Fonvizin is a Russian satirist and the founder of Russian comedy. The life and creative path of D.I. Fonvizin

" and "The King in the Square") - the fatal inevitability and at the same time the aimlessness and hopelessness of searching in life for the unattainably beautiful, which takes either the form of an unearthly beauty of a stranger, or the form of a star in the cosmic spaces. The contradiction inherent in the theme itself is further aggravated by the relations of contrast in which the two main characters are involved - the Poet and the Astrologer; The pitiful reality of the tavern, where the dreamer dreams of heavenly beauty, and the satirically depicted, ugly banal social drawing room, whose visitors caricature the images of the tavern regulars, are opposed by the extravaganza of a snowy night on the outskirts of the city - another, unearthly world.

Alexander Blok. Biography, lyrics. Video tutorial

The play “The Stranger” (see its summary on our website) is divided into three “visions” - a word that replaces “act” or “picture” here (initially, it even bore the name: “Three Visions”). The first and third “visions” take place against a real background (tavern, living room), but the unreal, fantastic bursts into the everyday reality of the St. Petersburg house (the arrival of the Stranger in the third “vision”). The second “vision” takes place outside of everyday life, almost outside of time and space, but the world of everyday reality intrudes here (janitors dragging a drunken Poet, a vulgar Master caring for a Stranger). The dream and the rough prose of life are contrasted here, but also closely intertwined. They transform into one another, and the everyday life and surroundings of the characters are depicted vividly, with exact signs social environment and local color. Blok’s St. Petersburg impressions are clearly reflected here. The poet’s biographer, M. Beketova, notes: “The beer house from the “First Vision” was located on the corner of Geslerovsky Lane and Zelenina Street. The whole furnishings, from the ships on the wallpaper to actors, taken from life." The scenery of the “Second Vision,” for all its enchantment, can also be attributed to one of the St. Petersburg places: “this is a bridge and an alley leading from Zeleninaya Street to Krestovsky Island.”

The contrast between everyday, everyday reality and a fantastic extravaganza is expressed in the form of a contrast between verse and prose. The first and third “visions” are written in prose, the second in verse. The conversation between the Master and the Stranger in the second “vision” is very characteristic in terms of the contrast. The characters speak as if in different languages, the words of one participant in the dialogue reach another in a completely different sense, awakening a response that is inappropriate to itself. In such a dialogue, ordinary irony and some kind of implied, unclear meaning are easily combined. But the playwright, cutting off the scene, does not allow the reader to guess: what is here - simple ridicule or something deeper, only vaguely guessed? The end of the play is mutedly mocking, but also mysterious: Mary, into whom the Star Maria has turned, disappears, and the everyday soil, satirically outlined before, begins to slip away from under our feet, again being replaced by fantasy.

“The Stranger,” like “Balaganchik,” is an ironic and multi-valued drama. Enormous lyricism, bringing “Stranger” closer to the famous poem of the same name Blok and with his own poetic cycle “ Snow mask", at the same time combined with evil satire, an exposure of the vulgarity and complacency that reigns in the secular drawing room. And this world, hostile to the poet, is given a cruel sentence.

Blok wrote that “all three [his first] dramas are interconnected by the unity of the main type and its aspirations. The cartoonishly unlucky Pierrot in “The Showcase,” the morally weak Poet in “The King in the Square,” and the other Poet, daydreaming, drunk, and missing his dream in “The Stranger”—all these are, as it were, different sides of the soul of one person; the aspirations of these three are also the same: they are all looking for a beautiful, free and bright life, which alone can lift from their weak shoulders the unbearable burden of lyrical doubts and contradictions and disperse annoying and ghostly doubles... Moreover, all three dramas are united by a mocking tone. .."

