Dostoevsky is the black pearl of Russian literature. Russia needs literature worthy of Pushkin and Dostoevsky

AMONG THE PETRASHEVTS. CATASTROPHE. SIBERIA

A. P. MILYUKOV

Alexander Petrovich Milyukov (1817-1897) - writer, teacher, literary historian, critic. He was involved in the Petrashevite society, attended Durov's circle, was fond of the ideas of Fourierism, translated into Church Slavonic a chapter from "Parole d" un croyant" ("The Word of the Believer") by Lamennay. He became famous for the book "Essays on the History of Russian Poetry" (1848), in which Belinsky's literary views were reflected. In connection with the second edition of this book (1858), N. A. Dobrolyubov wrote one of his remarkable articles: “On the degree of participation of the people in the development of Russian literature.” Together with V. Kostomarov, Milyukov worked on the publication "History of Literature of the Ancient and New World" (1862). In 1874, his "Pearls of Russian Poetry" was published, a year later - "Echoes on Literary and Social Phenomena". In 1890, his book "Literary Meetings and Acquaintances" appeared, from which and the memoirs about Dostoevsky printed here are taken.

A close acquaintance with Dostoevsky - Miliukov willingly emphasizes his friendly relations with him - should be attributed to 1848, when the name of Miliukov, thanks to “Essays on the History of Russian Poetry,” became more or less famous. He met with Durov with Palm, Pleshcheev, Filippov and Mombelli, who soon suffered cruelly for their beliefs. Miliukov himself was not even brought to trial.

Upon Dostoevsky's return from Siberia (at the very end of 1859), their former friendly relations were resumed and remained so almost until the writer left abroad (in April 1867). This is evidenced by the tone and content of Dostoevsky’s letters to Miliukov dated September 10, 1860, January 7, 1863, and especially a large detailed letter dated the tenth of July 1866: about the ordeal in connection with the novel “Crime and Punishment,” which was censored by the editors.” Russian Messenger" (see Letters, I, 299, 313, 442-444). And yet there was nothing more than close friendship between them in the sense, perhaps, only of everyday life, without real spiritual closeness. Dostoevsky sometimes even treated Miliukov somewhat ironically: in “Memoirs” of A. G. Dostoevskaya, F. M.’s words are quoted about one newspaper article: “due to the vulgar tone of the story, the matter could not have happened without A. P. Miliukov.” (Memoirs of Dostoevskaya, p. 78). During his period abroad (1867-1871), Dostoevsky did not write a single letter to Miliukov and spoke harshly about him several times because of Miliukov’s poor attitude towards his daughters. For example, on October 23, 1867, he wrote to A.G. Dostoevskaya: “I have already heard about Miliukov for a long time. What poor children and what a funny man! Funny and bad.” (Letters, II, 53-54; see also “Diary” of A. G. Dostoevskaya, M. 1923, p. 107).

All this must be kept in mind when assessing Miliukov’s memoirs from the point of view of their reliability. They should be treated especially critically where we are talking about Dostoevsky’s socio-political views during his stay in the Petrashevsky society. Consciously or unconsciously, Miliukov distorts the truth also because he wrote his memoirs more than forty years after the era he described; in his memory, during this long time, much of the distant past managed to fade and become distorted under the influence of the ferocious government and public reaction of the 1980s. s of the last century.

FEDOR MIKHAILOVICH DOSTOEVSKY

<...>I met F. M. Dostoevsky in the winter of 1848. It was a difficult time for the educated youth of that time. From the first days of the Parisian February Revolution, the most unexpected events replaced one another in Europe. The unprecedented reforms of Pius IX (1) responded with uprisings in Milan, Venice, and Naples; the explosion of free ideas in Germany sparked revolutions in Berlin and Vienna. It seemed that some kind of general rebirth of the entire European world was being prepared. The rotten foundations of the old reaction were falling away, and a new life was beginning throughout Europe. But at the same time, severe stagnation reigned in Russia (2); science and the press became more and more constrained, and the suppressed social life showed no activity. A lot of liberal works, both scientific and purely literary, were smuggled from abroad; in French and German newspapers, despite their castration, there were incessantly stimulating articles; Meanwhile, in our country, more than ever, scientific and literary activity was constrained, and the censorship became infected with the most acute fear of books. It is understandable how irritating all this had an effect on young people who, on the one hand, from books that came from abroad, became acquainted not only with liberal ideas, but also with the most extreme programs of socialism, and on the other hand, they saw in us the persecution of every little thing. a little bit of free thought; read the burning speeches delivered in the French Chamber, at the Frankfurt Congress (3), and at the same time understood that one could easily suffer for some unauthorized writing, even for a careless word. Almost every foreign post brought news of new rights granted, willy-nilly, to the people, and yet in Russian society there were only rumors about new restrictions and restrictions. Anyone who remembers that time knows how all this resonated in the minds of intelligent youth.

One day Pechkin came to me in the morning and, among other things, asked if I would like to meet the young aspiring poet, A. N. Pleshcheev. Before that, I had just read a small book of his poems, and I liked in it, on the one hand, the genuine feeling and simplicity, and on the other, the freshness and youthful ardor of thought. The small plays especially attracted our attention: “To the Poet” and “Forward” (4). And could it be possible, according to the mood of the youth at that time, not to be captivated by such stanzas as, for example:

Forward! without fear and doubt
A valiant feat, friends!
Dawn of Holy Redemption
I saw it in the sky.
Be brave! let's give each other hands
And together we will move forward,
And let under the banner of science
Our union is growing stronger and stronger!

Of course, I answered Pechkin that I was very glad to meet the young poet. And we soon got along. Pleshcheev began visiting me, and after a while he invited me to his place for a friendly evening, saying that I would find several good people with him whom he would like to introduce me to.

And indeed, at this evening I met people whose memory will forever remain dear to me. Among others there were: Porfiry Ivanovich Lamansky, Sergei Fedorovich Durov, guards officers - Nikolai Alexandrovich Mombelli and Alexander Ivanovich Palm - and the Dostoevsky brothers, Mikhail Mikhailovich and Fyodor Mikhailovich (5). All these young people were very nice to me. I especially got along with Dostoevsky and Mombelli. The latter lived then in the Moscow barracks, and he also had a circle of young people. There I met several more new faces and learned that in St. Petersburg there is a larger circle of M. V. Butashevich-Petrashevsky, where speeches of a political and social nature are read at fairly crowded gatherings. I don’t remember who exactly invited me to get acquainted with this house, but I rejected it not out of fear or indifference, but because Petrashevsky himself, whom I had met shortly before, did not seem very attractive to me due to the sharp paradoxical nature of his views and coldness towards him. everything Russian (6).

I reacted differently to the proposal to get closer to S.F. Durov’s small circle, which consisted, as I learned, of people who visited Petrashevsky, but did not completely agree with his opinions. It was a group of more moderate youth (7). Durov then lived with Palm and Alexei Dmitrievich Shchelkov on Gorokhovaya Street, behind the Semenovsky Bridge. In their small apartment, an organized circle of young military and civil servants had been gathering for some time, and since the owners were not rich people, and yet the guests came every week and usually stayed until three in the morning, everyone made a monthly contribution for tea and dinner and for payment a rented piano. They usually met on Fridays. I joined this circle in the middle of winter and visited it regularly until the end of the evenings after the arrest of Petrashevsky and those visiting him. Here, in addition to those whom I met at Pleshcheev and Mombelli, Nikolai Aleksandrovich Speshnev and Pavel Nikolaevich Filippov, both very educated and nice people, were constantly visiting.

I know about Petrashevsky’s meetings only from rumors. As for Durov’s circle, which I visited constantly and considered as if it were my friendly family, I can say positively that there were no purely revolutionary plans in it, and these gatherings, which had not only a written charter, but also no specific program, in which case it could not be called a secret society. In the circle, books with revolutionary and social content that were not allowed at that time were only received and passed on to each other, and conversations were mostly directed at issues that could not be discussed openly at that time. What occupied us most was the question of the liberation of the peasants, and at evenings we constantly discussed how and when it could be resolved. Others expressed the opinion that in view of the reaction caused in our country by the revolutions in Europe, the government is unlikely to begin to resolve this matter and we should rather expect a movement from below than from above. Others, on the contrary, said that our people would not follow in the footsteps of European revolutionaries and, not believing in the new Pugachevism, would patiently wait for the decision of their fate from the supreme power. In this sense, F. M. Dostoevsky spoke out with particular persistence. I remember how once, with his usual energy, he read Pushkin’s poem “Solitude” (8). Now I can hear the enthusiastic voice in which he read the final verse:

May I see, oh friends, a people not oppressed
And slavery fell due to the king’s mania,
And over the fatherland of enlightened freedom
Will the beautiful dawn finally rise?

When someone expressed doubt about the possibility of liberating the peasants through legal means, F. M. Dostoevsky sharply objected that he did not believe in any other way.

Another subject that was also often discussed in our circle was the censorship of that time. It is necessary to remember to what extremes censorship restrictions reached at that time, what stories circulated in society on this subject, and how writers then managed to carry out some bold thought under the veil of chaste modesty, in order to imagine in what sense the youth in our circle spoke out, passionately loved literature. This is all the more understandable because among us there were not only aspiring writers, but also those who had already attracted the attention of the public, and F. M. Dostoevsky’s novel “Poor People” promised great talent in the author. Of course, the question of abolishing censorship did not find a single opponent among us.

The talk about literature took place mostly in connection with some remarkable articles in the magazines of that time, and especially those that corresponded to the direction of the circle. But the conversation also turned to old writers, and harsh and sometimes rather one-sided and unfair opinions were expressed. Once, I remember, the conversation turned to Derzhavin, and someone said that he saw in him more of a pompous rhetorician and a groveling panegyrist than the great poet that his contemporaries and school pedants called him. At this, F. M. Dostoevsky jumped up as if stung and shouted:

How? But didn’t Derzhavin have poetic, inspired impulses? Isn't this high poetry?

And he recited the poem “To Rulers and Judges” from memory with such force, with such an enthusiastic feeling that he captivated everyone with his recitation and, without any comment, raised the singer Felitsa in the general opinion (9). Another time he read several poems by Pushkin and Victor Hugo, similar in basic thought or paintings, and at the same time masterfully proved how superior our poet is as an artist.

