I met you - and everything is gone
In an obsolete heart came to life...
One look at these lines and the motif of a romance immediately rings in your head. Easily, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these poems all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once upon a time the poet loved a woman, and suddenly he meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, separation, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: charm, love, “spiritual fullness,” and life itself is filled with meaning. And it’s hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
This was Clotilde Bothmer - the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are included in the title of the poem. Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced youthful love, the family happiness of her husband and father, fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, crazy passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and repentance. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and every time love interest turns into not only a merger kindred spirits, but also a fatal duel.
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later married - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips through its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember golden time..."). However, the “golden time” of romantic walks and childlike relationships did not last long. The marriage proposal was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: a more successful match was preferred to an untitled Russian diplomat, who was in Germany on a freelance basis, who was not rich and was still too young. Tyutchev’s experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, heart-aching message:
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
I couldn’t - alas! - appease them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run away like a sentence,
Your love with a baby's gaze.(“Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion”)
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer shying away from the norms of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of baptismal neck chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love- Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer). She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Extraordinarily beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Ekaterina (1835). In January 1833, a new great love burst into Tyutchev’s life, like a stone thrown from a mountain, leading to trials and problems...
Having rolled down the mountain, the stone lay in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now -
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Or was he overthrown by the will of someone else?
Century after century flew by:
No one has yet resolved the issue.
An all-consuming mad passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dörnberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty, causes the poet to languor, irritation, and desperate melancholy. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in severe torment. The poet retained a tender memory of her throughout his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor’s death he wrote:
I am still tormented by the anguish of desires.
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...(“I’m still tormented by the anguish of desires...”)
So six years after they met and had crazy passion, Ernestine became the poet’s second wife.
I love your eyes, my friend,
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly lift them up
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick look around the whole circle...(“I love your eyes, my friend...”)
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what melancholy in love...”, “Yesterday, in enchanted dreams”, “I don’t know if grace will touch...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor...” She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, an unsettled way of life compared to European ones; and most importantly - children, our own, tiny ones, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she captivated by her successes in the “fashionable world”; willingly letting her husband shine in aristocratic living rooms, she happily took care of the children, the house, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time on the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house... He felt cramped within the family circle.
It was in this state of soul and heart that Tyutchev met Elena Deniseva. Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, brave, temperamental woman; the romance with her developed rapidly and passionately. A scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love,
What, how did you take care of a shrine,
Fate for human idleness
She betrayed me to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul,
And you involuntarily felt ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Oh, if only there were living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was saved from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!(“What did you pray with love”)
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisyev’s cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
…..(“Oh, how murderously we love...”)
The poet's soul was torn between his two beloved women. Both Ernestina and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two at the same time existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of his poems in 1859, addressed to Ernestina Fedorovna, he called “spiritual fainting”:
I don’t know if grace will touch
My painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to resurrect and rebel?
Will the spiritual fainting pass?
But if the soul could
Find peace here on earth,
You would be my blessing -
You, you, my earthly providence!..(“I don’t know if grace will touch me”)
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not displace such a dramatic but tender love for Elena Denisyeva from the poet’s soul.
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously...
Shine, shine, farewell light
Last love, dawn of evening!
Half the sky was covered in shadow,
Only there, in the west, does the radiance wander,—
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last the charm.
Let the blood in your veins run low,
But there is no shortage of tenderness in the heart...
O you, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.(Last love)
The outcome of this intensely dramatic situation was tragic. Desperately defending her right to happiness with her beloved, Elena Alexandrovna, already in adulthood, decided to have a third child, but died during childbirth. A year earlier, Tyutchev wrote a poem in which for the first time in fourteen years of his fatal novel he admitted its sinfulness:
When there is no God's consent,
No matter how much she suffers, lovingly,
The soul, alas, will not suffer happiness,
But he can suffer himself...(“When there is no God’s consent…”)
The death of his beloved deeply shocked the poet, his own life seemed to have lost its meaning; He was overcome by despair, he was even close to insanity.
