Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol. "Hanz Küchelgarten": what is this story about? Idyll in pictures

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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 a work of his eighteen years of youth. Without attempting to judge either its merit or its shortcomings, and leaving this to an enlightened public, we will only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived; they probably connected more now disparate passages and completed the image of the main character. At the very least, we are proud of the fact that, as far as possible, we have helped the world to get acquainted with the creation of a young talent.

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here is a view of the village

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

All in gold the bell tower shines

And a beam shines on an old fence.

Everything turned captivating

Upside down, in silver water:

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

Everything moves in silver water:

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

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

On the shore far into the sea,

Under the shade of lindens, there is a cozy house

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

It decays, and the old roof

poked her head; the pipe is all blackened;

And flowery moss is molded for a long time

Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;

But somehow cute in him, and for nothing

The old man wouldn't give it up.

Here is that linden

Where he likes to rest, he also grows decrepit.

But around her green counters

From fresh turf.

In hollow holes

Her birds nest, old house

And the garden resounding with a merry song.

The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn

Already went to sleep in the fresh air;

And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,

And the breeze freshens his face,

And white hair flutters.

But who's the perfect fit?

As the morning is fresh, it burns

And puts his eyes on him?

Charmingly worth it?

Look how cute it is

Her lily hand

Touching him lightly

And to return to our world urges.

And he looks into half an eye,

And then, waking up, he says:

“O wondrous, wondrous visitor!

You visited my home!

Why secret longing

It goes right through my soul,

And on the gray-haired old man

Your image is marvelous from afar

Is the excitement strange?

You look: I'm already frail,

It has long cooled to the living,

I buried myself in myself for a long time,

From day to day I wait for peace,

I'm already used to thinking about him,

About him and grinds my tongue.

What are you, a young guest,

Are you so passionate about yourself?

Or, inhabitant of the sky-paradise,

You give me hope

Are you calling me to heaven?

Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.

Great grave sins:

And I was an evil warrior in the world,

Shepherds shy me;

I'm not new to cruel deeds;

But I denied the devil

And the rest of my life

My little pay

For a former life, an evil story ... "

Longing, confusion is full,

Say, she thought.

"God knows where he'll go...

Tell him he's crazy."

But he is immersed in oblivion.

Sleep overtakes him again.

Leaning over him, she breathes a little.

How resting! how he sleeps!

Sigh slightly noticeable chest sways;

wrapped in invisible air,

His archangel guards;

Heavenly smile shines

The holy forehead overshadows.

Here he opened his eyes:

"Louise, is that you? I dreamed...weird...

You got up, minx, early;

The dew hasn't dried yet.

Today it seems to be foggy.

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

The sun shines brightly through the grove;

A fresh leaf does not sway,

And it's hot in the morning.

Do you know why I come to you? -

We will have a holiday today.

We already have old Lodelgam,

The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;

We will ride on the waters...

Whenever Gantz…” Kind-hearted

The pastor waits with a sly smile,

What will the story lead

The baby is playful and careless.

"You grandpa, you can help

Some unheard-of grief:

My Ganz fear is sick; day and night

Everything goes to the gloomy sea;

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

He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,

Ask - answer inappropriately,

And all terribly exhausted.

He will be conceited with longing -

Yes, he will destroy himself.

At the thought I tremble alone:

Perhaps dissatisfied with me;

Maybe he doesn't love me. -

This is a steel knife in my heart.

I ask you, my angel, I dare ... "

And threw herself on his neck,

Cramped chest, breathing a little;

And all blushed, all mixed up

My beautiful soul;

A tear appeared in my eyes...

Oh how good Louise is!

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

After all, it's a shame to cry, finally,

The spiritual father told her. -

“God gives us patience, strength;

With your fervent prayer,

He won't refuse you anything.

Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;

Believe me, he will prove it to you.

Why is the thought empty

To disturb the peace of mind?

Thus he consoles his Louise,

Pressing her to her decrepit chest.

Here is old Gertrude putting coffee

Hot and all light as amber.

The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,

Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.

The smoke went away and the businessmen lay down.

And, thoughtfully, Louise bread

She fed from her hands a cat who

Purring crept, hearing a sweet smell.

The old man got up from the flowered old chairs,

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

And here he put on his elegant robe,

All of silver brocade, shiny,

And a festive unworn cap -

His gift to our pastor

Ganz recently brought from the city, -

And leaning on Louise's shoulder

Lileynoe, our old man went out into the field.