There were several ardent socialists in Durov's circle. Carried away by the humane utopias of European reformers, they saw in their teaching the beginning of a new religion, supposedly supposed to recreate humanity and organize society on new social principles. Everything that was new on this subject in French literature was constantly received, distributed and discussed at our meetings. Discussions about Robert Owen's New Lanark and Cabet's Icarium, and especially about Fourier's phalanstery and Proudhon's theory of progressive taxation, sometimes occupied a significant part of the evening. We all studied these socialists, but not everyone believed in the possibility of the practical implementation of their plans. Among the latter was F. M. Dostoevsky. He read social writers, but was critical of them. Agreeing that their teachings were based on a noble goal, he, however, considered them only honest dreamers. In particular, he insisted that all these theories do not matter to us, that we must look for sources for the development of Russian society not in the teachings of Western socialists, but in the life and centuries-old historical system of our people, where in the community, artel and mutual responsibility There have long been foundations that are stronger and more normal than all the dreams of Saint-Simon and his school. He said that life in the Icarian commune or phalanstery seemed to him more terrible and disgusting than any hard labor. Of course, our stubborn preachers of socialism did not agree with him.

We were no less occupied by conversations about the legislative and administrative news of that time, and it is clear that harsh judgments were expressed, sometimes based on inaccurate rumors or not entirely reliable stories and anecdotes. And this at that time was natural among young people, on the one hand, outraged by the spectacle of the arbitrariness of our administration, the constraint of science and literature, and on the other hand, excited by the grandiose events that took place in Europe, giving rise to hopes for a better, freer and more active life. In this regard, F. M. Dostoevsky spoke out with no less harshness and passion than other members of our circle. I can’t now quote his speeches with accuracy, but I remember well that he always energetically spoke against measures that could somehow constrain the people, and was especially outraged by his abuses, from which the lower classes and student youth suffered. In his judgments the author of “Poor People” was constantly heard, warmly sympathizing with man in his most humiliated state. When, at the suggestion of one of the members of our circle, it was decided to write accusatory articles and read them at our evenings, F. M. Dostoevsky approved this idea and promised to work on his part, but, as far as I know, he did not have time to prepare anything for this kind. He disapproved of the very first article written by one of the officers, which told a then-famous anecdote in the city, and condemned both its content and the weakness of the literary form. For my part, at one of our evenings I read a chapter from “Parole d” un croyant” (“The Word of the Believer”) that I translated into Church Slavonic (French).) Lamennay, and F. M. Dostoevsky told me that the harsh biblical speech of this work came out more expressively in my translation than in the original. Of course, he meant only the very property of language, but his review was very pleasant for me. Unfortunately, I do not have the manuscript. In the last weeks of the existence of Durov’s circle, an idea arose to lithograph and disseminate as much as possible in this way articles that would be approved by general agreement, but this idea was not carried out, since soon most of our friends, namely everyone who attended Petrashevsky’s evenings, were arrested.

Shortly before the closure of the circle, one of our members went to Moscow and brought from there a copy of Belinsky’s famous letter to Gogol, written about his “Correspondence with Friends.” F. M. Dostoevsky read this letter at the evening and then, as he himself said, read it in various familiar houses and gave copies from it (10). Subsequently, this served as one of the main motives for his accusation and exile. This letter, which nowadays is unlikely to captivate anyone with its one-sided paradoxical nature, made a strong impression at that time. Many of our acquaintances had it on their lists together with a humorous article by A. Herzen, also brought from Moscow, in which both our capitals were wittily and maliciously compared (11). Probably, during the arrest of the Petrashevites, many copies of these works were taken and transferred to the Third Department. S. F. Durov often read his poems, and I remember with what pleasure we listened to his translation of Barbier’s famous play “Kiaya,” in which several poems were destroyed by censorship. In addition to conversations and reading, we also had music in the evenings. Our last evening concluded with one gifted pianist, Kashevsky, playing the overture from Rossini’s “William Tell” on the piano.

On the twenty-third of April 1849, returning home from a lecture, I found M. M. Dostoevsky at my place, who had been waiting for me for a long time. At first glance I noticed that he was very worried.

What's wrong with you? - I asked.

Don't you know it! - he said,

What's happened?

Brother Fedor was arrested.

What are you saying! When?

Last night... there was a search... he was taken away... the apartment was sealed...

What about others?

Petrashevsky, Speshnev were taken... I don’t know who else. I don’t know either today, they’ll take me away tomorrow.

Why do you think this?

Brother Andrey was arrested... he doesn’t know anything, he’s never been with us... he was taken By mistake instead of me.

We agreed to go right away to find out which other of our friends had been arrested, and to see each other again in the evening. First of all, I went to S. F. Durov’s apartment: it was locked and government seals were visible on the doors. I found the same thing with N.A. Mombelli, in the Moscow barracks, and on Vasilievsky Island - with P.N. Filippov. To my questions to the orderly and janitors they answered me: “The gentlemen were taken away at night.” The orderly Mombelli, who knew me, said this with tears in his eyes. In the evening I went to see M. M. Dostoevsky, and we exchanged the information we had collected. He visited other mutual friends of ours and learned that most of them were arrested last night. From what we learned, we could conclude that only those who attended Petrashevsky’s gatherings were detained, while those who belonged to one of Durov’s circles remained at large. It was clear that they did not yet know about this circle, and if Durov, Palm and Shchelkov were arrested, it was not because of their evenings, but only because of their acquaintance with Petrashevsky. M. M. Dostoevsky also visited him and, obviously, was not taken only because his brother, Andrei Mikhailovich, was mistakenly detained instead of him. Thus, the sword of Damocles hung over him, and for two whole weeks he waited every night for the inevitable guests. All this time we saw each other every day and exchanged news, although we could not find out anything significant. In addition to the rumors that circulated in the city and presented the Petrashevsky case with the usual additions in such cases, we only learned that about thirty people were arrested and all of them were first brought to the Third Department, and from there they were transported to the Peter and Paul Fortress and were sitting in solitary casemates. Petrashevsky’s circle, as it now turned out, had been under surveillance for a long time, and in the evenings a young man was introduced to it from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, who pretended to sympathize with the ideas of liberal youth, carefully attended gatherings, himself incited others to radical conversations and then wrote down everything, what was said at the evenings, and passed it on to where it should go. M. M. Dostoevsky told me that he had long seemed suspicious to him. It soon became known that a special investigative commission was appointed to investigate the Petrashevsky case, chaired by the commandant of the fortress, General Nabokov, from Prince Dolgorukov, L.V. Dubelt, Prince P.P. Gagarin and Ya.I. Rostovtsev.

Two weeks passed, and then one day early in the morning they sent me a message that M. M. Dostoevsky had been arrested the previous night (12). His wife and children were left without any means, since he did not serve anywhere, had no fortune, and lived solely on literary works for Otechestvennye Zapiski, where he wrote the monthly Internal Review and published short stories. With his arrest, the family found themselves in an extremely difficult situation, and only A. A. Kraevsky helped him survive this unfortunate time. I was not especially afraid for M. M. Dostoevsky, knowing his modesty and restraint; although he visited Petrashevsky, he did not sympathize with the majority of his guests and often expressed to me his lack of sympathy for the harshness that more extreme and careless people allowed themselves there. As far as I knew, no seriously dangerous statements could be made against him, and besides, recently he had almost completely fallen behind the circle. Therefore, I hoped that his arrest would not be long, and I was not mistaken.

At the end of May (1849) I rented a small summer apartment in Koltovskaya, not far from Krestovsky Island, and took M. M. Dostoevsky’s eldest son, who was then, if I’m not mistaken, seven years old, to stay with me. His mother visited him every week. One day, it seems in the middle of July, I was sitting in our kindergarten, and suddenly little Fedya runs towards me shouting: “Dad, dad has arrived!” In fact, that morning my friend was released, and he hurried to see his son and see me. It’s clear with what joy we hugged after a two-month separation. In the evening we went to the islands, and he told me details about his arrest and detention in the dungeon, about the interrogations at the investigative commission and the testimony he gave. He also told me that it was precisely from the question points given to him that related to Fyodor Mikhailovich. We concluded that although he is accused only of liberal conversations, censure of some high-ranking officials and dissemination of prohibited works and the fatal letter of Belinsky, but if they want to give serious significance to the case, which was very likely at that time, then the outcome could be sad. True, several of those arrested in April were gradually released, but disappointing rumors circulated about others. They said that many could not escape exile.

The summer dragged on sadly. Some of my close friends were in the fortress, others lived in dachas, some in Pargolovo, some in Tsarskoye Selo. I occasionally saw I. I. Vvedensky and every week with M. M. Dostoevsky. At the end of August, I moved back to the city, and we began to visit each other even more often. The news about our friends was very uncertain: we only knew that they were healthy, but that it was unlikely that any of them would be released. The investigative commission finished its meetings, and it was necessary to wait for the final decision of the case. But this was still a long way off. Autumn passed, winter dragged on, and only before Christmas time was the fate of the condemned decided. To our extreme surprise and horror, everyone was sentenced to death by firing squad. But, as you know, this sentence was not carried out. On the day of execution, on the Semyonovsky parade ground, on the scaffold itself, where all the condemned were brought, a new decision was read to them, according to which they were given life, with the death penalty replaced by other punishments. According to this sentence, F. M. Dostoevsky was assigned to exile to hard labor for four years, with his enrollment, at the end of this period, as a private in one of the Siberian linear battalions. All this happened so quickly and unexpectedly that neither I nor his brother were on the Semenovsky parade ground and learned about the fate of our friends when everything was already over and they were again transported to the Peter and Paul Fortress, except for M.V. Petrashevsky, who was right with the scaffold was sent to Siberia.

The convicts were taken from the fortress to exile in batches of two and three people. If I’m not mistaken, on the third day after the execution on Semenovskaya Square, M. M. Dostoevsky came to me and said that his brother was being sent away that same evening and he was going to say goodbye to him. I also wanted to say goodbye to someone whom I would not have to see for a long time, and maybe never. We went to the fortress, straight to the parade ground major M, already known to us<айдел>Yu, through whom they hoped to obtain permission to meet. He was a highly benevolent person. He confirmed that Dostoevsky and Durov were indeed being sent to Omsk that evening, but it was impossible to see those leaving, except for close relatives, without the permission of the commandant. This upset me very much at first, but knowing the kind heart and condescension of General Nabokov, I decided to turn to him personally for permission to say goodbye to my friends. And I was not mistaken in my hope: the commandant allowed me to see F. M. Dostoevsky and Durov.