The feeling of suffering and guilt was aggravated by a tragedy in the family: four children died one after another, and soon their brother.
Fyodor Ivanovich, already terminally ill, addressed his last words of love to his wife Ernestina:
The executing God took everything from me:
Health, willpower, air, sleep,
He left you alone with me,
So that I can still pray to him.
The day of the poet's death fell on July 15, 1873. Twenty-three years earlier, to the same day, July 15, the last romantic poet met his last love- Elena Denisieva...
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Fedor Tyutchev
I am still tormented by the longing of desires...
Don’t believe, don’t believe the poet, maiden...
I met you - and everything is gone
In an obsolete heart came to life...
One look at these lines and the motif of a romance immediately rings in your head. Easily, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these poems all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once upon a time the poet loved a woman, and suddenly he meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, separation, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: charm, love, “spiritual fullness,” and life itself is filled with meaning. And it’s hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
This was Clotilde Bothmer, the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are included in the title of the poem. Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced youthful love, the family happiness of her husband and father, fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, crazy passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and repentance. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and every time a love affair turns not only into a merger of kindred souls, but also into a fatal duel:
Love, love - says the legend -
Union of the soul with the dear soul -
Their union, combination,
And their fatal merger,
And... the fatal duel...(Predestination)
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later married - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips through its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember golden time..."). However, the “golden time” of romantic walks and childlike relationships did not last long. The marriage proposal was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: a more successful match was preferred to an untitled Russian diplomat, who was in Germany on a freelance basis, who was not rich and was still too young. Tyutchev’s experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, heart-aching message:
Your love with a baby's gaze.
Such is the grief of the spirits, the blessed light;(“Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion”)
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer shying away from the norms of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of baptismal neck chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love, Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer). She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Extraordinarily beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Ekaterina (1835). In January 1833, Tyutchev’s life was like a stone thrown from a mountain - thrown by whom - by the all-powerful Fate or by blind Chance? - a new great love burst in, entailing trials and problems...
Having rolled down the mountain, the stone lay in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now -
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Or was he overthrown by the will of someone else?
Century after century flew by:
No one has yet resolved the issue.(Problem)
An all-consuming mad passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dörnberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty, causes the poet to languor, irritation, and desperate melancholy. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in severe torment. The poet retained a tender memory of her throughout his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor’s death he wrote:
I am still tormented by the anguish of desires.
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...(“I’m still tormented by the anguish of desires...”)
So six years after they met and had crazy passion, Ernestine became the poet’s second wife.
I love your eyes, my friend,
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly lift them up
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick look around the whole circle...
But there is a stronger charm:
Eyes downcast,
In moments of passionate kissing,
And through lowered eyelashes
A gloomy, dim fire of desire.(“I love your eyes, my friend...”)
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what melancholy in love...”, “Yesterday, in enchanted dreams”, “I don’t know if grace will touch...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor...” She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, an unsettled way of life compared to European ones; and most importantly - children, our own, tiny ones, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she captivated by her successes in the “fashionable world”; willingly letting her husband shine in aristocratic living rooms, she happily took care of the children, the house, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time on the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house... He felt cramped within the family circle.
Like a pillar of smoke
brightening in the sky! -
As the shadow below slides,
elusive!..
“This is our life,”
you told me, -
Not light smoke
shining under the moon,
And this shadow running from the smoke..."(“Like a pillar of smoke…”)
It was in this state of soul and heart that Tyutchev met Elena Deniseva. Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, brave, temperamental woman; the romance with her developed rapidly and passionately. A scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love,
What, how did you take care of a shrine,
Fate for human idleness
She betrayed me to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul,
And you involuntarily felt ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Oh, if only there were living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was saved from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!(“What did you pray with love”)
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisyev’s cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
…..
Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She laid down her life!(“Oh, how murderously we love...”)
The poet's soul was torn between his two beloved women. Both Ernestine and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two simultaneously existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of his poems in 1859, addressed to Ernestina Fedorovna, he called “spiritual fainting”:
I don’t know if grace will touch
My painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to resurrect and rebel?
Will the spiritual fainting pass?
But if the soul could
Find peace here on earth,
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence!..(“I don’t know if grace will touch me”)
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not displace such a dramatic but tender love for Elena Denisyeva from the poet’s soul.
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously...
Shine, shine, farewell light
Last love, dawn of evening!
Half the sky was covered in shadow,
Only there, in the west, does the radiance wander, -
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last the charm.
Let the blood in your veins run low,
But there is no shortage of tenderness in the heart...
O you, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.(Last love)
The outcome of this intensely dramatic situation was tragic. Desperately defending her right to happiness with her beloved, Elena Alexandrovna, already in adulthood, decided to have a third child, but died during childbirth. A year earlier, Tyutchev wrote a poem in which for the first time in fourteen years of his fatal novel he admitted its sinfulness:
When there is no God's consent,
No matter how much she suffers, lovingly, -
The soul, alas, will not suffer happiness,
But he can suffer himself...(“When there is no God’s consent…”)
The death of his beloved deeply shocked the poet, his own life seemed to have lost its meaning; He was overcome by despair, he was even close to insanity.
Oh, this South, oh, this Nice!..
Oh, how their brilliance alarms me!
Life is like a shot bird
He wants to get up, but he can’t...
There is no flight, no scope -
Broken wings hang
And all of her, clinging to the dust,
Trembling from pain and powerlessness...(“Oh, this South, oh, this Nice!..”)
The feeling of suffering and guilt was aggravated by a tragedy in the family: four children died one after another, and soon their brother.
Fyodor Ivanovich, already terminally ill, addressed his last words of love to his wife Ernestina:
The executing God took everything from me:
Health, willpower, air, sleep,
He left you alone with me,
So that I can still pray to him.
The day of the poet's death fell on July 15, 1873. Twenty-three years earlier, on the same day, July 15, the last romantic poet met his last love - Elena Denisieva...
1820s
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion...
“Don’t give us the spirit of idle talk!”
So, from today
By virtue of our condition, you
Don't ask me for prayers.
Early 1820s
Spring greetings to poets
The love of the earth and the beauty of the year,
Spring is fragrant to us! -
Nature gives creation a feast,
The feast gives goodbye to the sons!..
Spirit of strength, life and freedom
Lifts us up and envelops us!..
And joy poured into my heart,
Like a review of the triumph of nature,
Like God's life-giving voice!..
Where are you, sons of Harmony?..
Here!.. and with bold fingers
Touch the dormant string,
Heated by bright rays
Love, delight and spring!..
0 you, whose gaze is so often sanctified
Reverence with tears,
The temple of nature is open, singers, before you!
Poetry has given you the key to it!
In your soaring high
Never change!..
AND eternal nature beauty
There will be no secret or reproach for you!..
Like a full, fiery blossom,
Washed by the Aurora's light,
Roses shine and burn -
And Zephyr - with a joyful flight
The aroma fills them, -
So spill the sweetness of life,
Singers, follow you!
So flutter away, friends, your youth
To the bright flowers of happiness!..
<Апрель 1821>
Tears
O lacrimarum fons…
Gray 1
O source of tears... (lat.). Gray.
I love, friends, to caress with my eyes
Or the purple of sparkling wines,
Or fruits between the leaves
Fragrant ruby.
I like to watch when creation
As if immersed in spring,
And the world fell asleep in the fragrance
And smiles in his sleep!..
I love it when the face is beautiful
Zephyr burns like a kiss,
Then the voluptuous curls of silk flutter,
Then the cheeks dig into the dimples!
