Lotman: life and traditions of the Russian nobility. About the book by Yu.M.

Yu. M. Lotman

CONVERSATIONS ABOUT RUSSIAN CULTURE

Life and traditions of the Russian nobility (XVIII - early XIX centuries)

In loving memory of my parents Alexandra Samoilovna and Mikhail Lvovich Lotman

The publication was published with the assistance of the Federal Target Program for Book Publishing of Russia and the International Foundation “Cultural Initiative”.

“Conversations about Russian Culture” belongs to the pen of the brilliant researcher of Russian culture Yu. M. Lotman. At one time, the author responded with interest to the proposal of “Arts - SPB” to prepare a publication based on a series of lectures that he gave on television. He carried out the work with great responsibility - the composition was specified, the chapters were expanded, and new versions appeared. The author signed the book for inclusion, but did not see it published - on October 28, 1993, Yu. M. Lotman died. His living word, addressed to an audience of millions, was preserved in this book. It immerses the reader in the world of everyday life of the Russian nobility of the 18th - early 19th centuries. We see people of a distant era in the nursery and in the ballroom, on the battlefield and at the card table, we can examine in detail the hairstyle, the cut of the dress, the gesture, the demeanor. At the same time, everyday life for the author is a historical-psychological category, a sign system, that is, a kind of text. He teaches to read and understand this text, where the everyday and the existential are inseparable.

“A collection of motley chapters”, the heroes of which were outstanding historical figures, reigning persons, ordinary people of the era, poets, literary characters, is connected together by the thought of the continuity of the cultural and historical process, the intellectual and spiritual connection of generations.

In a special issue of the Tartu “Russian Newspaper” dedicated to the death of Yu. M. Lotman, among his statements recorded and saved by colleagues and students, we find words that contain the quintessence of his last book: “History passes through a person’s House, through his private life. It is not titles, orders or royal favor, but the “independence of a person” that turns him into a historical figure.”

The publishing house thanks State Hermitage Museum and the State Russian Museum, which donated the engravings stored in their collections for reproduction in this publication.

INTRODUCTION:

Life and culture

Having devoted conversations to Russian life and culture of the 18th - early 19th centuries, we must first of all determine the meaning of the concepts “life”, “culture”, “Russian culture of the 18th - early 19th centuries” and their relationships with each other. At the same time, let us make a reservation that the concept of “culture,” which belongs to the most fundamental in the cycle of human sciences, can itself become the subject of a separate monograph and has repeatedly become so. It would be strange if in this book we set out to resolve controversial issues related to this concept. It is very comprehensive: it includes morality, the whole range of ideas, human creativity, and much more. It will be quite enough for us to limit ourselves to that side of the concept of “culture” that is necessary to illuminate our relatively narrow topic.

Culture, first of all, - collective concept. An individual can be a carrier of culture, can actively participate in its development, nevertheless, by its nature, culture, like language, is a social phenomenon, that is, social.

Consequently, culture is something common to a collective - a group of people living simultaneously and connected by a certain social organization. From this it follows that culture is form of communication between people and is possible only in a group in which people communicate. (An organizational structure that unites people living at the same time is called synchronous, and we will further use this concept when defining a number of aspects of the phenomenon that interests us).

Any structure serving the sphere of social communication is a language. This means that it forms a certain system signs used in accordance with rules known to members of a given group. We call signs any material expression (words, drawings, things, etc.) that has the meaning and thus can serve as a means conveying meaning.

Consequently, culture has, firstly, a communication and, secondly, a symbolic nature. Let's focus on this last one. Let's think about something as simple and familiar as bread. Bread is material and visible. It has weight, shape, it can be cut and eaten. Bread eaten comes into physiological contact with a person. In this function of it, one cannot ask about it: what does it mean? It has a use, not a meaning. But when we say: “Give us this day our daily bread,” the word “bread” does not just mean bread as a thing, but has more broad meaning: “food necessary for life.” And when in the Gospel of John we read the words of Christ: “I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger” (John 6:35), then we have before us a complex symbolic meaning of both the object itself and the word denoting it.

The sword is also nothing more than an object. As a thing, it can be forged or broken, it can be placed in a museum display case, and it can kill a person. This is all - the use of it as an object, but when, attached to a belt or supported by a baldric placed on the hip, the sword symbolizes a free person and is a “sign of freedom”, it already appears as a symbol and belongs to culture.

In the 18th century, a Russian and European nobleman does not carry a sword - a sword hangs on his side (sometimes a tiny, almost toy ceremonial sword, which is practically not a weapon). In this case, the sword is a symbol of a symbol: it means a sword, and the sword means belonging to a privileged class.

Belonging to the nobility also means being bound by certain rules of behavior, principles of honor, even the cut of clothing. We know of cases when “wearing clothes indecent for a nobleman” (that is, peasant dress) or also a beard “indecent for a nobleman” became a matter of concern for the political police and the emperor himself.

A sword as a weapon, a sword as a part of clothing, a sword as a symbol, a sign of nobility - all these are different functions of an object in the general context of culture.

In its various incarnations, a symbol can simultaneously be a weapon suitable for direct practical use, or be completely separated from its immediate function. So, for example, a small sword specially designed for parades excluded practical use, in fact it was an image of a weapon, not a weapon. The parade sphere was separated from the battle sphere by emotions, body language and functions. Let us remember the words of Chatsky: “I will go to death as to a parade.” At the same time, in Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” we meet in the description of the battle an officer leading his soldiers into battle with a ceremonial (that is, useless) sword in his hands. The very bipolar situation of “fight - game of battle” created a complex relationship between weapons as a symbol and weapons as a reality. Thus, the sword (sword) becomes woven into the system of symbolic language of the era and becomes a fact of its culture.

And here’s another example, in the Bible (Book of Judges, 7:13–14) we read: “Gideon has come [and hears]. And so, one tells the other a dream, and says: I dreamed that round barley bread was rolling through the camp of Midian and, rolling towards the tent, hit it so that it fell, knocked it over, and the tent fell apart. Another answered him, “This is none other than the sword of Gideon...” Here bread means sword, and sword means victory. And since the victory was won with the cry “The sword of the Lord and Gideon!”, without a single blow (the Midianites themselves beat each other: “the Lord turned the sword of one against another in the whole camp”), then the sword here is a sign of the power of the Lord, and not of military victory .

So, the area of culture is always the area of symbolism.

In loving memory of my parents Alexandra Samoilovna and Mikhail Lvovich Lotman

The publication was published with the assistance of the Federal Target Program for Book Publishing of Russia and the International Foundation “Cultural Initiative”.

The publishing house thanks the State Hermitage and the State Russian Museum, which provided engravings stored in their collections free of charge for reproduction in this publication.

INTRODUCTION:

Life and culture

Any structure serving the sphere of social communication is a language. This means that it forms a certain system of signs used in accordance with the rules known to the members of a given group. We call signs any material expression (words, drawings, things, etc.) that has the meaning and thus can serve as a means conveying meaning.

Consequently, culture has, firstly, a communication and, secondly, a symbolic nature. Let's focus on this last one. Let's think about something as simple and familiar as bread. Bread is material and visible. It has weight, shape, it can be cut and eaten. Bread eaten comes into physiological contact with a person. In this function of it, one cannot ask about it: what does it mean? It has a use, not a meaning. But when we say: “Give us this day our daily bread,” the word “bread” does not just mean bread as a thing, but has a broader meaning: “food necessary for life.” And when in the Gospel of John we read the words of Christ: “I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger” (John 6:35), then we have before us a complex symbolic meaning of both the object itself and the word denoting it.

A sword as a weapon, a sword as a part of clothing, a sword as a symbol, a sign of nobility - all these are different functions of an object in the general context of culture.

So, the area of culture is always the area of symbolism.

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ZHTBOGKHULPE RYUSHNP ZPUKHDBTA YMY CHCHUYN UBOPCHOILBN, OBRYUBOPE NHTSYUYOPK, VSHMP VSC CHPURTYOSFP LBL DET'PUFSH: RPDDBOOSCHK PVSBO VSHM RYUBFSH RP-TKHUULY Y FPYUOP UMEDHS KH FBOPCHMEOOOPK ZhPTNE. dBNB VSHMB YЪVBCHMEOB PF LFPZP TYFKHBMB. ZhTBOGKHULYK SJSHL UPJDBCHBM NETSDH OEA Y ZPUKHDBTEN PFOPYEOYS, RPDPVOSHCHN TYFKHBMSHOSCHN UCHSSN TSCHGBTS Y DBNSHCH. ZhTBOGKHULYK LPTPMSH MADPCHYL XIV, RPchedeoye LPFPTPZP CHUE EEE VSHMP YDEBMPN DMS CHUEI LPTPMEK echTPRSCH, DENPOUFTBFYCHOP RP-TSCHGBTULY PVTBBEBMUS U TsEOYOBNY MAVPZP PE ЪТБУФБ И UPGYBMSHOPZP RPMPTSEOOYS.

YoFETEUOP PFNEFYFSH, YuFP ATYYUUEULY UFEREOSH UPGYBMSHOPK ЪBEEEOOOPUFY, LPFPTPK TBURPMBZBMB TKHUULBS TSEOOYOB-DCHPTSOLB CH OILPMBECHULHA URPIKH, NPTsEF VSHCHFSH UPRPUFBCHMEOB U ЪBEEEOOOPUFSHA RPUEFYCHYEZP tPUUYA YOPUFTBOGB. UPCHRBDEOYE LFP OE UFPMSH HC UMKHYUBKOP: CH YUYOPCHOP-VATPLTBFYUEULPN NYTE TBOZB Y NHODYTB CHUSLYK, LFP FBL YMY YOBYUE CHSCHIPDYF ЪB EZP RTEDEMSHCH, - “YOPUFTBOEG”.

RTBCHDB, CH PFMYYUYE PF UEO-rTE YЪ "ОПЧПК ьМПЪШЧ", ЦХЛПЧУЛИК - ДЧПЦОО. pDOBLP DCHPTSOUFChP EZP UPNOYFEMSHOP: CHUE PLTHTSBAEYE OBAF, UFP PO OEBLPOOSCHK USCHO U ZHYLFYCHOP DPVSCHFSHN DCHPTSOUFCHPN (UN.: rPTFOPCHB y. y., zPNYO o. l. deMP P DHPT SOUFCHE tsKHLPCHULPZP. - h LO.: tsKHLPCHULIK Y TKHULBS LHMSHFHTB. m., 1987, U. 346-350).

FBL OBSCHCHBMY PVSHYUOP LOYZH “rMHFBTIB IETPOEKULPZP p DEFPCHPDUFCHE, YMY CHPURYFBOY DEFEC OBUFBCHMEOYE. RETECHEDEOOPE U EMMYOP-ZTEYUULPZP SJSCHLB u[FERBOPN] r[YUBTECHCHN].” urV., 1771.

CHPNPTsOP, YuFP CHOYNBOYE tBDYEECHB L LFPNH RYYPDH CHSHCHBOP UPVCHFYEN, RTSNP RTEDYUFCHPCHBCHYYN OBRYUBOYA FELUFB. rPUMEDOYE SLPVYOGSH - TsYMSHVET tPNN Y EZP EDYOPNSCHYMEOOYL, PVPDTSS DTHZ DTHZB, YJVETSBMY LBJOY, FBL LBL ЪBLPMMYUSH PDOYN LYOTSBMPN, LPFPTSCHK POY RETEDBCHBMY DTH Z DTHZH YЪ THL CH THLY (DBFYTPCHLH RPNSHCH 1795—1796 ZZ. UN.: tBDYEECH b.o. uFYIPFCHPTEOYS. m ., 1975, U. 244-245).

YuFPVSH PGEOIFSH LFPF YBZ DPCHPMSHOP PUFPPTPTsOPZP rMEFOECHB, UMEDHEF HYUEUFSH, YuFP OBUYOBS U 1830-ZP ZPDB ChPLTHZ PGEOLY FCPTTYUEUFCHB rHYLYOB YMB PUFTBS RPMENYILB Y BCHFPTYFEF EZP VSHHM RPLPMEVMEO DBTSE CH UPUBOBOY OBYVPMEE VMYOLYI L OENKH RPFPCH (OBRTYNET, e. vBTBFSCHOULPZP). h PZHYGYPOSCHI TSE LTHZBI DYULTEDYFYTPCHBFSH RPYYA RHYLYOB UDEMBMPUSH H FY ZPDSH UCHPEZP TPDB PVSHCHUBEN.

UHNBTPLPCH b. R. yЪVT. RTPY'CHEDEOYS. m., 1957, U. 307. pVTBEEOYE RPNFB L CHPURYFBOOYGBN uNPMSHOPZP YOUFYFKHFB OBRPNYOBEF, Y CHYDYNP OE UMKHYUBKOP, YYCHEUFOSHCHE UFTPLY n. mPNPOPUPCHB: “p CHSCH, LPFPTSCHI PTSIDBEF // pFEYUEUFCHP YЪ OEDT UCHPYI...” pDOBLP mPNPOPUPCH PVTBEBEFUS L TKHUULPNH AOPYEUFCHH VEJ LBLPZP-MYVP KHLBBOYS ABOUT UPUMPCHYE , CHEUSH TSE UNSHUM RPUMBOYS UKHNBTPLPCHB UPUFPYF CH UPDBOY RTPZTBNNSH DMS CHPURYFBOYS TKHULPK DCHPTSOULPK DECHKHYLY.

