrapovitsky. The offended Derzhavin told the grief to his friend Lvov, Lvov was, as they say, right hand Bezborodka, who was then one of the empress’s secretaries. Derzhavin, through Vyazemsky’s head, was promoted to state councilor. It is understandable what annoyance this caused in the Prosecutor General, especially since Bezborodko was among his enemies. He still tried to hide his irritation: the friendship between the Vyazemsky and Derzhavin families was still maintained, the princess loved Ekaterina Yakovlevna very much.

However, the day came that had a decisive influence not only on Derzhavin’s relationship with the prosecutor general, but also on his entire life. That was at the end of May 1783. Derzhavin dined with the Vyazemskys. He was not in a good mood: any moment a matter was to be decided, the outcome of which had been troubling him for several months. Suddenly, after lunch, at about nine o’clock, they called him into the hallway: there was a postman standing there with a package. There is a strange inscription on the package: “From Orenburg from the Kyrgyz princess to Murza Derzhavin,” and inside there is a gold snuff box sprinkled with diamonds with five hundred chervonets.

Derzhavin immediately realized that this was the solution to his fate. “But he could not and should not have accepted it secretly, without informing the boss, so as not to raise suspicions of bribes; and for this purpose, he approached him and showed him.”

— What kind of gifts from the Kyrgyz people? — the Prosecutor General grumbled angrily. But, having examined the snuff box, he also understood everything: the parcel was from the empress.

“Okay, brother, I see and congratulate you,” said Vyazemsky. “Take it if you like it.”

At the same time, he tried to smile, but the smile came out sarcastic...

Derzhavin wrote “Ode to the Wise Kyrgyz-Kaisak Princess Felitsa” last year, but its free tone and mocking allusions to the strongest nobles (even Potemkin) seemed dangerous to the author himself. Lvov and Kapnist were of the same opinion. It was decided to hide the ode, but the nosy Kozodavlev, living in the same house with Derzhavin, one day saw it on the table, read a few lines and begged to show it in full. Then, under terrible oaths, he took it upon himself to copy it for a certain Mrs. Pushkina, a lover of poetry, and a few days later the ode ended up with I. I. Shuvalov - of course, in secret. Shuvalov read it to several gentlemen during a table conversation - again in confidence. They secretly told it to Potemkin - Potemkin requested it from Shuvalov. He, in fear, called Derzhavin and asked what to do: send the entire stanzas or throw out the stanzas related to Potemkin? They decided to send it in its entirety so as not to arouse unnecessary suspicion. It was only then that Derzhavin found out how public his poems had received. He went home “with extreme regret.” All this could have ended badly for him.

For several months he waited for the consequences and languished in uncertainty. Meanwhile, by the spring of 1783, Princess Dashkova, being the director of the Academy of Sciences, decided to publish a journal. Kozodavlev was her adviser at that time. Again, without telling Derzhavin anything, he brought Dashkova “Felitsa” - and on May 20, Saturday, the ode suddenly appeared in the first book of the “Interlocutor of Lovers of the Russian Word.” Now she had to reach the empress. Derzhavin lived in terrible excitement, not knowing what to expect. On the day of lunch at the Vyazemskys, the arrival of the postman resolved everything - fears were replaced by great joy.

Catherine was curious about what was written about her in poetry and prose. She probably also read Derzhavin’s previous praises, which were essentially louder and deeper than those contained in Felitsa. But they were not even remembered - they were drowned in the chorus of habitual flattery. And over “Felitsa” she began to cry several times. “Like a fool, I’m crying,” said Dashkova. Why was she so moved?

She didn’t like poetry too much, didn’t understand much about it, and didn’t feel the very substance of poetry. Questions of pure poetry did not interest her. With all her love for literary exercises, she did not know how to compose a single verse and she herself admitted it; I even ordered light verses for my comedies from others. The higher the poem soared, the more pompous it was (let us return this word to its beautiful original meaning), the weaker it reached her ears, the less capable of touching her feelings.