We were taken to some large room on the lower floor of the commandant's house. It had already been evening for a long time, and it was illuminated by one lamp. We waited for quite a long time, so that the fortress chimes managed to play a quarter twice on their multi-tone bells. But then the door opened, rifle butts rattled behind it, and F. M. Dostoevsky and S. F. Durov entered, accompanied by an officer. We shook each other's hands warmly. Despite their eight-month confinement in the dungeons, they hardly changed: the same serious calm on the face of one, the same friendly smile on the other. Both were already dressed in prisoner's travel clothes - short fur coats and felt boots. The serf officer modestly sat on a chair, not far from the entrance, and did not embarrass us at all. Fyodor Mikhailovich first of all expressed his joy to his brother that he had not suffered along with the others, and with warm concern asked him about the family, about the children, and went into the smallest details about their health and activities. He addressed this several times during our date. When asked about what life was like in the fortress, Dostoevsky and Durov spoke with particular warmth about the commandant, who constantly took care of them and eased their situation as best he could. Neither one nor the other expressed the slightest complaint about the severity of the trial or the severity of the sentence. The prospect of a life of hard labor did not frighten them, and, of course, at that time they did not foresee how it would affect their health.<...>

Looking at the farewell of the Dostoevsky brothers, anyone would have noticed that the one who suffers more is the one who remains free in St. Petersburg, and not the one who now has to go to Siberia for hard labor. There were tears in the eyes of the elder brother, his lips trembled, and Fyodor Mikhailovich was calm and consoled him.

Stop it, brother,” he said, “you know me, I’m not going to the coffin, you’re not seeing me off to the grave, and in hard labor it’s not animals, but people, maybe even better than me, maybe more worthy of me... Yes, we will see each other again, I hope so - I don’t even doubt that we will see each other... And you write, yes, when I get settled in, send me books, I’ll write what ones; after all, it will be possible to read... And when I get out of hard labor, I’ll start writing. During these months I have experienced a lot, I have experienced a lot within myself, and what I will see and experience ahead will be something to write about...<...>

Our date lasted more than half an hour, but it seemed very short to us, although we talked a lot, a lot. The bells on the fortress clock were ringing sadly when the parade major entered and said that it was time for us to part. We hugged and shook hands for the last time. I had no presentiment then that I would never meet Durov again, and that I would see F. M. Dostoevsky only eight years later. We thanked M<айдел>I am for his leniency, but he told us that our friends would be taken in an hour or even earlier. They were led through the courtyard with an officer and two guard soldiers. We hesitated for some time in the fortress, then went out and stopped at the gate from where the convicts were supposed to leave. The night was not cold and bright. On the fortress bell tower, the chimes struck nine o'clock when two Yamsk sleighs drove out, and on each sat a prisoner with a gendarme.

Farewell! - we shouted.

Goodbye! Goodbye! - they answered us.

Now I will give F. M. Dostoevsky’s own story about his arrest. He wrote it upon his return from exile in my daughter’s album in 1860. Here is the story, word for word, as written:

“On the twenty-second, or, better to say, the twenty-third of April (1849), I returned home at about four o’clock from Grigoriev’s, went to bed and immediately fell asleep. No more than an hour later, in my sleep, I noticed that some people had entered my room. then suspicious and unusual people. A saber clanked, accidentally hitting something. What kind of strangeness is that? With an effort, I open my eyes and hear a soft, sympathetic voice: “Get up!”

(I look: a quarterly or private police officer, with beautiful sideburns. But it was not he who spoke; it was a gentleman dressed in blue, with lieutenant colonel’s epaulettes, who spoke.

What's happened? - I asked, getting up from the bed.

By order...

I look: indeed, “by command.” There was a soldier standing in the doorway, also blue. It was his saber that rang...

"Ege? Yes, that's what it is!" - I thought. “Let me...,” I began.

Nothing, nothing! get dressed. We’ll wait, sir,” added the lieutenant colonel in an even more sympathetic voice.

While I was getting dressed, they demanded all the books and began to rummage; We didn’t find much, but we dug through everything. My papers and letters were carefully tied with string. The bailiff showed a lot of foresight in this: he reached into the stove and rummaged with my chibouk in the old ash. The gendarmerie non-commissioned officer, at his invitation, stood on a chair and climbed onto the stove, but fell off the ledge and fell loudly onto the chair, and then with the chair onto the floor. Then the perspicacious gentlemen were convinced that there was nothing on the stove.

On the table lay a five-alty note, old and bent. The bailiff looked at him carefully and finally nodded to the lieutenant colonel.

Isn't it fake? - I asked.

Hm... This, however, needs to be investigated... - muttered the bailiff and ended up adding him to the case.

We went out. We were escorted by the frightened hostess and her man, Ivan, although very frightened, he looked with a kind of dull solemnity, befitting the event, however, not a festive solemnity. There was a carriage at the entrance; The soldier, myself, the bailiff and the lieutenant colonel got into the carriage; we went to the Fontanka, to the Chain Bridge near the Summer Garden.

There was a lot of walking and people there. I met many people I knew. Everyone was sleepy and silent. Some gentleman, but in high rank, received... gay gentlemen continuously entered with various victims.

Here's to you, grandma, and St. George's Day! - someone said in my ear.

Little by little we surrounded the civil gentleman with a list in his hands. On the list, before the name of Mr. Antonelli, it was written in pencil: “agent for the found case.”

So this is Antonelli! - we thought.

We were placed in different corners awaiting the final decision on where to put whom. About seventeen of us gathered in the so-called white hall...

Leonty Vasilyevich entered... (Dubelt).

But here I interrupt my story. It's a long story. But I assure you that Leonty Vasilyevich was a pleasant person.

F. Dostoevsky

<...>How painful it was<...>one thought that he would have to leave literary pursuits for a long time is evident from Dostoevsky’s letter to his brother from the Peter and Paul Fortress, written on December 22, upon his return from the scaffold. Speaking about the upcoming hard labor, he writes: “It’s better to spend fifteen years in a dungeon with a pen in hand,” and at the same time adds: “That head that created, lived the highest life of art, that got used to the sublime needs of the spirit, that head has already been cut off from my shoulders."

Durov could not stand the severity of prison life.

F. M. Dostoevsky, thanks to his energy and the faith in a better fate that never left him, more happily endured the ordeal of hard labor, although it also affected his health. If before his exile he had, as they say, fits of epilepsy, then, without a doubt, they were weak and rare. At least, until his return from Siberia, I did not suspect this; but when he arrived in St. Petersburg, his illness was no longer a secret to any of the people close to him. He once said that Durov’s health had especially deteriorated since the fall when they were sent to dismantle an old barge on the river, and some of the prisoners stood knee-deep in water. Perhaps this had an effect on his health and accelerated the development of the disease to the extent to which it was later discovered.

At first, after his pardon, Dostoevsky was allowed to live only in the provinces, and he settled in Tver to be closer to his relatives, some of whom lived in St. Petersburg, and others in Moscow. His brother received a letter from him and immediately went to see him. At this time, Fyodor Mikhailovich was already a family man: he married in Siberia, the widow Marya Dmitrievna Isaeva, who died of consumption, if I’m not mistaken, in 1863. He had no children from this marriage, but his stepson remained in his care. Dostoevsky lived in Tver for several months. He was preparing to resume his literary activity, interrupted by hard labor, and read a lot. We sent him magazines and books. By the way, at his request, I sent him the “Psalter” in Slavic, the “Koran” in the French translation of Kazimirsky and “Les romans de Voltaire” (Voltaire’s Novels (French).). He later said that he was planning some kind of philosophical work, but after careful discussion he abandoned this idea.

At this time, M. M. Dostoevsky had his own tobacco factory, and business was not going badly: his cigarettes with surprises were sold all over Russia. But factory work did not distract him from literature. By the way, at my request, he translated Victor Hugo's novel "Le dernier jour d" un condamne" ("The Last Day of a Man Condemned to Death" (French).) for the magazine "Svetoch", which I then edited together with the publisher, D. I. Kalinovsky. One day Mikhail Mikhailovich came to me in the morning with the good news that his brother was allowed to live in St. Petersburg and he should arrive that same day. We hurried to the Nikolaevskaya railway station, and there I finally hugged our exile after almost ten years of separation. We spent the evening together. Fyodor Mikhailovich, it seemed to me, had not changed physically: he even seemed to look more cheerful than before and had not lost any of his usual energy. I don’t remember which of our mutual acquaintances was at this evening, but I remember that on this first date we only exchanged news and impressions, reminisced about old years and our mutual friends. After that we saw each other almost every week. Our conversations in our new small circle of friends were in many ways no longer similar to those that took place in Durov’s society. And could it have been otherwise? Western Europe and Russia seemed to have changed roles in these ten years: there the humane utopias that had previously captivated us scattered into dust, and reaction triumphed in everything, but here many things that we dreamed of began to come true, and reforms were being prepared that would renew Russian life and give rise to new ones. hope. It is clear that in our conversations there was no longer the same pessimism.

Little by little, Fyodor Mikhailovich began to tell details about his life in Siberia and the morals of those outcasts with whom he had to live for four years in a convict prison. Most of these stories were later included in his “Notes from the House of the Dead.” This work was published under rather favorable circumstances: the spirit of tolerance was already in the censorship at that time, and works appeared in literature that had recently been unthinkable in print. Although the news of a book devoted exclusively to the life of convicts, the gloomy outline of all these stories about terrible villains, and finally the fact that the author himself was a newly returned political criminal, somewhat confused the censorship; but this, however, did not force Dostoevsky to deviate in any way from the truth. And “Notes from the House of the Dead” made a stunning impression: in the author they were seen as a new Dante, who descended into hell, all the more terrible because it existed not in the poet’s imagination, but in reality (13). According to the conditions of the censorship of that time, Fyodor Mikhailovich was only forced to remove from his work the episode about the exiled Poles and political prisoners. He conveyed to us many interesting details on this subject. In addition, I remember another story of his, which was also not included in the Notes, probably for the same censorship reasons, since it touched on the sensitive issue of the abuses of serfdom at that time. I remember now that once at an evening with my brother, remembering his life in prison, Dostoevsky told this episode with such terrible truth and energy that one never forgets. It was necessary to hear the expressive voice of the narrator, to see his lively facial expressions in order to understand what impression he made on us. I will try to convey this story as best I remember and can.

“In our barracks,” said Fyodor Mikhailovich, “there was one young prisoner, meek, silent and uncommunicative. I didn’t get along with him for a long time, I didn’t know how long he had been in hard labor and why he ended up in a special category, where those convicted of the most serious crimes. His behavior was in good standing with his cautious superiors, and the prisoners themselves loved him for his meekness and helpfulness. Little by little we became close to him, and one day, upon returning from work, he told me the story of his exile. He was a serf peasant of one from the provinces near Moscow and that’s how he got to Siberia.