RETCHPE CHPURYFBFEMSHOPE ЪBCHEDEOYE DMS DECHKHYEL CHPЪOILMP CH DETRFE, ЪBDPMZP DP uNPMSHOPZP YOUFYFKhFB, CH 50th ZPDSH XVIII CHELB. rTERPDBCHBOIE FBN CHEMPUSH ABOUT OENEGLPN SJSCHL.

RTYNEY. rHYLYOB: “oEFPYOOPUFSH. — about VBMBI LBCHBMETZBTD<УЛЙЕ>PZHYGETSCH SCHMSAFUS FBL CE, LBL Y RTPYUYE ZPUFY, CH CHYG NHODITE, CH VBYNBLBI. ъBNEYUBOYE PUOPCHBFEMSHOPE, OP CH YRPTBI EUFSH OYuFP RPFFYUEULPE. uUSCHMBAUSH ABOUT NOOOYE b. y. V. "(VI, 528).

[rEFTPCHULIK m.] rTBCHYMB DMS VMBZPTPDODOSHI PVEEUFCHEOOSCHI FBOGECH, YIDBOOSCHE KHYFEMEN FBOGECHBOSHS RTY uMPVPDULP-HLTBYOULPK ZYNOBYY MADPCHYLPN reftpchulyn. iBTSHLPCH, 1825, U. 13-14.

N. b. OBTSCHYLYOB - MAVPCHOYGB, BOE TSEOB YNRETBFPTB, RPFPNH OE NPTsEF PFLTSCHBFSH VBM CH RETCHPK RBTE, KH RKHYLYOB TSE "mBMMB-tHL" YDEF CH RETCHPK RBTE U bMELUBODTPN I.

ЪBRYULY village. n. oECHETPCHB. - tHUULBS UFBTYOB, 1883, F. XI (GYF. RP: rPNEEYUSHS tPUUYS, U. 148). rBTBDPLUBMSHOPE UPCHRBDEOOYE OBIPDN CH UFYIPFCHPTEOYY CHUECHPMPDB tPTsDEUFCHEOULZP, UPJDBAEEZP PVTB VEUFHTSECHB-nBTMYOULPZP, VETSBCHYEZP CH ZPTSH Y DELMBNYTHAEE ZP UMEDHAEIK PHELUF:

mYYSH ABOUT UETDGE FPMSHLP OBMSCEF FPULB

th OEVP RPLBCEPHUS KHLYN,

CHUA OPYUSH EK CH ZBTENE YUYFBA “GSHCHZBO”,

CHUE RMBUKH, RPA RP-ZHTBOGKHULY.

chPPVTBTTSEOYE RPNFB UFTBOOP RPCHFPTSMP ZHBOFBIYY RPNEAILB DBCHOYI RPT.

PFPTSDEUFCHMEOYE UMPC "IBN" Y "TBV" RPMKHYYYMP PDOP MAVPRSCHFOPE RTDDPMTSEOYE. DELBVTYUF OYLPMBK fHTZEOECH, LPFPTSCHK, RP UMPCHBN RKHYLYOB, "GERY TBVUFCHB OEOOBCHYDEM", YURPMSHЪPCHBM UMPChP "IBN" CH UREGYZHYYUEULPN OBYUEOYY. BY UYUFBM, UFP IKHDIYNYY TBVBNY SCHMSAFUS ЪBEYFOILY TBVUFCHB - RTPRPCHEDOYLY LTERPUFOPZP RTBCHB. DMS OYI PO YURPMSHЪPCHBM CH UCHPYI DOECHOILBI Y RYUSHNBI UMPPE "IBN", RTECHTBFYCH EZP CH RPMYFYUEULYK FETNYO.

UN. PV LFPN CH LO.: lBTRPCHYU e.r. ъBNEYUBFEMSHOSH VPZBFUFCHB YUBUFOSCHI MYG CH TPUUYY. urV., 1874, U. 259-263; B FBLCE: mPFNBO a. n. tPNBO b. u. RKHYLYOB "ECHZEOYK poEZYO". lPNNEOFBTYK. M., 1980, U. 36-42.

UT. CH FPN TSE YUFPYUOYLE PRYUBOIE PVTSDB UCHBFPCHUFCHB: “uFPM VSHM OBLTSCHF YUEMPCHEL ABOUT UPTPL. ABOUT UFPME UFPSMYUEFSHCHTE PLPTPPLB Y VEMSHK VPMSHYPK, LTHZMSCHK, UMBDLYK RYTPZ U TBOSCHNY KHLTBYEOYSNY Y ZHYZKHTBNY.”

RPDЪBZPMPCHPL "pFTSHCHPL YЪ RYUSHNB ATsOPZP TsYFEMS" - OE FPMSHLP OBNEL ABOUT VYPZTBZHYUEULYE PVUFPSFEMSHUFCHB BCHFPTB, OP Y DENPOUFTBFYCHOPE RTPFPYCHPRPUFBCHMEOYE EUVS "RE FETVHTZULPK» FPYULE ЪTEOYS.

FP EUFSH "LBYUEMY CHYDE CHTBEBAYEZPUS CHBMB U RTPDEFSHNY ULCHPSH OEZP VTHUSHSNY, ABOUT LPPTTSCHI RPDCHEYOSCH SAILY U UYDEOSHSNY" (UMPCHBTSH SYSTHLB rHYLYOB. ch 4-I F. n., 1956 -1961, F. 2, U. 309). lBL MAVYNPE OBTPDOPE TBCHMEYUEOYE, LFY LBYUEMY PRYUBOSCH VSCHMY RKHFEYUFCHEOILPN pMEBTYEN (UN.: pMEBTYK bDBN. prYUBOYE RKhFEYUFCHYS CH nPULPCHYA... level., 1806, U. 218 —219), LPFPTSCHK RTYCHEM Y YI TYUHOPL.

ЪBTS YMY ЪPTS - CHYD FTBCHSHCH, UYYFBCHYEKUS CH OBTDOPK NEDYGYOE GEMEVOPK "chP CHTENS FTPYGLPZP NMEVOBO DECHKHYLY, UFPSEYE UMECHB PF BMFBTS, DPMTSOSCH KHTPOYFSH OEULPMSHLP UMEY OPL ABOUT RHUPL NEMLYI VETEIPCHSHCHI CHEFPL (CH DTHZYI TBKPOBI tPUUYY RMBLBMMY ABOUT RHUPL UBTY YMY ABOUT DTHZYI GCHEFSHCH. - a. m.). ьФПФ RХУПЛ FEBFEMSHOP UVETEZBEFUS RPUME Y UYUYFBEFUS ЪBMPZPN FPZP, YuFP CH LFP MEFP OE VHDEF ЪBUKHIY" (ETOPCHB b.v. nBFETYBMSH RP UEMSHULPIPSKUFCHOOOPK NBZYY Ch d NYFTPCHULPN LTBE. - uPCHEFULBS LFOPZTBZHYS, 1932, 3, U. 30).

P EDYOPN UCHBDEVOPN PVTSDE CH HUMPCHYSI LTERPUFOPZP VSHFB ZPCHPTYFSH OEMSH. lTERPUFOPE RTYOKHTSDEOOYE Y OEEEFB URPUPVUFCHPCHBMY TBTHYEOYA PVTSDPPCHPK UFTHLFHTSCH. fBL, CH "YUFPTYY UEMB zPTAIOB" OEBDBYUMYCHSHCHK BCHFPT zPTAIYO RPMBZBEF, YuFP PRYUSCHCHBEF RPIPPTPOOSCHK PVTSD, LPZDB UCHYDEFEMSHUFCHHEF, YuFP CH EZP CHILDREN'S RPLPKOYLPCH ЪBTSHCHBMY CH ЪENMA (YOPZDB PYYVPYUOP) UTBЪХ RPUME LPOYUSHCH, "DBVSH NETFCHSHCHK CH YЪVE MYYOEZP NEUFB OE ЪBOINBM". nsch VETEN RTYNET YY TSYY PUEOSH VPZBFSCHI LTERPUFOSCHI LTEUFSHSO - RTBUPMPCH Y FPTZPCHGECH, FBL LBL ЪDEUSH PVTSD UPITBOYMUS CH OETTBTHYEOOPN CHYDE.

YЪ RTYNEYUBOYK L SRPOULPNH FELUFKH CHYDOP, YuFP TKHULPE UMPP "CHEOGSH" OE PYUEOSH FPYUOP RETEDBEF UPDETSBOYE. UMPChP CH PTYZYOBME POBYUBEF “DYBDENKH ABOUT UFBFKHE VKhDDSHCH” (U. 360). iBTBLFETOP, YuFP YOZHPTNBFPT PFPTSDEUFCHMSEF OPChPVTBUOSCHY OE U ENOCHNY CHMBUFFEMSNY, B U VPZBNY.

OBRPNOYN HCE PFNEYUBCHYHAUS OBNY MAVPRSHFOKHA DEFBMSH. TEYUSH YDEF PV LRPIE EMYBCHEFSH REFTPCHOSCH. OP LPZDB eETVBFPCH ZPCHPTYF P OEK LBL P YUEMPCHELE, BY KHRPFTEVMSEF TSEOULHA ZHPTNKH: “ZPUKHDBTSHCHOS”, LPZDB TSE P EE ZPUKHDBTUFCHEOOPK DESFEMSHOPUFY - NHTSULKHA: “ZPUKHDBTSH”.

ЪDEUSH TEYUSH YDEF PV BOZMYKULPK NHTSULPK NPDE: ZHTBOGKHULYE TSEOULYE Y NHTSULYE NPDSCH UFTPYMYUSH LBL CHBYNOP UPPFCHEFUFCHEOOSCH - H BOZMYY LBTSDBS YЪ OYI TBYCHBM BUSH RP UPWUFCHEOOSCHN ЪBLPOBN.

"PUFTYTSEO RP RPUMEDOEK NPDE" Y "LBL DEODY MPODPOULYK PDEF" FBLCE poezyo. ьФПНХ RTPFPYCHPRPUFBCHMEOSCH "LKhDTY YUETOSHCH DP RMEYU" meOULPZP. “lTYLHO, NSFETSoil Y RPPF”, LBL IBTBLFETYYHEFUS mEOULYK CH YUETOPCHPN CHBTYBOFE, PO, LBL Y DTHZIE OENEGLYE UFKhDEOFSHCH, OPUYM DMYOOSHCH CHPMPUSH CH OBBL MYVETBMYIN B, J RPDTBTSBOYS LBTVPOBTYSN.

CHRETCHSCHE UPRPUFBCHMEOYE UATSEFPCH LFYI RTPY'CHEDEOYK UN.: yFEKO u. RHYLYO Y ZPZHNBO. uTBCHOYFEMSHOPE YUFPTYLP-MYFETBFHTOPE YUUMEDPCHBOYE. dETRF, 1927, U. 275.

OEUNPFTS ABOUT FP, UFP TBCHPD Y OPCHSHCHK VTBL VSCHMY ЪBLPOPDBFEMSHOP PZHTTNMEOSCH, PVEEUFChP PFLBSCHCHBMPUSH RTYOBFSH ULBODBMSHOSCHK RTPYZTSCHY TSEOSCH, Y VEDOBS ZTBZHYOS TB KHNPCHULBS VSHMB RPDCHETZOHFB PUFTBLYNH. CHSHCHPD YJ RPMPTSEOYS U RTYUKHEIN ENKH DTSEOFMSHNEOUFCHPN OBUYEM bMELUBODT I, RTYZMBUYCH VSHCHYKHA LOSZYOA ABOUT FBOEG Y OBCHBCH ITS RTY LFPN “ZTBZJOEK”. pVEEUFCHEOOSCHK UFBFKHU, FBLYN PVTBBPN, VShchM CHPUUFBOPCHMEO.

UN.: melPNGECHB n. y., KHUREOULIK v. b. PRYUBOIE PDOPK UYUFENSCH U RTPUFSHCHN UYOFBLUYUPN; ePHR c. and. rTPUFEKYE UENIPFYUEULYE UYUFENSCH Y FYRPMPZYS UATSEFPCH. - fTHDSCH RP OBLPCHSHCHN UYUFENBN. hShchR. R. fBTFKh, 1965.

RPCHEUFY, YЪDBOOSH bMELUBODTPN rHYLYOSCHN. urV., 1834, U. 187. h BLBDENYUUEULPN YЪDBOY RKHYLYOB, OUNPFTS ABOUT KHLBBOYE, YuFP FELUF REYUBFBEFUS RP YЪDBOYA “rPCHEUFEK” 1834 ZPDB, h YUBUFY FYTBTSB RYY ZTBZH PRHEEO, IPFS LFP PVUFPSFEMSHUFCHP OYZDE CH YDBOY OE PZPCHPTEOP.