What a day! Merry curled

And the larks sang; there were waves

From the golden wind in the field of bread;

Trees have clustered above them,

On them the fruits were poured before the sun

Transparent; dark waters in the distance

Greens; through the rainbow mist

Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;

Bee worker plucked honey

With fresh flowers; dragonfly

The crackling curled; wild away

A song was rushing, - that is the song of the rowers of the remote.

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 turn red

And a bright beam glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are excited by an incomprehensible thought,

Our Gantz looked absently

To the great, immense world,

To your unknown lot.

Still quiet, serene

He joyfully played with life;

Innocent and tender soul

In her bitter troubles did not see clearly;

A native of the earthly world,

Earthly destructive passions

He did not carry in his chest,

Careless, windy baby.

And he had fun.

He cut nicely, lively

In a crowd of children; did not believe evil;

Before him, the world bloomed as if marvelously.

His girlfriend since childhood

Child Louise, bright angel,

She shone with the charm of speeches;

Through the rings blond curls

A crafty look burned inconspicuously;

In a green skirt

Does she sing, does she dance?

Everything is simple-hearted, everything is alive in it,

Everything childish in it is eloquent;

Pink scarf around the neck

A little flies off the chest,

And a slender white slipper

It covers her leg.

In the forest, does he play with him -

It will overtake him, everything will penetrate,

Hiding in the bush with an evil desire,

He suddenly shouts loudly in his ears -

And scare; does he sleep

His face is all painted,

And, with ringing laughter awakened,

He leaves a sweet dream

He kisses a frisky minx.

Spring follows spring.

The range of their children's games has already become modest. -

Between them playfulness is not visible;

The fire of his eyes became languid,

She is shy and sad.

They understood clearly

You, the first words of love!

As long as sweet sorrows!

Until the rainbow days!

What would you like with Louise dear?

He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,

He is attracted to her by wondrous power,

Like a wandering shadow.

Full of heartfelt sympathy

Old people don't look

Their simple-minded happiness

their children; and far

From them days of grief, days of doubt:

Peaceful Genius overshadows them.

But soon secret sadness

I took possession of it; foggy vision,

And often he looks into the distance,

And all restless and strange.

The mind is boldly looking for something,

Something secretly indignant;

Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,

About something, mournful, longing;

He sits like a chained

Looks at the stormy sea.

In a dream, everyone hears someone

With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

Or a thoughtful one walks in the valley;

Eyes glitter solemnly,

When the noisy wind blows

And the thunders speak hot;

Fire instantly pricks clouds;

Rain sources of fuel

They split loudly and make noise. -

Or at midnight, at the hour of dreams

Sitting behind a book of legends

And turning the leaf

He catches the silent letters in it

- Grey-haired centuries speak in them,

And the wondrous word thunders. -

An hour delving into thoughts of the whole,

He won't take his eyes off her;

Whoever passes by Gantz,

Whoever looks will boldly say:

Back far away he lives.

Fascinated by a wonderful thought,

Under the oak gloomy canopy

He often goes on a summer day,

Chained to something secret;

He secretly sees someone's shadow,

And he stretches out his hands to her,

Embracing her in oblivion. -

And simple-minded and alone

Louise is an angel, what is it? where?

Dedicated to him with all my heart,

Does not know, poor thing, sleep;

He brings the same caresses;

He will encircle him with a hand;

Kiss him innocently;

He will be sad for a minute

And sing the same thing again.

They are beautiful, those moments

When a transparent crowd

far 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 is high,

Will they fill the young man?

And will the heart be filled with joy?

While in the dwelling of vanity

Let's listen to him stealthily,

hitherto a mystery,

Various dreams.

PICTURE III

Land of classic, beautiful creations,

And glorious deeds, and liberties land!

Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,

I am chained by the soul!

Here from tripods all the way to Piraeus

Boils, worries solemn people;

Where is the speech of Eschinov, thundering and flaming,

Everything willfully follows,

Like the noisy waters of transparent Illis.

This graceful marble Parthenon is great!

He is surrounded by Doric columns;

Phidias moved Minerva in it with a chisel,

And the brush of Parrhasius, Zeuxis shines.