Our village, Fyodor Mikhailovich,” he said, “is not small and prosperous. Our master was a widower, not old yet, not that he was very angry, but stupid and dissolute about the female sex. We didn't like him. Well, I decided to get married: I needed a mistress, and I fell in love with one girl. We got along with her, the master's permission was granted, and we were married. And as soon as the bride and I left the crown, yes, on our way home, we reached the manor’s estate, about six or seven servants ran out, grabbed my young wife by the arms and into the manor’s yard and dragged her. I rushed after her, and the little people attacked me; I scream, I fight, and they tie my hands with sashes. It was impossible to escape. Well, they dragged my wife away, and they dragged me to our hut, and threw me, tied up as is, onto a bench and put two guards there. I ran about all night, and late in the morning they brought the young woman and untied me. I got up, and the woman fell to the table - crying, sad. “What, I say, should I kill myself: I didn’t lose myself!” And from that very day I thought about how I could thank the master for his affection towards his wife. I sharpened this ax in the barn, so that it could even cut bread, and I adapted it to carry it so that it wouldn’t be seen. Maybe some men, seeing how I was staggering around the estate, thought that I was planning something, but who cares: we really didn’t like the master. Only for a long time I was not able to waylay him: sometimes he would show off with the guests, sometimes the lackeys would be around him... everything was inconvenient. And it’s like a stone on my heart that I can’t repay him for the outrage: most of all it was bitter for me to watch my wife grieve. Well, one evening I was walking behind the master’s garden, and I looked and the gentleman was walking along the path alone, not noticing me. The garden fence was low, lattice, and made of balusters. I let the master walk a little, and in a quiet manner he waved through the fence. I took the ax out of the path onto the grass so that he wouldn’t be heard ahead of time, and, stealthily, I followed him along the grass. I came very close and took the ax in both hands. But I wanted the master to see who came to him for blood, so I coughed on purpose. He turned around, recognized me, and I jumped towards him and hit him right on the head with an ax... fuck! Here, they say, for your love... So it was his brains that began to bleed... he fell and did not sigh. And I went to the office and showed up that so and so, they say. Well, they took me, spanked me, and decided to come here for twelve years.

But you are in a special category, without a term?

And this, Fyodor Mikhailovich, on another matter, I was sent to indefinite penal servitude,

For what reason?

I decided on the captain.

Which captain?

Stage caretaker. Apparently, it was destined for him. I went to the party, the next summer after I had finished with the master. It happened in the Perm province. A large party was hijacked. The day turned out to be very hot, and the transition from stage to stage was long. We were crushed in the sunshine, we were all tired to death: the soldiers on guard barely moved their legs, and we were unaccustomed to being in chains with a terrible passion. Not all of the people were strong, some were almost old people. Others didn’t have a crust of bread in their mouths all day: the march was so bad that they didn’t give us a single piece of alms on the way, we only drank water twice. How we got there, God knows. Well, we entered the prison yard, and some of them died. I can’t say I was exhausted, but I was just really hungry. At this time, when the party arrives, the prisoners are given lunch; and then we look - there is no order yet. And the prisoners began to say: well, they won’t feed us, we have no urine, we’re exhausted, some are sitting, some are lying down, but they won’t give us a piece. It seemed a shame to me: I myself am hungry, and I feel even more sorry for the weak old people. “Will they give you lunch soon,” we ask the transport soldiers? - “Wait, they say, the order has not yet come from the authorities.” Well, think about it, Fyodor Mikhailovich, what it was like to hear it: fair, or what? A clerk is walking through the yard, and I say to him: why aren’t they telling us to have dinner? “Wait,” he says, “you won’t die.” - “But of course,” I say, “you see, people are exhausted, tea, you know, what a transition it was in this heat, feed them quickly.” - “It’s impossible,” he says, the captain has guests, he’s having breakfast, so he’ll get up from the table and give an order.” - “Will it happen soon?” - “And he eats his fill, picks his teeth, and that’s how it comes out.” - “What kind of order is this, I say: he’s cooling off, and we’re dying of hunger!” - “Why are you,” says the clerk, “why are you shouting?” - “I’m not shouting, but I’m saying that we have some people who are weak and can barely move their legs.” - “Yes, he says, you are rowdy and rebelling against others; I’ll go and tell the captain.” - “I’m not making a fuss, I say, but report to the captain as you wish.” Here, hearing our conversation, some of the prisoners also began to grumble, and someone cursed the authorities. The clerk got angry. “You,” he tells me, “are a rebel; the captain can handle you.” And went. Evil has taken such a toll on me that I can’t even say it; I sensed that this would not happen without sin. At that time I had a folding knife, and near Nizhny I traded it with a prisoner for a shirt. And I don’t remember now how I took it out of my bosom and put it in my sleeve. We look, an officer comes out of the barracks, his face is so red, his eyes seem to want to pop out, he must have been drinking. And the clerk is behind him. “Where is the rebel?” the captain shouted straight to me. “Are you rebelling? Huh?” “I say, I’m not rebelling, your honor, but I’m only sad about people, for this reason neither God nor the king has shown me to starve.” How he growls: “Oh, you are so and so! I will show you how to deal with robbers. Call the soldiers!” And I’m adjusting this knife in my sleeve, and I’m wearing myself out. “I’ll teach you,” he says! - “There is no point, your honor, in teaching a scientist; I understand myself even without science.” I told him just to spite him so that he would get even more angry and come closer to me... he won’t stand it, I think. Well, he couldn’t stand it: he clenched his fists towards me, and I just leaned forward and, with a knife, pierced his stomach from below, almost right down to his throat. He fell down like a log. What to do? The untruth of him towards the prisoners made me very angry. It was for this very captain that I, Fyodor Mikhailovich, ended up in a special category, among the eternal.”

All this, according to Dostoevsky, the prisoner related with such simplicity and calmness, as if he were talking about some rotten tree cut down in the forest. He did not fanfare about his crime, did not justify himself in it, but conveyed it as if it were some ordinary incident. Meanwhile, he was one of the most peaceful prisoners in the entire prison. In Notes from the House of the Dead there is an episode somewhat similar to this about the murder of a transport major; but I heard the story I quoted from Fyodor Mikhailovich personally and I convey, if not exactly in his words, then, in any case, close, because it struck me greatly then and remained vividly in my memory. Maybe one of our mutual friends remembers him.<...>Remembering the criminals he had seen in the convict prison, he did not treat them with the disgust and contempt of a man who by education stood immeasurably higher than them, but tried to find some human trait in the most hardened heart. On the other hand, he never complained about his own fate, neither about the severity of the trial and sentence, nor about the ruined blooming years of his youth. True, I did not hear any sharp complaints from other Petrashevites who returned from hard labor, but with them this seemed to stem from the inherent property of the Russian person not to remember evil; for Dostoevsky it was also combined, as it were, with a feeling of gratitude to fate, which gave him the opportunity in exile not only to get to know the Russian people well, but at the same time to better understand himself. He spoke reluctantly about the long hardships in prison and only recalled with bitterness his alienation from literature, but even here he added that by reading the Bible alone, as necessary, he could understand the meaning of Christianity more clearly and deeply.<...>

Notes:

A memoir essay by A.P. Milyukov, published in “Russian Antiquity” for 1881 (N 3 and 5), is printed with abbreviations here and in the section “To the First Summit” (see pp. 325-329 of this volume) based on the book : A.P. Milyukov, Literary meetings and acquaintances, St. Petersburg. 1890, pp. 169-203, 207-222.

1 Page 180. Pope Pius IX began his reign in the spirit of liberalism: he gave amnesty to political exiles and prisoners, established commissions to develop new reforms, allowed industrial associations, scientific congresses, schools for workers, etc. About the attitude of the Italians to these reforms of Pius IX and Herzen tells in great detail in “Letters from France and Italy” about the further history of Italy, when the pope’s hesitations were revealed, and therefore revolutionary outbreaks began in various cities of the state. (Herzen, V, 90-138).

2 Page 180. In 1848, the reaction in Russia reached its apogee. “A lightning rod against the possibility of a repetition of Western European events in Russia,” according to the government of Nicholas I, was a further strengthening of “vigilance,” and on April 12, 1848, a permanent “committee” was established under the chairmanship of D. P. Buturlin for “higher supervision of journalism and observers.” institutions over it."

3 Page 181. “Frankfurt Congress” - the so-called “Preliminary Parliament”, a congress of representatives of the liberal bourgeoisie and intelligentsia, brought to life by the revolution of 1848 (meeted on March 31). The congress decided to convene a parliament elected in all German states by universal suffrage.

4 Page 182. The first collection of poems by A. N. Pleshcheev was published in 1846. There they published “Forward, without fear and doubt...” and “To the Poet” - with an epigraph from O. Barbier: “Le poete doit etre un protestant sublime // Du droit et de l"humanite" ("The poet must be a sublime rebel in the name of truth and humanity").

5 Page 182. Pleshcheev met Dostoevsky, in all likelihood, in 1846 in the circle of the Beketovs or the Maykovs, and soon a close friendship was established between them. At this time, Dostoevsky created such “humane-sentimental” works as “Weak Heart” and “White Nights,” dedicated to Pleshcheev. When separate circles began to emerge from the Petrashevite society, both of them, together with Durov, formed their own special circle, more active and more revolutionary-minded. It was with them that Dostoevsky stood next to them on the Semyonovsky parade ground during the death penalty ceremony, and he managed to hug them goodbye. Dostoevsky was exiled to Omsk, and Pleshcheev was exiled as a private to the Orenburg garrison. In 1856, when both were close to complete liberation, a very active correspondence began between them, which continued until the mid-60s (for Pleshcheev’s letters, see collection. Dostoevsky,II; Dostoevsky's letters have obviously disappeared). Later (from 1865) there appeared to be a cooling, most likely due to the fact that they belonged to different political camps (Pleshcheev was associated with the “Notes of the Fatherland” by Nekrasov and Saltykov); however, the old tone of personal intimacy remains forever in their casual correspondence (for example, Dostoevsky's letters to Pleshcheev in 1875 in connection with The Teenager).

6 Page 183. Miliukov’s assertion that Petrashevsky was cold towards everything Russian is incorrect. Already here Miliukov’s deviation from the truth begins to show itself, according to his later views in the era of reaction in the 80s.