FBL, r. b. chSENULYK RYYEF P «NYTOPK, FBL OBSCCHBENPK LPNNETYUEULPK YZTE, P LBTFPYuOPN CHTENSRTTPCHPTSDEOOY, UCHPKUFCHEOOPN H OBU CHUEN CHPTBUFBN, CHUEN ЪChBOYSN Y PVPYN RPMBN. pDOB TKHULBS VBTSHCHOS ZPCHPTYMB CH CHEOEGYY: „lPOYUOP, LMYNBF ЪDEUSH IPTPY; OP TsBMSH, YuFP OE ULEN UTBYFSHUS CH RTEZHETBOUYL." dTKHZPK OBU UPPFEYUEFCHEOOIL, LPFPTSCHK RTPCHEM YINKH CH RBTYCE, PFCHEYUBM ABOUT CHPRTPU, LBL DPChPMEO ON RBTYTSEN: "PYUEOSH DPCH PMEO, KH OBU LBTSDSCHK CHYUET VSHMB UCHPS RBTFYS" (chSENULYK r. uFBTBS ЪBRYUOBS LOYTSLB. m., 1929, U. 85-86).

UFTBIHR o. RETERYULB NPDSCH, UPDETSBEBS RYUSHNB VETKHLYI NPD, TBNSCHIMEOYS OEPDHYECHMEOOOSCHI OBTSDPCH, TBZPCHPTSH VEUUMPCHEUOSHI YUERGPCH, YUKHCHUFChPCHBOYS NEVEMEK, LBTEF, ЪBRYUOSCHI LOITZEL, RKhZPCHYG Y UFBTPUBCHEFOSHI NBOEL, LHOFBIEK, YMBZHPTPCH, FEMPZTEK Y RT. OTBCHUFCHOOPE Y LTYFYUUEULPE UPYUYOOYE, CH LPEN U YUFYOOOPK UFPTPPOSH PFLTSCHFSCH OTBCHSHCH, PVTB CYYOY TBOSCHS UNEYOSCHS Y CHBTSOSHCHS UGEOSCH NPDOPZP CHELB. n., 1791, U. 31-32.

UN. X OPCHYLPCHB: “rPDTSD MAVPCHOYLPCH L RTEUFBTEMPK LPLEFLE... NOPZYN OBYN ZPURPDYUILBN CHULTHTSYM ZPMPCHSHCH... IPFSF ULBLBFSH ABOUT RPYUFPCHSHHI MPYBDSI CH REFETVHTZ, YuFPVSH FBLPZP RPMEЪ OPZP VHI OYI OE RTPRKHUFYFSH UMKHYUBS" (ubFYYUEULYE TSHTOBMSH o. y. oPCHYLPCHB. n.; m ., 1951, U. 105. r. zOPN yPT CH "rPUFE DHIPCH" lTSCHMPCHB RYYEF nBMYLHMSHNHMSHLH: "with RTYOSM CHYD NPMPPDZP Y RTYZPTSEZP YuEMPCHELB, RPFPNH YuFP GCHEFHEBS NMPPDPUFSH, RTYSFOPUFY Y LTBUPFB CH OSHCHOEYOEEE CHTENS FBLCE CH CHEUSHNB OENBMPN KHCHBTSEOYY RTY OELPFPTSCHI UMHYUBSI, LBL ULBSCCHBAF, RTPYCHPDSF CHEMILYE YUKHDEUB" (lTSCHMPCH y.b. rPMO. UPVT. UPYu., F. I, U. 43), UT.:

dB, YUEN TSE FSH, TsHTSKH, CH UMHYUBK RPRBM,

VEUUYMEO VSHCHYY FBL Y NBM... (FBN CE, F. 3, U. 170).

CH DBOOPN UMHYUBE DMS OBU OECHBTTSOP FP PVUFPSFEMSHUFChP, YuFP CH RSHUE ZPZPMS "NPMPPDK YUEMPCHEL" PLBYSHCHBEFUS UPCHUEN OE "MEZLPCHETOSCHN", B FBLCE SCHMSEFUS KHYUBUFOILPN YKHMETULPK YBKLY.

EHH ZPFPCHYFSH YuEUFOSHCHK ZTPV,

th FYIP GEMYFSH CH VMEDOSHCHK MPV

about VMBZPTPDOPN TBUUFPSOSHY.

"vMBZPTPDOPE TBUUFPSOYE" ЪDEUSH - HFCHETTSDEOOPE RTBCHYMBNY DKHMY. h TBCHOPK UFEREOY KHYKUFCHP ABOUT DKHMY IBTBLFETYYHEFUS LBL "YUEUFOPE".

“rPTPYLPCHSHCHE” - ZhBMSHYYCHCHCHE LBTFSHCH (PF YEUFETLY DP DEUSFLY). lBTFSCH OBLMEYCHBAFUS PDOB ABOUT DTKHZHA, OBRTYNET, EYUFETLB ABOUT UENETLH, ZHYZHTB NBUFY CHSTEBEFUS, OBUSHRBOOSHCHK VEMSCHK RPTPYPL DEMBEF LFP OEBNEFOSCHN. ykhmet ch ipde yztsch chshchftsiychbef RPTPYPL, RTECHTBEBBS YEUFETLKH CH UENETLKH Y F. D.

CH IPDE BIBTFOSCHI YZT FTEVPCHBMPUSH RPTPC VPMSHYPE LPMYUEUFChP LPMPD. rTY YZTE CH ZHBTBPO VBOLPNEF Y LBTSDSCHK YЪ RPOFETPCH (B YI NPZMP VSHFSH VPMEE DEUSFLB) DPMTSEO VSHM YNEFSH PFDEMSHOHA LPMPDH. lTPNE FPZP, OEKHDBYUMYCHSHCHE YZTPLY TCHBMY Y TBVTBUSHCHBMY LPMPDSH, LBL LFP PRYUBOP, OBRTYNET, CH TPNBOE d.o. VEZYUECHB "UENEKUFChP iPMNULYI". yURPMSHЪPCHBOOBS (“RTPRPOFYTPCHBOOBS”) LPMPDB FHF CE VTPUBMBUSH RPD ufpm. fY TBVTPUBOOSCH, YBUFP CH PZTPNOPN LPMYUEUFCHE, RPD UFPMBNY LBTFSH RPJCE, LBL RTBCHYMP, UPVYTBMYUSH UMHZBNY Y RTDDBCHBMYUSH NEEBOBN DMS YZTSHCH DKHTBLB Y RPDP VOSCH TBCHMELBFEMSHOSH YZTSHCH. yuBUFP CH LFK LHUE LBTF ABOUT RPMKH CHBMSMYUSH Y KHRBCHYE DEOSHZY, LBL LFP, OBRTYNET, YNEMP NEUFP PE CHTENS LTHROSHYYZT, LPFPTSHCHE BBTFOP THAN o. oELTBUPCH. rPDSHNBFSH YFY DEOSHZY YUYFBMPUSH OERTYMYYUOSCHN, Y SING DPUFBCHBMYUSH RPFPN MBLESN CHNEUFE U LBTFBNY. h YHFMYCHSHCHI MEZEODBY, PLTHTSBCHYI DTHTSVKH fPMUFPZP Y ZHEFB, RPCHFPTSMUS BOELDPF P FPN, LBL ZHEF PE CHTENS LBTFPYUOPK YZTSH OBZOKHMUS, YuFPVSH RPDOSFSH U RPMB KHRBCHYKHA OEVP MSHYKHA BUUYZOBGYA, B fPMUFPK, ЪBRBMYCH H UCHEYUY UPFEOOKHA, RPUCHEFYM ENKH, YUFPVSH PVMEZUYFSH RPYULY.

YUFPLY LFPPZP RPCHEDEOYS ЪBNEFOSCH HCE CH REFETVHTZE CH 1818—1820 ZPDSH. pDOBLP UETSHESHI RPEDYOLPCH X RHYLYOB CH LFPF RETYPD EEE OE PFNEUEOP. DKHMSH U LAIEMSHVELETPN OE CHPURTYOINBMBUSH RKHYLYOSCHN CHUETSHE. pVYDECHYYUSH ABOUT RKHYLYOB ЪБ ъРИЗТБННХ “ъБ ХЦЪПН ПВЯЭМУС...” (1819), LAIEMSHVELET CHSHCHBM EZP ABOUT DKHMSH. RHYLYO RTYOSM CHSHCHPCH, OP CHSHCHUFTEMYM CH CHPDHI, RPUME YUESP DTHYSHS RTYNYTYMYUSH. rTEDRPMPTSEOYE CE CHM. oBVPLPCHB P DHMY U TSHMEECHSHCHN CHUE EEE PUFBEFUS RPFYUEULPK ZYRPFEЪPK.

FBMMENBO DE TEP TSEDEPO. ъBOINBFEMSHOSH YUFPTYY. M., 1974, F. 1, U. 159. uN. PV LFPN: mPFNBO a. fTY ЪBNEFLY L RTPVMENE: “rKHYLYO Y ZHTBOGKHULBS LHMSHFKHTB.” — rTPVMENSH RHYLYOPCHEDEOYS. TYZB, 1983.

CH RTEDYUFCHHAEYI TBVPFBI P "eCHZEOYY POZYOE" NO RTYIPDYMPUSH RPMENYYUEULY CHSHCHULBSHCHBFSHUS P LOYSE vPTYUB yCHBOPCHB (CHPNPTSOP, RUECHDPOYN; RPDMYOOBS ZHBNYMYS BCHFP TB, LBL Y LBLYE VSHCH FP OU VSHMP UCHEDEOYS P OEN, NOE OEYCHEUFOSCH). UN: mPFNBO a. "dBMSH UChPVPDOPZP TPNBOB." n, 1959. uPITBOSS UKHEOPUFSH UCHPYI LTYFYUEUULYI OBNEYUBOIK P OBNSCHUME FPK LOYZY, S UYYFBA UCHPEK PVSBOOPUFSH RTYOBFSH YI PDOPUFPTPOOPUFSH. noe UMEDPCHBMP PFNEFYFSH, YuFP BCHFPT RTPSCHYM IPTPYEE OBOYE VShchFB RHYLYOULPK BPPIY Y UPEDYOYM PVEYK UFTBOOSCHK UBNSCHUEM U TSDPN YOFETEUOSHI OBVMADEOYK, UCHYDEFEMSHUFCHHA EEYI PV PVIYTOPK PUCHEDPNMEOOPUFY. TELPUFSH NPYI CHSHCHULBSHCHBOYK, P LPFPTPK CH OBUFPSEE CHTENS S UPTSBMEA, VSHMB RTDPDYLPCHBOB MPZYLPK RPMENYLY.

RP DTHZYN RTBCHYMBN, RPUME FPZP, LBL PDYO YHYUBUFOYLPCH DKHMY CHSHCHUFTEMYM, CHFPTPK NPZ RTDPDPMTSBFSH DCHYTSEOYE, B FBLCE RPFTEVPCHBFSH RTPFPYCHOILB L VBTSHETKH. eFYN RPMSHЪPCHBMYUSH VTEFETSH.

UT. CH “ZETPE OBEZP READING”: “nShch DBChOP Khts ChBU PTSIDBEN”, — ULBJBM DTBZHOULIK LBRYFBO U YTPOYUEULPK KHMSHVLPK. ZP YUBUSCH KHIPDSF".

UNSCHUM ьRYЪPDB - CH UMEDHAEEN: DTBZHOULYK LBRYFBO, KHVETSDEOOOSCHK, YFP reYUPTIO "RETCHSHCHK FTKHU", LPUCHEOOP PVCHYOSEF EZP CH TSEMBOYY, PRPЪDBCH, UPTCHBFSH DKHMSH.

KHYUBUFYE CH DHMY, DBCE CH LBYUEUFCHE UELKHODBOFB, CHMELMP ЪB UPVPK OEYYVETSOSCHE OERTYSFOSHE RPUMEDUFCHYS: DMS PZHYGETB LFP, LBL RTBCHYMP, VSHMP TBTSBMPCHBOYE Y USCHMLB ABOUT LBCHLB Kommersant (RTBCHDB, TBTSBMPCHBOOSCHN ЪB DKHMSH OBYUBMSHUFChP PVSHHLOPCHOOOP RPLTPCHYFEMSHUFCHPCHBMP). ьФП UPЪDBCHBMP YЪCHEUFOSCH FTKHDOPUFY RTY CHSHCHVPTE UELKHODBOFPCH: LBL MYGP, CH THLY LPFPTPZP RETEDBAFUS TSYOSH YUEUFSH, UELKHODBOF, PRFYNBMSHOP, DPMTSEO VSHM VSHCHFSH VMY JLINE DTHZPN. oP LFPNH RTPFPYCHPTEYUMP OETSEMBOYE CHCHMELBFSH DTHZB CH OERTYSFOKHA YUFPTYA, MPNBS ENKH LBTSHETKH. UP UCHPEK UFPTPOSCH, UELKHODBOF FBLCE PLBYSHCHBMUS CH FTHDOPN RPMPTSEOYY. YOFETEUSCH DTHTSVSHY YUEUFY FTEVVPCHBMY RTYOSFSH RTYZMBYEOYE HYUBUFCHPCHBFSH CH DKHMY LBL MEUFOSHCHK OBBL DPCHETYS, B UMHTSVSHCH Y LBTSHETSH - CHYDEFSH CH LFPN PRBUOKHA KHZTP ЪХ YURPTFYFSH RTDPDCHYTSEOYE YMY DBTSE CHSHCHBFSH MYYUOKHA OERTYYOSH ЪMPRBNSFOPZP ZPUKHDBTS.