Under the portico the divine sage

Leads a lofty word about the world;

For whom immortality is ready for valor,

To whom is shame, to whom is the crown.

Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant song of the clique;

With the dawn of the day, the crowd pours into the amphitheater,

Persian candis all mottled glitters,

And light tunics curl.

Sophocles' verses sound impetuous;

Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;

From the honeyed lips of Epicurus' favorite

Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid

They rush to study the beautiful science:

How to live life, how to drink pleasure.

But here's Aspasia! Doesn't even dare to breathe

Confused young man, with black eyes meeting.

How hot are those lips! how fiery those words!

And dark as night, those curls somehow

Worried, fall on the chest,

On white marble shoulders.

But what about the sound of the tympanum bowls wild howl?

Bacchic virgins are crowned with ivy,

They run in a discordant, frantic crowd

In the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..

But you are gone, I am alone.

Again melancholy, again annoyance;

At least the Faun came from the valleys;

Although the beautiful Dryad

It seemed to me in the darkness of the garden.

Oh how wonderful you are your world

Dream, Greeks, inhabited!

How did you enchant him!

And ours - and he is poor, and sir,

And squashed all over for miles.

And again new dreams

They hug him, laughing;

They lift him up in the air

From the ocean of chaos.

PICTURE IV

In a country where living keys sparkle;

Where, miraculously shining, rays shine;

The breath of amra and the rose of the night

Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;

And clouds of incense hang in the air;

Golden mangosteen fruits burn;

The meadows of Kandahar sparkle the carpet;

And boldly throw a heavenly tent;

Luxuriously falling rain of bright colors,

That shine, tremble swarms of moths; -

I see Peri there: in oblivion she

Doesn't see, doesn't listen, full of dreams.

Like two suns, the eyes burn heavenly;

Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;

Breath - lilies of silver children,

When the exhausted garden falls asleep

And the wind will dispel their sighs at times;

Or the flutter of silver wings

When they sound, frolicking, I slew,

Ile splashes of Hindara of mysterious jets;

What about a smile? What about a kiss?

But I see how the air, it is already flying,

To the edges of the heavens, to the relatives in a hurry.

Wait, look around! She does not heed.

And drowns in the rainbow, and now it is not visible.

But the memory of the world keeps for a long time,

And the whole air is entwined with fragrance.

Living youth aspirations

That's how dreams faded.

Sometimes heavenly features

Souls of beautiful impression,

On it lay; but what

In the turmoil of your heart

He was looking for an obscure thought,

What you wanted, what you wanted

Why so fiery flew

Soul and greedy, and passionate,

As if the world wanted to hug, -

He himself could not understand.

He felt stuffy, dusty

In this abandoned country;

And my heart was beating hard, hard

On the far, far side.

Then when you see

How violently the chest rose,

How proudly the eyes trembled,

How the heart longed to snuggle

To your dream, an obscure dream;

What ardor boiled in him beautiful;

What a hot tear

Lively filled her eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village,

Where the faces of our world were limited.

I don't know how now, but Lünensdorf

She then, cheerful, was called.

A modest house is already whitening from afar

Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. - For a long time,

Married to the pastor's daughter,

He built it! Cheerful house!

It is painted green

Beautiful and sonorous tiles;

Around the old chestnuts stand,

Hanging branches, as if in windows

They want to break through; flickering because of them

Lattice of fine vines, beautiful

And cunningly made by Wilhelm himself;

Hops hang on it and wind like a snake;

A pole is stretched from the window, linen is on it

Shines white before the sun. Here

A flock crowds into the breach in the attic

furry pigeons; drawlingly cluck

Turkeys; clapping meets the day

Screamer cock and around the yard that's important

Between colorful chickens, he rakes heaps

grainy; two walking around

Hand goats and frolicking nibble

Fragrant grass. Been smoking for a long time

Already smoke from white pipes, it is curly

Curled and multiplied the clouds.

From the side where the paint fell off the walls

And gray bricks stuck out

Where ancient chestnuts cast a shadow

which the sun crossed,

When the top of their wind briskly swayed -

Under the shade of those eternally sweet trees

There was an oak table in the morning, all clean

Covered with a tablecloth and all lined

Fragrant food: delicious yellow cheese,

Radishes and butter in porcelain duck,

And beer, and wine, and sweet bishef,

And sugar and brown waffles;

Ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:

Transparent bunches, fragrant raspberries,

And like amber, yellowing pears,

And plums are blue, and bright peach,

In the intricate, everything seemed to be in order.

