Nikolai Gogolgants Kuchelgarten. Online reading of the book Hanz Küchelgarten Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

GANZ KÜCHELGARTEN

Idyll in pictures

The proposed essay would never have seen the light of day if circumstances important to the Author alone had not prompted him to do so. This is the work of his eighteen-year-old youth. Without starting to judge either its merits or its shortcomings, and leaving this to the enlightened public, we will only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, did not survive; they probably connected the now more disparate passages and completed the picture of the main character. At the very least, we are proud that, if possible, we helped the world to become acquainted with the creation of a young talent.

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here's a glimpse of the village

Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.

The bell tower shines all in gold

And a ray shines on an old fence.

Everything turned out captivatingly

Upside down, in the silver water:

The fence, the house, and the garden are the same.

Everything moves in silver water:

The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds move,

And the forest is alive, but it just doesn’t make noise.

On the shore extending far into the sea,

Under the shade of linden trees, there is a cozy house

Pastor. An old man has been living there for a long time.

It is deteriorating, and the old roof

Posed; the pipe was all black;

And flowery moss has been molding for a long time

Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;

But somehow it’s cute in it, and no way

The old man wouldn't give it away.

That's the linden tree

Where he likes to rest, he also becomes decrepit.

But there are green counters around it

From fresh turf.

In hollow holes

Her birds nest, old house

And the garden filled with a cheerful song.

The pastor did not sleep all night, and before dawn

I’ve already gone out to sleep in the clean air;

And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,

And the breeze freshens his face,

And white hair flutters.

But who is the fair one?

Like a fresh morning, it burns

And does it point your eyes at him?

Adorably worth it?

Look how cute it is

Her lily hand

Touching him lightly,

And it forces me to return to our world.

And now he looks with half an eye,

And now, half asleep, he says:

“Oh wonderful, wonderful visitor!

You visited my abode!

Why the secret melancholy

It goes right through my soul,

And on the gray-haired old man

Your image is marvelous from afar

Does it make you feel strange?

Look: I’m already frail,

I have long since grown cold towards the living,

I buried myself in myself for a long time,

From day to day I am waiting for peace,

I’m already used to thinking about him,

My tongue talks about him.

Why are you, young guest,

Are you so passionately attracted to yourself?

Or, a resident of heaven-paradise,

You give me hope

Are you calling me to heaven?

Oh, I'm ready, but not worthy.

Great are the grave sins:

And I was the evil warrior in the world,

The shepherds made me timid;

Fierce deeds are nothing new to me;

But I renounced the devil

And the rest of my life -

My small payment

There’s an evil story behind my previous life...”

Full of melancholy and confusion,

“Say” - she thought -

“God knows where he’ll go...

Tell him that he’s delusional.”

But he is plunged into oblivion.

Sleep overwhelms him again.

Leaning over him, she breathes slightly.

How he rests! how he sleeps!

A barely noticeable sigh shakes your chest;

Encircled by invisible air,

An archangel watches over him;

A heavenly smile shines

The holy brow is overshadowed.

So he opened his eyes:

“Louise, is that you? I dreamed... strange...

You got up early, minx;

The dew has not yet dried.

It seems foggy today.”

“No, grandfather, it’s light, the vault is clean;

The sun shines brightly through the grove;

A fresh leaf does not sway,

And in the morning everything is already hot.

Do you know why I am coming to you? -

We will have a holiday today.

We already have old Lodelgam,

The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;

We will travel on the waters...

Whenever Gantz..." Kind-hearted

The pastor waits with a sly smile,

What will the story be about?

The baby is playful and carefree.

"You, grandpa, you can help

Alone to unheard of grief:

My Gantz fear is sick; day and night

Everything goes to the dark sea;

Everything is not according to him, he is not happy about everything,

He talks to himself, he’s boring to us,

Ask - he will answer inappropriately,

And he’s all terribly exhausted.

He will become arrogant with melancholy -

Yes, he will destroy himself.

At the thought I tremble alone:

Perhaps he is dissatisfied with me;

Perhaps he doesn't love me. -

To me this is like a steel knife in my heart.

I dare to ask you, my angel...”

And she threw herself on his neck,

With a constricted chest, barely breathing;

And everything turned red, everything was confused

My beautiful soul;

A tear appeared in my eyes...

Oh, how beautiful Louise is!

“Don’t cry, calm down, my dear friend!

After all, it’s a shame to cry, after all,”

The spiritual father said to her. -

“God gives us patience and strength;

With your earnest prayer,

He won't deny you anything.

Believe me, Ganz breathes only for you;

Believe me, he will prove it to you.

Why do I think empty thoughts?

To spoil the peace of mind?

This is how he consoles his Louise,

Pressing her to her decrepit chest.

Here's old Gertrude making coffee

Hot and all bright, like amber.

The old man loved to drink coffee in the open air,

Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.

The smoke went away and settled down like businessmen.

And, thoughtfully, Louise bread

She hand-fed the cat, who

Purringly he crept, hearing the sweet smell.

The old man stood up from the colorful old armchairs,

He brought a prayer and offered his hand to his granddaughter;

And so he put on his smart robe,

All made of silver brocade, shiny,

And a festive unworn cap -

It's a gift to our pastor

Ganz recently brought from the city, -

And leaning on Louise's shoulder

Lileynoye, our old man went out into the field.

What a day! Merry curled

And the larks sang; there were waves

From the wind of golden grain in the field;

The trees are clustered above them,

Fruits were poured on them before the sun

Transparent; the waters were dark in the distance

Green; through the rainbow fog

Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;

Bee worker plucking honey

From fresh flowers; frolicking dragonfly

The crack curled; riotous in the distance

A song was heard, the song of daring oarsmen.

The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,

Playful herds moo along it;

And from a distance the roof is already visible

Louisina; the tiles are turning red

And a bright beam glides along their edges.

Wilhelm Kuchelbecker was born on June 10 (21), 1797 in St. Petersburg, into a family of Russified Germans. When Willie, as his family affectionately called him, turned 12 years old, his father died of consumption, leaving a widow and four children in a destitute situation. But, despite financial difficulties, the mother made a lot of effort to give her eldest son a good education.

At first, Wilhelm entered the Private Boarding School of Johann Friedrich Brinkmann, which was famous for its strong curriculum. A naturally intelligent and quick-witted boy, he studied easily, quickly mastering languages and natural sciences.

Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum

In 1811, Wilhelm brilliantly passed the entrance exams and was enrolled in the then prestigious Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.

At first, the tall stature, awkward figure, and excessive emotional nature of the young man, whom the lyceum students immediately named Kukhley, became an excellent target for cruel jokes. However, gradually they saw in him his simplicity, erudition and willingness to come to the rescue, and accepted him into their circle.

Kuchelbecker's closest lyceum friends were Alexander Pushkin, Ivan Pushchin and Anton Delvig. They spent a lot of time together: they talked about literature and writers, philosophized, and organized poetry evenings.

Career

In 1817, immediately after graduating from the Lyceum, together with his friend Pushkin, Kuchelbecker was appointed to the College of Foreign Affairs. However, he worked there for only a short time, and got a job teaching foreign languages at the boarding house.

In 1820, under the patronage of Delvig, Kuchelbecker went to France as secretary to the director of the Imperial Theaters A.L. Naryshkin. In Paris, he gave very bold and freedom-loving lectures on Russian literature, for which he would have been forcibly deported to Russia.

In 1822 he served as an official special assignments General Ermolov in the Caucasus, where he met A.S. Griboyedov. The common destinies and characters brought the two writers closer together, and Kuchelbecker carried the memory of his friendship with the writer throughout his life.

Decembrist uprising and exile

In 1825, Kuchelbecker returned to St. Petersburg, where two weeks before the uprising he was accepted into the Northern Society, a secret revolutionary organization whose members opposed the autocracy. During the uprising, Wilhelm made an unsuccessful attempt to shoot at the emperor's brother. Together with his faithful servant, he tried to escape from Russia, but was identified and arrested.

Wilhelm Kuchelbecker was sentenced to 20 years of hard labor. Subsequently, the punishment was replaced by exile to Siberia, but before that time the writer managed to visit many fortresses. During the next transfer, fate gave Kuchelbecker a brief meeting with Pushkin.

Personal life

Kuchelbecker was not happy in his personal life. The reason for this was his poverty and excessive idealization of his beloved women. While in exile, Wilhelm married the daughter of a postal official, Drosida Artenova. His wife was 20 years younger than him, and before marriage she could not even read.

This marriage produced four children, but only two of them - Mikhail and Ustinya - did not die in infancy. After an amnesty was announced in 1856, their noble status was restored.

Death

The last years of Kuchelbecker's life were very sad. Tired of a hard existence in exile, poverty and almost completely blind, he waited for death as deliverance from torment. Wilhelm Küchelbecker died on August 11 (23), 1846 from consumption.

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This essay would never have seen the light of day if
circumstances important to the author alone did not prompt him to do so. This
the work of his eighteen-year-old youth. Without starting to judge anything
dignity, nor about its shortcomings and leaving it to the enlightened public,
Let's just say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, did not survive;
they probably connected the now more disparate passages and completed
opportunities allowed the world to become acquainted with the creation of the young talent.

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here's a glimpse of the village
Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.
The bell tower shines all in gold
And a ray shines on the old fence.
Everything turned out captivatingly
Upside down, in the silver water:
The fence, the house, and the garden are the same.
Everything moves in silver water:
The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds move,
And the forest is alive, but it just doesn’t make noise.