However, the differences between these three dramas are also important, which relate primarily to their general tone. “The King in the Square” is a deeply tragic work, and the “mocking tone” almost does not extend to it, coloring only the dialogues and scenes with the participation of the Jester. “The Showcase” and “The Stranger” are related by their lyrical and ironic flavor, which, however, manifests itself in them in different ways. The differences between the Poet in “The King in the Square” - a tragic hero, despite all his weak-willedness - and the Poet in “The Stranger” - illuminated by the author’s irony, taken among the philistine world from which he cannot escape, are important. The formal and stylistic features of each of the plays are also significant. Having formed a single cycle, they show us a complex, rich, diverse world contradictory passions, thoughts, aspirations, shown in all their diversity and uniqueness.

Based on materials from the works of Andrei Fedorov. Read on our website an analysis of other dramas by A. Blok: “

Alexander Blok

Stranger

The portrait actually depicted

A woman of extraordinary beauty. She was

Photographed in a black silk dress,

Extremely simple and elegant style;

The hair, apparently dark brown, had been pulled back

Simple, homely; eyes dark, deep,

The forehead is thoughtful; passionate facial expression and how

It would be arrogant. She was a little thin

Her face may be pale...

Dostoevsky

How did you know it was me? Where have you seen me before? What is this in

in fact, it was as if I had seen him somewhere?

I thought I saw you somewhere too?

Where? - Where?

I definitely saw your eyes somewhere... but this can’t be! It's me

so... I've never been here. Maybe in a dream...

Dostoevsky

CHARACTERS

Stranger.

Blue.

Astrologer.

Poet.

Visitors to the tavern and the living room.

Two wipers.

FIRST VISION

Street tavern. The white-matte light of the acetylene lantern shakes in the crumpled

cap. The wallpaper depicts absolutely identical ships with huge

flags. They cut their noses through the blue waters. Behind the door, which is often

opens up to admit visitors, and behind large windows decorated with ivy,

Passers-by in fur coats and girls in headscarves walk under the blue evening snow.

Behind the counter, on which there is a barrel with a gnome and the inscription “Mug-glass”,

Two completely similar friends on each other: both with haircuts and partings, in green

aprons; only the owner has a mustache downwards, and his brother, the sexual one, has a mustache up. U

of one window, at a table, sits a drunken old man - the spitting image of Verlaine, at the other -

The mustacheless, pale man is the spitting image of Hauptmann. Several drunken groups.

Conversation in one company

One

I bought this fur coat for twenty-five rubles. And for you, Sashka, less

I won’t give up thirty for anything.

Other (convincingly and with resentment)

Yes, you're lying!.. Come on... I'll tell you...

Third (mustachioed, screaming)

Be silent! Do not swear! Another bottle, dear.

The sexton runs up. You can hear the beer gurgling. Silence. Lonely visitor

rises from the corner and walks to the counter with an unsteady gait. Starts to fumble in

A shiny vessel with boiled crayfish.

Master

Allow me, sir. You can not do it this way. You will sort through all our crayfish with your hands.

Nobody will eat.

The visitor moves away, groaning.

Conversation in another company

Seminarian

And she danced, my dear friend, I tell you, like heavenly

Creation. I would just take her by the white hands and straight into her lips, I’ll tell you,

kissed...

Drinking buddy (laughs shrilly)

Eka, Eka, Vasinka is ours, daydreamed, turned red like a poppy! And what

Is she for your love? What kind of love?..Huh?..

Everyone laughs shrilly.

Seminarist (very red)

And, my dear friend, I tell you, it’s not good to laugh. So I would take it

her, and would have carried her away from immodest gazes, and on the street she would have danced in front of me

white snow... like a bird, it would fly. And where did my wings come from?

would fly after her, over the white snow...

Everyone is laughing.

Second drinking buddy

Look, Vaska, you won’t fly very well on the first route...

First drinking buddy

It would be easier for you in the cold, otherwise your dear one is just in the mud

please...

Second drinking buddy

Dreamer.

Seminarist (completely dazed)

Eh, dear friends, without studying at the seminary, I’ll tell you, you tender feelings Not

you understand. However, I wish I had some beer...