But what are all the charms of the Paphos queen,
And the juice of the grapes and the smell of roses
Before you, holy source of tears,
Dew of the divine morning!..
The heavenly ray plays in them
And, breaking into drops of fire,
Draws living rainbows
On the thunderclouds of life.
And only the eye of death
You, angel of tears, will touch your wings -
The fog will clear with tears
And the sky of seraphic faces
Suddenly it will develop before your eyes.
To opponents of wine
(Like wine gladdens the human heart)
Oh, the judgment of people is wrong,
That drinking is a sin!
Common sense dictates
Love and drink wine.
Curse and grief
Head to the disputants!
I will help in an important dispute
Holy prize.
Our great-grandfather, seduced
The wife and the serpent,
Ate the forbidden fruit
And rightly driven away.
Well, how can you disagree?
That the grandfather was to blame:
Why be tempted by an apple?
Having grapes?
But honor and glory to Noah, -
He acted smart
Quarreled with water
And he took up the wine.
No quarrel, no reproach
Didn't make money for the glass.
And often grapes of juice
He poured it into it.
Good assassination attempts
God himself blessed -
And as a sign of goodwill
I made a covenant with him.
Suddenly I didn’t fall in love with the cup
One of the sons.
Oh, monster! Noah stood up
And the villain went to hell.
So let's get drunk
Drink out of piety
May God bless you with Noah
Sanctuary to enter.
Early 1820s
Glimpse
Did you hear in the deep twilight
The airy harp is lightly ringing,
When it's midnight, inadvertently,
Will the slumbering strings be disturbed by sleep?..
Those amazing sounds
Then suddenly freezing...
Like the last murmur of agony,
Having responded to them, it went out!
Breath every marshmallow
Sorrow explodes in her strings...
You will say: angelic lyre
Sad, in the dust, across the skies!
Oh, how then from the earthly circle
We fly with our souls to the immortal!
The past is like the ghost of a friend,
We want to press you to our chest.
As we believe with living faith,
How joyful and bright my heart is!
As if by an ethereal stream
The sky flowed through my veins!
But, ax, we weren’t the ones who judged him;
We'll soon get tired in the sky -
And no insignificant dust is given
Breathe divine fire.
With barely a minute's effort
Let's interrupt the magical dream for an hour
And with a trembling and vague gaze,
Having risen, we will look around the sky, -
And with a burdened head,
Blinded by one ray,
Again we fall not to peace,
But in tedious dreams.
<Осень 1825>
To Nisa
Nisa, Nisa, God be with you!
You despised the friendly voice,
You are a crowd of fans
She protected herself from us.
Indifferent and carefree,
Gullible child
Our tribute to heartfelt love
You rejected it jokingly.
Our loyalty has been exchanged
To the wrong shine, empty, -
Our feelings are not enough for you to know, -
Nisa, Nisa, God bless you!
<Осень 1825>
K N.
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
I couldn’t - alas! - appease them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run away like a sentence,
Your love with a baby's gaze,
He is scary to them, like the memory of childhood.
But for me this look is a blessing;
Like the key to life, in the depths of your soul
Your gaze lives and will live in me:
She needs him like heaven and breath.
Such is the grief (4d/accent) of the blessed spirits, the light
Only in the heavens does he shine, heavenly;
In the night of sin, at the bottom of a terrible abyss,
This pure fire burns like hellish fire.
Evening
How quietly it blows over the valley
Distant bell ringing
Like the noise from a flock of cranes, -
And he froze in the sonorous leaves.
Like the spring sea in flood,
Brightening, the day does not waver, -
And more quickly, more silently
A shadow lies across the valley.
<1826>
Spring thunderstorm
I love the storm in early May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.
Young peals thunder,
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.
A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds in the forest is not silent,
And the noise of the forest, and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder.
You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.
<1828, 1854>
Cache-cache
2
Hide and seek game (French).
Here is her harp in the usual corner,
Carnations and roses stand by the window,
The midday ray dozed off on the floor:
Conditional time! But where is she?