Live Wilhelm celebrated today

Birth of his dear wife,

With pastor and other daughters:

Louise elder and Fanny younger.

But Fanny is gone, she has long gone

Call Gantz and did not return. Right,

He wanders somewhere again in thought.

And dear Louise keeps looking

Attentively to the dark window

Neighbor Gantz. Just two steps

To him; but my Louise did not go:

So that he does not notice in her face

Annoying melancholy, so as not to read

In her eyes he is a caustic reproach.

This is what Wilhelm, father, says to Louise:

“Look, you scold Gantz in order:

Why hasn't he come to us for so long?

You spoiled him yourself."

And here is the child-Louise in response:

“I’m afraid to scold the beautiful I Gantz:

And without that, he is sick, pale, thin ... "

- "What a disease," said the mother,

Living Bertha: "not a disease, melancholy

The uninvited one came to him herself;

Here he marries, and longing will disappear.

So a young shoot, completely deaf,

Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;

And what is a wife, if not the fun of a husband?

“Speech is smart,” the gray-haired pastor said:

“Everything, believe, will pass when God wants,

And be in everything his holy will. -

Already twice he knocked out of the tube

Cinder, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,

Talking about newspaper news

About the evil crop failure, about the Greeks and about the Turks,

About Misolungi, about the affairs of the war,

About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,

About Caning, about parliament,

About disasters and rebellions in Madrit.

Suddenly, Louise screamed and instantly,

Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.

The air camp embraced her slender,

With excitement, the young man kissed her.

Turning to him, the pastor says:

“Oh, it's a shame, Gantz, to forget your friend!

What if you already forgot Louise,

Is it about us, old people, to think about? - "Full

It's all for you Gantz, daddy, scold,

Berta said: "We'd better sit down

Now at 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

At the table they sit down peacefully;

And soon the wine revived everything

And, bright, laughter spilled into the soul.

The old violinist and Fritz on a sonorous flute

According to the hostess in honor.

Everyone rushed and spun in a waltz.

Having fun, our ruddy Wilhelm

He set off on his own with his wife, as with a peahen;

Like a whirlwind, Gantz rushed with his Louise

In a stormy waltz; and before them the world

Spinning all over in a wonderful, noisy formation.

And dear Louise can't breathe,

Can't look around, all

Lost in motion. Imi

Without admiring enough, the pastor says:

"Dear, beautiful couple!

My dear merry Louise,

Handsome and smart and modest Gantz; -

They were made for each other

And they will lead a happy life.

Thank you, oh merciful God!

That sent grace to old age,

My extended decrepit strength -

To see such beautiful grandchildren,

To say goodbye to the old body;

I have seen beautiful things on earth."

PICTURE VII

With cool calm quiet evening

descending; parting rays

Kiss where-where the gloomy sea;

And sparks alive, golden

The trees are touched; and far away

They see, through the fog of the sea, cliffs,

All multicolored. All calm.

Rushing away from the merry shores,

Yes, a quiet noise in the water of a splashing fish

It will run a little and throw up the sea with ripples,

Yes, a swallow, scooping the sea with its wing,

Gliding circles through the air gives.

Here shone in the distance, like a dot, a boat;

And who is sitting in it, in that boat?

The pastor is sitting, our gray-haired elder

And with dear wife Wilhelm;

And the naughty Fanny is always frisky,

With a hook in hand and hanging from the railing,

Laughing, she shook the waves with her hand;

Near the stern with Louise dear Ganz.

And for a long time everyone admired in silence:

As the stern went wide

A wave and in sprays of fire-colored, all of a sudden

Torn by an oar, she trembled;

How the pink range was explained

And the south wind brought breath.

And here is the pastor, filled with tenderness,

He said: “How sweet is this evening of God!

Beautiful, he is quiet, like a good life

the sinless; she's also peaceful

Ends the path, and tears of tenderness

Sacred ashes, beautiful, sprinkle.

It's time for me too; deadline is set

And soon, soon I won't be yours,

But is it fine to rest in such a way? .. "

All wept. Gantz who song

Played the sweet oboe

He thought and dropped his oboe;

And again some dream dawned

His forehead; far away thoughts

And a wonderful thing came to my soul.