Verlaine (muttering loudly to himself)

To each his own. To each his own...

Hauptmann makes expressive signs to the sex. A red-haired man and a girl enter

In a handkerchief.

Girl (gender)

A bottle of porter, Misha. (Continues to quickly tell the man.)

Only she, my dear, came out to grab it - she forgot to treat the hostess to beer.

Now he’s back, and he’s already opened the chest of drawers, and he’s rummaging around, he’s rummaged through everything, he’s rummaged through everything,

I thought he wouldn’t be back soon... She, my dear, screamed, and he, my dear, screamed at her

keep your mouth shut. Well, after all, the landlady came running, screaming herself, and the janitor

called; so, my dear, he’s off to the police station now... (Quickly interrupts.) Give

"Stranger" Alexander Blok

In the evenings above the restaurants
The hot air is wild and deaf,
And rules with drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit.

Far above the dust of the alley,
Above the boredom of country dachas,
The bakery's pretzel is slightly golden,
And a child's cry is heard.

And every evening, behind the barriers,
Breaking the pots,
Walking with the ladies among the ditches
Tested wits.

Oarlocks creak over the lake
And a woman's squeal is heard,
And in the sky, accustomed to everything
The disk is bent senselessly.

And every evening my only friend
Reflected in my glass
And tart and mysterious moisture
Like me, humbled and stunned.

And next to the neighboring tables
Sleepy lackeys hang around,
And drunkards with rabbit eyes
“In vino veritas!”1 they shout.

And every evening, at the appointed hour
(Or am I just dreaming?),
The girl's figure, captured by silks,
A window moves through a foggy window.

And slowly, walking between the drunken,
Always without companions, alone
Breathing spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.

And they breathe ancient beliefs
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers,
And in the rings there is a narrow hand.

And chained by a strange intimacy,
I look behind the dark veil,
And I see the enchanted shore
And the enchanted distance.

Silent secrets have been entrusted to me,
Someone's sun was handed to me,
And all the souls of my bend
Tart wine pierced.

And ostrich feathers bowed
My brain is swinging,
And blue bottomless eyes
They bloom on the far shore.

There's a treasure in my soul
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunken monster!
I know: the truth is in the wine.

Analysis of Blok’s poem “Stranger”

When it comes to creative heritage Russian poet Alexander Blok, many often recall the textbook poem “Stranger”, written in 1906 and becoming one of the best romantic works by this author.

"The Stranger" has a rather sad and dramatic backstory. During the period of writing the poem, Alexander Blok was experiencing a deep emotional drama caused by his wife's betrayal, who went to the poet Alexander Bely. According to the recollections of the poet’s relatives, he uncontrollably drowned his sorrows in wine and sat for days on end in cheap drinking establishments filled with dubious personalities. It is likely that in one of these restaurants Alexander Blok met a mysterious stranger - an elegant lady in a hat with a mourning veil, who every evening at the same time occupied a table near the window, indulging in her sad thoughts.

In this establishment she clearly looked like a foreign creature, belonging to a completely different world, where there was no place for dirt and street language, prostitutes, gigolos and lovers of cheap booze. And, quite likely, it is the image mysterious woman, so out of place in the interior of a cheap tavern, awakened in the poet a desire not only to delve into its secret, but also to analyze own life, realizing that he was wasting it.

Describing the situation around him, Alexander Blok deliberately contrasts dirt and drunken stupor with the divine image of an unknown woman, who, apparently, is experiencing an equally deep spiritual drama, but does not stoop to drowning her grief in alcohol. The realization that the fragile stranger turns out to be much stronger and more courageous than all those men who surround her gives rise to a certain semblance of admiration in the poet’s soul. This is the first bright moment in his life in many months, which he is trying to grab onto as if it were a life preserver in order to emerge from the abyss of unremitting drunkenness. The fact that he succeeded brilliantly is confirmed by the very fact of the existence of the poem “The Stranger,” which, as it later turned out, became a turning point not only in the life, but also in the work of Alexander Blok.