On the shore, far out into the sea,
Under the shade of linden trees, there is a cozy house
Past_o_ra. An old man has been living there for a long time.
It is deteriorating, and the old roof
Posed; the pipe was all black;
And flowery moss has been molding for a long time
Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;
But somehow it’s cute in it, and no way
The old man wouldn't give it away. That's the linden tree
Where he likes to rest, he becomes decrepit.
But there are green counters around it
From fresh turf. In hollow holes
Her birds nest, old house
And the garden filled with a cheerful song.
The pastor did not sleep all night, and before dawn
I’ve already gone out to sleep in the clean air;
And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,
And the breeze freshens his face,
And white hair flutters.

But who is the fair one?
Like a fresh morning, it burns
And does it point your eyes at him?
Adorably worth it?
Look how cute it is
Her lily hand
Touching him lightly,
And it forces me to return to our world.
And now he looks at half-glare,
And now, half asleep, he says:

O wonderful, wonderful visitor!
You visited my abode!
Why the secret melancholy
It goes right through my soul,
And on the gray-haired old man
Your image is marvelous from afar
Does it make you feel strange?
Look: I’m already frail,
I have long since grown cold towards the living,
I buried myself in myself for a long time,
From day to day I am waiting for peace,
I’m already used to thinking about him,
My tongue talks about him.
Why are you, young guest,
Are you so passionately attracted to yourself?
Or, a resident of heaven-paradise,
You give me hope
Are you calling me to heaven?
Oh, I'm ready, but not worthy.
Great are the grave sins:
And I was the scarlet warrior in the world,
The shepherds made me timid;
Fierce deeds are not news to me;
But I renounced the devil
And the rest of my life -
My small payment
There's an evil story behind my previous life...

Full of melancholy and confusion,
“Say,” she thought, “
God knows where he'll go...
Tell him he's delusional."

But he is plunged into oblivion.
Sleep overwhelms him again.
Leaning over him, she breathes slightly.
How he rests! how he sleeps!
A barely noticeable sigh shakes your chest;
Encircled by invisible air,
An archangel watches over him;
A heavenly smile shines
The holy brow is overshadowed.

So he opened his eyes:
- Louise, is that you? I dreamed... strange...
You got up early, minx;
The dew has not yet dried.
It seems foggy today.

No, grandfather, it’s light, the vault is clean;
The sun shines brightly through the grove;
A fresh leaf does not sway,
And in the morning everything is already hot.
Do you know why I am coming to you? -
We will have a holiday today.
We already have old Lodelgam,
The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;
We will travel on the waters...
Whenever Ganz... - Kind-hearted
The past_o_r is waiting with a sly smile,
What will the story be about?
The baby is playful and carefree.

You grandpa, you can help
Alone to unheard of grief:
My Gantz fear is sick; day and night
Everything goes to the dark sea;
Everything is not according to him, he’s not happy about everything,
He talks to himself, he’s boring to us,
Ask - he will answer inappropriately,
And he’s all terribly exhausted.
He will become arrogant with melancholy -
Yes, he will destroy himself.
At the thought I tremble alone:
Perhaps he is dissatisfied with me;
Perhaps he doesn't love me. -
To me this is like a steel knife in my heart.
I dare to ask you, my angel... -
And she threw herself on his neck,
With a constricted chest, barely breathing;
And everything turned red, everything was confused
My beautiful soul;
A tear appeared in my eyes...
Oh, how beautiful Louise is!

Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!
After all, it’s a shame to cry, finally -
The spiritual father said to her. -
God gives us patience and strength;
With your earnest prayer.
He won't deny you anything.
Believe me, Ganz breathes only for you;
Believe me, he will prove it to you.
Why do I think empty thoughts?
Disturb the peace of mind?

This is how he consoles his Louise.
Pressing her to her decrepit chest.
Here's old Gertrude making coffee
Hot and all bright, like amber.
The old man loved to drink coffee in the open air,
Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.
The smoke went away and fell in rings.
And thoughtfully, Louise bread
She hand-fed the cat, who
Purringly he crept, hearing the sweet smell.
The old man stood up from the colorful old armchairs,
He brought a prayer and offered his hand to his granddaughter;
And so he put on his smart robe,
All made of silver brocade, shiny,
And a festive unworn cap
(It was given as a gift to our pastor
Ganz recently brought me from the city),
And leaning on Louise's shoulder
Lileynoye, our old man went out into the field.
What a day! Merry curled
And the larks sang; there were waves
From the wind of golden grain in the field;
The trees are clustered above them,
Fruits were poured on them before the sun
Transparent; the waters were dark in the distance
Green; through the rainbow fog
Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;
Bee worker plucking honey
From fresh flowers; frolicking dragonfly
The crack curled; riotous in the distance
A song was heard, the song of daring oarsmen.
The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,
Playful herds moo along it;
And from a distance the roof is already visible
Louisina; the tiles are turning red
And a bright beam glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We worry about an incomprehensible thought,
Our Ganz looked absentmindedly
To the great, vast world,
To your unknown destiny.
Hitherto quiet, serene
He joyfully played with life;
An innocent and tender soul
I did not see any bitter troubles in her;
A native of the earthly world,
Earthly destructive passions
He did not carry in his chest,
A carefree, flighty baby.
And he had fun
He frolicked cutely, lively
In a crowd of children; didn't believe in evil:
The world blossomed before him as if in wonder.
His girlfriend from childhood days
Child Louise, bright angel,
She shone with the charm of her speeches;
Through the rings of light brown curls
The sly look burned inconspicuously;
In a green skirt
Does she sing, does she dance -
Everything is simple-minded, everything is alive in her,
Everything about her is childishly eloquent;
Pink scarf on the neck
It flies off my chest little by little,
And a slender white shoe
It covers her leg.
In the forest he plays with him -
It will overtake him, everything will penetrate,
Hiding in the bush with evil desire,
Suddenly he shouts loudly in his ears -
And it will scare you; is he sleeping -
His face will be painted all over,
And, awakened by ringing laughter,
He leaves sweet Dreams,
He kisses the playful minx.

Spring is leaving behind spring.
The range of their children's games has become too modest.
Between them, playfulness is not visible;
The fire of his eyes became languid,
She is shy and sad.
They, of course, guessed
You, the first speeches of love!
As long as sweet sorrows!
As long as the days are bright!
What could you wish for with dear Louise?
He is with her in the evening, with her in the day,
He is drawn to her by wondrous power,
Like a faithful wandering shadow.
Full of heartfelt sympathy
Old people can't see enough
Their simple-minded luck
Your children; and far away
From them are days of grief, days of doubt:
A peaceful genius dawns on them.

But soon a secret sadness
She took possession of him; the gaze is foggy,
And he often looks into the distance,
And all restless and strange.
The mind boldly seeks something,
He is secretly indignant about something;
Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts.
She is mournful and yearning for something;
He sits chained,
He looks at the wild sea.
In dreams everyone hears someone
With the harmonious sound of old waters.

Or a Duma is walking in the valley;
The eyes shine solemnly,
When the wind rushes noisy
And the thunders speak hotly;
Instant fire pierces the clouds;
Rain sources are flammable
They split loudly and make noise.
Or at the hour of midnight, at the hour of dreams
Sitting at a book of legends,
And, turning over the sheet,
He catches the silent letters in it
- Gray centuries speak in them,
And the wondrous word thunders. -
Lost in thought for an hour,
He won’t even take his eyes off her;
Whoever passes by Gantz,
Whoever looks at it will say boldly:
He lives far back.
Enchanted by a wonderful thought,
Under the gloomy oak canopy
He often goes on a summer day,
Chained to something secret;
He secretly sees someone's shadow,
And he stretches out his arms to her.
He hugs her into oblivion.

And simple-minded and alone
Louise is an angel, what? where?
Devoted to him with all my heart,
The poor thing doesn’t know sleep;
He brings the same caresses;
She will wrap her little hand around him;
He will be kissed innocently;
He'll feel sad for a minute
And he’ll sing the same thing again.

They are beautiful, those moments
When a transparent crowd
Far away sweet visions
They take the young man with them.
But if the world of the soul is destroyed,
Forgotten happy corner
He will become indifferent to him,
And for ordinary people high
Will they fill the young man?
And will your heart be filled with joy?..

While the house is bustling
Let's listen to him on the sly.
Hitherto a mystery.
Various dreams.

PICTURE III

The land of classic, beautiful creations,
And glorious deeds, and freedom, land!
Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful tremors,
I'm chained to my soul!
From the tripods to Piraeus itself
The solemn people are seething and agitated;
Where are the speeches of Aeschinov, thundering and flaming,
Everything willfully follows you,
Like the noisy waters of transparent Illis.
Great is this elegant marble Parthenon!
It is surrounded nearby by Doric columns;
Phidias resettled Minerva in it with a chisel,
And the brush of Parrhasius and Zeuxis shines.
Under the portico the divine sage
He speaks a lofty word about the world below;
Immortality is ready for those who have valor.
Shame for some, crown for others.
Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant songs of cliques;
As the day rises, the crowd pours into the amphitheater,
The Persian candis is all speckled and glitters,
And light tunics curl.
Sophocles' poems sound impetuously;
Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;
From the honeyed lips of Epicurus's favorite
Archons, warriors, servants of Amur
Slash the beautiful science to study:
How to live life, how to drink pleasure.
But here is Aspasia! Doesn't dare to breathe
Confused young man, at the black eyes of these meeting.
How hot are those lips! how fiery are those speeches!
And dark as night, those curls somehow
Excited, they fall on their chests,
On white marble shoulders.
But what about the wild howl at the sound of tympanum bowls?
The Bacchic maidens are crowned with ivy,
They run in a discordant, frantic crowd
To the sacred forest; everything is hidden... what are you saying? Where are you?..