“Felitsa” should have appealed to her taste and understanding precisely by those special properties that made this work less of an ode itself: its satirical side, its light, playful tone, its everyday material, close to everyday life, and finally, the syllable itself, which Derzhavin so aptly called “funny”, with its “low” vocabulary and abundant borrowings from everyday speech. These same qualities caused the wild success of “Felitsa” both among the majority of the readers of that time (including many poets) and among posterity. One should not, however, look at “Felitsa” as a transformation of the ode. In fact, it was not transformation, but destruction. Of course, the significance of “Felitsa” in the history of Russian literature is enormous: the Russian realistic genre began with it (or almost with it), and in this way it even contributed to the development of the Russian novel. But the ode as such is not transformed in it, because it itself has ceased to be an ode: and to such an extent the odic tradition of Russian-French classicism is violated in it.

But let's return to Catherine. Of course, it was not the literary properties of “Felitsa” that caused her tears: these literary properties As soon as they gave the empress access to understanding the ode, they removed the seal from her hearing.

Sensitivity was not alien to her, she also knew strong hobbies. It happened that attacks of grief or anger took possession of her, but for all that common sense He left her only for moments. In particular, she looked very soberly and simply at her own person. The furthest she was from considering herself some kind of supernatural being. When she was depicted as a goddess, she took it for granted, but did not recognize herself in these images. Minerva's helmet was too big for her, but Felitsa's clothes fit just right. Derzhavin thought that the external playfulness here was redeemed by internal reverence. In Catherine’s eyes, this was just such an image that she could finally believe. What seemed to Derzhavin almost insolence on his part, accidentally turned into flattery that penetrated Catherine’s very heart. In “Felitsa” she saw herself as beautiful, virtuous, wise, but also beautiful, and wise, and virtuous within the limits accessible to man. And how much attention was shown by the author not only to her state works, but also simply to habits, customs, inclinations, how many true and simple features, even everyday little things and passions! In a word, despite all the ideality, the portrait was in fact very similar. Catherine believed that the nameless author had figured out everything about her - from great virtues to small weaknesses. “Who would know me so well?” — she asked Dashkova in tears.

Even such an essentially trifle as a favorable comparison with the surrounding nobles gave her pleasure. This comparison was quite in her spirit: she did not want to be above comparisons. She rather fussily began sending out prints of “Felitsa” to Potemkin, Panin, Orlov - everyone who was offended by the author: the Empress and Autocrat of All Russia loved to play funny jokes with those close to her. witz's in the spirit of the good old Anhalt-Zerbst outback. The snuff box with ducats sent to “Murza Derzhavin” on behalf of the Kyrgyz princess, of course, belonged here. But she immediately placed Derzhavin very highly, as if introducing him into the circle of people with whom the Empress jokes.

That May evening, with Felitsa’s snuff box in his pocket, Derzhavin left Vyazemsky as a new celebrity. The following days brought him such a noisy literary fame that Russia had never seen before. In poetic terms, this glory would have been fairer if it had immediately followed the poems on Meshchersky’s death. But there were social reasons for her to come now. The spirit of “Felitsa” became the spirit of “Interlocutor”. The magazine became a refuge for bold social criticism. It combined praise for Catherine with sharp polemics about subjects that had previously been silent. Catherine contributed to this with her own writings, until she had to stop the polemics, because tongues had become too loose.

Catherine loved to give nicknames. She called Vyazemsky Grumpy. He was a bilious man. He had no reason to envy Derzhavin, but he was irritated by why Derzhavin was being distinguished not through him. When the distinction fell for poetry, the prosecutor general lost his temper. After “Felitsa,” he “could not speak indifferently to the newly famous poet: being attached to him in any case, he not only mocked him, but almost scolded him, preaching that poets are incapable of doing anything.” One should, however, feel sorry for him. Fate was unmerciful to this man, who had the courage to hate poetry openly: almost all of his subordinates were poets.