Oh, who will help me find the minx,
Where, where is my sylph sheltered?
Magical closeness, like grace,
Spilled in the air, I feel it.
No wonder the carnations look sly,
No wonder, O roses, on your leaves
Hotter blush, fresher aroma:
I realized who had disappeared, buried himself in the flowers!
Was it not your harp that I heard ringing?
Do you dream of hiding in golden strings?
The metal trembled, it was revived by you,
And the sweet thrill has not yet subsided.
How dust particles dance in the midday rays,
Like living sparks in a birthplace fire!
I saw this flame in familiar eyes,
His rapture is known to me too.
A moth flew in, and from a flower to another,
Feigningly carefree, he began to flutter.
Oh, I'm completely spinning, my dear guest!
Can I, airy one, not recognize you?
<1828>
Summer evening
Already a hot ball of the sun
The earth rolled off its head,
And peaceful evening fire
The sea wave swallowed me up.
The bright stars have already risen
And gravitating over us
The vault of heaven has been lifted
With your wet heads.
The river of air is fuller
Flows between heaven and earth,
The chest breathes easier and more freely,
Freed from the heat.
And a sweet thrill, like a stream,
Nature ran through my veins,
How hot are her legs?
The spring waters have touched.
<1828>
Vision
There is a certain hour in the night of universal silence,
And at that hour of appearances and miracles
Living chariot of the universe
Rolls openly into the sanctuary of heaven.
Then the night thickens like chaos on the waters,
Unconsciousness, like Atlas, crushes the land;
Only the Muse's virgin soul
In prophetic dreams the gods are disturbed!
<Первая половина 1829>
Insomnia
Hours of monotonous battle,
A languid tale of the night!
The language is still foreign to everyone
And understandable to everyone, like conscience!
Who among us listened without longing,
In the midst of worldwide silence,
Muffled groans of time,
Prophetic farewell voice?
It seems to us that the world is orphaned
Irresistible Rock has overtaken -
And we, in the struggle, by nature as a whole,
Left to ourselves;
And our life stands before us,
Like a ghost on the edge of the earth
And with our century and friends
Turns pale in the gloomy distance;
And a new, young tribe
Meanwhile it blossomed in the sun,
And us, friends, and our time
It has long been forgotten!
Only occasionally, a sad ritual
Coming to the midnight hour,
Metal funeral voice
Sometimes he mourns us!
<1829>
Morning in the mountains
The azure of heaven laughs,
Washed by the night thunderstorm,
And it winds dewy between the mountains
The valley is a light stripe.
Only higher mountains up to half
Fogs cover the slope,
Like air ruins
The magic of created chambers.
<1829>
Snowy mountains
It's already midday
Shoots with sheer rays, -
And the mountain began to smoke
With your black forests.
Below, like a steel mirror,
The lakes' streams turn blue,
And from the stones shining in the heat,
Streams rush into their native depths.
And meanwhile, half asleep
Our low world, devoid of strength,
Imbued with fragrant bliss,
In the midday darkness he rested, -
Grief, like dear deities,
Over the dying earth
The icy heights are playing
With the azure sky of fire.
<1829>
Noon
The hazy afternoon lazily breathes,
The river rolls lazily
In fiery and pure azure
The clouds are lazily melting.
And all nature, like fog,
A hot drowsiness envelops,
And now the great Pan himself
In the cave the nymphs are sleeping peacefully.
<1829>
1830s
I remember the golden time...
Dreams
As the ocean envelops the globe,
Earthly life is surrounded by dreams...
Night will come - and with sonorous waves
The element hits its shore.
That's her voice: he forces us and asks...
Already in the pier the magical boat came to life;
The tide is rising and sweeping us away quickly
Into the immeasurability of dark waves.
The vault of heaven, burning with the glory of the stars,
Looks mysteriously from the depths, -
And we float, a burning abyss
Surrounded on all sides.