But you are gone, I am alone.
Again melancholy, again annoyance;
At least the Faun came from the valleys;
Even a beautiful Dryad
It seemed to me in the darkness of the garden.
Oh how wonderful you are your world
The Greeks were filled with dreams!
How you charmed him!
And ours is both poor and sire,
And it's squared off for miles.

And again new dreams
They hug him laughing;
He is being lifted into the air
From the ocean of vanity.

PICTURE IV

In a country where living springs sparkle;
Where, wonderfully shining, the rays shine;
Breath of amra and rose of the night
Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;
And clouds of incense hang in the air;
Golden mangosteen fruits burn;
The carpet of the Kandatar meadows sparkles;
And they will boldly pitch the heavenly tent;
The rain of bright colors falls luxuriously,
Then swarms of moths glitter and tremble; -
I see Peri there: she is in oblivion
She doesn’t see, doesn’t listen, she’s full of dreams.
Like two suns, the eyes burn heavenly;
Like Gemasagara, the curls shine;
Breath - lilies of silver children,
When the exhausted garden falls asleep
And the wind will sometimes scatter their sighs;
And the voice is like the sounds of the night sirind,
Or the flutter of silver wings,
When they sound, frolicking, destroyed,
Or the splashes of Hindara's mysterious streams;
What about the smile? What about the kiss?
But I see, like air, she’s already flying,
He hurries to the lands of heaven, to his loved ones.
Wait, look around! She doesn't listen.
And it drowns in the rainbow, and now it’s not visible.
But the world keeps memories for a long time,
And the whole air is entwined with fragrance.

Living youth's aspirations
That's how dreams were filled.
Sometimes a heavenly line
Souls of beautiful impressions,
They lay on it; but why
In the turmoil of your heart
He searched with an unclear thought,
What did you want, what did you want?
Why did you fly so ardently?
Soul and greedy and passionate,
As if the world wanted to hug, -
I couldn’t understand that myself.
It seemed stuffy and dusty to him
In this abandoned country;
And my heart beat strong, strong
On the far, far side.
Then, if only you could see
How the chest heaved violently,
How the eyes trembled proudly,
How my heart yearned to cling
To your dream, an unclear dream;
What a beautiful ardor seethed in him;
What a hot tear
The eyes were full of life.

PICTURE VI

That village is two miles from Wismar,
Where the world is limited to our faces.
I don’t know how it is now, but Lunensdorf
She was then called cheerful.
Already from afar a modest house gleams white
Wilhelm Bauch, manor. For a long time,
Having married the pastor's daughter,
He built it! Fun house!
It is painted green and covered
Beautiful and ringing tiles;
There are old chestnuts around,
Hanging over your head, as if through a window
They want to get through; because of them it flickers
Lattice of fine vines, beautiful
And cunningly made by Wilhelm himself;
Hop hangs and snakes along it;
A pole is stretched from the window, there is linen on it
White shines in the sun. Here
A flock is crowding into the gap in the attic
Hairy pigeons; clucking for a long time
Turkeys; clapping greets the day
The rooster crows and it’s important around the yard,
He rakes heaps between motley chickens
Grainy; two are walking right there
Tame goats nibble while frolicking
Fragrant grass. Been smoking for a long time
There's smoke coming out of the white chimneys, it's curly
It curled and multiplied the clouds.
From the side where the paint was falling off the walls
And the gray bricks stuck out,
Where the ancient chestnut trees cast shadows,
which the sun crossed,
When the wind swayed their tops,
Under the shadow of those ever-loving trees
The oak table stood in the morning, all clean
Covered with a tablecloth and all set
Fragrant dish: yellow delicious cheese,
Radish and butter in a porcelain duck,
And beer, and wine, and sweet bichef,
And sugar and brown waffles;
There are ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:
Transparent bunches, fragrant raspberries.
And the pears turn yellow like amber,
And blue plums and bright peach,
Everything seemed to be in order in the intricate.
Living Wilhelm celebrated today
The birth of my dear wife,
With past_o_rum and dear daughters:
Louise the elder and the younger Fanny.
But Fanny is gone, she left long ago
She didn’t return to call Ganz. Right,
He wanders somewhere again, lost in thought.
And dear Louise still watches
Look closely at the dark window
Ganz's neighbor. It's only two steps
To him; but my Luiaa didn’t go:
So that he doesn't notice in her face
Boring melancholy, so as not to read
In her eyes he is a caustic reproach.
This is what Wilhelm, the father, says to Luiga:
- Look, you scold Gantz in order:
Why does he take so long to come to us?
After all, you spoiled him yourself. -
And here is child Louise in response:
- I’m afraid to reproach the wonderful I Gantz:
And without that he is sick, pale, thin...
“What kind of disease,” said the mother.
Living Bertha - not a disease, melancholy
The uninvited one pestered him;
Once he gets married, the melancholy will disappear.
So a young shoot, completely faded,
Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;
And what is a wife if not the joy of her husband?
“It’s a smart speech,” the gray-haired pastor said. -
Believe me, everything will pass when God wants it,
And be his holy will in everything. -
Twice already he knocked out of the pipe
Ash, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,
Talking about newspaper news,
About the evil harvest, about the Greeks and the Turks,
About Misolungi, about the affairs of war,
About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,
About Kaninga, about parliament_e_nt,
About disasters and riots in Madrid.
Suddenly Louise screamed and instantly,
Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.
Hugging her slender airy figure,
The young man kissed her with excitement.
Turning to him, the pastor says:
- Oh, it’s a shame, Ganz, to forget your friend!
So what, if you’ve already forgotten Louise,
Should we even think about us old people? - Complete
It’s all up to you to scold Ganz, daddy, -
Bertha said, “We’d better sit down.”
Now come to the table, otherwise everything will get cold:
And porridge with rice and fragrant wine,
And sugar peas, hot capon,
Fried with raisins in oil. - Here
They sit down peacefully at the table;
And soon the wine instantly revived everything
And, lightly, it brought laughter into my soul.
The old man violinist and Fritz on the ringing flute
Accordingly, they thundered in honor of the hostess.
Everyone rushed and spun in a waltz.
Cheerfully, our ruddy Wilhelm
He set off with his wife, like a peahen;
Ganz and his Louise rushed like a whirlwind
In a stormy waltz; and before them there is peace
He was spinning all over in a wonderful, noisy formation.
And dear Louise can’t breathe,
He can’t even look around, all
Lost in movement. by them
Not having enough of it, the past_o_r says:
- Dear, wonderful couple!
My dear cheerful Louise,
Ganz is beautiful and smart and modest;
They were created for each other
And they will spend their lives happily.
Thank you, oh merciful God!
That he sent down grace on old age,
My decrepit strength has been extended -
To see such beautiful grandchildren,
To say, saying goodbye to the old body:
I have seen beauty on earth.

PICTURE VII

Cool, calm, quiet evening
Descends; parting rays
They kiss the dark sea somewhere;
And sparks alive, golden
The trees are touched; and in the distance
The sea cliffs are visible through the fog,
All multi-colored. Everything is calm,
The sad voice of the shepherd's horns only
Rushing into the distance from the cheerful shores,
Yes, the quiet sound of splashing fish in the water
It will run a little and make the sea ripple,
Yes, the swallow, having scooped up the sea with its wing,
Sliding circles through the air gives;
Here a boat sparkled in the distance like a dot;
And who is sitting in it, in that boat?
The shepherd is sitting, our gray-haired old man.
And with his dear wife Wilhelm;
And Fanny is always playful,
With a fish in his hands and hanging from the railing,
Laughing, the waves waved with their little hands;
Near the stern with dear Louise Ganz.
And for a long time everyone admired in silence:
How the wide one walked behind the stern
A wave and in fire-colored spray, suddenly
Torn by the oar, she trembled;
How the pink range was explained
And the south wind brought breath.
And here is the past_o_r, filled with tenderness,
He said: “How lovely this evening is!
Beautiful, quiet, like a good life
Sinless; she's also peaceful
The journey ends, and tears of tenderness
The sacred ashes, beautiful ones, are sprinkled.
It's time for me too; the deadline has been set,
And soon, soon I won't be yours,
But is this a beautiful bedchamber?..”
Everyone burst into tears; Gantz, who is the song
Played the sweet oboe,
He became lost in thought and dropped his oboe;
And again some dream dawned on me
His brow; Thoughts were racing far away
And something wonderful came over my soul.
And this is what Louise says to him:
- Tell me, Ganz, when else do you love
When I can wake me up
Even pity, even living compassion
In your soul, don’t torment me, tell me, -
Why alone with some book
Are you sitting overnight? (I can see everything
And the windows are against each other).
Why are you shying away from everyone? why are you sad?
Oh, how your sad appearance worries me!
Oh, how your sadness saddens me! -
And, touched, Ganz became embarrassed;
He presses her to his chest with sadness,
And an involuntary tear fell.
- Don't ask me, my Louise,
And don’t multiply your melancholy with worry.
When I seem lost in thought -
Believe me, I’m busy even then with you alone,
And I think how to turn away
All the sad doubts from you,
How to fill your heart with joy,
How can you keep your soul at peace?
To protect your child's innocent sleep,
So that evil does not come closer,
So that even the shadow of melancholy does not touch,
May your happiness always bloom. -
Descending towards him with my head on his chest,
In the abundance of feelings, in the gratitude of the heart
She cannot utter a word.
The boat rushed along the shore smoothly
And suddenly she landed. Everyone left
Instantly from her. "Well! Be careful, children, -
Wilhelm said, “It’s damp and dewy here,
So as not to develop an intolerable cough."
Our dear Ganz thinks: “What will happen,
When he hears what he would have known
Shouldn't she?" And he looks at her
And he feels reproach in his heart:
As if he had done something bad,
As if he was a hypocrite before God.