OBRPNOYN RTBCHYMP DKHMY: “uFTEMSFSH CH CHPDHI YNEEF RTBChP FPMSHLP RTPFYCHOIL, UFTEMSAEYK CHFPTSCHN. rTPFYCHOIL, CHSHCHUFTEMYCHYK RETCHSHCHN CH CHPDKHI, EUMY EZP RTPPHYCHOIL OE PFCHEFYM ABOUT CHSHCHUFTEM YMY FBLCE CHSHCHUFTEMYM CH CHPDKHI, UYUYFBEFUS KHLMPOYCHYYNUS PF DKHMY... "(dHTB UPC dKHMSHOSCHK LPDELU, 1908, U. 104). rTBCHYMP LFP UCHSBOP U FEN, YUFP CHSHCHUFTEM CH CHP'DKHI RETCHPZP YЪ RTPFYCHOYLPCH NPTBMSHOP PVS'SHCHBEF CHFPTPZP L CHEMILPDKHYA, KHKHTRYTHS EZP RTBChP UBNPNH PRTEDEMSFSH U CHPE RPCHEDEOYE YUEUFY.

VEUFHTSECH (nBTMYOULYK) b. b. OPYUSH ABOUT LPTBWME. RPCHEUFYY TBUULBSHCH. n., 1988, U. 20. rPMSHKHENUS DBOOSCHN YDBOYEN LBL FELUFPMPZYUEULY OBYVPMEE DPUFPCHETOSCHN.

RTPVMENB BCHFPNBFYNB CHEUSHNB CHPMOPCHBMB rKHYLYOB; UN.: sLPVUPO t. - h LO.: sLPVUPO t. tBVPFSH RP RPFYLE. n., 1987, U. 145-180.

UN: mPFNBO a. n. fENB LBTF Y LBTFPUOPK YZTSHCH THUULPK MYFETBFKHTE OBYUBMB XIX CHELB. — xYUEO. ЪBR. fBTFHULPZP ZPU. HO-FB, 1975. hShchR. 365. fTHDSCH RP OBLPCHSHCHN UYUFENBN, F. VII.

VSHCHBMY Y VPMEE TSEUFLYE HUMPCHYS. fBL, yuETOPCH (UN. U. 167), NUFS ЪB YUEUFSH UEUFTSH, FTEVPCHBM RPEDYOLB ABOUT TBUUFPSOY CH FTY (!) YBZB. h RTEDUNETFOPK ЪBRYULE (DPYMB Ch LPRYY THLPK b. VEUFKhTSECHB) BY RYUBM: “uFTEMSAUSH ABOUT FTY YBZB, LBL ЪB DEM UENEKUFCHEOOPE; YVP, ЪOBS VTBFSHECH NPYI, IPUH LPOYUYFSH UPVPA ABOUT OEN, ABOUT LFPN PULPTVYFEME NPEZP UENEKUFCHB, LPFPTSCHK DMS RKHUFSHI FPMLPCH EEE RKHUFEKYI MADEK RTEUFKHRIM CHUE ЪBLPOSH YUE UFY, PVEEUFCHB Y YuEMPCHYUEUFCHB" (DECHSFOBDGBFSHCHK CHEL. LO. 1. n., 1872, U. 334 ). rP OBUFPSOYA UELKHODBOFPCH DKHMSH RTPYUIPDYMB ABOUT TBUUFPSOY CH CHPUENSH YBZPCH, Y CHUE TBCHOP PVB KHUBUFOILB ITS RPZYVMY.

PVSHYUOSCHK NEIBOYN DKHMSHOPZP RYUFPMEFB FTEVHEF DCHPKOPZP OBTSYNB ABOUT URHULPCHPK LTAYUPL, YuFP RTEDPITBOSEF PF UMHYUBKOPZP CHSHCHUFTEMB. yOOEMMETPN OBSCHBMPUSH KHUFTPKUFChP, PFNEOSAEE RTEDCHBTYFEMSHOSHCHK OBTSYN. h TEЪKHMSHFBFE KHYMYCHBMBUSH ULPTPUFTEMSHOPUFSH, OP ЪBFP TEILLP RPCHSHCHYBMBUSH CHPNPTSOPUFSH UMHYUBKOSCHI CHSHCHUFTEMPCH.

RPDPVOSHK LPOFTBUF YURPMSHЪPCHBO n. VKHMZBLPCHSHCHN "nBUFFET Y nBTZBTYFE". ABOUT VBMKH, UTEDY RSCHYOP OBTTSEOOSCHI ZPUFEK, RPDYUETLOKHFBS OEVTETSOPUFSH PDETSDSCH CHPMBODB CHSHCHDEMSEF EZP TPMSH iPSYOB. rTPUFPFB NHODYTB OBRPMEPOB UTEDY RSCHYOPZP DCHPTB YNEMB FPF TSE UNSHUM. RSHCHYOPUFSH PDETSDSCH UCHYDEFEMSHUFCHHEF PV PTYEOFBGYY ABOUT FPYULH ЪTEOYS CHOEYOEZP OBVMADBFEMS. DMS chPMBODB OEF FBLPZP "CHOEYOEZP" OBVMADBFEMS. OBRPMEPO LHMSHFYCHYTHEF FH CE RPYGYA, PDOBLP CH VPMEE UMPTSOPN CHBTYBOFE: chPMBODH CH UBNPN DEME VETTBMYUOP, LBL PO CHSHZMSDYF, obrPMEPO YЪPVTBTSBEF FPZP, LPNH VE TBMYUOP, LBL ON CHSHZMSDYF.

ZHEPBZHBOB rTPLPRRPCHYUB, BTIYERYULPRB CHEMYLPZP OPCZPTPDB Y CHEMILYI MHL, UCHSFEKYEZP RTBCHYFEMSHUFCHHAEEZP UYOPDB CHYGE-RTEYDEOFB... UMChB Y TEYUY, Yu. 1, 1760, U 158.

FBL, DPUKHZY CHEMILYI LOSJEK, VTBFSHHECH bMELUBODTTB Y OILPMBS RBCMPCHYUEK - lPOUFBOFYOB Y NYIBYMB TEILLP LPOFTBUFYTPCHBMY U NHODYTOPK UFSOHFPUFSHHA YI PZHYYBMSHOPZP RP CHEDEOYS. lPOUFBOFYO CH LPNRBOY RSHSOSCHI UPVKhFSHMSHOYLPCH DPYEM DP FPZP, YuFP YЪOBUYMPCHBM CH LPNRBOY (TSETFCHB ULPOYUBMBUSH) DBNH, UMKHYUBKOP ЪBVTEDYKHA CH EZP YUBUFSH DCHPTGB Y RPMPCHYOSCH nBTYY ZHEDPTPCHOSCH. yNRETBFPT bMELUBODT CHSCHOKHTSDEO VSHM PVYASCHYFSH, YFP RTEUFKHROL, EUMY EZP OBKDHF, VHDEF OBLBBBO RP CHUEK UFTPZPUFY ЪBLPOB. TBKHNEEFUS, RTEUFKhROIL OBKDEO OE VShchM.

p FSCH, YuFP CH ZPTEUFY OBRTBUOP

about VPZB TPREEYSH, YUEMPCHEL,

ChoyNBK, LPMSH CH TECHOPUFY KhTsBUOP

po L yPCHH YY FHYUY TEL!

ULCHPЪSH DPTSDSH, ULCHPЪSH CHYITSH, ULCHPЪSH ZTBD VMYUFBS

th ZMBUPN ZTPNSCH RTETSCHBS,

UMPCHBNY OEVP LPMEVBM

th FBL EZP ABOUT TBURTA JCHBM. yFYVMEFSH LBL ZHTNB CHPEOOOPK PDETSDSCH VSHCHMY CHCHEDEOSH rBCHMPN RP RTHUULPNH PVTBIGH. ьURBOFPO - LPTPFLBS RYLB, CHCHEDOOBS RTY rBCHME CH PZHYGETULHA ZHTNKH.

CHUE OIFY ЪБЗПЧПТБ ВШХМИ ОБУФПМШЛП UPUTEDPFPYUEOSCH CH THLBI YNRETBFPTB, YuFP DBTSE OBYVPMEE BLFYCHOSHE KHUBUFOILY ЪBZPChPTTB RTPFPYCH URETBOULZP: OBCHBOOSCHK CHCHYE s. DE UBOZMEO Y ZEOETBM-BDYAAFBOF b. d. vBMBYPCH, RTYOBDMETSBCHYYK L OBYVPMEE VMYOLYN L YNRETBFPTH MYGBN, — RPUMBOOSCH DPNPK L URETBOULPNH U FEN, YUFPVSH ЪBVTBFSH EZP, LPZDB ON CHETOEFUS YЪ DCHPTGB RPUME BH DYEOGYH GBTS, U ZTKHUFOSCHN OEDPHNEOYEN RTYOBMYUSH DTHZ DTHZH CH FPN, YuFP OE KHCHETEOSHCH, RTYDEFUS MY YN BTEUFPCHCHBFSH URETBOULZP YMY BY RPMKHUIF X YNRETBFPTB TBURPTTSEOYE BTEUFPCHBFSH YI. h FYI KHUMPCHYSI PUECHYDOP, YuFP bMELUBODT OE KHUFKHRBM OYUSHENH DBCHMEOYA, B DEMBM CHYD, YuFP KHUFKHRBEF, ABOUT UBNPN DEM FCHETDP RTPCHPDS YЪVTBOOSCHK YN LHTU, OP, LBL CHUEZDB, MHLBCHS, NEOSS NBULY Y RPDZPFBCHMYCHBS PYUETEDOSHI LPMCH PFRHEEOYS.

GYF. RP: iTEUFPNBFYS RP YUFPTYY ЪBRBDOPPECHTPREKULPZP FEBFTB. n., 1955, F. 2, U. 1029. h NENKHBTBI BLFETB ZOBUFB-NMBDYEZP UPDETSYFUS KHRPNYOBOIE P FPN, YuFP, LPZDB ABOUT TEREFYYY NBYYOUF CHSHCHUFBCHYM ZPMPCHH YЪ-ЪB LKHMYU, “ FPFYUBU CE zЈFE RTPZTENEM: „zPURPDYO z"OBUF, KHVETYFE БФХ ОЭРПДИПДСЭХА ЗПМПЧХ Ъ-ЪБ RETCHPK LKHMYUSCH URTBCHB: POB CHFPTZBEFUS CH TBNLKH NPEK LBTFYOSCH"" (FBN CE, U. 1037).

BTBRPCH r. MEFPRYUSH TKHUULPZP FEBFTB. urV., 1861, U. 310. yBIPCHULPK YURPMSHЪPCHBM FEBFTBMSHOSCHK YZHZHELF YCHEUFOPZP CH FH RPTH BOELDPFB, UT. CH UFYIPFCHPTEOYY h. m. rKHYLYOB “l LOSYA r. b. hSENULLPNKH" (1815):

ABOUT FTHD IKHDPTSOILB UCHPY VTPUBAF CHPTSHCH,

“rPTFTEF, — THEYMYMY CHUE, — OE UFPYF OYUEZP:

rTSNPK HTPD, bpr, OPU DMYOOSHCHK, MPV U TPZBNY!

th DPMZ IPSYOB RTEDBFSH PZOA EZP!” —

"NPK DPMZ OE KhChBTsBFSH FBLYNY OBFPPLBNY

(p YUKhDP! ZPCHPTYF LBTFYOB YN CH PFCHEF):

rTED CHBNY, ZPURPDB, S UBN, B OE RPTFTEF!”

(rPFSH 1790-1810-I ZPDHR, U. 680.)

ABOUT YZHZHELF OEPTSYDBOOPZP UFPMLOPCHEOYS OERPDCHYTSOPUFY DCHYTSEOYS RPUFTPEOSCH UATSEFSH U PTSYCHBAEINY UFBFHSNY, PF TSDB CHBTYBGYK ABOUT FENKH P zBMBFEE - UFBFHE, PTSYCHMEOOOPK CH DPIOPCHEOYEN IHDPTSOILB (UACEF LFPF, LPFPTPNH RPUCHSEEO "ulHMSHRFPT" vBTBFSCHOULPZP, VSHM YYTPL RTEDUFBCHMEO PE ZHTBOGKHULPN VBMEFE XVIII CHELB), DP "lbNEOOOPZP ZPUFS" rKHYLYOB Y TBTBVBFSHCHBCHYI LFH TSE FENKH RTPY'CHEDEOYK nPMSHETB Y nPGBTFB.

ITEUFPNBFYS RP YUFPTYY ЪBRBDOPECHTPRECULPZP FEBFTB, F. 2, U. 1026. tBURPMPTSEOYE RTBCHPZP Y MECHPZP FBLCE TPDOIF UGEOH U LBTFYOPK: RTBCHSHCHN UYFBEFUS RTBCH PE RP PFOPYEOYA L BLFETH, RPCHETOHFPNH MYGPN L RHVMYLE, Y OBPVPTPF.

UN. CH "rHFEYUFCHYYY REFETVHTZB CH NPULCH" ZMBCHH "edTPChP": "s UYA RPYUFEOOHA NBFSH U BUKHYUEOOOSCHNY THLBCHBNY UB LCHBYOOEA YMY U RPDPKOILPN RPDME LPTPCHSHCH UTBCHOYCH BM U ZPTPDULINY NBFETSNY.”