<Начало 1830>
To two sisters
I saw both of you together -
And I recognized all of you in her...
The same quietness of gaze, tenderness of voice,
The same freshness of the morning hour,
What breath came from your head!
And everything is like in a magic mirror,
Everything became clear again:
The days gone by are sadness and joy,
Your lost youth
My lost love!
<1830>
To N.N.
You like! you know how to pretend, -
When, in a crowd, stealthily from people,
My foot touches yours
You give me the answer - and you don’t blush!
Still the same look of absent-minded, soulless,
The movement of the chest, the gaze, the same smile...
Meanwhile, your husband, this hated guard,
He admires your obedient beauty!
Thanks to both people and fate,
You learned the price of secret joys,
I recognized the light: it betrays us
All the joys... Betrayal flatters you.
Shyness has an irrevocable blush,
He flew away from your young cheeks -
So from the young roses of Aurora the ray runs
With their pure, fragrant soul.
But so be it: in the scorching summer heat
More flattering to the senses, more enticing to the eye
Look, in the shade, like in a bunch of grapes
Blood sparkles through the thick greenery.
<1830>
“The merry day was still roaring...”
The cheerful day was still noisy,
The street shone with crowds,
And the evening clouds' shadow
It flew across the light roofs.
And sometimes they heard
All the sounds of a blessed life -
And everything merged into one formation,
Colonic, noisy and indistinct.
Tired of spring bliss,
I fell into involuntary oblivion;
I don’t know if the dream was long,
But it was strange to wake up...
The noise and din everywhere has died down
And silence reigned -
Shadows walked along the walls
And a half-asleep flicker...
Stealthily through my window
A pale luminary looked
And it seemed to me that it
My slumber was guarded.
And it seemed to me that I
Some kind of peaceful genius
From a lush golden day
Carried away, invisible, into the kingdom of shadows.
I still languish with the longing of desires,
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...
COMMENTS:
Autographs (2) - Muranovo. F. 2. Op. 1. Unit hr. 1; Album Tutch. - Birileva. P. 75.
First publication - Moscow. 1850. No. 8. Book. 2. P. 288, under the general heading “Eight poems promised in the 7th book of “Moskvityanin””, instead of the signature: “***”. Then - Sovr. 1854. T. XLIV. pp. 27–28; Ed. 1854. P. 54; Ed. 1868. P. 118; Ed. St. Petersburg, 1886. P. 137; Ed. 1900. P. 147.
Printed by autograph Album Tutch. - Birileva.
The first autograph is on back side a sheet on which is a fragment of the work “Russia and the West” in French, dated December 27, 1848/January 8, 1849. In the second autograph, “1848” is written in pencil at the end of the poem. K.V. Pigarev believed that the year was set by the hand of E.F. Tyutcheva ( Lyrics I. P. 379).
Printed publications are essentially the same, but in the first publication two quatrain stanzas are highlighted. IN Ed. 1900 the poem is framed as one complex sentence, Tyutchev's dots are turned into commas. IN Ed. St. Petersburg., 1886 And Ed. 1900 at the end the date is indicated - “1848”.
Dedicated to the memory of the poet’s first wife, Eleonora Fedorovna (October 6/18, 1800 - August 28/September 9, 1838). This opinion was shared by I.S. Aksakov, commenting on the poem ( Biogr. pp. 24–25) ( VC.).