This is what Louise says to him:

"Tell me, Gantz, when else do you love

Me when I can wake up

Though pity, though living compassion

In your soul, do not torment me, tell me -

Why one with some book

Are you sitting at night? (I can see everything

And windows because we are against each other).

Why are you all freaking out? why are you sad?

Oh, how your sad look worries me!

Oh, how your sadness saddens me!

And, touched, Gantz was embarrassed;

He presses her to his chest with longing,

And an involuntary tear shed.

"Don't ask me, my Louise,

And do not multiply this longing with anxiety.

When I seem immersed in thoughts -

Believe, busy and then you alone,

And I think how to turn away

All your sad doubts

How to fill your heart with joy

How would you keep your soul in peace,

Protect your innocent childhood sleep:

So that evil does not approach,

So that the shadow of longing does not touch,

So that your happiness always blooms.

Head down to his chest,

In abundance of feelings, in the gratitude of the heart

She cannot say a word. -

The boat rushed along the shore smoothly

And suddenly she landed. Everybody's out

Flash out of her. "Well! beware, children,

Wilhelm said: "It's damp and dewy here,

So as not to make an unbearable cough for you. -

Our dear Gantz thinks: “what will happen,

When he hears what he would know

Shouldn't she?" And looks at her

And he feels reproach in his heart:

As if he did something bad

As if he were hypocritical before God.

PICTURE VIII

Midnight strikes on the tower.

So, this is the hour, the hour of thoughts is determined,

How Gantz always sits alone!

The light of the lamp in front of him trembles

And pale dusk illuminates,

As if doubt spills.

Everything is sleeping. Nobody's wandering gaze

On the field will not meet anyone;

And like a distant conversation

The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.

Everything is quiet, the night breathes alone.

Now its deep thoughts

Will not disturb the noise of the day:

There is silence over him.

But what about her? - She gets up

Sits right by the window

"He won't look, won't notice,

And I'll look at him;

He does not sleep for my happiness! ..

God bless him!"

The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.

And now a dream is hovering over her

And he involuntarily bows his head.

But Gantz is still drowning in thoughts,

Immersed deep into them.

1.

All is decided. Now really

Should I die here in my soul?

And not to know another goal for me?

And you can't find a better goal?

Doom yourself to dishonor as a sacrifice?

In life, to be dead to the world?

2.

Is it a soul that loves glory,

Insignificance in the world to love?

Is it a soul, fortunately not cooled down,

Do not drink the excitement of the world?

And you can't find beauty in it?

Existence not to note?

3.

Why are you so attracted to yourself,

Luxurious lands?

And day and night, like birds singing,

And day and night is bound by dreams,

I am fascinated by you.

4.

I am your! I am your! from this desert

I will enter heavenly places;

As a pilgrim wanders to the shrine,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ship will go, the waves will splash;

They feel after, full of fun.

5.

And he will fall, the cover is unclear,

Under which the dream knew you

And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful

Opens wondrous gates

Greet the young man ready

And in pleasures forever new.

6.

Creators of wonderful impressions!

Your cutter, I will see the brush,

And your fiery creations

My soul will be filled.

Shumi, my ocean is wide!

Carry my lonely ship!

7.

Forgive me, my corner is tight,

Both the forest and the field! meadow, sorry!

Rain down on you more often heavenly rain!

And God forbid, bloom longer!

For you the soul is like a guard,

Longing to hug you for the last time

8.

Forgive me, my serene angel!

Don't shed tears on your forehead!

Do not indulge in rebellious longing

And forgive the poor Gantz!

Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon

I will return - will I forget you? ..

IDYL 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 a work of his eighteen years of youth. Without attempting to judge either its merit or its shortcomings, and leaving this to an enlightened public, we will only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived; they probably connected more now disparate passages and completed the image of the main character. At the very least, we are proud of the fact that, as far as possible, we have helped the world to get acquainted with the creation of a young talent.