PICTURE VIII

The hour of midnight strikes on the tower.
So, this is the hour, the hour of thought,
How Ganz always sits alone!
The light of the lamp in front of him is shaking
And the dusk palely illuminates,
As if doubts are pouring out.
Everything is asleep. No one's wandering gaze
There will be no one on the field;
And, like a distant conversation,
The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.
Everything is quiet, the night breathes alone.
Now his deep thoughts
Will not be disturbed by daytime noise:
There is such silence above him.

What about her? - She gets up,
Sits right by the window:
"He won't look, won't notice,
And I’ll look at him enough;
Doesn't sleep for my happiness!..
God bless him!"

The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.
And now a dream hovers over her
And he involuntarily bows his head.
But Ganz is still drowning in thoughts,
Deep into their depths.

"Everything is decided. Now really
Should I die here?
And don’t I know any other purpose?
And you can’t find a better goal?
Doom yourself to ignominy as a sacrifice?
To be dead to the world while alive?

Is it a soul that has fallen in love with glory,
To love insignificance in the world?
Is it your soul, fortunately not cooled down,
Can't drink the excitement of the world?
And you won’t find anything beautiful in it?
Existence not to be noted?

Why are you so attracted to yourself?
Luxurious lands?
And day and night, like the songs of birds,
I hear a calling voice;
And day and night I am shackled by dreams,
I am fascinated by you.

I am your! I am your! from this desert
I will go to heavenly places;
Like a pilgrim wandering to the shrine,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The ship will sail, the waves will splash;
Feelings follow them, full of fun.

And it will fall, the cover is unclear,
As the dream knew you,
And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful
Will open the wondrous gates,
Ready to greet the young man
And in pleasures forever new.

Creators of wonderful experiences!
I will see your chisel, your brush,
And your fiery creations
My soul will be fulfilled;
Make noise, my ocean is wide!
Carry my lonely ship!

And forgive me, my corner is cramped,
Both the forest and the field! meadow, sorry!
Rain the heavenly rain on you more often!
And may God grant you to bloom longer!
It’s as if my soul is suffering for you,
IN last time wants to hug you.

Forgive me, my serene angel!
Don't sprinkle your brow with tears!
Don't indulge in rebellious melancholy
And forgive poor Gantz!
Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon,
When I come back, will I forget you?..”

PICTURE IX

Who is it sometimes
Does he walk quietly and carefully?
You can see the knapsack behind your back,
Travel staff in belt.
To the right is the house in front of it,
To the left is a long road,
Follow the path he wants to follow
And asks God for firmness.
But we are tormented by secret torment,
He turns his legs back
And he hurries to that house.

One window is open in it;
Lean your elbows in front of that window
The beautiful maiden rests
And, blowing the wind over her wing.
He inspires her with wonderful dreams;
And, my dear, it’s full of them,
Here she is smiling.
He approaches her with emotion...
My chest felt tight; a tear trembles...
And it brings to beauty
Your sparkling eyes.
He leaned towards her, blazing,
He kisses her and moans.

And, startled, he runs quickly
Again on a distant road;
But the restless look is gloomy,
But this one is sad. deep soul.
Here he looked back:
But the fog is already covering the surroundings,
And my chest aches more than a young man,
Sending a farewell glance.
The wind, awakened, is harsh
He shook the green oak tree.
Everything disappeared into the empty distance.
Through dreams only vaguely, sometimes
Gottlieb the gatekeeper seemed to hear
That someone came out of the gate,
Yes, a faithful dog, as if in reproach,
He barked loudly throughout the yard.

PICTURE X

The bright leader does not rise for a long time.
It's a stormy morning; to the clearings
Gray mists are falling,
Frequent rain rings on the roofs.
At dawn the beauty woke up;
She's surprised that she
I slept the whole night by the window.
Adjusting her curls, she smiled,
But, against my will, the gaze is alive
He flashed an annoying tear.
“Why is Gantz taking so long to come?
He promised me to be there at first light.
What a day! makes me sad;
A thick fog moves across the field,
And the wind whistles; but Gantz is not there."

Full of lively impatience,
Looking at the cute window:
It doesn't open.
Ganz is probably sleeping and dreaming
Any object is created for him;
But the day is already long ago. Valleys are tearing apart
Streams of rain; oak tops
They make noise; and Gantz is not there, no matter what.

It's almost noon. Inconspicuous
The fog is leaving; the forest is silent;
Thunder in thought thunders
In the distance... In a seven-colored arc
A heavenly light is burning in the sky;
The ancient oak is strewn with sparks;
And sonorous songs from the village
They sound; and Gantz is not there, no matter what.

What would that mean?.. finds
The villain is sadness; hearing is tired
Count the hours... Someone comes in
And at the door... He! he!.. oh, no, not him!
In a pink robe, calm,
In a colored apron with a border,
Bertha comes: “My angel!
Tell me, what happened to you?
You slept restlessly all night;
You are all languid, you are all pale.
Was it the noisy rain that got in the way?
Or a roaring wave?
Or a rooster, a noisy brawler,
Staying awake all night?
Or was disturbed by an unclean spirit
In a dream, the peace of a pure maiden,
Inspired by black sadness?
Tell me, I feel sorry for you with all my heart!”

No, the noisy rain didn’t bother me,
And not a roaring wave,
And not a rooster, a loud brawler,
Unable to sleep all night;
Not these dreams, not those sorrows
They excited my young breasts,
It is not them that my spirit is outraged,
I had another wonderful dream.

I dreamed: I was in the dark desert,
There is fog and wilderness around me.
And on the swampy plain
There is no place where there is dryness.
Heavy odor; sloppy, viscous;
Every step is like an abyss below me:
I'm afraid to step foot;
And suddenly it became so hard for me,
It's so hard that I can't say...
Wherever you go, Ganz is wild, strange
- Blood ran, flowing from the wound -
Suddenly he started crying over me;
But instead of tears, streams flowed
Some muddy waters...
I woke up: on my chest, on my cheeks,
On the curls of a brown head,
The annoying rain ran in streams;
And my heart was not happy.
I have a feeling...
And I didn’t wring out the curls;
And I was sad all morning;
Where is he? and what about him? what's missing? -

Stands, shakes his head
A reasonable mother before her:
- Well, daughter! me with your trouble,
I don't know how to cope.
Let's go to him and find out for ourselves.
May the holy power be with us! -

Here they enter the room;
But everything in it is empty. Aside
An ancient volume lies in thick dust,
Plato and Schiller are wayward,
Petrarch, Tieck, Aristophanes
Yes, forgotten Winckelmann;
Pieces of torn paper;
There are fresh flowers on the shelf;
A feather with which, full of courage,
He conveyed his dreams.
But something flashed on the table.
The note!.. I took it with trepidation
Louise's hands. From someone?
To whom?.. and what did she read?..
The tongue babbles strangely...
And suddenly she fell to her knees;
Her sadness presses, burns,
A deathly cold flows through her.

PICTURE XI

Look, the cruel tyrant,
To the sadness of the murdered souls!
How this lonely flower fades,
Forgotten in the cloudy wilderness!
Look, look at your creation:
You deprived her of happiness
And brought joy to life
In her anguish, in hellish torment,
Into a nest of ruined graves.
Oh, how she loved you!
With what delight of feelings alive
She spoke simple words!
And how you listened to these speeches!
How fiery and how innocent
There was this sparkle in her eyes!
How often does she, in her anguish,
That day seemed boring, long,
When I'm betrayed by thought,
She didn't see you.
And you, and did you leave her?
Have you turned your back on everything?
Directed the path to a foreign country,
And for whom? and for what?
But look, the tyrant is cruel:
She is still the same, under the window,
Sits and waits in deep melancholy,
Will the darling flash through him?
The day is already fading; the evening shines;
A wondrous shine is thrown over everything;
A cool wind swirls in the sky;
The distant splash of the waves is barely audible.
Night is already spreading shadows;
But the west still shines.
The pipe flows slightly; and she
Sits motionless by the window.

NIGHT VISIONS

The red evening is getting dark and extinguished;
The earth sleeps in ecstasy;
And now to our fields
It turns out it's important to have a clear month.
And everything is transparent, everything is light;
The sea sparkles like glass. -

There are wonderful shadows in the sky
They have developed and curled up,
And they went wonderfully
To the heavenly steps.
Cleared up: two candles;
Two shaggy knights;
Two serrated swords
And embossed armor;
They are looking for something; stood in a row.
And for some reason they move;
And they fight and shine;
And they don't find something...
Everything was lost, merged with darkness;
The moon is shining over the water.

Brilliantly resounds throughout the grove
King Nightingale. The sound is quietly carried.
The night barely breathes; earth through a dream
Dreamily listens to the singer.
The forest does not sway; everything is asleep,
Only an inspired song sounds.

Appeared to a wondrous fairy
Palace merged from the air,
And there's a singer singing in the window
Inspirational ideas.
On a silver carpet
All covered in clouds,
A wonderful spirit flies on fire;
Covered the north and south with wings.
Sees: the fairy sleeps in captivity
Behind the corral bars;
Mother of pearl wall
He destroys with a crystal tear.
Embraced... merged with the darkness...
The moon is shining over the water.

Through the steam, the surroundings sparkle a little.
What a bunch of secret thoughts
The sea is making a strange noise!
A huge whale flashes its back;
The fisherman is wrapped up and sleeping;
And the sea is noisy and noisy.