7 Page 183. This is not true. It was Durov’s circle that was the most left-wing among the Petrashevites; it was he who began to develop its activities in accordance with the belief in the inevitability of an uprising. Miliukov is also wrong when he makes Dostoevsky, already in the 40s, a complete Slavophile; on the contrary, as Palm depicts Dostoevsky in the image of Alexei Slobodin, he agreed that the liberation of the peasants could occur through an uprising; this is confirmed by other data (Dostoevsky among the Petrashevites).

8 Page 184. In the 1826 edition of Pushkin’s poems, the first thirty-four verses from the poem “Village” were printed under this title. With the final couplet “Shall I see, O friends...” (under the same title “Solitude”), the poem was distributed in copies, and only in 1870 was it first published in Russia under the real title “Village”.

9 Page 185. This is what Derzhavin’s contemporaries called him based on his famous “Ode to Felitsa” - a message to Catherine II.

10 Page 187. Belinsky’s letter to Gogol was transmitted to Dostoevsky in March 1849 by Pleshcheev. Dostoevsky, as he himself reported in the testimony of the investigative commission, immediately read it to Durov and Palma and promised to read it from Petrashevsky (Belchikov, 136). This reading took place on April 15th. Akhsharumov, Timkovsky, Yastrzhembsky and Filippov testified that Dostoevsky gave them the manuscript and Filippov made a copy of it (ibid., 101).

11 Page 187. This refers to Herzen’s article “Moscow and St. Petersburg” (1842), polemically directed against the Slavophiles.

13 Page 196. This refers to statements about “Notes from the House of the Dead” by Turgenev and Herzen. At the end of December 1861, Turgenev wrote to Dostoevsky: “I am very grateful to you for sending two issues of Vremya, which I read with great pleasure. Especially your Notes from the House of the Dead.” Picture baths simply Dantean" (I. S. Turgenev, Letters, vol. IV, ed. Academy of Sciences of the USSR, M. -L. 1962, p. 320). Herzen wrote in the article “The New Phase in Russian Literature” that the era of awakening after death Nicholas I "left us one terrible book, a kind of carmen horrendum<ужасающую песнь>, which will always flaunt over the exit from the dark reign of Nicholas, like Dante’s inscription over the entrance to hell: this is Dostoevsky’s “House of the Dead,” a terrible story, the author of which, probably, himself did not suspect that, drawing with his chained hand the images of his fellow convicts , he created frescoes in the spirit of Buonarroti from a description of the customs of a Siberian prison" (Herzen, XVIII, 219).

Valentin Rasputin

RUSSIA NEEDS LITERATURE WORTHY OF PUSHKIN AND DOSTOEVSKY

THE WORD SPEAKED ON THE ANNIVERSARY DAYS OF FYODOR MIKHAILOVICH DOSTOEVSKY

We involuntarily, from constant communication with them, create visible and monumental images of the greatest artists in literature: Pushkin, shining with talents, like knightly armor, in spirit and way of life a true knight, who highly raised the importance and honor of literature, who defended the honor of Russia and his own personal honor; Gogol is like a ruffled prophetic bird that has flown to our long-suffering land from unknown heights; Tolstoy is like the rhizome of a huge oak tree, which has sunk its gnarled and muscular paws of roots deep into the ground and absorbs all the beginnings of life and all the teachings of the world... Tolstoy, an orphan without a cross on his grave hill... And Dostoevsky with his hands crossed on his knees and a martyr's face , with eyes intently directed forward, as in the famous portrait of Perov, and in deep thought, betraying the enormous work of the mind and soul. Tolstoy is a natural, epic work, similar to the mythological Pan, which, for all its power, remained unfinished; Dostoevsky is a spiritual work, not rooted, but fruitful and in thought, in the nature of the work, perfect. Its depths are the immensity of the human soul, the unbridled passions of its heroes are comparable to a hot splash of lava from neglected and sin-burdened layers; a humble and piercing ray of love miraculously reaches them and causes an eruption, after which either death from unbearable pain or transformation must follow. Dostoevsky has the face of a confessor, preoccupied with the organization of spiritual depths; everything he says, he says confidentially, leaning towards your ear, sometimes confused, in a hurry, because there are many who want to approach him, but, without losing confidence, he finishes speaking to the end. It was this interview, which required full attention, that was recognized by those who did not know how to listen as a “painful impression.” The language in the temple is different than on the street. You have to prepare your soul for reading Dostoevsky, like for confession, otherwise you won’t understand anything.

Dostoevsky is a prophet, Dostoevsky is an artist who amazed the world with his violent and verified psychologism. All this is undeniable. Of course, a prophet who foresaw a lot and said a lot forever. In essence, everything in his work, with the exception of two or three political articles in the Diary, is said forever, and an official entering the civil service should be examined whether he read Dostoevsky and what he took from Dostoevsky. But for us it’s somehow not so important that he is a prophet, for us a prophet is a distant, heavenly concept that we can’t reach, and we don’t want to let Fyodor Mikhailovich go from us and lose his closeness and trust. His prophecy is explained by the fact that he was an intelligent and attentive caretaker of Russian life and, as a confessor, he knew where to look for a person in a person. He has dozens of revelations that surpass the human mind, even the most insightful, and which, it seems, cannot be of earthly origin, but the insight knows in which vessel to shine.

The most important thing, perhaps, for us today is to remember that from his eternity Fyodor Mikhailovich speaks about the people from which he came, about the literature he served, about the life he observed. He says:

“All our Russian writers, absolutely all of them, did nothing but expose various monsters. Only Pushkin, well, yes, maybe Tolstoy, although it seems to me that he too will end up like this... The rest all just pilloried them, or pitied them and whined. Did they really not find anyone in Russia about whom they could say a good word, except for themselves, the accuser?.. Why did no one have the courage (many had talent) to show us in full stature a Russian man who could bow? They didn’t find him or something!..”

It didn't hurt to look for him. After Dostoevsky, literature became even more diligent in reorganizing social life; like wood-boring beetles, the artists crumbled, touching during breaks the familiar paintings around, familiar faces and native songs. They are touched - and back to work. The building collapsed (which is why one would like to think that if Dostoevsky had lived to Tolstoy’s age, this would not have happened with such swiftness and recklessness, with some kind of barge hauler “oh, whoosh!” - although common sense dictates that he would not have been able to stop it either unaccountable destructive impulse, but Dostoevsky’s authority was so great, his name shone with such an encouraging halo, that enlightened Russian people imagined that even the funeral of Fyodor Mikhailovich, thousands of people, which showed enormous combined pain and will, managed to stop the impending revolution) - but the building collapsed, they began to build something new, the style in literature was changed from critical to socialist, the latter demanding a “hero of our time” by ideological standards. Later, after the war, literature managed to bow to the warrior, the defender of the Fatherland. Even later, she found the appropriate feelings and language to bow to the old people, the guardians of folk traditions and language, faith and conscience, who carried Russia out of hunger, cold and disorder on their shoulders in unspeakable torment, but literature bowed to them already from the brink of the grave, in which the Russian village was leaving. And then again, and with even greater passion, with even greater frenzy, the reproach of the people began, which does not stop to this day: both this and that.

Yes, both this and that...

“But the people also preserved the beauty of their image,” answers Dostoevsky. “Whoever is a true friend of humanity, who has at least once had a heart beat for the suffering of the people, will understand and forgive all the impenetrable alluvial mud in which our people are immersed, and will be able to find a diamond in this mud. I repeat: judge the Russian people not by the abominations that they so often commit, but by those great and holy things for which even in their very abomination they constantly sigh. But not all of the people are scoundrels; there are saints, and what kind of saints too: they themselves shine and light the way for all of us!”

It is well said by Aglaya Epanchina in “The Idiot”: “There are two minds - the main one and the non-main one.” Dostoevsky’s view of Russia and its people was precisely the main mind, seeing beyond the images before his eyes, penetrating through time, illuminated by love and compassion, confirmed by their spiritual significance.

Dostoevsky is our contemporary. Not such a discovery, every great writer is greater than the time in which he lives, since extraordinary talent is a storehouse with many doors and these are truths that open up, like flowers in every spring, before each new generation. But Dostoevsky, like Pushkin, is closer and more contemporary to us than a number of other greats, more precise, broader, more heartfelt and deeper. Even those who regularly read Fyodor Mikhailovich know: his lines have the ability to grow into the previous text. It wasn’t - and suddenly it was revealed, revealed in amazing consonance with the events taking place. He spoke about educational reform, and about unbridled freedoms, and about foreignness, and about the national question, and about brotherhood, and about Russians, torn from their homeland, but remaining Russian, and that our global path does not lie through Europe ( and he considered Europe his second homeland), but through our nationality. More than 120 years ago, he said absolutely everything that is considered topical today...

Two forces - native faith and native literature - spiritually formed the Russian man, gave him scale and opened him up. Such influence and such significance of literature cannot be seen in any other people. When faith was forcibly rejected, for almost a century literature, albeit insufficiently, albeit in parables and allegorically, continued the spiritual work of nurturing and did not allow the people to forget their prayers. Now, under different orders, literature of the Russian type is rejected. In our literature, the Smerdyakovs could be literary heroes, but they could not be authors, rulers of thoughts. Now they, a kindred crowd, encouraging and pushing each other, rushed to vying with each other to say Smerdyakov’s: “Russia, Marya Kondratyevna, is nothing but ignorance. I think that this damned Russia needs to be conquered by foreigners.” Whether faith, in turn, will be able to support literature is difficult to say. For Russia, for its moral and spiritual salvation and elevation, needs not just good, honest, pure literature - it needs strong and influential literature, sacrificial realism, worthy of Pushkin and Dostoevsky.

“Literature Lessons” 2002. - No. 3

Let me start with the fact that F.M. Dostoevsky is my favorite writer. This is an unsurpassed Genius, whose works have no equal in the depth of thought, the subtlety of revealing human psychology, and the smallest nuances in the delineation of characters.

In general, in Russian and world Literature there are two Geniuses, whose work everyone who wants to develop mentally and spiritually is obliged to study. Without this foundation, the soul will remain underdeveloped, will not receive enough of what is necessary, without which it is impossible to Live and Think fully. This is F.M. Dostoevsky and L.N. Tolstoy. In my deep conviction, there were no equals to them either before or since on planet Earth.

Here we will talk about Dostoevsky's novel "The Idiot".

If F.M. - my favorite Writer, then “The Idiot” is my favorite work of his. This is a novel in 4 parts, a huge work. The novel is not only possible, but also necessary to be read and re-read, because it takes time to comprehend it - I think this Masterpiece of brilliant thought is completely incomprehensible, because at different ages it is understood differently and is revealed again and again, perceived in a new way in each period life.