No matter how intoxicated Derzhavin was with the Empress’s mercy, he restrained himself as best he could until things went beyond ridicule and intrigues directed against him personally. He either quarreled with Vyazemsky or made peace (they made peace as his wife usually did). The scythe nevertheless found its way onto the stone when his civic feelings, his devotion to work and duty were hurt.

In 1783, the last so-called audit was completed, which, due to the increase in quitrents from state-owned and privately owned peasants, was supposed to give the state a noticeable increase in income. The statements about expected revenues received from the governors were to be taken into account when drawing up the income sheet for coming year. Suddenly Vyazemsky, citing the ambiguity and incompleteness of these new statements, demanded that the time sheet be drawn up on the basis of the old ones. In fact, this should have led to the fact that income would be shown significantly lower than what would actually be received. Derzhavin rebelled against such a concealment: he could not allow the empress to be deceived.

It is remarkable that he explained the behavior of the Prosecutor General to himself quite innocently. He assumed, firstly, that Vyazemsky, fighting for power with the governors, wants to undermine them, portraying their negligence; secondly, that Vyazemsky, knowing Catherine’s extravagance, hides part of her income from her, so that at the right moment, “as if by his special invention and zeal,” he could find extra money for her and thereby curry favor. Derzhavin did not know that concealing income was not invented by Vyazemsky and was practiced even under Elizaveta Petrovna by Prosecutor General Glebov for the sake of ordinary theft. As soon as she ascended the throne, Catherine checked her accounts and discovered as many as twelve million hidden. Vyazemsky was no more valiant than his predecessor.

Be that as it may, after difficult scenes with the Prosecutor General, Derzhavin took the reports home, called in sick, and two weeks later presented a new report, his report, to the expedition meeting. No matter how much they found fault with it, they were forced to admit that the income could be shown to be at least eight million more than last year. “It’s impossible to imagine what kind of fury appeared on the boss’s face.”

The victory still cost Derzhavin dearly. Further service under Vyazemsky became impossible, he resigned and, by decision of the Senate, was dismissed with the rank of full state councilor. Confirming the report on his dismissal, the Empress said to Bezborodka: “Tell him that I have him under review. Let him rest now, and when necessary, I will call him.” She knew the whole story of concealing income exactly. Fonvizin transparently hinted about the persecution that Derzhavin was subjected to by Vyazemsky on the pages of the Interlocutor, and the meaning of these hints, of course, was known to the empress. But Vyazemsky did not hear a single reproach from her. If Derzhavin had thought about all this, he might have already understood now what he had to understand much later.

There was a rumor that the Kazan governor was resigning. Derzhavin began to aim for his place. There was trouble about this, but Derzhavin decided in advance that he would go to Kazan no matter the outcome: either as governor, or simply to relax and manage for two years. Just at this time, his mother wrote to him that she was seriously ill, did not hope to survive and asked him to come say goodbye to her (they had not seen each other for six years).

In February 1784, while the sleigh ride was still in progress, Derzhavin sent all his household belongings to Kazan, but he and his wife lingered in St. Petersburg. The governorship was generally promised, but things needed to be pushed. And in the midst of the troubles, efforts, sometimes humiliations and prevarications before the powerful of this world, a completely different kind of anxiety began to disturb him.

About four years ago, during Easter Matins in Winter Palace, inspiration struck him. Arriving home, he heatedly wrote down the first lines of the ode on paper:

O You, endless space,

Alive in the movement of matter,

With the passage of time, eternal

Without faces, in three faces of the Divine!

Spirit, present and united everywhere...