Here are the young ones from the sea
Wonderful maidens float;
Blue, fire
White waves are rowing.
Thoughtful, he sways
Breasts of lily water,
And the beauty barely breathes...
And a luxurious leg
Spreads splashes in two rows...
Smiles, laughs,
Passionately beckons and calls,
And he floats thoughtfully,
As if he wants and doesn’t want,
And sings thoughtfully
About myself, a young siren,
About insidious betrayal
And the firmament is blue
The moon is shining over the water.

Here is a remote cemetery to the side:
The fence is dilapidated all around,
Crosses, stones... hidden by moss
The home of the mute dead.
Flight and screams of only owls
The sleep of empty coffins is disturbed.

Rise slowly
A dead man in a white shroud,
The bones are dusty, it's important
He wipes it off, well done.
The coldness blows from the brow of old,
There is a fawn fire in the eye,
And under him is a great horse,
Immense, all white
And it grows more and more
Soon the sky will cover;
And the dead in peace
They are drawn out in a terrible crowd.
The ground shakes and boom
Shadows into the abyss at once... Phew!

And she became afraid; instantly
She slammed the window.
Everything in the trembling heart is confused,
And heat and trembling alternately
They flow through it. It is in sadness.
Attention is distracted.
When, with a merciless hand,
Fate will push a cold stone
With a poor heart, then,
Tell me, who is true to reason?
Whose soul is strong against evil?
Who is always the same forever?
In times of misfortune, who is not superstitious?
Whoever is strong and does not turn pale in soul
Before an insignificant dream?

With fear, with secret sorrow,
She throws herself into bed;
But he waits in vain in the bed of sleep.
Will something accidentally make a noise in the darkness?
Will a scratching mouse run by -
An insidious dream flies away from everyone.

PICTURE XIII

The antiquities of Athens are sad.
Columns, statues row dilapidated
Among the deaf stands the plains.
Sad is the trace of tired centuries:
The elegant monument is broken,
Weak granite is broken,
Some fragments survived.
Still majestic to this day,
The decrepit architrave turns black,
And the ivy climbs over the capital;
A split cornice fell
Into long-stalled trenches.
This wondrous frieze still shines,
These relief metopes;
It's still sad here
Corinthian order multi-patterned
A swarm of lizards slides along it, -
He looks at the world with contempt;
He's still gorgeous,
Times past are pressed into the darkness,
And without paying attention to everything.

The antiquities of Athens are sad.
A number of former paintings are hazy.
Leaning on the cold marble,
In vain does the greedy traveler hunger
To resurrect the past in the soul,
Efforts in vain to develop
A decayed scroll of past affairs, -
The work of powerless torture is insignificant;
A vague gaze reads everywhere
And destruction and shame.
A turban flashes between the columns,
And Muslims on the walls,
Along these debris, stones, ditches,
The horse presses fiercely,
The remains are destroyed with a scream.
Unspeakable sadness
Instantly the traveler is enveloped,
He listens to the heavy murmur of his soul;
He is both sad and sorry,
Why did he direct the path here?
Is it not for decaying graves?
He left his serene shelter,
Have you forgotten your quiet peace?
Let them dwell in their thoughts
These airy dreams!
Let them worry your heart
A mirror of pure beauty!
But also murderous and cold
Now you are disillusioned.
Ruthless and merciless
You slammed the door in front of him,
Sons of pitiful materiality,
The door to the quiet world of dreams, hot! -
And sadly, with a slow foot
The traveler leaves the ruins;
He swears to forget them with his soul;
And everything involuntarily thinks
About the victims of blind mortality.

PICTURE XVI

It took two years. In peaceful Lunensdorf
Still showing off and blooming;
All the same worries and the same fun
Residents are concerned about lost hearts.
But not as before in Wilhelm's family:
Past_o_ra has been gone for a long time.
Having finished the path, both painful and difficult,
He did not rest soundly in our sleep.
All residents saw off the remains
Sacred, with tears in their eyes;
His deeds and actions were remembered:
Wasn't he our salvation?
He endowed us with his spiritual bread,
Goodness is taught beautifully in words.
Wasn't he the joy of those who mourn,
Orphans and widows with a fearless shield?
On a holiday, how meekly he used to be,
Ascended to the pulpit! and with affection
He told us about the pure martyrs,
About the grievous suffering of Christ,
And we, touched, listened to him,
They marveled and shed tears.

From Wismar when someone is on his way,
Found to the left of the road
His cemetery: old crosses
Bowed down, covered in moss,
And worn out by the chisel of time.
But between them the urn is sharply white
On the black stone, and humbly above her.
Two green sycamore trees are making noise,
A distant cold hugging shadow.
Here mortal remains rest
Past_o_ra. Volunteered at your own expense
Build good villagers over it
The last sign of his existence
In this world. Inscription on four sides
It tells how he lived and how many peaceful years
Spent it on the flock, and when he left
His long journey, and he handed his spirit over to God.

And at the hour when the bashful one develops
The east has ruddy hair;
A fresh wind will rise across the field;
The dew will sprinkle with diamonds;
The robin will drown in its bushes;
Half the sun is rising on the earth, -
Young villagers come to him,
With carnations and roses in hands.
Hanging with fragrant flowers,
They will surround you with a green garland,
And again they go on the appointed path.
Of these, one, the youngest, remains
And, leaning on his lily hand,
He sits over him in thought for a long, long time,
As if he were thinking about the incomprehensible
In this thoughtful, mourning maiden
Who wouldn't recognize sad Louise?
For a long time, joy has not sparkled in the eyes;
Doesn't seem like an innocent smile
In her face; will not run through it,
Although a mistake, |joyful feeling;
But how sweet she is even in languid sadness!
Oh, how sublime is this innocent look!
So the bright seraphim yearns
About the fatal fall of man.
Happy Louise was sweet,
But somehow I feel better in misfortune.
She was eighteen years old then,
When the wise pastor died.
With all her childish soul
She loved the godlike old man;
And he thinks in the depths of his soul:
"No, living hopes did not come true
Yours. How, good old man, did you wish
To marry us before the holy tribute,
Our union will be united forever.
How you loved the dreamy Ganz!
And he..."

Let's look into Wilhelm's hut.
It's already autumn. Cold. And he's at home
Grinded mugs with cunning art
Made from strong layered beech wood,
Decorating with intricate carvings;
Lying curled up at his feet
Beloved friend, faithful comrade, Hector.
But the sensible housewife Bertha
Already busy in the morning
About everything. Crowds also under the window
A flock of long-necked geese; Also
The hens cackle restlessly;
The impudent sparrows are chirping,
Digging through a dung heap all day.
We've already seen a handsome bullfinch;
And in the autumn there was a smell in the field for a long time,
And the green leaf turned yellow long ago,
And the swallows have long since flown away
For distant, luxurious seas.
The sensible housewife Bertha shouts:
“It’s not good for Louise to be this long!
The day is getting dark. Now it’s not like in the summer;
It's damp, wet, and thick fog
So the cold penetrates everything.
Why wander? I'm in trouble with this girl;
She won’t get Gantz out of her thoughts;
God knows whether he is alive or not."
Fanny is not thinking at all,
Sitting at the hoop in my corner.
She is sixteen years old and full of melancholy
And secret thoughts about an ideal friend,
Absentmindedly, inarticulately says:
“And I would do that, and I would love him.”

PICTURE XVII

It's a sad time of autumn;
But today is a beautiful day:
There are waves of silver in the sky,
And the face of the sun is brilliant and clear.
One expensive postage
Walking with a knapsack on his back,
A sad traveler from a foreign land.
He is sad, and languid, and wild,
He walks bent over like an old man
There is not even half of Gantz in him.
The half-extinguished gaze wanders
Along the green hills, yellow fields,
Along a multi-colored chain of mountains.
As if in happy oblivion
A dream concerns him;
But the thought is not so busy. -
He is deeply immersed in thoughts.
He needs peace now.

He had apparently traveled a long way;
It’s obvious that the chest is hurting;
The soul suffers, whining with pity;
He has no time for peace now.

What are those strong thoughts about?
He himself marvels at the vanity:
How tormented he was by fate;
And he laughs evilly at himself,
What I believed in my dream
The world is hateful, weak-minded;
That I marveled at the empty shine
With your unreasonable soul;
That, without hesitation, he boldly
He threw himself into the arms of these people;
And, bewitched, intoxicated,
I believed in their evil enterprises.
They are cold as coffins;
Like the most despicable creature are low;
Self-interest and honors alone
They are only dear and close.
They disgrace the wondrous gift:
And they trample on inspiration;
And they despise revelation;
Their feigned heat is cold,
And their awakening is disastrous.
Oh, who would tremblingly penetrate
Into their soporific tongue!
How poisonous is their breath!
How false is the fluttering of the heart!
How cunning their heads are!
How empty their words are!

And he, sad, has many truths,
Now I have experienced and learned;
But have you become happier?
Disgraced at heart?
A radiant, distant star
He was attracted, drawn by fame,
But her thick smoke lies,
Bitter shining poison.

The day is leaning to the west,
The evening shadow lengthens.
And shiny, white clouds
Brighter scarlet edges;
On dark, yellowed leaves
A stream of gold sparkles.
And then the poor wanderer saw
Your native meadows.
And the gaze instantly flashed pale,
A hot tear flashed.
A swarm of the former, those innocent pastimes
And those pranks, those ancient thoughts -
Everything fell on my chest at once
And doesn't let him breathe.
And he thinks: what does this mean?..
And like a weak child, he cries.