Emilia Eleonora Tyutcheva - came from the count family of Bothmers, and on her mother’s side from the Ganstein family. The peculiarities of this family were, according to Bryusov, “a constant thirst for adventure, a restless desire to change places, a kind of instability of the entire mental make-up” ( BL. P. 491). From her first marriage to Alexander Peterson (d. 1825), she had four sons: Karl, Otto, Alexander and Alfred. The acquaintance of Eleanor and Fyodor Tyutchev took place soon after the poet returned to Munich in the first half of January 1826. The marriage was initially civil, because they were of different religions (he was Orthodox, she was Lutheran), and it was necessary to obtain permission from the church in addition to the parental blessing. Their legal marriage took place on January 27/February 8, 1829. In his letters to his parents, Tyutchev writes about his wife’s great love for him and his gratitude to her. “...Tyutchev’s modest living room in Munich, with the sociable nature of the lovely hostess, soon became a gathering place for all the talented and generally wonderful people in the city,” says Aksakov ( Biogr. P. 24). Heine visited this salon and left bright poetic memories of Tyutchev’s wife and her sister Clotilde. However, the final family life the poet was overshadowed. Around 1834, Eleanor learned about her husband's secret meetings with Ernestina Dernberg, which was the cause of her nervous illness and suicide attempt in the spring of 1836. In 1837, she came to Russia with her husband and daughters. On the way back (she was returning without her husband), on the night of May 19, 1838, a fire broke out on the steamship Nicholas I. The courageous woman saved the children, but it cost her permanent loss of health. She died in Turin on August 27/September 9, 1838.
I still languish with the longing of desires,
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...
Analysis of the poem “I am still languishing with the longing of desires” by Tyutchev
The work “I am still languishing with the longing of desires” by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is dedicated to the memory of his first wife, who died untimely.
The poem was written in 1848. Its author is 45 years old, he is appointed as an official of special assignments at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, closely monitors political situation in again revolutionary France, writes the article “Russia and the Revolution”. The genre is elegy, the meter is iambic with cross rhyme, without dividing into stanzas. All rhymes are open, there are female and male. The lyrical hero is the author himself. The poem is believed to be addressed to the poet's deceased wife, Eleanor. 10 years have passed since her death, the hero married a second time, and children appeared in the new marriage. A painful feeling of guilt, an attempt to explain once again, and piercing pity push the poet to these lines. The fact is that their life together ended dramatically. He himself became the culprit of the first change. The poet fell passionately in love with another woman (years later she became his wife). This became known in society, and rumors reached Eleanor. It seems there was even an attempt to commit suicide. The shocked poet promised to stop all meetings with the homewrecker. Then there was a fire on the ship she and her children were traveling on. They managed to escape, but it took her time to come to her senses. It must be said that this disaster also undermined the financial situation of the family. Finally, when the danger seemed to have passed, a severe cold began, a fever joined it, and Eleanor Tyutcheva died. Anaphora: I’m still languishing (I’m striving, I’m catching). Epithets: dear, unforgettable, unattainable, unchanging. “Twilight of Memories”: the hero cannot believe that everything is already in the past, the years are flying by, but his memory brings him back to the happy times of his youth. Comparison: like a star. This image precisely emphasizes the “unattainability” of the beloved; it is this image that makes it possible to understand that what happened was not just a separation, but death. The hero seems to declare his love, swearing that his soul is always with those he loved. Inversion: I catch. The intonation is thoughtful, melancholic. The vocabulary, as typical of F. Tyutchev’s poetry, is sublime. The eighth line contains an echo of a long-standing tragedy that shocked the poet. Later, he himself admitted that until then he had not seen the death of his loved ones so closely.
For the first time, the work “I am still languishing with the longing of desires” by F. Tyutchev was published in the magazine “Moskvityanin” 2 years after its creation.
I met you - and everything is gone
In an obsolete heart came to life...
One look at these lines and the motif of a romance immediately rings in your head. Easily, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these poems all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once upon a time the poet loved a woman, and suddenly he meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, separation, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: charm, love, “spiritual fullness,” and life itself is filled with meaning. And it’s hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
This was Clotilde Bothmer - the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are included in the title of the poem.
Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced youthful love, the family happiness of her husband and father, fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, crazy passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and repentance. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and every time a love affair turns not only into a merger of kindred souls, but also into a fatal duel.
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later married - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips through its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember golden time...").