AND precisely the contrast between the dark and light sides of life, which is very clearly visible in this lyrical and very moving work, indicates that the poet very clearly understands that his life is going downhill at an inexorable speed. Such an antithesis sets the rhythm for the entire work, as if emphasizing that there is another reality in which even with broken hearted you can rejoice and be surprised simple things, which evoke the brightest and most exciting feelings. The image of a stranger identifies a slightly open door to another reality, and all that remains is to take a couple of unsteady steps to find yourself where there is no place for the gloomy reality with its vulgarity, betrayal, cruelty and dirt.

Stay in the arms of Bacchus or try to get into mysterious world strangers, filled with light and purity? Alexander Blok chooses the third path, arguing that there is truth in wine too, but at the same time deciding not to stoop to the level of those who drink not in order to comprehend it, but in order to forget. This is confirmed by one of the last stanzas, in which the poet admits: “There is a treasure in my soul, and the key is entrusted only to me!” These words can be interpreted in different ways, but their most likely meaning is that only spiritual purity, the ability to love and forgive, give a person the strength to live on. But in order to realize this, you must first sink to the very bottom, and then meet a mysterious stranger who will make you believe in own strength just by her presence, even if her image is a figment of the imagination, poisoned by alcohol.

]
Hiding the snow prison.
And blue Komsomol girls,
Squealing, swimming in the Crimea.

The gradually growing Blok line in the poem is resolved by the vision of a “blessed country” (in Blok’s “Stranger” - “and I see an enchanted shore / and an enchanted distance”).

In Blok’s poem, the vision of the far shore is clearly contrasted with the picture of the ugly world, while Ivanov says nothing at all about the world from which the “blessed country” is visible. That is, it is said in the first stanza, but this is a view from above, at a certain pan-European state of freedom on all four sides, but Ivanov does not say a word about his own, concrete, emigrant existence, as if there is no existence at all. Or rather, all that exists is not external circumstances, but inner life, the life of the soul. In this sense, with new strength Blok’s “she sits by the window” shines - all further vision will be “through a dark glass,” with the emphasis not so much on the divination of our vision, but on the fact that it is internal, not external.

The folklore “by seas-oceans” indicates both distance (far, far away), and Russianness, and the fabulousness of the vision - the blessed country is somewhere there, “beyond the sea-ocean, in the thirtieth kingdom, far away country. After the colon - a description of the most blissful country, not named - and a name is not needed, because Blok’s voice has already sounded, the folklore beginning “beyond the seas and oceans” has already sounded.
From the “universal homeland”, from the new European world, the path leads to Russia, and this path - internal - is akin to mental vision (and this is why this vision is different from Blok’s, where it is not completely clear whether this is insight, or drunken delirium - in Ivanov, “having passed between the sober and the drunk” - not only a charming imprecision of memory, but also an indication of a certain absoluteness of vision).

The epithet blessed is explained in the following lines:
They're standing Christmas trees,
Hiding the snow prison.
And blue Komsomol girls
Squealing, swimming in the Crimea.

They dive over the graves
On one side - poetry, on the other - the groom.

It seems that in the first two verses we're talking about about blissful ignorance - it’s no coincidence that Christmas trees hide a snowy prison. In this sense, the winter of the first two verses can also be interpreted as a symbol of death (“the purest shroud of winter, sweeping away life”). But not only that, because almost always for Ivanov, winter is a memory of home, of Russian snow, in contrast to the “fertile south.”

It is worth paying attention to the fact that in relation to the “emigrant was” Ivanov uses the epithet blessed, which in the context of exile refers more likely to a posthumous existence than to an earthly paradise.

It seems to me that “blessed country” refers to blissful ignorance, and to blissful vision, and bliss in the simple sense of happiness (blue Komsomol girls).