Blessed is that wondrous moment,
When it's time for self-knowledge,
At the time of your mighty powers,
He, chosen by heaven, comprehended
the highest goal of existence;
When the empty shadow does not dream,
When there is no glory, the shine is tinsel
Night and day trouble him,
He is drawn into a noisy, stormy world;
But the thought is both strong and vigorous
One embraces him, torments him
The desire for good and goodness;
His works teach great things.
He does not spare their lives.
In vain the mob screams madly,
He is solid among these living fragments.
And he only hears the noise
Blessing of descendants.

When are insidious dreams
They will excite you with a thirst for a bright share,
But there is no iron will in the soul,
There is no strength to stand amid the bustle, -
Isn't it better in secluded silence?
To flow through the field of life,
Be content with a modest family
And not listen to the noise of the world?

PICTURE XVIII

The stars come out in a smooth chorus,
They survey with a gentle gaze
Sleeping the whole world,
Watching the dream quiet man,
They send down peace to the good,
And reproach is a fatal poison for the evil.
Why, stars, are you sad?
Don't you send peace?
For the miserable head
You are joy, and there is peace in you
Your sad, yearning gaze,
Passionately he hears a conversation
In the soul, and he calls you,
And he credits you with a penalty.
Always languid as before.
Louise had not yet undressed;
She can't sleep; in my dreams she
Looked at the autumn night.
The subject is the same and the same...
And now delight enters her soul:
She starts a harmonious song;
A cheerful harpsichord sounds.

Listening to the sound of falling leaves,
Between the trees, where it's drafty
From the walls of the lattice fence,
In sweet oblivion, by the garden,
Our Ganz stands wrapped up.
And what about him when he sounds
I recognized long-time acquaintances
And that voice, from the day of separation
What a long, long time I didn’t hear;
And the song that is in hot passion,
In love, in an abundance of wondrous powers,
To the tune of the soul in bright melodies,
Ecstatic, did you fold it?
Through the garden it rings and rushes
And in quiet rapture it flows:

"I'm calling you! I'm calling you!
I'm enchanted by your smile,
I don’t sit with you for an hour or two,
I can't take my eyes off you:
I wonder, I don’t wonder.
Do you sing - and the ringing of speeches
Yours, mysterious, innocent,
Will the deserted air strike
-
The sound of a nightingale pours in the sky,
The silver stream thunders.

Come to me, cling to me
In the heat of wonderful excitement.
The heart burns in silence;
They're burning, they're on fire
Your calm movements.

I'm sad without you, I'm languishing,
And there is no strength to forget you.
And whether I wake up or go to bed,
All about you, I pray, I pray,
Everything about you, my dear angel."

And then it seemed to her:
The wonderful glow of the eyes
Someone shines near her,
And she hears someone sigh,
And fear and trembling take over her...
And looked back...
"Gantz!"...
Oh who will understand
All this joy of a wonderful meeting!
And fiery speeches!
And this happy oppression of feelings!
Oh, who will describe so passionately
This emotional wave,
When she bursts her breasts and bursts,
Torments the depths of the heart,
And you yourself are trembling, thrilled with joy,
You dare not find any thoughts or words;
Delighted, in a heap of sweet torment,
You will merge into a harmonious, bright sound!

Having come to his senses, Ganz looks through tears
In the eyes of my friend;
And he thinks: “Enough, these are dreams;
Let me not wake up.
She is still the same, and she loved so much
Me with all my childish soul!
My brow was covered with sadness,
The fresh blush has dried up,
She ruined her young age;
And I, crazy, stupid,
I flew to look for a new twist!..”
And slept a heavy sleep of suffering
From his soul; alive, calm,
He was reborn again.
Temporarily outraged by the storm,
So our harmonious world shines again;
Fire-hardened damask steel
So again brighter a hundred times.

The guests are feasting; glasses, bowls
They go around and make noise;
And our old men chatter;
And the young men are in full swing at the dances.
Sounds like long, noisy thunder
The music is bright all day;
Brings joy to the house;
The canopy shines hospitably.
And the young villagers
They give the couple in love:
They carry blue violets,
They bring them roses of fire,
They are removed and made noise:
May their young days bloom forever,
Like those violets of the field;
Let hearts burn with love,
Like these fire roses.

And in rapture, in the bliss of feelings
In advance the young man trembles, -
And the bright gaze sparkles with joy;
And unfeignedly, without art,
Having thrown off the shackles of compulsion,
The heart tastes pleasure.
And you, treacherous dreams,
He will not idolize, -

Earthly lover of beauty.
But what is clouding him again?
(How incomprehensible man is!)
Saying goodbye to them forever, -
As if for an old faithful friend,
Sad in diligent oblivion.
So in prison the schoolboy waits,
When the desired time comes.
Summer towards the end of his studies -
He is full of thoughts and rapture,
Air dreams lead:
He is independent, he is free,
Satisfied with yourself and the world,
But, parting with family
Your comrades, soul
Shared with someone prank, work, peace, -
And he ponders and groans,
And with inexpressible melancholy
She will shed an involuntary tear.

In solitude, in the desert,
In an unknown wilderness,
In my unknown shrine,
This is how they are created from now on
Dreams of quiet souls.
Will the sound come like noise?
Will anyone care?
Is the youth alive in the thought,
Or the maiden's fiery breast?
I lead with involuntary tenderness
I sing my song quietly,
And with unsolved excitement
I sing my Germany.
The land of high thoughts!
Country of air ghosts!
Oh, how my soul is full of you!
Hugging you like some genius,
The great Goethe protects,
And a wonderful system of chants
The clouds of worries are clearing away.

GANZ KÜCHELGARTEN

The Idyll was published as a separate edition in 1829 by N.V. himself.
Gogol under the pseudonym V. Alov and with the explanation: “(Written in 1827).” This
the dating raised doubts among researchers of Gogol’s life and work; Not
the possibility is excluded that the author worked on "Gantz Küchelgarten" and in
1828
The appearance of "Hanz Küchelgarten" caused negative reviews
"Moscow Telegraph" (1829, Љ 12, N. Polevoy) and "Northern Bee" (1829, Љ
87). Under the influence of these harsh assessments, the young writer took away
booksellers copies of his book and destroyed them.

Page 310. Conceited - here it means to get acquainted, to know
(Ukrainianism).
Page 316. Kandis - long dress with sleeves; in ancient times it was worn in
Mussels and Persia.
Page 318. Mangosteen is a fruit tree in India.
Page 318. Kandahar is a region in Afghanistan.
Page 318. Israzil - Israfil, according to Mohammedan beliefs, is one of the main
four angels.
Page 320. Bichef - more correctly bischof, a drink made from wine with sugar and
lemon.
Page 321. Misolungi - a city in Greece, the center of the Greek resistance during
during the national liberation war. In 1826 the fortress was taken
by the Turks.
Page 321. Kolokotroni - Kolokotroni Fedor (1770-1843), prominent figure
Greek national liberation war.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol is known to the vast majority of the population as the author of “Taras Bulba”, “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka”, “Viya” and so on. However, few people know that he also wrote other, now almost forgotten, works. One of them is Hanz Kuchelgarten.

Brief biographical information

Nikolai Gogol was born on March 20, 1809 in the village of Velikie Sorochintsy and was named after St. Nicholas of Dikansky - his mother believed that this would help the child survive (she gave birth many times, but the children were born weak and died quickly). Since childhood, he drew well, but in general he did not shine in his studies.

At nineteen he moved to St. Petersburg, where he first worked as an official and then served in the theater. He did not like either one or the other, and he decided to try his hand at literature. The first work that brought success to the novice author was the story “The Evening on the Eve of Ivan Kupala.” In addition to writing novels and short stories, Gogol was engaged in drama - he still loved theater very much and wanted to be somehow connected with it.

In the mid-thirties, the writer traveled a lot; it was abroad that he began work on the first volume of “ Dead souls" Nikolai Gogol died on February 21, 1852.

Major works

Among the famous works of Gogol, in addition to those already mentioned above, the following can be distinguished: “The Tale of How Ivan Ivanovich Quarreled with Ivan Nikiforovich”, “The Inspector General”, “Marriage”, “The Overcoat”, “The Nose”.

Among Gogol’s works there is also a certain “Hanz Küchelgarten”. However, on the contrary, it is little known - it is not studied either in schools or institutes. What this story (“Hanz Küchelgarten”) is about will be described above. It should be noted first that, strictly speaking, this work cannot be called a story; rather, it is a poem. Gogol himself described it as a “romantic idyll in verse.”

"Hanz Küchelgarten": summary

As can already be understood from the above, this work is poetic. Gogol divided it into several paintings. In addition to Hanz Küchelgarten, there are several other characters in it - his beloved Louise, with whom he has been friends since childhood, her parents, younger sister and grandparents, moreover, the grandfather is a pastor, a respected and revered person in the local village. It is with the appearance of the pastor that this work opens. He is already old; sitting in a chair in the fresh air, he either rejoices at the nice warm morning, or dozes off.

Granddaughter Louise, who has come running, seems anxious; she tells her grandfather that her “dear Ganz” is in Lately he is not himself, something saddens him, he is preoccupied with something. She worries that he might stop loving her, and asks her grandfather to talk to the young man. When the next picture begins from the perspective of Ganz, it becomes clear to the reader that he is passionate about reading. He's delusional Ancient Greece, its culture, its heroes. He is fascinated, it seems to him that there is “life”, but here he has - just vegetation. The further plot of “Ganz Küchelgarten” is simple and obvious - Ganz leaves, leaving Louise a note and breaking her heart. He goes to his dream.