However, the “golden time” of romantic walks and childlike relationships did not last long. The marriage proposal was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: a more successful match was preferred to an untitled Russian diplomat, who was in Germany on a freelance basis, who was not rich and was still too young. Tyutchev’s experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, heart-aching message:
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
I couldn’t - alas! - appease them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run away like a sentence,
Your love with a baby's gaze.(“Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion”)
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer shying away from the norms of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of baptismal neck chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love - Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer).
She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Extraordinarily beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Ekaterina (1835). In January 1833, a new great love burst into Tyutchev’s life, like a stone thrown from a mountain, leading to trials and problems...
Having rolled down the mountain, the stone lay in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now -
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Or was he overthrown by the will of someone else?
Century after century flew by:
No one has yet resolved the issue.
An all-consuming mad passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dörnberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty, causes the poet to languor, irritation, and desperate melancholy. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in severe torment. The poet retained a tender memory of her throughout his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor’s death he wrote:
I am still tormented by the anguish of desires.
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...(“I’m still tormented by the anguish of desires...”)
So six years after they met and had crazy passion, Ernestine became the poet’s second wife.
I love your eyes, my friend,
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly lift them up
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick look around the whole circle...(“I love your eyes, my friend...”)
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what melancholy in love...”, “Yesterday, in enchanted dreams”, “I don’t know if grace will touch...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor...” She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, an unsettled way of life compared to European ones; and most importantly - children, our own, tiny ones, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she captivated by her successes in the “fashionable world”; willingly letting her husband shine in aristocratic living rooms, she happily took care of the children, the house, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time on the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house... He felt cramped within the family circle.
It was in this state of soul and heart that Tyutchev met Elena Deniseva.
Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, brave, temperamental woman; the romance with her developed rapidly and passionately. A scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love,
What, how did you take care of a shrine,
Fate for human idleness
She betrayed me to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul,
And you involuntarily felt ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Oh, if only there were living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was saved from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!(“What did you pray with love”)
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisyev’s cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
…..(“Oh, how murderously we love...”)
The poet's soul was torn between his two beloved women. Both Ernestine and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two simultaneously existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of his poems in 1859, addressed to Ernestina Fedorovna, he called “spiritual fainting”:
I don’t know if grace will touch
My painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to resurrect and rebel?
Will the spiritual fainting pass?
But if the soul could
Find peace here on earth,
You would be my blessing -
You, you, my earthly providence!..(“I don’t know if grace will touch me”)
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not displace such a dramatic but tender love for Elena Denisyeva from the poet’s soul.
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously...
Shine, shine, farewell light
Last love, dawn of evening!
Half the sky was covered in shadow,
Only there, in the west, does the radiance wander,—
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last the charm.
Let the blood in your veins run low,
But there is no shortage of tenderness in the heart...
O you, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.(Last love)
The outcome of this intensely dramatic situation was tragic. Desperately defending her right to happiness with her beloved, Elena Alexandrovna, already in adulthood, decided to have a third child, but died during childbirth. A year earlier, Tyutchev wrote a poem in which for the first time in fourteen years of his fatal novel he admitted its sinfulness:
When there is no God's consent,
No matter how much she suffers, lovingly,
The soul, alas, will not suffer happiness,
But he can suffer himself...(“When there is no God’s consent…”)
The death of his beloved deeply shocked the poet, his own life seemed to have lost its meaning; He was overcome by despair, he was even close to insanity.
The feeling of suffering and guilt was aggravated by a tragedy in the family: four children died one after another, and soon their brother.
Fyodor Ivanovich, already terminally ill, addressed his last words of love to his wife Ernestina:
The executing God took everything from me:
Health, willpower, air, sleep,
He left you alone with me,
So that I can still pray to him.
The day of the poet's death fell on July 15, 1873. Twenty-three years earlier, on the same day, July 15, the last romantic poet met his last love - Elena Denisieva...