The central figure of the novel is Prince Myshkin, in whom, according to the Writer, all the highest virtues of the Human soul are embodied. These are mercy, compassion, sacrifice and, most importantly, truly Christian Love for one’s neighbor. What Christ commanded people is embodied in the prince. High morality and the qualities of his sensitive, understanding, compassionate heart are inaccessible to Myshkin’s circle and are perceived as eccentricity, abnormality, deviation.

The writer showed how difficult the life and path of a real Man, high in heart and soul, is among his contemporaries, how people are not ready to perceive and accept such a Figure. People, much lower, underdeveloped, vicious, consider themselves not only higher than the prince, but also allow themselves a dismissive, mocking attitude, and his forgiveness, humility and kindness are perceived not as the highest qualities of an angelic soul, but as weakness. "Idiot!" - malicious whispers are heard behind Myshkin’s back. But the prince is still kind and cordial to everyone without exception...

The novel shows an almost unthinkable sacrifice - the prince always thinks first about his neighbor, about the good of his neighbor (and those far away), but forgets about himself. As a result, even loving friends cease to understand Myshkin; the contrast between the prince’s personality and the usual approved way of society is too obvious and huge.

As a result, the prince, having exhausted all the strength of his soul and heart for the good of his neighbor, dies - his illness consumes him, and he actually loses his mind. The writer shows that the world of money and profit does not need kindness and cordiality (the prince there is an extra irritating element!) that in the end, in this world of glory, hypocrisy and profit, all moral principles will perish as unnecessary, which will lead the world to self-destruction: having absorbed everything pure and bright; humanity, lacking compassion and kindness, will be consumed by its own vices.

All the plot lines of the novel are connected with Prince Myshkin, all the characters in the work intersect with him.

This novel is a classic of Russian Literature, a masterpiece that has no equal! It is NECESSARY for every thinking person, as an obligatory step to the heights of spiritual development.

...judge our people not by what they are, but by what they are
would like to become. And his ideals are strong and holy, and they are
saved him in centuries of torment; they have grown together with his soul from time immemorial...
F. M. Dostoevsky

The Russian spiritual ideal is a living and active force in our lives at all times. This is the inner, pure, imperishable light, by which Russians recognize (smell) each other. “If you look at a Russian man with a sharp eye... He will look at you with a sharp eye... And everything is clear. And no words are needed. Here's what you can't do a foreigner". I think that the impeccable master in expressing the “fleeting” V.V. Rozanov in his statement meant, in addition to special spiritual plasticity, receptivity-sensitivity, authenticity of manifestation, a mysterious feeling of kinship, first of all, the inescapable aspiration inherent in the Russian soul towards unity with the blessed spiritual power.

The title of the article, at first glance seemingly paradoxical, is intended to emphasize that the “internal form”, I would like to say - the internal flame creativity of F. M. Dostoevsky is the innermost spiritual cardiac Russian people’s hope for liberation from sin, grace-filled transformation, the possibility of real life in Christ. We are talking about the mystical experience of Communion with God, the search for the Kingdom of God, which exists in man himself: “The Kingdom of God is within you” (Gospel of Luke: 17, 21) (“η Βασιλεία του Θεού έντος υμών έστι”). According to patristic teaching, in the hidden cell of the heart a person finds entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven. St. Isaac the Syrian (VII century) writes: “Try to enter your inner cage and you will see the heavenly cage. Both the first and the second are one; With one entrance you enter both. The ladder to the Heavenly Kingdom is inside you, it exists mysteriously in your soul.”

“The vast majority of the Russian people are Orthodox and live the idea of ​​Orthodoxy in its entirety, although we do not understand this idea clearly and scientifically” (F. M. Dostoevsky).

The characteristic essence of Orthodox spirituality was embodied for the first time in history in the Byzantine ascetic experience, hesychasm and the mystical theology of the Tabor Light of St. Gregory Palamas.

Byzantium was destined to become the Hodegetria of Rus', the Guide to the heavenly world, opening our eyes to spiritual vision. “We are all children of Byzantine culture,” he wrote in the second half of the 19th century. K. N. Leontyev, author of the treatise “Byzantism and Slavism” (1875). “Whoever does not understand Orthodoxy will never understand our people” (F. M. Dostoevsky). At the same time, speaking about the spiritual and cultural continuity of Byzantium and Ancient Rus', it is necessary to emphasize a number of points.

Firstly, Byzantium and Russia are two successively and closely related, but different cultural and historical worlds, two “types of spirituality”, for “the complete assimilation by one people of its religious idea from another is not yet the assimilation of the entire culture of the latter, of all its cultural building."

Secondly, speaking about the Baptism of Rus' in the Byzantine font, it is necessary to emphasize a very important fact, which usually goes unnoticed. The fact is that the turn of the X-XI centuries. was in Byzantium a time of intense burning of faith, a strong rise in ascetic spirituality, the flourishing of monastic life on Athos, and the sermons of St. Simeon the New Theologian (926–1022), one of the most mystical theologians, “the poet of Divine love.” In the art of this period, almost the extreme of its ascetic trends, the desire for detached spirituality in its absolute completeness, was revived. This was more consistent with monastic ideals, excessive and unbearable for the worldly environment, although it aspired to them. Thus, Ancient Rus' from the very beginning of its Christian life accepted everything from Byzantium the most spiritually rich, what she could give, took the orientation towards maximum spiritual values, How the norm and the only possible path .

Thirdly, Ancient Rus' had to complete the centuries-long grandiose “construction of a synergistic culture that absorbed all the experience of the Christian ascetic East.” Byzantium, which fell under the onslaught of the Turks, was not destined to fully realize the cultural potential accumulated in its latest theological and ascetic insights. Old Russian church and artistic culture was in many ways the pinnacle of the entire Eastern Christian culture, originating in late antiquity. The main line of continuity of artistic culture from Hellenism and early Christianity through Byzantium to Ancient Rus' was the desire to express intelligible and incomprehensible spiritual values ​​in sensually perceived forms. To the many-vocal Byzantium, which developed Orthodox dogma in heated debates, Rus' contrasted “smart silence”: monastic ascetic work, “contemplation in colors” (icon), “sound-embodied prayer” (znamenny chant), “monumental theology” (original architecture: the ancient Russian temple cannot be confused with Byzantine). At the same time, Rus' was well aware of theological debates, for example, about the victory of St. Gregory Palamas in the polemic with Varlaam at the council of 1352.

In a study dedicated to St. To Andrei Rublev, the outstanding Russian art historian M.V. Alpatov makes a key conclusion: “Rublev’s creation remained unknown outside of Muscovite Rus'. But one might think that if the “Trinity” had become known to the Byzantines, they would have recognized it as a happy completion(italics mine - G.S.) of their centuries-old quests."

Fourthly, Andrei Rublev’s “Trinity,” written “in praise of St. Sergius,” embodies the ideal of life-building for the Russian people - the Orthodox ideal, whole-heartedly adopted from Byzantium, illuminated and warmed by the Russian soul. Before us is renewal as the true existence of the Christian tradition, the revelation of what is still undisclosed, what exists secretly in the depths of the people's spirit. In the words of Dostoevsky, “the revelation of the Russian Christ to the world.”

Five hundred years after the Palamite disputes, the “theology of light” revealed itself in the spiritual mystical experience of St. Seraphim of Sarov as a criterion for the knowledge of grace, God Himself. In modern times, the Russian spiritual ideal was clearly formulated by one of the classics of Russian philosophy, a representative of its main direction, “metaphysical personalism” (N.P. Ilyin), P.E. Astafiev (1846–1893): “The human soul is most precious. This is the main motive of Orthodoxy, the autocracy and our entire nation." Inner Beauty, God's breath in the soul, is the most important, most valuable, essential. In the 20th century I. A. Ilyin (1882–1953) wrote that from the depths of Orthodoxy this confidence was born in us that the sacred is the most important thing in life, without it life becomes despondency and vulgarity.

The tradition of “smart doing” in Byzantium, as is known, received its written recording in ascetic patristic writings. The name of the collections of these works is characteristic - “Philokalia” (“Φιλκαλία”, in Church Slavonic - “Philokalia”. The name “Philokalia” first appears thanks to St. Basil the Great (IV century), who so titled the collection of works of his teacher Origen, compiled in his memory. In Greek, "philokalia" literally means love of beauty. But Beauty is one of the names of God in Byzantium, just like Good.

The term “philokalia” was no less important for Orthodox Byzantium than the term “kalocagathia” for pagan Greece. Philocalia is an ascetic experience captured in the word, the legacy of “the science of sciences,” “the arts of arts,” as the Holy Fathers call asceticism. The ultimate goal of asceticism is the purposeful preparation of spirit, soul and body for the meeting with Christ.

The essence of Orthodox asceticism is concentrated in the words of the Apostle Paul: “May the God of peace himself sanctify everything in its entirety, and may your spirit, soul, and body be preserved in their entirety without blemish at the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess. 5:23 ). These words speak of a person’s encounter with Christ. The Coming of the Lord Jesus Christ here also means the coming that individual ascetics have been and are being vouchsafed in the process of Orthodox ascetic labor both in this life and in this world. The Advent is not only a fact of world history, but also a fact revealed in the personal, internal experience of Orthodox life. Man is called to participate in the encounter with Christ with his whole being, “in its entirety.” It is in this preservation of the spirit, soul and body without blemish, their purposeful preparation for the meeting with Christ, that lies appointment(italics mine - G.S.) ascetic, “whose function is reduced to conscious control over all processes occurring at the spiritual, mental and physical levels, as well as to the correct coordination of these processes among themselves.” V.I. Martynov defines asceticism as a process that brings all the forces and levels of the human being into such order that real prerequisites arise for the union of man with God. The spirit is that area of ​​the human being in which a direct meeting with God occurs. “The natural man does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, because he considers them foolishness; and cannot understand, because this must be judged spiritually (1 Cor. 2:14). The eye of the spirit opens only as a result of bodily and mental labors, which constitute the field of asceticism in the generally accepted sense of the word, asceticism as a system of exercises and restrictions that lead a person out of tyrannical subordination to the world. Without the labors of the soul and body, the eye of the spirit will not open, and a person will never meet God.

The ultimate target ascetics - transformation of consciousness, achieving a state of inner prayer.

Asceticism represents theoretical and practical instructions for those who especially love God, for monastics, people who “have nothing in themselves that would not be addressed to God.” (V.I. Martynov). The Byzantine emperor Alexei Komnenos (1081–1118) said that monks are the salt of the Orthodox earth, the light of the world. Monasticism illuminated the world's path to Heaven, protected it from moral corruption, and sanctified secular and civil life.