“CHSCKDEN... DBDYN DSDE KHNETEFSH YUFPTYUEULY” (ZHTBOG.). nPULCHIFSOYO, 1854, 6, PFD. IV, U. II. R. vBTFEOECH UPPVEBEF DTHZHA CHETUYA: “about BN RETEDBCHBMY UPCHTENEOOILY, UFP, KHUMSHCHYBCH LFY UMPCHB PF KHNYTBAEEZP chBUYMYS mSHCHPCHYUB, rHYLYO OBRTBCHYMUS ABOUT GSHRPYULBI L DCHETY YYEROKHM UPVTTBCHYYNUS TPDOSCHN Y DTHYSHSN EZP: “zPURPDB, CHCHKDENFE, RKhFSH LFP VKHDHF EZP RPUMEDOYE UMPCHB” (tHUULYK BTIICH , 1870, U. 1369).

UT. H "bMShVPNE" poezYOB: "h lPTBOE NOPZP NSCHUMEK ЪDTTBCHSHCHI, // chPF OBRTYNET: RTED LBIJDSCHN UOPN // nPMYUSH - VEZY RHFEK MHLBCHSHCHI // YuFY vPZB Y OE URPTSH U ZMKHRGPN." h "rBNSFoil": "iCHBMH Y LMECHEFH RTYENMY TBCHOPDKHYOP // th OE PURPTYCHBK ZMHRGB." DETTSBCHYO, OBRPNYOBS YUFBFEMA UCHPA PDH "vPZ", UNSZYUM CHSHCHUPLPPE Y OE UPCHUEN VEKHRTEYUOPE, U FPYULY ЪTEOYS GETLPCHOPK PTFPDPLUBMSHOPUFY, UPDETSBOYE LFPP UFYIPFCHPTEOYS ZHPTNKHMPK: “... RETCHSHCHK WITH DETIOKHM... // h UETDEYUOPK RTPUFPFE VUEEDPCHBFSH P vPZE.” h LFPN LPOFELUFE PVTBEEOYE L NHJE (IPFS UMPChP Y OBRYUBOP U RTPRYUOPK VHLCHSHCH) NPZMP CHPURTYOINBFSHUS LBL RPFYUEULBS HUMPCHOPUFSH. ъOBYUYFEMSHOP VPMEE DETLINE VSHMP TEYEOYE RKHYLYOB: “CHEMEOSHA vPTsYA, P nHЪB, VHDSH RPUMKHYOB.” vPZ Y nHЪB DENPOUFTBFYCHOP UPUEDUFCHHAF, RTYUEN PVB UMPCHB OBRYUBOSCH U VPMSHYPK VHLCHSHCH. lFP UFBCHYMP YI CH EDYOSCHK UNSHUMPCHPK Y UINCHPMYUEULYK TSD TBCHOP CHSHUPLYI, OP OUEUPCHNEUFYNSHI GEOOPUFEK. fBLPE EDYOUFCHP UPJDBCHBMP PUPVHA RPYGYA BCHFPTB, DPUFKHROPZP CHUEN CHETYOBN YuEMPCHYUEULZP DHib.

RETED rPMFBCHULPK VYFCHPK rEFT I, RP RTEDBOYA, ULBUBM: “chPYOSCH! chPF RTYYEM YUBU, LPFPTSCHK TEYBEF UHDSHVH pFEYUEUFCHB. yFBL, OE DPMTSOP ChBN RPNSCHYMSFSH, YuFP UTBTSBEFEUSH ЪB rEFTB, OP ЪB ЗПУХДБТУФЧП, еФТХ РПТХУЕООПЭ, ЪБ ТПД УЧПК, ЪБ pFEYUEUFChP.” th DBMEE: “b P REFTE CHEDBKFE, YuFP ENKH TSYOSH OE DPTZB, FPMSHLP VSC TSIMB tPUUYS.” ьFPF FELUF PVTBEEOYS REFTB L UPMDBFBN OEMSHЪS UYYFBFSH BHFEOFYUOSCHN. FELUF VSHM CH RETCHPN EZP CHBTYBOFE UPUFBCHMEO ZHEPZHBOPN rTPLPRPCHYUEN (CHPNPTSOP, ABOUT PUOPCH LBLYI-FP KHUFOSHHI MEZEOD) Y RPFPN RPDCHETZBMUS PVTBVPFLBN (UN.: fTHDSCH YNR. TH UUL CHPEOOP-YUFPTYUEULPZP PVEEUFCHB, F. III, U. 274—276; VKHNBZY REFTB CHEMYLPZP, F. IX, ChShchR. 1, 3251, RTYNEYU. 1, U. 217-219; ChShchR. 2, U. 980-983). FP, YuFP CH TEKHMSHFBFE TSDB RETEDEMPL YUFPTYYUEULBS DPUFPCHETOPUFSH FELUFB UFBMB VPMEE YuEN UPNOYFEMSHOPK, U OBEK FPYULY UTEOYS RBTBDPLUBMSHOP RPCHSHCHYBEF EZP YOFETEU, FBL LBL RTEDEMSHOP PVOBTSBEF RTEDUFBCHMEOYE P FPN, YuFP DPMTSEO VSHM ULBJBFSH REFT I CH FBLPK UIFKHBGYY, B BFP DMS YUFPTYLB OE NOOEE YOFETEUOP, YUEN EZP RPDMYOOSHE UMPCHB. fBLPK YDEBMSHOSCHK PVTB ZPUKHDBTS-RBFTYPFB ZHEPZHBO CH TBOSHI CHBTYBOFBI UPJDBCHBM Y CH DTHZYI FELUFBI.

Z. b. zKHLPCHULIK, B ЪB OIN Y DTHZIE LPNNEOFBFPTSCH RPMBZBAF, YuFP "UMPChP KHNYTBAEEZP lBFPOB" - PFUSCHMLB L rMHFBTIKH (UN.: tBDYEECH b. o. rPMY. UPVT. UPYU., F. 1, U 295, 485). vPMEE CHETPSFOP RTEDRPMPTSEOYE, YuFP tBDYEECH YNEEF CH CHYDH NPOPMPZ LBFPOB YЪ PDOPNOOOPK FTBZEDYY dDDYUPOB, RTPPGYFYTPCHBOOPK YN CH FPN TSE RTPY'chedeoYY, CH ZMBCHE "vTPOYGSHCH" "(FBN CE, U. 269).

FY UMPCHB UCHYDEFEMSHUFCHHAF, YuFP IPFS prPYUYOYO YNEM VTBFSHECH, TsIM PO HEJYOOOP Y VSHM EDYOUFCHEOOSCHN, EUMY OE UYYFBFSH LTERPUFOSCHI UMKHZ, PVYFBFEMEN UCHPEZP PDYOPLPZP DETECHEOULPZP TSYMYEB, ЪBRPMOOOPZP LOYZBNY.

CH DBOOPN UMKHYUBE NSCH YNEEN RTBCHP ZPCHPTYFSH YNEOOP P FChPTYUEFCHE: BOBMY RPLBYUSCHBEF, YuFP lBTBNYO REYUBFBM FPMSHLP FKH RETECHPDOHA MYFETBFKHTH, LPFPTBS UPPFCHEFU FChPChBMB EZP UPVUFCHOOOPK RTPZTBNNE, Y OE UFEUOSMUS RETEDEMSHCHBFSH Y DBCE KHUFTBOSFSH FP, YuFP OE UPCHRBDBMP U EZP CHZMSDBNY.

YNEEFUS CH CHYDH YJCHEUFOSCHK CH 1812 Z. BRPLTYZHYUEULYK TBUULB P LTEUFSHSOYOE, LPFPTSCHK PFTKHVYM UEVE THLKH, YUFPVSH OE YDFY CH OBRPMEPOPCHULHA BTNYA (UT. ULHMSH RFHTH rYNEOPCHB "tHUULYK UGECHPMB").

YUFPTYS LPOGERGYK UNETFY CH THUULPK LHMSHFHTE OE YNEEF GEMPUFOPZP PUCHEEEOYS. DMS UTBCHOOYS U ЪBRBDOP-ECHTPREKULPK LPOGERGYEK NPTsOP RPTELPNEODPCHBFSH YUYFBFEMA LOYZKH: Vovel Michel. La mort et l"Occident de 1300 à nos jours.< Paris >, Gallimard, 1983

BY RTYIPDIYMUS TPDUFCHEOILPN FPNKH NPULPCHULPNKH ZMBCHOPLPNBODHAEENKH, LOSYA b. b. rТПЪПТПЧУЛПНХ, ЛПФПТШЧК РПЪЦе У ЦEUФПЛПУФША RTEUMEDПЧБМ о. OPCYLPCHB Y NPULPCHULYI NBTFYOYUFPCH Y P LPFPTPN rPFENLYO ULBJBM ELBFETYOE, YuFP POB CHSCCHYOKHMB YJ UCHPEZP BTUEOBMB "UBNHA UFBTHA RHYLKH", LPFPTBS OERTENE OOP VKhDEF UFTEMSFSH CH GEMSH YNRETBFTYGSHCH, RPFPNH YFP UCHPEK OE YNEEF. pDOBLP BY CHSHCHULBBM PRBUEOYE, YUFPVSH rTPIPTPCHULIK OE EBRSFOBM CH ZMBBI RPFPNUFCHB YNS ELBFETYOSCH LTPCHSHA. rPFENLYO PLBBBMUS RTPCHYDGEN.

ZBMETB - CHPEOOOSCHK LPTBVMSH ABOUT CHUMBI. lPNBODB ZBMETSH UPUFPYF YYYFBFB NPTULYI PZHYGETPCH, HOFET-PZHYGETPCH Y UPMDBF-BTFYMMETYUFPCH, NPTSLPC Y RTYLPCHBOOSCHI GERSNY LBFPTTSOILPC ABOUT CHUMBI. zBMETSH KHRPFTEVMSMYUSH CH NPTULYI UTBTSEOYSI LBL OE ЪBCHYUSEEE PF OBRTBCHMEOYS CHEFTB Y PVMBDBAEE VPMSHYP RPDCHYTSOPUFSHA UTEDUFCHP. rEFT I RTYDBChBM VPMSHYPE OBYUEOYE TBCHYFYA ZBMETOPZP ZHMPFB. UMHTSVB ABOUT ZBMETBI UYFBMBUSH PUPVEOOOP FSCEMPK.

CH LFPN NEUFE CH RHVMYLBGYY ZPMYLPCHB TEYUSH REFTB DBOB CH VPMEE RTPUFTBOOPN CHYDE; UOYUIPDYFEMSHOPUFSH rEFTB EEE VPMEE RPDYUETLOKHFB: “fsch CHUETB VSHM CH ZPUFSI; B NEOS UEZPDOS ЪCHBMY ABOUT TPDYOSCH; RPEDEN UP NOPA.”

CH NENKHBTBI OERMAECH TYUHEF LTBUPYUOSCH LBTFYOSCH LFPC DTBNBFYUEULPK UIFKHBGYY: “... TsBMES TSEOH NPA Y DEFEC, FBLCE Y UMKHTSYFEMEK, CH RTEDNEUFYK H gBTSHZTBDB, YNEOHENPN vKHALDETE, ЪBRETUS CH PUPVHA LPNOBFH Y RPMKHYUBM RTPRYFBOYE CH PLOP, OYLPZP L UEVE OE DPRHULBS; TSEOB NPS ETSEYUBUOP KH DCHETEK P FPN UP UMEBNY RTPUYMB NEOS” (U. 124). MEYUMUS ON "RTJOINBOYEN IYOSCH U CHPDK" (FBN CE).

UMPChP "IHDPCEUFChP" POBYUBMP CH FH RPTH RPOSFYE, RETEDBCHBENPE OBNY FERETSH UMPCHPP "TENEUMP". n. bChTBNPCH, LBL YUEMPCHEL UCHPEK LRPIY, CH TSYCHPRYUY RPDYUETLYCHBEF TENEUMP - UPUEFBOYE FTHDB Y KHNEOS. DMS MADEK REFTPCHULPK URPIY UMPCHB "TENEUMP", "HNEOYE" ЪCHHYUBMY FPTCEUFCHOOEE Y DBCE RPYUOOEE, YUEN UMPChP "FBMBOF". lFPF RBZhPU RPTSE PFTBTTSEO Ch UMPCHBI b. and. netЪMSLPCHB "UCSFBS TBVPFB" P RPYYY; CH UMPCHBI (RPCHFPTSAEYI l rBCHMPCHH) n. GCHEFBECHPK "TENEUMEOIL, S OBA TENEUMP" Y BOOSCH BINBFPCHPK "UCHSFPE TENEUMP".

UN.: PRYUBOYE YDBOYK ZTBTSDBOULPK REYUBFY. 1708 - SOCHBTSH 1725. n.; M., 1955, U. 125-126; UN. FBLCE: PRYUBOYE YIDBOYK, OBREYUBFBOOSCHI RTY REFTE I. UCHPDOSCHK LBFBMPZ. m., 1972.

UNSHUM LFYI UMPC PVASUOSEFUS RTPPHYCHPRPUFBCHMEOYEN YTPLLPZP RHFY, CHEDHEEZP CH BD, Y KHLPZP, “FEUOPZP”, CHEDHEEEZP CH TBK. uT. UMPChB RTPFPRPRB bChChBLKHNB P "FEUOPN" RHFY CH TBK. TEBMYYHS NEFBZHPTKH, bChChBLKHN ZPCHPTYM, YuFP FPMUFSHCHE, "VTAIBFSHCHE" OILPOIBOYE CH TBK OE RPRBDHF.