But the impulse passed, the mental muscles weakened. Distracted by work and social fuss, no matter how much he took part, he could not continue. To himself, however, he constantly returned to the ode he had started, and in the depths of his memory he accumulated thoughts and images, either his own or extracted from readings. Over the course of four years, all this in him finally matured and began to ask to come out. Now, free, he took up his pen again, but still the bustle of everyday life and the city bothered him. His heart wanted solitude, he decided to run away. Suddenly he announced to his wife that he was going to inspect his Belarusian lands, which he had never been to, even though he had owned them for seven years. It was a muddy road, there was no point in thinking about a long journey. His wife was surprised, but he didn’t let her come to her senses. He rode to Narva, abandoned the cart and servants at the inn, rented a run-down room from an old German woman and locked himself in it.

He wrote until sleep fell on his bed, and when he woke up, he set to work again. The old woman brought him food. He worked in the same wild solitude, in the same frantic tension of bodily and mental strength, in which Cellini once cast his Perseus. This went on for several days.

It was again a high ode. Derzhavin himself felt the height of his soaring with a sinking heart. He again piled up images and words like rocks, and, colliding sounds, he himself reveled in the sound of their collisions. He wrote little - about a hundred lines in total. Of these, not all are made of the same precious material, but all are balanced and equally filled. In these verses it is not difficult to recognize the author of the “Chitalagai Odes”. But there was still before us a desperate journeyman, working at random, who knew remarkable success, but in places only spoiled the material; now this full master. It is not difficult to recognize him as the laconic author of the ode “On the Death of Meshchersky.” But now his laconicism has ceased to be impetuous and angular. In “God” Derzhavin set some huge masses in motion; The force expended on this is just as enormous, but not a single particle of it is wasted, and we do not see the frustration or effort anywhere. Such is his dominance over the material this time that from beginning to end everything in the ode moves harmoniously and smoothly, despite the fact that in the process of work he gradually moves away from the original plan. Inspiration controls him, but he controls the material.

His first goal was to imagine the majesty of God. His gaze was directed towards God. But as the subject was revealed to him, he was overcome with amazement at his own ability for such comprehension. Looking at his own reflection in the ode, he saw the reflection of God in himself - and was more and more amazed:

Nothing! - But you shine in me

By the majesty of your kindnesses,

You portray yourself in me,

Like the sun in a small drop of water.

Nothing! - But I feel life,

I fly unfed

Always a guy in heights;

My soul yearns to be with you,

He delves into, thinks, reasons:

I am - of course, you are too!

You are! - The order of nature speaks,

It says, my heart is mine,

My mind assures me:

You exist - and I am no longer nothing!

A particle of the whole universe,

Placed, it seems to me, in venerable

In the middle of nature I am the one

Where did you end up with bodily creatures?

Where did you begin the heavenly spirits

And a chain of creatures connected everyone with me.

From this verse, the ode to God became an ode to the divine sonship of man:

I am the connection of worlds existing everywhere,

I'm the extreme of substance

I am the center of the living

The trait is the initial of the deity;

My body is crumbling into dust,

I command thunder with my mind,

I am a king - I am a slave - I am a worm - I am a god!

But, being so wonderful, I

Where did it happen? - unknown;

But I couldn’t be myself.

I am your creation, creator!

I am a creature of Your wisdom.

Source of life, giver of blessings,

Soul of my soul and king!

Your truth needed it

So that the abyss of death may pass

My existence is immortal;

So that my spirit is clothed in mortality

And so that through death I return,

Father! into your immortality.

Then he was overcome with such rapture of the greatest pride and sweetest humility, open to people, such an inexpressible happiness of being in God that he could not write any further. It was already at night, shortly before dawn. His strength left him, he fell asleep and saw in a dream that light was shining in his eyes. He woke up, and in fact his imagination was so heated that it seemed to him that light was running around the walls. And he cried out of gratitude and love for God. He lit an oil lamp and wrote the last stanza, ending by actually shedding grateful tears for the concepts that had been given to him:

Inexplicable, incomprehensible!

I know that my soul

Imagination is powerless

And draw your shadow;

But if praise must be given,

That is impossible for weak mortals

There is nothing else to honor you with,

How can they just rise to you,

Getting lost in the immeasurable difference