Monasticism played a completely exceptional role in Russian culture of the 12th–17th centuries, when a black monastic hood seemed to be visible above the entire Russian element. Rus' of this period can be called “the country of monks and monks.” The desire for monastic life is comparable only with the unsurpassed examples of early Byzantine asceticism of the 4th–6th centuries. in Egypt and Syria. It was the ascetic asceticism in the person of St. Sergius of Radonezh that developed the Russian spiritual ideal for many centuries. “...The figure of the monk was the real center of not only spiritual, but also socio-political and cultural life, ... all public life was focused on ascetic feat... Holy Rus' is a specific, really existing form synergistic culture. Holy Rus' is a version of the transformation of the earthly world into an icon of the heavenly world." In Rus', holiness became the highest spiritual value. In the XIV century. In 1355, Patriarch Philotheus Kokkin of Constantinople blesses St. Sergius with a golden paving cross, and in 1370, in a letter to the Holy Blessed Grand Duke Dmitry Ivanovich, he calls the Russians a “holy people”: “for you (Russians), this one who lives in those parts holy people of christ(το τού Χριστού άγιον έθνος), for the fear of God, for love and faith (yours), I pray and love you all, as I already said, more than other (peoples).”

So, the Russian soul is inherent in the desire for the Orthodox ideal, fully embodied in the ascetic practice of monasticism. It is here that the roots of Dostoevsky’s idea that the salvation of Russia will come from the monastic cell lie. He was attracted by the figure of the Russian monk. In a letter to A. N. Maikov, Dostoevsky writes about the monastery: “I am an expert in this world and have known the Russian monastery since childhood.”

But where does the exceptional responsiveness and “all-openness” of the Russian person to Orthodoxy come from? Let us recall the insight of F.I. Tyutchev, the words revealing the idea of ​​the intimate kinship of Russian-Slavic nature to the Orthodox spiritual ideal: “A Russian person is a Christian not only because of the Orthodoxy of his convictions, but also thanks to something more sincere than convictions. He is a Christian due to the ability for self-denial and self-sacrifice, which constitute, as it were, the basis of his moral nature...”

Dostoevsky is mysteriously, deeply connected with Russia. One of the most important, inalienable qualities of Russian classical literature and philosophy is “the knowledge of Russia itself and the contemplation of Its secrets. For the Russian soul, the most fundamental question is the question: “What is Russia?” Understanding Russia is a “conciliar activity.” It is impossible to discover all of Russia through the artistic world of Dostoevsky alone. But Dostoevsky belongs to those Russian writers (Pushkin, Gogol, Tyutchev, Leo Tolstoy) without whom the essence of Russia is incomprehensible. Dostoevsky continues in Russian literature the line of Gogol, the “prophet of Orthodox culture” (V.V. Zenkovsky), who revealed in his spiritual prose the idea of ​​the essential religiosity of Russian culture. Dostoevsky will say that “Russia remained forever at the feet of Christ”, that “in the destinies of the present and in the destinies of the future of Orthodox Christianity - this is the whole idea of ​​the Russian people, this is their service to Christ and their thirst for exploits for Christ. This thirst is true, great and unceasing in our people since ancient times, unceasing, perhaps never - and this is an extremely important fact in the characteristics of our people and our state.”

There is a phenomenon of special connection between Russian and Russia. A Russian only becomes Russian when he is completely imbued with Russia, when he hears her inner music, contemplates her Face, comprehends her with his heart: “I will say: “No need for paradise, give me my Motherland”” (S. Yesenin), “About Russia sing that you want to go to church” (I. Severyanin), “Rus! Or is it in me, in my soul itself, that you blossom invisibly” (V. Nabokov). The amazing sequence of internal growth of meanings in the soul of a Russian person, the logic of his connection to the Logos was brilliantly expressed by N. V. Gogol: “And if you don’t love Russia, you won’t love your brothers, and if you don’t love your brothers, you won’t be kindled with love for God, and if you don’t kindle with love for God, you won’t be saved.” “...If you really love Russia, you will be eager to serve her” . Love for Russia is the source of Russian spirituality, which, thanks to Orthodoxy, acquired its form, the ability to realize its originality and, accordingly, its place in world culture as the Russian-Slavic part of the Eastern Christian civilization, part of Pax Christiana.

Great Russian literature is “a serious matter for a serious people” (L.N. Tolstoy), a high service to Russia. It is no coincidence that the French literary critic Melchior Vogüe, reading Dostoevsky, wrote that there is no smell of literature here. Dostoevsky tires like thoroughbred horses. Great Russian literature outgrows the framework of fiction, becoming an instrument for the creation of life, its entire spiritual and emotional composition. This is the search and path to the Truth. P. A. Florensky emphasized the inherent Russian attitude towards truth as a living being. “You need to treat your word honestly. It is God’s great gift to man” (N.V. Gogol). The special role of literature and philosophy in our culture reveals a respectful attitude towards the word, adopted by Russia from Byzantium. “...The Russian language has become sounding and speaking flesh.” “The Hellenistic nature of the Russian language can be identified with its existentiality.” Every word in Dahl’s dictionary is a nut of the acropolis, ... our little Kremlin.” Genuine Russian literature does not tolerate fakes, lies, or insincerity. Hence sometimes a certain roughness, a kind of clumsiness, almost clumsiness, an unfinished style. But from here comes the deep, vital truth, naturalness and authenticity. The exclamation of L. N. Tolstoy after reading one of Turgenev’s works is characteristic: “Turgenev stoops to techniques.”

Dostoevsky clearly showed that it is holiness, the desire for a pure heart (“Create a pure heart in me, Lord”), a gracious, synergistic existence that forms the fundamental basis of Russian spirituality. Perceiving Dostoevsky without understanding his deep roots in Orthodox spirituality leads to a distortion of the meanings intended by the writer. For example, in modern culture, the interpretation by a secular consciousness of the words “beauty” and “all-humanity” used by a writer outside the church context that gave birth to them often deprives them of a high spiritual component and leads to a one-dimensional perception. Dostoevsky speaks of heavenly Beauty, Beauty as one of the names of God. And speaking about the all-responsiveness, all-humanity of the Russian person, his calling “to be the brother of all people,” implies his calling to stand in the Truth, the ability to preserve it in order to reveal it to all who seek and seek, that is, he speaks of fidelity to the Orthodox, Catholic, all-encompassing faith.

“Russian people don’t know anything higher than Christianity, and they can’t even imagine... delve into Orthodoxy: it’s not just churchliness and ritualism, it’s a living feeling that our people have turned into one of those basic living forces without which they can’t live.” nation."

For Dostoevsky, neither man nor the culture he creates can live without an ideal. In Russia this ideal is Orthodoxy. But how is Orthodox culture possible? The key characteristic of Orthodox culture is synergy as the unity of human effort and divine grace. Isn’t the way to comprehend God the inevitable renunciation of man within himself? In the novel “The Idiot,” Dostoevsky seemingly gives exactly this answer. “Prince Myshkin is a man who...has access to the Divine element of the world.” “If this element shines and flows into the soul, a person essentially becomes kind and merciful; the evil in him is overcome and the person becomes significant.” “He is also internally convinced that every person possesses these holy gates and carries within himself the consecrated frame of metaphysical goodness.”

“Is it really possible,” asks I. A. Ilyin in the article “The Image of an Idiot in Dostoevsky,” “is it possible to achieve the superhuman by becoming only an inferior person? ...only at the cost of renouncing the person in oneself?” And he answers that in “The Brothers Karamazov” Dostoevsky showed two pious ones: “the healthy but pure-hearted elder Zosima and his favorite Alyosha Karamazov, in whom the unbridled element of Karamazov’s passions rages and who, nevertheless, goes through life pure. The path of Prince Myshkin, therefore, is not the only possible path on earth. There are other ways."

“The Russian person does not know the Gospel well, but he knows Christ.” It was precisely by plunging into the inner world of Russian people that Dostoevsky increasingly discovered Christ for himself. As for patristic literature, let us turn to the testimony of N. S. Leskov, who personally knew Dostoevsky “and had repeated reasons to conclude that this most gifted man, who passionately loved to touch on issues of faith, largely lacked erudition in patristic literature, with which he He began his acquaintance quite late in his life, and due to the seething passion of his sympathies, he did not find the calm within himself to study it carefully and impartially.” At the same time, we note a special work devoted to the analysis of the patristic sources of the work of F. M. Dostoevsky. This is the book by S. Salvestroni “Biblical and patristic sources of Dostoevsky’s novels” (St. Petersburg: Academic Project, 2001). An event in 2010, preceding two memorable dates associated with Dostoevsky, was the release of the two-volume book “The Gospel of Dostoevsky”.

Dostoevsky's Christian humanism, like the image of Alyosha Karamazov, caused rejection on the part of K. N. Leontyev. The philosopher, who went through the “school of asceticism” in the Optina Hermitage during the last few years of his life, argued that in Russia liberalism had permeated the church consciousness, therefore, a culture of strict Greek Orthodoxy of the monastic type was necessary, expressed his attitude in the article “Our New Christians. Against the pink Christianity of L. N. Tolstoy and F. M. Dostoevsky.” K. N. Leontyev tried to convince the reader that Dostoevsky and Tolstoy do not know patristic literature well enough and, accordingly, draw incorrect conclusions, as if grounding, “facilitating” Christianity for the sake of weak human nature. A review of this article was written by N. S. Leskov, who in turn showed that Leontyev was overly arrogant regarding the depth of his knowledge of the Byzantine-ascetic heritage.

K. N. Leontyev also reproached Dostoevsky for the artificiality of the image of Alyosha Karamazov, saying that there are no such monks in modern Russian monasteries. However, a very insightful remark belongs to V.V. Rozanov, who, as is known, treated Leontyev with great warmth and sympathy. And, perhaps, like no one else, he saw and understood the essence of his nature. (“An amazingly pure heart, a real pearl at the bottom of the sea in its Optina Hermitage.”) Rozanov wrote that Dostoevsky showed the type of monk that was characteristic of early Byzantium, the golden “age of patristics.” It was in this monasticism that Dostoevsky saw the salvation of Russia, hoping that it would come from the heart of the Monk, who had received the cleansing light of transfiguration. “Acquire a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved” (St. Seraphim of Sarov). After visiting the Optina Hermitage, Dostoevsky wrote: “Everyone will be surprised if I say that the prayers of these humble elders, seeking peace and solitude, will save Russia.”

In Dostoevsky’s thoughts, a significant place in connection with Orthodoxy is occupied by the “Eastern Question” and the relationship of the Russian Church with the Christian East.