RP LBRTY'OPNH RETERMEFEOYA UATSEFPCH Y UKHDEV, YNEOOOP PE CHTENS UMEDUFCHYS RP DEMH GBTECHYUB bMELUES DPUFYZMB BRPZES LBTSHETB z. h. ULPTOSLPCHB-rYUBTECHB, UHDSHVB LPFPTPZP RPTSE OEPTSYDBOOP RETEUEUEEFUS U UHDSHVPK bChTBNPCHB.

NPTsOP UPNOECHBFSHUS Y CH FPN, YuFP TPNBOFYUEULYK VTBL oEECHPMPDPCHB U YUETLEYEOLPK RPMKHYUM GETLPCHOPE VMBZPUMPCHEOYE. RETECHPD UACEFB "LBCHLBULPZP RMEOOILB" ABOUT SJSHL VShchFPChPK TEBMSHOPUFY UCHSBO VSHM U OELPFPTSCHNY FTKHDOPUFSNY.

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Now we have something wrong in the subject:
We better hurry to the ball,
Where to headlong in a Yamsk carriage
My Onegin has already galloped.
In front of the faded houses
Along the sleepy street in rows
Double carriage lights
Cheerful ones pour out light...
Here our hero drove up to the entryway;
He passes the doorman with an arrow
He flew up the marble steps,
I straightened my hair with my hand,
Has entered. The hall is full of people;
The music is already tired of thundering;
The crowd is busy with the mazurka;
There is noise and crowding all around;
The cavalry guard's spurs are jingling;
The legs of lovely ladies are flying;
In their captivating footsteps
Fiery eyes fly.
And drowned out by the roar of violins
Jealous whispers of fashionable wives.
(1, XXVII–XXVIII)

Dancing was important structural element noble life. Their role was significantly different from the function of dances in folk life of that time and from the modern one.

In the life of a Russian metropolitan nobleman of the 18th - early 19th centuries, time was divided into two halves: staying at home was devoted to family and economic concerns - here the nobleman acted as a private person; the other half was occupied by service - military or civil, in which the nobleman acted as a loyal subject, serving the sovereign and the state, as a representative of the nobility in the face of other classes. The contrast between these two forms of behavior was filmed in the “meeting” that crowned the day - at a ball or evening party. Here the social life of a nobleman was realized: he was neither a private person in private life, nor a service man in public service- he was a nobleman in a noble assembly, a man of his class among his own.

Thus, the ball turned out, on the one hand, to be an area opposite to the service - an area of relaxed communication, social recreation, a place where the boundaries of the official hierarchy were weakened. The presence of ladies, dancing, and social norms introduced extra-official value criteria, and a young lieutenant who danced deftly and knew how to make the ladies laugh could feel superior to an aging colonel who had been in battle. On the other hand, the ball was an area of public representation, a form of social organization, one of the few forms of collective life allowed in Russia at that time. In this sense, secular life received the value of a public cause. Catherine II’s answer to Fonvizin’s question is typical: “Why aren’t we ashamed of not doing anything?” - “...living in society is not doing nothing.”

Since the time of Peter the Great’s assemblies, the question of organizational forms has also become acute. social life. Forms of recreation, youth communication, and calendar ritual, which were basically common to both the people and the boyar-noble milieu, had to give way to a specifically noble structure of life. The internal organization of the ball was made a task of exceptional cultural importance, since it was intended to give forms of communication between “gentlemen” and “ladies”, to determine the type of social behavior within noble culture. This entailed the ritualization of the ball, the creation of a strict sequence of parts, and the identification of stable and obligatory elements. The grammar of the ball arose, and it itself developed into some kind of holistic theatrical performance, in which each element (from entering the hall to leaving) corresponded to typical emotions, fixed meanings, and styles of behavior. However, the strict ritual that brought the ball closer to the parade made all the more significant possible deviations, “ballroom liberties,” which compositionally increased towards its finale, building the ball as a struggle between “order” and “freedom.”

The main element of the ball as a social and aesthetic event was dancing. They served as the organizing core of the evening, setting the type and style of conversation. “Mazur chat” required superficial, shallow topics, but also entertaining and sharp conversation, and the ability to quickly respond epigrammatically. The ballroom conversation was far from that play of intellectual forces, “the fascinating conversation of the highest education” (Pushkin, VIII (1), 151), which was cultivated in the literary salons of Paris in the 18th century and the absence of which Pushkin complained about in Russia. Nevertheless, it had its own charm - the liveliness, freedom and ease of conversation between a man and a woman, who were simultaneously in the center noisy celebration, and in otherwise impossible intimacy (“Rather, there is no room for confessions…” - 1, XXIX).

Dance training began early - from the age of five or six. For example, Pushkin began to study dancing already in 1808. Until the summer of 1811, he and his sister attended dance evenings with the Trubetskoy-Buturlins and Sushkovs, and on Thursdays children’s balls with the Moscow dance master Iogel. Iogel's balls are described in the memoirs of choreographer A.P. Glushkovsky.

Early dance training was painful and reminiscent of the harsh training of an athlete or the training of a recruit by a diligent sergeant major. The compiler of the “Rules”, published in 1825, L. Petrovsky, himself an experienced dance master, describes some of the methods of initial training in this way, while condemning not the method itself, but only its too harsh application: “The teacher must pay attention to ensuring that students strong stress was not tolerated in health. Someone told me that the teacher considered it an indispensable rule that the student, despite his natural inability, should keep his legs to the side, like him, in a parallel line.

As a student, he was 22 years old, fairly tall, and had considerable legs, albeit defective ones; then the teacher, unable to do anything himself, considered it his duty to use four people, two of whom twisted their legs, and two held their knees. No matter how much he screamed, they just laughed and didn’t want to hear about the pain - until his leg finally cracked, and then the tormentors left him.

I considered it my duty to tell this incident to warn others. It is not known who invented the leg machines; and machines with screws for the legs, knees and back: a very good invention! However, it can also become harmless from excess stress.”

Long-term training gave the young man not only dexterity during dancing, but also confidence in his movements, freedom and ease in posing his figure, which in a certain way influenced the person’s mental structure: in the conventional world of social communication, he felt confident and free, like an experienced actor on the stage. Grace, reflected in the precision of movements, was a sign of good upbringing. L. N. Tolstoy, describing the wife of a Decembrist who returned from Siberia in the novel “The Decembrists,” emphasizes that, despite the many years she spent in the most difficult conditions of voluntary exile, “it was impossible to imagine her otherwise than surrounded by respect and all the comforts of life . That she would ever be hungry and eat greedily, or that she would ever wear dirty laundry, or that she would trip, or forget to blow her nose - this could not happen to her. It was physically impossible. Why this was so - I don’t know, but every movement she made was majesty, grace, mercy for all those who could take advantage of her appearance...” It is characteristic that the ability to stumble here is associated not with external conditions, but with the character and upbringing of a person. Mental and physical grace are connected and exclude the possibility of inaccurate or ugly movements and gestures. Aristocratic simplicity of people's movements " good society“Both in life and in literature, the stiffness or excessive swagger (the result of the struggle with one’s own shyness) of the commoner’s gestures is opposed. A striking example of this is preserved in Herzen’s memoirs. According to Herzen’s memoirs, “Belinsky was very shy and generally lost in unfamiliar society.” Herzen describes a typical case at one of the literary evenings at the book V.F. Odoevsky: “Belinsky was completely lost at these evenings between some Saxon envoy who did not understand a word of Russian and some official of the Third Department who understood even those words that were kept silent. He usually fell ill for two or three days and cursed the one who persuaded him to go.

Once on Saturday, on the eve of the New Year, the owner decided to cook a roast en petit comité, when the main guests had left. Belinsky would certainly have left, but a barricade of furniture prevented him; he somehow hid in a corner, and a small table with wine and glasses was placed in front of him. Zhukovsky, in white uniform pants with a gold braid, sat down diagonally opposite him. Belinsky endured it for a long time, but, not seeing any improvement in his fate, he began to move the table somewhat; The table at first gave way, then swayed and slammed to the ground, the bottle of Bordeaux began to pour seriously on Zhukovsky. He jumped up, red wine flowing down his trousers; there was a hubbub, a servant rushed with a napkin to stain the rest of his trousers with wine, another picked up broken glasses... During this commotion, Belinsky disappeared and, close to death, ran home on foot.”

The ball at the beginning of the 19th century began with a Polish (polonaise), which replaced the minuet in the ceremonial function of the first dance. The minuet became a thing of the past along with Royal France. “Since the changes that followed among Europeans both in clothing and in their way of thinking, news has appeared in dancing; and then the Polish, which has more freedom and is danced by an indefinite number of couples, and therefore frees from the excessive and strict restraint characteristic of the minuet, took the place of the original dance.”

One can probably associate with the polonaise the stanza of the eighth chapter, not included in the final text of Eugene Onegin, which introduces the Grand Duchess Alexandra Feodorovna into the scene of the St. Petersburg ball ( future empress); Pushkin calls her Lalla-Ruk after the masquerade costume of the heroine of T. Moore’s poem, which she wore during a masquerade in Berlin.

After Zhukovsky’s poem “Lalla-Ruk” this name became the poetic nickname of Alexandra Fedorovna:

And in the hall bright and rich
When in a silent, tight circle,
Like a winged lily,
Lalla-Ruk enters hesitatingly
And above the drooping crowd
Shines with a royal head,
And quietly curls and glides
Star - Harit between Harit,
And the gaze of mixed generations
Strives, with jealousy of grief,
Now at her, then at the king, -
For them without eyes there is only Evg<ений>;
One T<атьяной>amazed,
He sees only Tatyana.
(Pushkin, VI, 637)

The ball does not appear in Pushkin as an official ceremonial celebration, and therefore the polonaise is not mentioned. In War and Peace, Tolstoy, describing Natasha’s first ball, contrasts the polonaise, which opens “the sovereign, smiling and leading the mistress of the house by the hand” (“followed by the owner with M.A. Naryshkina, then ministers, various generals "), the second dance - the waltz, which becomes the moment of Natasha's triumph.

Second ballroom dance– waltz. Pushkin characterized him this way:

Monotonous and crazy
Like a young whirlwind of life,
A noisy whirlwind swirls around the waltz;
Couple flashes after couple. (5, XLI)

The epithets “monotonous and crazy” have not only an emotional meaning. “Monotonous” - because, unlike the mazurka, in which at that time solo dances and the invention of new figures played a huge role, and even more so the dance-game of the cotillion, the waltz consisted of the same constantly repeated movements. The feeling of monotony was also enhanced by the fact that “at that time the waltz was danced in two steps, and not in three steps, as now.” The definition of the waltz as “crazy” has a different meaning: the waltz, despite its universal distribution (L. Petrovsky believes that “it would be unnecessary to describe how the waltz is generally danced, since there is almost not a single person who has not danced it himself or saw how it was danced"), enjoyed a reputation in the 1820s for being an obscene or at least excessively free dance. “This dance, in which, as is known, persons of both sexes turn and come together, requires proper caution<...>so that they do not dance too close to each other, which would offend decency.” Janlis wrote even more clearly in the “Critical and Systematic Dictionary of Court Etiquette”: “A young lady, lightly dressed, throws herself into the arms of a young man who presses her to his chest, who carries her away with such swiftness that her heart involuntarily begins to pound and her head goes around! That's what this waltz is!..<...>Modern youth is so natural that, putting refinement at nothing, they dance waltzes with glorified simplicity and passion.”

Not only the boring moralist Janlis, but also the fiery Werther Goethe considered the waltz a dance so intimate that he swore that he would not allow his future wife dance it with no one but yourself.

The waltz created a particularly comfortable environment for gentle explanations: the proximity of the dancers contributed to intimacy, and the touching of hands made it possible to pass notes. The waltz was danced for a long time, you could interrupt it, sit down and then start again in the next round. Thus, the dance created the ideal conditions for gentle explanations:

On days of fun and desires
I was crazy about balls:
Or rather, there is no room for confessions
And for delivering a letter.
O you, honorable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
Please notice my speech:
I want to warn you.
You, mamas, are also stricter
Follow your daughters:
Hold your lorgnette straight! (1, XXIX)

However, Zhanlis’s words are also interesting in another respect: the waltz is contrasted with classical dances as romantic; passionate, crazy, dangerous and close to nature, he opposes the etiquette dances of the old time. The “common people” of the waltz was felt acutely: “Wiener Walz, consisting of two steps, which consist in stepping on the right and left foot and, moreover, danced as quickly as a crazy person; after which I leave it to the reader to judge whether it corresponds to a noble assembly or to some other.” The waltz was admitted to European balls as a tribute to the new times. It was a fashionable and youth dance.

The sequence of dances during the ball formed dynamic composition. Each dance, having its own intonation and tempo, set a certain style of not only movement, but also conversation. In order to understand the essence of the ball, one must keep in mind that dancing was only the organizing core of it. The chain of dances also organized the sequence of moods. Each dance entailed topics of conversation suitable for him. It should be borne in mind that conversation was no less a part of the dance than movement and music. The expression “mazurka chatter” was not disparaging. Involuntary jokes, tender confessions and decisive explanations were distributed throughout the composition of successive dances. An interesting example of changing the topic of conversation in a sequence of dances is found in Anna Karenina. “Vronsky and Kitty went through several rounds of the waltz.” Tolstoy introduces us to a decisive moment in the life of Kitty, who is in love with Vronsky. She expects words of recognition from him that should decide her fate, but for an important conversation a corresponding moment in the dynamics of the ball is necessary. It is by no means possible to conduct it at any moment and not during any dance. “During the quadrille nothing significant was said, there was intermittent conversation.” “But Kitty didn’t expect anything more from the quadrille. She waited with bated breath for the mazurka. It seemed to her that everything should be decided in the mazurka.”