Two years later, a lot has changed in Gantz’s native village - the old pastor, for example, is no longer alive, and his desire to attend his granddaughter’s wedding never came true. And the granddaughter herself, Louise, despite the passage of time, is still waiting for her Ganz, no, no, but looking out the window. And he waits - Gantz returns home, tired and broken - he found in Athens not at all what he expected. Illusions collapsed, he realized that true happiness was always near him.

History of creation

The history of the creation of the poem “Ganz Küchelgarten” by Gogol is interesting. At first, by the way, it was not known that it belonged to the pen of Gogol - this became clear only after the death of the prose writer. Having written his “romantic idyll” at the age of eighteen (and according to some sources, at nineteen or twenty; the acceptable years for composing the poem are, therefore, 1827-1829), the young man took it to the publisher Adolphe Pluchard, saying that this work was his friend, V. Alova. Under such a pseudonym (and, of course, with his own last money and even borrowed from friends) the poem was published.

Gogol provided it with a short preface, in which he indicated that this work would never have seen the light of day if not for circumstances “known only to the author.” At that time, only two people knew that “Hanz Küchelgarten” belonged not to some Alov, but to Gogol himself - the young man’s servant Yakim and one of his friends, with whom he shared shelter at that time.

sources of inspiration

It is no secret that many authors, when writing their works, draw inspiration from the events of their own fate. Sometimes they talk about something that has already happened to them or their friends, sometimes, on the contrary, having composed something and identifying themselves with the hero, they strive to implement what is described in life. Something like this happened with Gogol.

After graduating from high school, Gogol left for St. Petersburg, which in his dreams seemed to him something majestic and sublime. He saw himself in this city in an aura of glory, with excellent work that brought him happiness, with success in the literary field. He dreamed of something that he did not have, but that seemed so easy to achieve - he just needed to get to this city of dreams. This is exactly how the hero of “Hanz Küchelgarten” reasoned - by the way, Gogol pinned unimaginable hopes on this poem, believing that it would bring him both fame and honor.

In reality, everything turned out to be far from being as rosy as it seemed in the imagination. The impression of St. Petersburg remains dull: the city is dirty, gray, and life is expensive, and even for the theater there is not enough money, only for food. There were plenty of temptations that beckoned with bright signs and shop windows, but due to the lack of money they were inaccessible, which could not help but plunge Gogol into despair. He was also unlucky with his career - the desired place worthy of him was never found.

In addition to life’s troubles, it is obvious that the source that inspired Gogol to create his poem was Fosse’s idyll “Louise” - even the name main character he borrowed from there. In addition to the girl's name, Gogol took from of this essay the image of a pastor and a description of rural life, which is so reminiscent of his pastoral. Nevertheless, one cannot talk about the exclusive influence of Fosse’s work on Gogol, if only because the first can trace the features of a sentimental idyll, the second also has them, but besides them, one can also notice the influence of romanticism that came from Zhukovsky and Byron, whom Gogol undoubtedly I read it. Researchers also highlight in Gogol’s poem something from Pushkin and his poetics - for example, Louise’s dream obviously reminds of Tatyana’s dream in Eugene Onegin. And there are many similar references in the content of Hanz Küchelgarten.

Why is Germany depicted in the poem? This is explained simply. Gogol's youth passed under the sign of the Germans - the aspiring writer passionately loved German literature and philosophy, was fascinated by the country itself and its inhabitants and, as he himself admitted much later in one of his letters, perhaps he simply mixed his love of art with people, creating a certain romanticized ideal in his mind. The German romantics excited Gogol's mind, he tried to write, adapting to them, and, while still studying at the gymnasium, gained some fame as a poet among his comrades.

Features of the poem

The main idea of the work, clear even from summary“Ganz Küchelgarten” by Gogol lies in the danger of falling under the influence of one’s imagination, of being completely in its power. In other words, wearing rose-colored glasses. Gogol showed in his work (and he himself experienced in life) what such a situation could lead to.

Another feature of the poem is that the author himself calls it an idyll, but at the same time destroys all the canons of this genre. The classical idyll depicts happiness in full, but Gogol’s idyll is filled with elegy, in which an end is inevitable - far from a happy one. Subsequently, the destruction of the idyll will become one of the popular themes in literature, so we can consider that in “Hanz Küchelgarten” Gogol took the first step towards this.

Also, a significant difference between the poem and the writer’s subsequent works was that in it he described events that did not happen in reality, but that were supposed to happen (he himself planned a trip to the West), and later, in his future stories and novellas, Gogol wrote already, based solely on past everyday experience and observations.

The image of the main character

It is already obvious that Gogol identified his Ganz with himself. The author put his ideas and dreams, his plans and hopes into the hero’s head - this is easy to see if you read Gogol’s letters of this period, which he wrote to his mother and some friends.

The hero of “Hanz Küchelgarten” is the desire to say goodbye to the hated bourgeois world, to express his abilities in something else. There is a hint here of the Decembrists - it is no coincidence that Gantz's surname is so similar to the surname of a participant in the December uprising - Wilhelm Kuchelbecker, who was a poet and friend of Pushkin. Just like the Decembrists, just like Gogol himself, Hanz Küchelgarten is defeated in his attempts and thoughts - everything turns out to be completely different from what he imagined. Life plays with him cruel joke, but if the rest of the Decembrists paid with their freedom, Gantz, like Gogol himself, only had to say goodbye to his illusions. However, in some ways this is also a lack of freedom.

The name of the main character is also interesting - Ganz. IN German the word ganz means “whole”, “entirely” - the hero of Gogol’s work also wants to “embrace the immensity”, to let the whole world into his life.

IDYLL IN PICTURES

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here's a glimpse of the village
Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.
The bell tower shines all in gold
And a ray shines on an old fence.
Everything turned out captivatingly
Upside down, in the silver water:
The fence, the house, and the garden are the same.
Everything moves in silver water:
The vault turns blue, and the waves of the clouds move,
And the forest is alive, but it just doesn’t make noise.
On the shore extending far into the sea,
Under the shade of linden trees, there is a cozy house
Pastor. An old man has been living there for a long time.
It is deteriorating, and the old roof
Posed; the pipe was all black;
And flowery moss has been molding for a long time
Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;
But somehow it’s cute in it, and no way
The old man wouldn't give it away.
That's the linden tree
Where he likes to rest, he also becomes decrepit.
But there are green counters around it
From fresh turf.
In hollow holes
Her birds nest, old house
And the garden filled with a cheerful song.
The pastor did not sleep all night, and before dawn
I’ve already gone out to sleep in the clean air;
And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,
And the breeze freshens his face,
And white hair flutters.
But who is the fair one?
Like a fresh morning, it burns
And does it point your eyes at him?
Adorably worth it?
Look how cute it is
Her lily hand
Touching him lightly,
And it forces me to return to our world.
And now he looks with half an eye,
And now, half asleep, he says:
“Oh wonderful, wonderful visitor!
You visited my abode!
Why the secret melancholy
It goes right through my soul,
And on the gray-haired old man
Your image is marvelous from afar
Does it make you feel strange?
Look: I’m already frail,
I have long since grown cold towards the living,
I buried myself in myself for a long time,
From day to day I am waiting for peace,
I’m already used to thinking about him,
My tongue talks about him.
Why are you, young guest,
Are you so passionately attracted to yourself?
Or, a resident of heaven-paradise,
You give me hope
Are you calling me to heaven?
Oh, I'm ready, but not worthy.
Great are the grave sins:
And I was the evil warrior in the world,
The shepherds made me timid;
Fierce deeds are nothing new to me;
But I renounced the devil
And the rest of my life -
My small payment
There is an evil story behind the previous life...”
Full of melancholy and confusion,
“Say,” she thought,
“God knows where he’ll go...
Tell him that he’s delusional.”
But he is plunged into oblivion.
Sleep overwhelms him again.
Leaning over him, she breathes slightly.
How he rests! how he sleeps!
A barely noticeable sigh shakes your chest;
Encircled by invisible air,
An archangel watches over him;
A heavenly smile shines
The holy brow is overshadowed.
So he opened his eyes:
“Louise, is that you? I dreamed... strange...
You got up early, minx;
The dew has not yet dried.
It seems foggy today.”
“No, grandfather, it’s light, the vault is clean;
The sun shines brightly through the grove;
A fresh leaf does not sway,
And in the morning everything is already hot.
Do you know why I am coming to you? -
We will have a holiday today.
We already have old Lodelgam,
The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;
We will travel on the waters...
Whenever Gantz…” Kind-hearted
The pastor waits with a sly smile,
What will the story be about?
The baby is playful and carefree.
“You, grandpa, you can help
Alone to unheard of grief:
My Gantz fear is sick; day and night
Everything goes to the dark sea;
Everything is not according to him, he is not happy about everything,
He talks to himself, he’s boring to us,
Ask - he will answer inappropriately,
And he’s all terribly exhausted.
He will become arrogant with melancholy -
Yes, he will destroy himself.
At the thought I tremble alone:
Perhaps he is dissatisfied with me;
Perhaps he doesn't love me. -
To me this is a steel knife in my heart.
I dare to ask you, my angel...”
And she threw herself on his neck,
With a constricted chest, barely breathing;
And everything turned red, everything was confused
My beautiful soul;
A tear appeared in my eyes...
Oh, how beautiful Louise is!
“Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!
It’s a shame to cry, after all,”
The spiritual father said to her. -
“God gives us patience and strength;
With your earnest prayer,
He won't deny you anything.
Believe me, Ganz breathes only for you;
Believe me, he will prove it to you.
Why do I think empty thoughts?
To disturb the peace of mind?”
This is how he consoles his Louise,
Pressing her to her decrepit chest.
Here's old Gertrude making coffee
Hot and all bright, like amber.
The old man loved to drink coffee in the open air,
Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.
The smoke went away and settled down like businessmen.
And, thoughtfully, Louise bread
She hand-fed the cat, who
Purringly he crept, hearing the sweet smell.
The old man stood up from the colorful old armchairs,
He brought a prayer and offered his hand to his granddaughter;
And so he put on his smart robe,
All made of silver brocade, shiny,
And a festive unworn cap -
It's a gift to our pastor
Ganz recently brought from the city, -
And leaning on Louise's shoulder
Lileynoye, our old man went out into the field.
What a day! Merry curled
And the larks sang; there were waves
From the wind of golden grain in the field;
The trees are clustered above them,
Fruits were poured on them before the sun
Transparent; the waters were dark in the distance
Green; through the rainbow fog
Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;
Bee worker plucking honey
From fresh flowers; frolicking dragonfly
The crack curled; riotous in the distance
A song was heard, the song of daring oarsmen.
The forest is thinning, the valley is already visible,
Playful herds moo along it;
And from a distance the roof is already visible
Louisina; the tiles are turning red
And a bright beam glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We worry about an incomprehensible thought,
Our Ganz looked absentmindedly
To the great, vast world,
To your unknown destiny.
Hitherto quiet, serene
He joyfully played with life;
An innocent and tender soul
I did not see any bitter troubles in her;
A native of the earthly world,
Earthly destructive passions
He did not carry in his chest,
A carefree, flighty baby.
And he had fun.
He frolicked cutely, lively
In a crowd of children; did not believe in evil;
The world blossomed before him as if in wonder.
His girlfriend from childhood days
Child Louise, bright angel,
She shone with the charm of her speeches;
Through the rings of light brown curls
The sly look burned inconspicuously;
In a green skirt
Does she sing, does she dance -
Everything is simple-minded, everything is alive in her,
Everything about her is childishly eloquent;
Pink scarf on the neck
It flies off my chest little by little,
And a slender white shoe
It covers her leg.
In the forest he plays with him -
It will overtake him, everything will penetrate,
Hiding in the bush with evil desire,
Suddenly he shouts loudly in his ears -
And it will scare you; is he sleeping -
His face will be painted all over,
And, awakened by ringing laughter,
He leaves the sweet dream
He kisses the playful minx.
Spring is leaving behind spring.
The range of their children's games has become too modest. -
Between them, playfulness is not visible;
The fire of his eyes became languid,
She is shy and sad.
They clearly guessed
You, the first speeches of love!
As long as sweet sorrows!
As long as the days are bright!
What could you wish for with dear Louise?
He is with her in the evening, with her in the day,
He is drawn to her by wondrous power,
Like a faithful wandering shadow.
Full of heartfelt sympathy
Old people can't see enough
Their simple-minded luck
Your children; and far away
From them are days of grief, days of doubt:
A peaceful Genius overshadows them.
But soon a secret sadness
She took possession of him; the gaze is foggy,
And he often looks into the distance,
And all restless and strange.
The mind boldly seeks something,
He is secretly indignant about something;
Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,
She is mournful and yearning for something;
He sits chained,
He looks at the wild sea.
In dreams everyone hears someone
With the harmonious sound of old waters.