In the “Diary of a Writer” for November 1877, he wrote: “The Eastern question is, in essence, the resolution of the fate of Orthodoxy... The lost image of Christ has been preserved throughout the world in its purity in Orthodoxy.” Dostoevsky becomes one of the fighters for overcoming the violent isolation of the Russian Church, caused by Peter's reforms and the subsequent secularization with a Lutheran bias. He sees the unfavorable consequences of the separation of the Russian Church from the Christian East, which manifested itself, for example, in the disappearance of eldership in Russia, leaving the Russian people and monasticism without this highest form of spiritual nourishment. “For Russia... it is now useful, for a while, to forget at least a little St. Petersburg and visit the East,” writes Dostoevsky. The thinker speaks of the need to overcome disunity between Orthodox peoples, sees the church solution to the Eastern question in the unification of all Orthodox peoples and the convening of an Ecumenical Council.

Dostoevsky, the “secret seer of the spirit,” saw that in Russia two cultures have long and complexly been mixed, in the terms of K. N. Leontiev: Byzantine-ascetic(the culture of human transformation, embodied in the Byzantine “Philokalia”, eldership, the Russian ideal of holiness) and progressivist-eudaimonic(utilitarian, associated with the worship of things, the desire for comfort and external convenience of life). As K. N. Leontiev wrote: “We live, it’s true, all at the same time, but we do not live the same thing... I believe that in Russia there will be a fiery turn to Orthodoxy, lasting and for a long time... I believe this , because Russians have pain in their souls... Orthodoxy or, in other words, culture Byzantine asceticism(emphasis mine - G.S.), is the only counterbalance to universal, petty pleasure."

Dostoevsky is a representative of truly Russian art, art that tells a person about his calling to the heavenly as an ideal and life-giving source of earthly existence. “What is the strength of Russian art, Russian literature (other than talent itself)?” - asked G.V. Sviridov and answered: “I think she has a sense of conscience.” Conscience is the voice of God in the soul. Characteristic in this regard is the understanding of art that belongs to I. A. Ilyin. The thinker speaks of “art” as art itself: “art gives an experiential experience of sacred depth in the habitually unsacred images of reality. The true art of speaking to the human spirit about Spirit and spiritual things; and the more artistic this speech is, the closer art comes to religion - not in the sense that it chooses confessional images and themes, but in the sense that it reveals in the simplest, everyday, secular image, in a seemingly insignificant topic - intimate significance, subject depth, spiritual fire. God's ray, God's breath and presence. And this is its cleansing power."

Every genuine writer comes into the world with his own “new word” (Ap. A. Grigoriev). Dostoevsky’s “new word” was to “find man in man with full realism,” to find the image of God in him, to reveal in man his calling to the heavenly, his desire for Christ. And, agreeing with N. N. Strakhov that Dostoevsky revealed the Russian man in a situation of tragic struggle for himself (while Leo Tolstoy - in a situation of the Russian’s firm loyalty to his national instincts), it seems impossible to accept the philosopher’s idea that artistic Dostoevsky's genius lay rather in depicting the struggle with the power of perverted ideas over the soul of Russian man than in comprehending the fundamental nature of this soul.

Dostoevsky revealed the reality of the living spring of spirit, which the Russian soul thirsts for, by which it is strengthened and vitalized.

The work was carried out with the financial support of the Russian Humanitarian Fund. Grant 10-01-00483a

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7 Style that can be named truly Byzantine, formed in the hieratic art of mosaics of Ravenna (VI century). Of all the styles ever created by Byzantine artists, it was this style that more deeply and strictly expressed the essence of Orthodox spirituality. The great flowering of this type of art occurred in the first half of the 11th century: the mosaics of Hosios Loukas in Phokis, Nea Moni in Chios, the ancient mosaics of San Marco in Venice, mosaics and frescoes of Sophia of Kiev.
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16 Kalokagatya - (καλοκαγαθία: from καλός - beautiful, αγαθός - good), the concept of beautiful-good, expressing the idea of ​​​​the syncretic unity of ethical and aesthetic, moral and physical perfection.
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21 Synergy ( letters- cooperation, co-working) - the connection of created, human, energy with uncreated, Divine, co-working of man and God. The essence of the culture of Moscow Rus' is the principle of synergy, the ability of a person to connect with Beauty as with uncreated energy.
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32 Καθολικός - (Greek) comprehensive, universal.
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38 First, under the spiritual guidance of Fr. Clement Zederholm, then, after his death, under the care of the great elder Ambrose of Optina, who took monasticism there, was buried in the Gethsemane monastery of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, to which he moved, fulfilling the obedience of his spiritual father.
39 Leskov N. S. Count L. N. Tolstoy and F. M. Dostoevsky as heresiarchs (Religion of fear and religion of love) / Leskov N. S. On literature and art. L.: Leningrad State University. 1984.
40 “If I succeed, I will do a good deed: I will make one admit that a pure, ideal Christian is not an abstract thing, but figuratively real, possible, personally upcoming, and that Christianity is the only salvation of the Russian Land from all its evils” / Dostoevsky F. M. From a letter to N. A. Lyubimov, secretary of the Russian Messenger, June 11, 1876.
41 See coverage of Dostoevsky's position on the Eastern Question in a recently published book. V. A. Kotelnikova “What is Truth?” Literary Versions of Critical Idealism." St. Petersburg: Pushkin House Publishing House, 2010. pp. 296–312.
42 K. N. Leontiev. 4th Letter from Athos. 08/23/1872 // Beginnings, 1992, No. 2.
43 Sviridov G. V. Music is like destiny. M.: Young Guard, 2002. P. 126.
44 Ilyin I. A. On religious purification / Ilyin I. A. Axioms of religious experience. T. 2. Ch. 15. M.: Russian book, 2002.
45 Strakhov N. N. Literary criticism. M., 1984. P. 111.

Being a work of samizdat, the “Black Book” of Gennady Russky is not only a document of the era, but also a unique monument of literature. Recently, “The Moscow Man Trilogy” was published by Nikea Publishing House. Unfortunately, the author of the book did not live to see the publication of this edition.

There are works that are difficult to put into a framework, put in a row, or include in a classification. In any series, the “Black Book” of Gennady Russky will stand apart, because by and large there is nothing to compare it with. Someone will find echoes of folklore in the story, someone will remember Remizov and Shergin, someone - Odoevsky and Pogorelsky, Gogol and Bulgakov.

The first part of the trilogy takes place in Moscow in the late 20s. It is surprising that at the time of the creation of the “Black Book” its author was little familiar with Bulgakov’s work; the novel “The Master and Margarita” had not yet been published. Obviously, the time was such that it was not possible to describe it in terms of realism. The characters in The Black Book are equally demons and easily recognizable historical figures from Stalin and Trotsky to Mayakovsky.

With the permission of the Nikeya publishing house, one of the chapters of this fascinating story is already on the website.

The text of the “Black Book” is easy to understand, but this simplicity is the tip of the iceberg, the underwater part of which is the encyclopedic education of the author and the charm of his multifaceted personality, which even now, years later, does not leave the reader indifferent. So who is he - the mysterious author of the “Black Book”?

He was born on March 18, 1930 and, in the spirit of the Soviet era, received the ringing foreign name Heinrich; later in baptism he took the name Gennady. By education, Genrikh Pavlovich Gunkin was an art critic, but his whole life was connected with literature. He was in love with the Russian North, its nature and culture, and devoted several books to this topic. The main university of Genrikh Pavlovich was the Lenin Library, in the halls of which he spent long hours. He remained a scribe, a bookworm, and a bibliophile all his life, turning, as far as possible, into a library and his home.

This is what Lydia Ivanovna Iovleva, who lived with Genrikh Pavlovich for 51 years, said: “He was a complex and contradictory person. On the one hand, he was a very shy person by nature, but at the same time he loved fun and friendly communication. I would like to tell the following story about his shyness: in the late 70s we were traveling north, I think, to Vologda. There were two pensioners in the compartment with us. They read yellow books from the “Iskusstvo” publishing house from the “Road to Beauty” series. And Genrikh Pavlovich not only categorically refused to admit to his compartment neighbors that he was the author of the books they were reading and discussing, but also forbade me to do so. For his fellow travelers, the author remained incognito, although he was pleased when they recognized him and asked for autographs.”

For Genrikh Pavlovich, according to his life partner, it was natural to sit in the country and write “on the table.” But this does not mean that he did not want to publish. When samizdat appeared in the second half of the 60s, it became for the author of the Black Book a way out to the reader. But often this exit was anonymous. Samizdat was fraught with danger; it was like a game that was very attractive to the author of a man who, according to people who knew him, remained a boy at heart all his life. He wrote under a pseudonym even when it was not necessary; he signed his books about the Russian North as Heinrich the Hun.

Heinrich Pavlovich died in 2006 in Tunisia, where he went driven by his childhood dream to see the ruins of Carthage.

Publication history

The line between authorship and anonymity was very fluid in samizdat of that time. When, after the release of the “Black Book,” its continuation appeared and began to be distributed in samizdat, two stories from the part “Solovetsky Miracle Work” were published abroad in the Parisian newspaper Russian Thought as anonymous camp folklore. This is a kind of recognition. Without personal camp experience, the author was able to reproduce the situation in such a way that it could be taken as an eyewitness testimony.

When the Black Book was republished in Russia, an interesting conspiracy story occurred, quite in the spirit of samizdat times. At that time, the editor of the Stolitsa publishing house was the famous bibliophile and bibliographer Pyotr Palamarchuk, who was inspired by the idea of ​​publishing the Black Book. He read the book, the Posev edition, but had no idea who the author was. And he began to interview his friends. Quite quickly a mutual acquaintance was found. It was the writer Felix Svetov, who introduced the author and the publisher. At this time, Lidia Ivanovna, the author’s wife, was on a business trip abroad with the publisher’s wife. On a business trip, the women spent quite a lot of time together, but these were still Soviet times, 1989, and Lydia Ivanovna, having learned that her companion’s husband was looking for the author of the “Black Book,” bit her tongue, as they say. The publisher’s wife found out that she was on a trip with the wife of the new author of “Capital” only in Moscow.

In 1991, the entire trilogy was published by the Stolitsa publishing house. This is the only publication that was prepared with the participation of the author. The book was published in a “Soviet” circulation of 50,000 copies, but then, in the wake of the publishing boom, its appearance went almost unnoticed.

In 2006, the book was published by the Bibliopolis publishing house two weeks after the death of Genrikh Pavlovich.