<...>The mazurka formed the center of the ball and marked its culmination. The Mazurka was danced with numerous fancy figures and a male solo that formed the climax of the dance. Both the soloist and the conductor of the mazurka had to show ingenuity and the ability to improvise. “The chic of the mazurka is that the gentleman takes the lady on his chest, immediately hitting himself with his heel in the center de gravité (not to say the ass), flies to the other end of the hall and says: “Mazurechka, sir,” and the lady says to him: “ Mazurechka, sir."<...>Then they rushed in pairs, and did not dance calmly, as they do now.” Within the mazurka there were several distinct styles. The difference between the capital and the provinces was expressed in the contrast between the “exquisite” and “bravura” performance of the mazurka:

The Mazurka sounded. It happened
When the mazurka thunder roared,
Everything in the huge hall was shaking,
The parquet cracked under the heel,
The frames shook and rattled;
Now it’s not the same: we, like ladies,
We slide on the varnished boards.
(5, XXII)

“When horseshoes and high boots appeared, taking steps, they began to knock mercilessly, so that when in one public meeting, where there were too two hundred young men, the music of the mazurka began to play<...>They made such a noise that they drowned out the music.”

But there was another contrast. The old “French” manner of performing the mazurka required the gentleman to easily jump, the so-called entrechat (Onegin, as the reader remembers, “danced the mazurka easily”). Entrechat, according to one dance reference book, is “a jump in which one foot hits the other three times while the body is in the air.” The French, “secular” and “amiable” style of mazurka in the 1820s began to be replaced by the English style associated with dandyism. The latter required the gentleman to make languid, lazy movements, emphasizing that he was bored with dancing and was doing it against his will. The gentleman refused the mazurka chatter and remained sullenly silent during the dance.

“... And in general, not a single fashionable gentleman dances now, it’s not supposed to be! - Is that so? - Mr. Smith asked in surprise<...>- No, I swear on my honor, no! - muttered Mr. Ritson. - No, unless they walk in a quadrille or spin in a waltz<...>no, to hell with dancing, it’s very vulgar!” Smirnova-Rosset’s memoirs tell an episode of her first meeting with Pushkin: while still an institute, she invited him to a mazurka. Pushkin silently and lazily walked with her around the hall a couple of times. The fact that Onegin “danced the mazurka easily” shows that his dandyism and fashionable disappointment were half fake in the first chapter of the “novel in verse.” For their sake, he could not refuse the pleasure of jumping in the mazurka.

The Decembrist and liberal of the 1820s adopted the “English” attitude towards dancing, bringing it to the point of completely abandoning it. In Pushkin’s “Novel in Letters,” Vladimir writes to a friend: “Your speculative and important reasoning dates back to 1818. At that time, strict rules and political economy were in vogue. We showed up at balls without taking off our swords (you couldn’t dance with a sword, an officer who wanted to dance unfastened the sword and left it with the doorman. - Yu. L.) - it was indecent for us to dance and there was no time to deal with the ladies” (VIII (1), 55 ). Liprandi did not have dancing at serious friendly evenings. Decembrist N. I. Turgenev wrote to his brother Sergei on March 25, 1819 about the surprise that the news caused him that the latter danced at a ball in Paris (S. I. Turgenev was in France with the commander of the Russian expeditionary force, Count M. S. Vorontsov ): “I hear you dancing. His daughter wrote to Count Golovin that she danced with you. And so, with some surprise, I learned that now they also dance in France! Une écossaise constitutionelle, indpéndante, ou une contredanse monarchique ou une danse contre-monarchique" (constitutional ecosession, independent ecosession, monarchical country dance or anti-monarchical dance - the play on words consists in listing the political parties: constitutionalists, independents, monarchists - and the use of the prefix "contre" then like a dance, then like political term). The complaint of Princess Tugoukhovskaya in “Woe from Wit” is connected with these same sentiments: “Dancers have become terribly rare!”

The contrast between a person talking about Adam Smith and a person dancing a waltz or mazurka was emphasized by the remark after Chatsky’s program monologue: “He looks around, everyone is twirling in the waltz with the greatest zeal.” Pushkin's poems:

Buyanov, my perky brother,
He brought Tatiana and Olga to our hero... (5, XLIII, XLIV)

They mean one of the mazurka figures: two ladies (or gentlemen) are brought to the gentleman (or lady) and asked to choose. Choosing a mate was perceived as a sign of interest, favor, or (as Lensky interpreted) love. Nicholas I reproached Smirnova-Rosset: “Why don’t you choose me?” In some cases, the choice was associated with guessing the qualities envisioned by the dancers: “Three ladies approached them with questions - oubli ou regret - interrupted the conversation...” (Pushkin, VIII (1), 244). Or in “After the Ball” by L. Tolstoy: “...I didn’t dance the mazurka with her/<...>When we were brought to her and she did not guess my quality, she, giving her hand not to me, shrugged her thin shoulders and, as a sign of regret and consolation, smiled at me.”

Cotillion - a type of quadrille, one of the dances that concludes the ball - was danced to the tune of a waltz and was a dance-game, the most relaxed, varied and playful dance. “... There they make a cross and a circle, and they seat the lady, triumphantly bringing the gentlemen to her so that she can choose with whom she wants to dance, and in other places they kneel before her; but in order to reward themselves in return, the men also sit down in order to choose the kind of lady they like.

This is followed by figures making jokes, giving cards, knots made from handkerchiefs, deceiving or bouncing off one another in a dance, jumping high over a handkerchief...”

The ball was not the only opportunity to have a fun and noisy night. The alternatives were:

...games of riotous youths,
Thunderstorms of guard patrols... (Pushkin, VI, 621)

Single drinking bouts in the company of young revelers, bribery officers, famous “scamps” and drunkards. The ball, as a decent and completely secular pastime, was contrasted with this revelry, which, although cultivated in certain guards circles, was generally perceived as a manifestation of “bad taste”, acceptable for a young man only within certain, moderate limits. M.D. Buturlin, prone to a free and wild life, recalled that there was a moment when he “did not miss a single ball.” This, he writes, “made my mother very happy, as proof, que j"avais pris le goût de la bonne société.” However, the taste for a reckless life took over: “I had quite frequent lunches and dinners at my apartment. My guests were some of our officers and civilian St. Petersburg acquaintances of mine, mostly foreigners; there was, of course, a flood of champagne and burnt liquor. But my main mistake was that after the first visits with my brother, at the beginning of my visit to Princess Maria Vasilyevna Kochubey, Natalya I stopped visiting this high society to Kirillovna Zagryazhskaya (who meant a lot at that time) and others in relation or previous acquaintance with our family. I remember how once, when leaving the French Kamennoostrovsky theater, my old friend Elisaveta Mikhailovna Khitrova, recognizing me, exclaimed: “Ah, Michel!” And I, in order to avoid meeting and explicating her, rather than go down the stairs of the restyle where this scene took place, turned sharply to the right past the columns of the facade; but since there was no exit to the street there, I flew rushing headlong to the ground from a considerable height, risking breaking an arm or leg. Unfortunately, the habits of a riotous and wide-open life in the circle of army comrades with late drinking in restaurants had taken root in me, and therefore trips to high-society salons burdened me, as a result of which a few months passed when the members of that society decided (and not without reason) that I’m a little guy, mired in the whirlpool of bad society.”

Late drinking sessions, starting in one of the St. Petersburg restaurants, ended somewhere in the “Red Zucchini”, which stood about seven miles along the Peterhof road and was a former favorite place for officers’ revelry.

A brutal card game and noisy walks through the streets of St. Petersburg at night completed the picture. Noisy street adventures - “the thunderstorm of midnight watches” (Pushkin, VIII, 3) - were a common night activity for “naughty people”. The nephew of the poet Delvig recalls: “... Pushkin and Delvig told us about the walks that they took on the streets of St. Petersburg after graduating from the Lyceum, and about their various pranks and mocked us, young men, who not only did not find fault with anyone, but even stopping others who are ten or more years older than us...

Having read the description of this walk, you might think that Pushkin, Delvig and all the other men walking with them, with the exception of brother Alexander and me, were drunk, but I can definitely certify that this was not the case, but they just wanted to shake the old fashioned and show it to us , to the younger generation, as if in reproach to our more serious and thoughtful behavior.” In the same spirit, although somewhat later - at the very end of the 1820s, Buturlin and his friends tore off the scepter and orb from the double-headed eagle (pharmacy sign) and walked with them through the city center. This “prank” already had a rather dangerous political connotation: it gave rise to criminal charges of “lese majeste.” It is no coincidence that the acquaintance to whom they appeared in this form “could never remember without fear this night visit of ours.”

If he got away with this adventure, then for trying to feed a bust of the emperor with soup in a restaurant, punishment followed: Buturlin’s civilian friends were exiled to civil service in the Caucasus and Astrakhan, and he was transferred to a provincial army regiment.

This is no coincidence: “crazy feasts”, youth revelry against the backdrop of the Arakcheevskaya (later Nikolaevskaya) capital inevitably took on oppositional tones (see the chapter “Decembrist in Everyday Life”).

The ball had a harmonious composition. It was like some kind of festive whole, subordinated to the movement from the strict form of ceremonial ballet to variable forms of choreographic acting. However, in order to understand the meaning of the ball as a whole, it should be understood in contrast to the two extreme poles: the parade and the masquerade.

The parade in the form it received under the influence of the peculiar “creativity” of Paul I and the Pavlovichs: Alexander, Konstantin and Nicholas, was a unique, carefully thought out ritual. It was the opposite of fighting. And von Bock was right when he called it “the triumph of nothingness.” A battle required initiative, a parade required submission, turning the army into a ballet. In relation to the parade, the ball acted as something exactly the opposite. The ball contrasted subordination, discipline, and erasure of personality with fun, freedom, and the harsh depression of a person with his joyful excitement. In this sense, the chronological course of the day from the parade or preparation for it - exercise, arena and other types of “kings of science” (Pushkin) - to ballet, holiday, ball represented a movement from subordination to freedom and from rigid monotony to fun and variety.

However, the ball was subject to strict laws. The degree of rigidity of this subordination varied: between balls of thousands in the Winter Palace, dedicated to especially solemn dates, and small balls in the houses of provincial landowners with dancing to the serf orchestra or even to the violin played by a German teacher, there was a long and multi-stage path. The degree of freedom was different at different stages of this path. And yet the fact that the ball presupposed composition and strict internal organization, limited the freedom within him. This necessitated the need for another element that would play in this system the role of “organized disorganization,” planned and foreseen chaos. The masquerade took on this role.

Masquerade dressing, in principle, contradicted deep church traditions. In the Orthodox consciousness, this was one of the most stable signs of demonism. Dressing up and elements of masquerade in folk culture were allowed only in those ritual actions of the Christmas and spring cycles that were supposed to imitate the exorcism of demons and in which the remnants of pagan ideas found refuge. Therefore, the European tradition of masquerade penetrated into the noble life of the 18th century with difficulty or merged with folkloric mummery.

As a form of noble celebration, the masquerade was a closed and almost secret fun. Elements of blasphemy and rebellion manifested themselves in two characteristic episodes: both Elizaveta Petrovna and Catherine II, when carrying out coups d'etat, dressed up in men's guards uniforms and mounted horses like men. Here, the mummering took on a symbolic character: a woman, a contender for the throne, turned into an emperor. One can compare with this Shcherbatov’s use of names in relation to one person – Elizabeth – in different situations, either in the masculine or in the feminine gender.

From military-state dressing up, the next step led to masquerade play. One might recall in this regard the projects of Catherine II. If such masquerade masquerades were held publicly as, for example, the famous carousel, to which Grigory Orlov and other participants appeared in knightly costumes, then in complete secrecy, in the closed premises of the Small Hermitage, Catherine found it amusing to hold completely different masquerades. So, for example, with her own hand she wrote detailed plan a holiday in which separate changing rooms would be made for men and women, so that all the ladies would suddenly appear in men's suits, and all the gentlemen wore ladies' clothes (Catherine was not disinterested here: such a suit emphasized her slimness, and the huge guards, of course, would have looked comical).

The masquerade that we encounter when reading Lermontov's play - the St. Petersburg masquerade in Engelhardt's house on the corner of Nevsky and Moika - had the exact opposite character. This was the first public masquerade in Russia. Anyone who paid a fee could visit it. admission ticket. The fundamental mixing of visitors, social contrasts, permitted licentiousness of behavior, which turned Engelhardt's masquerades into the center of scandalous stories and rumors - all this created a spicy counterbalance to the severity of St. Petersburg balls.

Let us recall the joke that Pushkin put into the mouth of a foreigner, who said that in St. Petersburg morality is guaranteed by the fact that summer nights are bright and winter nights are cold. These obstacles did not exist for Engelhardt's balls. Lermontov included a significant hint in “Masquerade”:

Arbenin
It would not be bad for both you and me to be scattered.
After all, today is the holidays and, of course, a masquerade
At Engelhardt...<...>

Prince
There are women there... it's a miracle...
And they even go there and say...