* * *

Or a Duma is walking in the valley;
The eyes shine solemnly,
When the wind rushes noisy
And the thunders speak hotly;
Instant fire pierces the clouds;
Rain sources are flammable
They split loudly and make noise. -
Or at the hour of midnight, at the hour of dreams
Sitting at a book of legends,
And, turning over the sheet,
He catches the silent letters in it
- Gray centuries speak in them,
And the wondrous word thunders. -
An hour deep in thought,
He won’t even take his eyes off her;
Whoever passes by Gantz,
Whoever looks at it will say boldly:
He lives far back.
Enchanted by a wonderful thought,
Under the gloomy oak canopy
He often goes on a summer day,
Chained to something secret;
He secretly sees someone's shadow,
And he stretches out his arms to her,
He hugs her into oblivion. -
And simple-minded and alone
Louise is an angel, what? where?
Devoted to him with all my heart,
The poor thing doesn’t know sleep;
He brings the same caresses;
She will wrap her hand around him;
He will be kissed innocently;
He'll feel sad for a minute
And he’ll sing the same thing again.
They are beautiful, those moments
When a transparent crowd
Far away sweet visions
They take the young man with them.
But if the world of the soul is destroyed,
Forgotten happy corner
He will become indifferent to him,
And for ordinary people it is high,
Will they fill the young man?
And will your heart be filled with joy?
While the house is bustling
Let's listen to him on the sly,
Hitherto a mystery,
Various dreams.

PICTURE III

The land of classic, beautiful creations,
And glorious deeds, and freedom, land!
Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful tremors,
I'm chained to my soul!
From the tripods to Piraeus itself
The solemn people are seething and agitated;
Where is the speech of Aeschinov, thundering and flaming,
Everything willfully follows you,
Like the noisy waters of transparent Illis.
Great is this elegant marble Parthenon!
It is surrounded by Doric columns nearby;
Phidias resettled Minerva in it with a chisel,
And the brush of Parrhasius and Zeuxis shines.
Under the portico the divine sage
He speaks a lofty word about the world below;
For whom immortality is ready for valor,
Shame for some, crown for others.
Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant songs of cliques;
As the day rises, the crowd pours into the amphitheater,
The Persian candis is all speckled and glitters,
And light tunics curl.
Sophocles' poems sound impetuously;
Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;
From the honeyed lips of Epicurus's favorite
Archons, warriors, servants of Amur
They are in a hurry to study the beautiful science:
How to live life, how to drink pleasure.
But here is Aspasia! Doesn't dare to breathe
Confused young man, at the black eyes of these meeting.
How hot are those lips! how fiery are those speeches!
And dark as night, those curls somehow
Excited, they fall on their chests,
On white marble shoulders.
But what about the sound of the bowls of tympanums, a wild howl?
The Bacchic virgins are crowned with ivy,
They run in a discordant, frantic crowd
To the sacred forest; everything is hidden... what are you saying? Where are you?..
But you are gone, I am alone.
Again melancholy, again annoyance;
At least the Faun came from the valleys;
Even a beautiful Dryad
It seemed to me in the darkness of the garden.
Oh how wonderful you are your world
The Greeks were filled with dreams!
How you charmed him!
And ours is both poor and sire,
And it's squared off for miles.
And again new dreams
They hug him laughing;
He is being lifted into the air
From the ocean of vanity.

PICTURE IV

In a country where living springs sparkle;
Where, wonderfully shining, the rays shine;
Breath of amra and rose of the night
Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;
And clouds of incense hang in the air;
Golden mangosteen fruits burn;
The carpet of the meadows of Kandahar sparkles;
And they will boldly pitch the heavenly tent;
The rain of bright colors falls luxuriously,
Then swarms of moths glitter and tremble; -
I see Peri there: she is in oblivion
She doesn’t see, doesn’t listen, she’s full of dreams.
Like two suns, the eyes burn heavenly;
Like Gemasagara, the curls shine;
Breath - lilies of silver children,
When the tired garden falls asleep
And the wind will sometimes scatter their sighs;
And the voice is like the sounds of the night sirind,
Or the flutter of silver wings,
When they sound, frolicking, destroyed,
Or the splashes of Hindara's mysterious streams;
What about the smile? What about the kiss?
But I see, like air, she’s already flying,
He is in a hurry to the regions of heaven, to his loved ones.
Wait, look around! She doesn't listen.
And it drowns in the rainbow, and now it’s not visible.
But the world keeps memories for a long time,
And the whole air is entwined with fragrance.

* * *

Living youth's aspirations
That's how dreams were filled.
Sometimes a heavenly line
Souls of beautiful impressions,
They lay on it; but why
In the turmoil of your heart
He searched with an unclear thought,
What did you want, what did you want?
Why did you fly so ardently?
With a soul both greedy and passionate,
As if the world wanted to hug, -
I couldn’t understand that myself.
It seemed stuffy and dusty to him
In this abandoned country;
And my heart beat strong, strong
On the far, far side.
Then when would you see
How the chest heaved violently,
How the eyes trembled proudly,
How my heart yearned to cling
To your dream, an unclear dream;
What a beautiful ardor seethed in him;
What a hot tear
The eyes were full of life.

PICTURE VI

That village is two miles from Wismar,
Where the world is limited to our faces.
I don’t know how it is now, but Lunensdorf
She was then called cheerful.
Already from afar a modest house gleams white
Wilhelm Bauch, manor. - For a long time,
Having married the pastor's daughter,
He built it! Fun house!
It is painted green and covered
Beautiful and ringing tiles;
There are old chestnuts around,
Hanging branches, as if in the windows
They want to get through; because of them it flickers
Lattice of fine vines, beautiful
And cunningly made by Wilhelm himself;
Hop hangs and snakes along it;
A pole is stretched from the window, there is linen on it
White shines in the sun. Here
A flock is crowding into the gap in the attic
Hairy pigeons; clucking for a long time
Turkeys; clapping greets the day

Makeup. Skin and hair care. Manicure

Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum

Career

Decembrist uprising and exile

Personal life

Death

Biography test

Biography score

Brief biographical information

Major works

"Hanz Küchelgarten": summary

History of creation

sources of inspiration

Features of the poem

The image of the main character

IDYLL IN PICTURES

PICTURE I

PICTURE II

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PICTURE III

PICTURE IV

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PICTURE VI

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