So Christmas trees remind us of a bright holiday, of that holiday, which, according to Blok, was a memory of the Golden Age, of a sense of home.

The Christmas holiday was bright in Russian families, like Christmas tree candles, and pure as resin. There was a lot in the foreground green Tree and cheerful children; even adults, not experienced in having fun, were less bored, huddling near the walls. And everything danced - both the children and the dying candles.

It was in this way that Dostoevsky, feeling this holiday, this steadfastness of the home, the legitimacy of good and bright morals, wrote (in “The Diary of a Writer”, in 1876) the story “The Boy at Christ’s Christmas Tree.” When the freezing boy saw from the street, through a large glass, a Christmas tree and a pretty girl and heard music, it was for him some kind of heavenly vision; as if in his death sleep he had a vision of a new and bright life.

In Ivanov’s poem, a vision of paradise, a new bright life coexists with death, just as in the first stanza Greece “blooms with graves.” At the same time, the blue Komsomol members themselves can hardly be regarded as the personification of world evil.

It turns out that the picture of the blessed country is contrasted with the picture of the European world in the first stanza: there is freedom “on all four sides,” here there is a prison. But these pictures are similar: both here and there - oblivion about death, about heroic death (“the blossoming of the graves” and “diving over the graves” - by the way, again a reference to Tyutchev - “the graves below you are silent too”).

In 1949, Ivanov described this “snow prison” differently:

Russia has been living in prison for thirty years,
On Solovki or Kolyma.

And only in Kolyma and Solovki
Russia is the one that will live for centuries.

In the poem “The path is clear at Thermopylae” there is still the same image of a “snow prison”, but “everything else” is no longer “planetary hell”, but Komsomol members bathing in the Crimea. One can hardly agree with the straightforward statement of Kirill Pomerantsev: “Russian youth are innocent of the sins of their parents and do not know that they live in prison. Deprived of his own joys, the poet rejoiced for her.” In my opinion, there is no trace of joy in these lines. But there is tenderness in them. AND diminutive suffixes, and the very rhyme of the Christmas tree/Komsomol, coupled with the epithet blue, rather indicates the bliss of ignorance and innocence than the “cold and darkness” of the coming days.

In the final stanza the same picture:

They dive over the graves
On one side - poetry, on the other - the groom...

“They dive over the graves” - including over the graves of the White Guards, and the poems and the groom in the next line are the same indication of the innocence of life, youth, love (more precisely, spring, falling in love). It is noteworthy that it is “poems”, and not anything else, but “poems” are from that very, impossible and irrevocable Russian life.

The final lines of the poem return us to where it begins - the Battle of Thermopylae:

...And Leonidas at Thermopylae,
Of course, he died for them too.

The circle of history closes, and this ring structure is not accidental - the view from above embraces the whole, but the whole itself - not in an abstract idea, but in the concrete, that is, in the individual (both the one who died and the one who sees it - “and We"). We can trace this movement in the poem itself: from the “universal homeland” and the picture of the post-war, European world in the first stanza, to inner life chaotic students of Leontyev and Tyutchev - hope (third stanza), which sees a “blessed country” - i.e. Russian Greece – new Russia(fourth stanza) - to the individual (Leonidas at Thermopylae) and the affirmation of the non-merger and inseparability of history itself - personal and universal - “of course, he died for them too.”

The hopeless struggle at Thermopylae ends in the defeat and death of the Spartans. The Greco-Persian war itself would end several decades later with the signing of a peace treaty, quite favorable for Hellas, but the days of Hellas were numbered - in modern Greece only the ruins remind of the “golden age”.

Georgy Ivanov’s poem is, in essence, an unambiguous and uncompromising answer to the question asked by Konstantin Leontyev’s “not chaotic” students: “I really don’t like today’s Russia. I don’t know if it’s worth dying for her or in her service?” There is no doubt that " modern Russia“- snow prison - Georgy Ivanov doesn’t particularly like it either. The stronger the statement “of course, he died for them.”