Arbenin
Let them talk, but what do we care?
Under the mask, all ranks are equal,
The mask has neither a soul nor a title; it has a body.
And if the features are hidden by a mask,
Then the mask from feelings is boldly torn off.

The role of the masquerade in the prim and uniformed St. Petersburg of Nicholas can be compared with how the jaded French courtiers of the Regency era, having exhausted all forms of refinement during the long night, went to some dirty tavern in a dubious area of Paris and greedily devoured the fetid boiled unwashed intestines. It was the sharpness of the contrast that created here a refined and satiated experience.

To the words of the prince in the same drama by Lermontov: “All masks are stupid,” Arbenin responds with a monologue glorifying the surprise and unpredictability that the mask brings to a prim society:

Yes, there is no stupid mask: Silent...
Mysterious, she will talk - so cute.
You can put it into words
A smile, a look, whatever you want...
For example, look there -
How nobly he speaks
Tall Turkish woman... so plump
How her chest breathes both passionately and freely!
Do you know who she is?
Perhaps a proud countess or princess,
Diana in society... Venus in a masquerade,
And it may also be that this same beauty
He will come to you tomorrow evening for half an hour.

The parade and masquerade formed the brilliant frame of the picture, in the center of which was the ball.

Yuri Mikhailovich Lotman (1922 – 1993) – cultural scientist, founder of the Tartu-Moscow semiotic school. The author of numerous works on the history of Russian culture from the point of view of semiotics, he developed his own general theory of culture, set out in the work “Culture and Explosion” (1992).

The text is published according to the publication: Yu. M. Lotman Conversations about Russian culture. Life and traditions of the Russian nobility (XVIII - early XIX centuries). St. Petersburg, - “Art - St. Petersburg”. – 1994.

Life and culture

Devoting conversations to Russian life and culture XVIII – beginning of the 19th century, we must first of all determine the meaning of the concepts “life”, “culture”, “Russian culture of the 18th century” – beginning of the 19th century" and their relationships with each other. At the same time, let us make a reservation that the concept of “culture,” which belongs to the most fundamental in the cycle of human sciences, can itself become the subject of a separate monograph and has repeatedly become so. It would be strange if in this book we set out to resolve controversial issues related to this concept. It is very comprehensive: it includes morality, the whole range of ideas, human creativity, and much more. It will be quite enough for us to limit ourselves to that side of the concept of “culture” that is necessary to illuminate our relatively narrow topic.

Culture comes first – a collective concept. An individual can be a carrier of culture, can actively participate in its development, however, by its nature, culture, like language, – a public phenomenon, that is, social.

Consequently, culture is something common to any group – groups of people living at the same time and connected by a certain social organization. From this it follows that culture is form of communication between people and is possible only in a group in which people communicate. (An organizational structure that unites people living at the same time is called synchronous, and we will further use this concept when defining a number of aspects of the phenomenon that interests us).

Consequently, culture has, firstly, a communication and, secondly, a symbolic nature. Let's focus on this last one. Let's think about something as simple and familiar as bread. Bread is material and visible. It has weight, shape, it can be cut and eaten. Bread eaten comes into physiological contact with a person. In this function of it, one cannot ask about it: what does it mean? It has a use, not a meaning. But when we say: “Give us this day our daily bread,” – the word “bread” does not just mean bread as a thing, but has a broader meaning: “food necessary for life.” And when in the Gospel of John we read the words of Christ: “I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger” (John 6:35), then before us – complex symbolic meaning of both the object itself and the word denoting it.

The sword is also nothing more than an object. As a thing, it can be forged or broken, it can be placed in a museum display case, and it can kill a person. This is all – using it as an object, but when, attached to a belt or supported by a baldric placed on the hip, the sword symbolizes a free person and is a “sign of freedom”, it already appears as a symbol and belongs to culture.

In the 18th century, Russian and European noblemen do not carry a sword – hanging on his side is a sword (sometimes a tiny, almost toy ceremonial sword, which is practically not a weapon). In this case the sword – symbol symbol: it means a sword, and a sword means belonging to a privileged class.

Sword as a weapon, sword as part of clothing, sword as a symbol, sign of nobility – all these are different functions of an object in the general context of culture.

In its various incarnations, a symbol can simultaneously be a weapon suitable for direct practical use, or be completely separated from its immediate function. So, for example, a small sword specially designed for parades excluded practical use, in fact it was an image of a weapon, not a weapon. The parade sphere was separated from the battle sphere by emotions, body language and functions. Let us remember the words of Chatsky: “I will go to death as to a parade.” At the same time, in Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” we meet in the description of the battle an officer leading his soldiers into battle with a ceremonial (that is, useless) sword in his hands. The bipolar situation itself “battle” – the game of combat" created a complex relationship between weapons as symbols and weapons as reality. Thus, the sword (sword) becomes woven into the system of symbolic language of the era and becomes a fact of its culture.

We used the expression “centuries-old building of culture.” It is not accidental. We talked about the synchronous organization of culture. But we must immediately emphasize that culture always implies the preservation of previous experience. Moreover, one of the most important definitions of culture characterizes it as the “non-genetic” memory of the collective. Culture is memory. Therefore, it is always connected with history and always implies the continuity of the moral, intellectual, spiritual life of a person, society and humanity. And therefore, when we talk about our modern culture, we, perhaps without knowing it, are also talking about the enormous path that this culture has traveled. This path goes back thousands of years, crosses the boundaries of historical eras, national cultures and immerses us in one culture – culture of humanity.

Therefore, culture is always, on the one hand, – a certain number of inherited texts, and on the other hand – inherited characters.

Symbols of a culture rarely appear in its synchronic cross-section. As a rule, they come from time immemorial and, modifying their meaning (but without losing the memory of their previous meanings), are transmitted to future states of culture. Such simple symbols as a circle, cross, triangle, wavy line, more complex ones: hand, eye, house – and even more complex ones (for example, rituals) accompany humanity throughout its millennia-old culture.

Therefore, culture is historical in nature. Its present itself always exists in relation to the past (real or constructed in the order of some mythology) and to forecasts of the future. These historical connections of culture are called diachronic. As we see, culture is eternal and universal, but at the same time it is always mobile and changeable. This is the difficulty of understanding the past (after all, it is gone, moved away from us). But this is the need to understand a bygone culture: it always contains what we need now, today.

A person changes, and to imagine the logic of the actions of a literary hero or people of the past – but we look up to them, and they somehow maintain our connection with the past, – one must imagine how they lived, what kind of world surrounded them, what their general ideas and moral ideas, their official duties, customs, clothing, why they acted this way and not otherwise. This will be the topic of the proposed conversations.

Having thus determined the aspects of culture that interest us, we have the right, however, to ask the question: does not the expression “culture and life” itself contain a contradiction, do these phenomena lie on different planes? Really, what is everyday life? Life – this is the usual course of life in its real-practical forms; everyday life – these are the things that surround us, our habits and everyday behavior. Everyday life surrounds us like air, and like air, it is noticeable to us only when it is missing or deteriorates. We notice the features of someone else’s life, but our own life is elusive to us – we are inclined to consider it “just life,” the natural norm of practical existence. So, everyday life is always in the sphere of practice; it is the world of things, first of all. How can he come into contact with the world of symbols and signs that make up the space of culture?

Turning to the history of everyday life, we easily distinguish in it deep forms, the connection of which with ideas, with the intellectual, moral, spiritual development of the era is self-evident. Thus, ideas about noble honor or court etiquette, although they belong to the history of everyday life, are inseparable from the history of ideas. But what about such seemingly external features of time as fashions, customs of everyday life, details of practical behavior and objects in which it is embodied? Is it really important for us to know what they looked like? "Lepage fatal trunks" from which Onegin killed Lensky, or – wider – imagine the objective world of Onegin?

However, the two types of household details and phenomena identified above are closely related. The world of ideas is inseparable from the world of people, and ideas – from everyday reality. Alexander Blok wrote:

Accidentally on a pocket knife

Find a speck of dust from distant lands –

And the world will appear strange again...

“Specks of dust from distant lands” of history are reflected in the texts that have been preserved for us – including in “texts in everyday language.” By recognizing them and being imbued with them, we comprehend the living past. From here – the method of offering the reader “Conversations about Russian culture” – to see history in the mirror of everyday life, and to illuminate small, sometimes seemingly scattered everyday details with the light of major historical events.

In what ways Is there an interpenetration of life and culture? For objects or customs of “ideologized life” this is self-evident: the language of court etiquette, for example, is impossible without real things, gestures, etc., in which it is embodied and which belong to everyday life. But how are those endless objects of everyday life that were mentioned above connected with culture, with the ideas of the era?

Our doubts will be dispelled if we remember that All The things around us are included not only in practice in general, but also in social practice, they become, as it were, clots of relations between people and in this function they are capable of acquiring a symbolic character.

In Pushkin’s “The Miserly Knight,” Albert waits for the moment when his father’s treasures pass into his hands in order to give them “true,” that is, practical use. But the baron himself is content with symbolic possession, because gold is for him – not yellow circles for which you can buy certain things, but a symbol of sovereignty. Makar Devushkin in Dostoevsky’s “Poor People” invents a special gait so that his holey soles are not visible. Leaky sole – real object; as a thing, it can cause trouble to the owner of the boots: wet feet, colds. But to an outside observer, a torn sole – This sign, the content of which is Poverty, and Poverty – one of the defining symbols of St. Petersburg culture. And Dostoevsky’s hero accepts the “view of culture”: he suffers not because he is cold, but because he is ashamed. It's a shame – one of the most powerful psychological levers of culture. So, everyday life, in its symbolic sense, is part of culture.

But there is another side to this question. A thing does not exist separately, as something isolated in the context of its time. Things are connected. In some cases, we mean a functional connection and then we talk about “unity of style.” The unity of style is the belonging, for example, of furniture, to a single artistic and cultural layer, a “common language” that allows things to “speak to each other.” When you walk into a ridiculously furnished room filled with items of all different styles, you feel as if you are in a market where everyone is shouting and no one is listening to anyone else. But there may be another connection. For example, you say: “These are my grandmother’s things.” Thus, you establish a certain intimate connection between objects, due to the memory of a person dear to you, of his long-gone time, of his childhood. It is no coincidence that there is a custom of giving things as a keepsake. – things have memory. These are like words and notes that the past conveys to the future.

On the other hand, things powerfully dictate the gestures, style of behavior and, ultimately, the psychological attitude of their owners. So, for example, since women began to wear trousers, their gait has changed, it has become more sporty, more “masculine”. At the same time, there was an invasion of typically “male” gestures into female behavior (for example, the habit of crossing one’s legs high when sitting – the gesture is not only masculine, but also “American”; in Europe it was traditionally considered a sign of indecent swagger). An attentive observer may notice that the previously sharply different manners of laughter between men and women have now lost their distinction, and precisely because women in the mass have adopted the masculine manner of laughter.

Things impose a behavior on us because they create a certain cultural context around them. After all, you need to be able to hold an ax, a shovel, a dueling pistol, a modern machine gun, a fan or the steering wheel of a car in your hands. In the old days they said: “He knows how (or does not know how) to wear a tailcoat.” It’s not enough to have your tailcoat sewn by the best tailor – To do this, it is enough to have money. You must also be able to wear it, and this, as the hero of Bulwer-Lytton’s novel “Pelham, or a Gentleman’s Adventure” reasoned, – a whole art that is given only to a true dandy. Anyone who has held both a modern weapon and an old dueling pistol in his hand cannot help but be amazed at how well, how smoothly the latter fits in the hand. You can't feel its heaviness – it becomes, as it were, an extension of the body. The fact is that ancient household items were made by hand, their shape was perfected over decades, and sometimes centuries, the secrets of production were passed on from master to master. This not only produced the most convenient form, but also inevitably turned the thing into the history of a thing in memory of the gestures associated with it. The thing, on the one hand, gave the human body new capabilities, and on the other – included a person in tradition, that is, both developed and limited his individuality.

However, everyday life – This is not only the life of things, it is also customs, the entire ritual of daily behavior, the structure of life that determines the daily routine, the time of various activities, the nature of work and leisure, forms of recreation, games, love ritual and funeral ritual. The connection between this aspect of everyday life and culture requires no explanation. After all, it is in it that those features are revealed by which we usually recognize our own and the stranger, a person of a particular era, an Englishman or a Spaniard.

Custom has another function. Not all laws of behavior are recorded in writing. Writing dominates in the legal, religious, and ethical spheres. However, in human life there is a vast area of customs and decency. “There is a way of thinking and feeling, there is a darkness of customs, beliefs and habits that belong exclusively to some people.” These norms belong to culture, they are enshrined in forms of everyday behavior, everything that is said about: “this is customary, this is decent.” These norms are transmitted through everyday life and are closely related to the sphere of folk poetry. They become part of the cultural memory.

Questions to the text:

1. How does Y. Lotman define the meaning of the concepts “life” and “culture”?

2. What, from the point of view of Y. Lotman, is the symbolic nature of culture?

3. How does the interpenetration of life and culture occur?

4. Prove using examples from modern life that the things around us are included in social practice, and in this function they acquire a symbolic character.

Microhistory