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here is a view of the village
Houses, gardens. Everything is visible, everything is light.
All in gold the bell tower shines
And a beam shines on an old fence.
Everything turned captivating
Upside down, in silver water:
The fence, and the house, and the garden in it are the same.
Everything moves in silver water:
The vault turns blue, and the waves of clouds go,
And the forest is alive, but it doesn't make noise.
On the shore far into the sea,
Under the shade of lindens, there is a cozy house
Pastor. An old man has been living in it for a long time.
It decays, and the old roof
poked her head; the pipe is all blackened;
And flowery moss is molded for a long time
Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;
But somehow cute in him, and for nothing
The old man wouldn't give it up.
Here is that linden
Where he likes to rest, he also grows decrepit.
But around her green counters
From fresh turf.
In hollow holes
Her birds nest, old house
And the garden resounding with a merry song.
The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn
Already went to sleep in the fresh air;
And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,
And the breeze freshens his face,
And white hair flutters.
But who's the perfect fit?
As the morning is fresh, it burns
And puts his eyes on him?
Charmingly worth it?
Look how cute it is
Her lily hand
Touching him lightly
And to return to our world urges.
And he looks into half an eye,
And then, waking up, he says:
“O wondrous, wondrous visitor!
You visited my home!
Why secret longing
It goes right through my soul,
And on the gray-haired old man
Your image is marvelous from afar
Is the excitement strange?
You look: I'm already frail,
It has long cooled to the living,
I buried myself in myself for a long time,
From day to day I wait for peace,
I'm already used to thinking about him,
About him and grinds my tongue.
What are you, a young guest,
Are you so passionate about yourself?
Or, inhabitant of the sky-paradise,
You give me hope
Are you calling me to heaven?
Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.
Great grave sins:
And I was an evil warrior in the world,
Shepherds shy me;
I'm not new to cruel deeds;
But I denied the devil
And the rest of my life
My little pay
For a former life, an evil story ... "
Longing, confusion is full,
Say, she thought.
“God knows where he will go…
Tell him he's delusional."
But he is immersed in oblivion.
Sleep overtakes him again.
Leaning over him, she breathes a little.
How resting! how he sleeps!
Sigh slightly noticeable chest sways;
wrapped in invisible air,
His archangel guards;
Heavenly smile shines
The holy forehead overshadows.
Here he opened his eyes:
“Louise, is that you? I dreamed...weird...
You got up, minx, early;
The dew hasn't dried yet.
It seems to be 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 it's hot in the morning.
Do you know why I come to you? -
We will have a holiday today.
We already have old Lodelgam,
The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;
We will ride on the waters...
Whenever Ganz…” Kind-hearted
The pastor waits with a sly smile,
What will the story lead
The baby is playful and careless.
“You, grandfather, you can help
Some unheard-of grief:
My Ganz fear is sick; day and night
Everything goes to the gloomy sea;
Everything is not according to him, everything is not happy,
He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,
Ask - answer inappropriately,
And all terribly exhausted.
He will be conceited with longing -
Yes, he will destroy himself.
At the thought I tremble alone:
Perhaps dissatisfied with me;
Maybe he doesn't love me. -
This is a steel knife in my heart.
I ask you, my angel, I dare ... "
And threw herself on his neck,
Cramped chest, breathing a little;
And all blushed, all mixed up
My beautiful soul;
A tear appeared in my eyes...
Oh how good Louise is!
“Don't cry, calm down, my dear friend!
After all, it’s a shame to cry, finally, ”
The spiritual father told her. -
“God gives us patience, strength;
With your fervent prayer,
He won't refuse you anything.
Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;
Believe me, he will prove it to you.
Why is the thought empty
Mental peace of mind?”
Thus he consoles his Louise,
Pressing her to her decrepit chest.
Here is old Gertrude putting coffee
Hot and all light as amber.
The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,
Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.
The smoke went away and the businessmen lay down.
And, thoughtfully, Louise bread
She fed from her hands a cat who
Purring crept, hearing a sweet smell.
The old man got up from the flowered old chairs,
He brought a prayer and gave his hand to his granddaughter;
And here he put on his elegant robe,
All of silver brocade, shiny,
And a festive unworn cap -
His gift to our pastor
Ganz recently brought from the city, -
And leaning on Louise's shoulder
Lileynoe, our old man went out into the field.
What a day! Merry curled
And the larks sang; there were waves
From the golden wind in the field of bread;
Trees have clustered above them,
On them the fruits were poured before the sun
Transparent; dark waters in the distance
Greens; through the rainbow mist
Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;
Bee worker plucked honey
With fresh flowers; dragonfly
The crackling curled; wild away
A song was rushing, - that is the song of the rowers of the remote.
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 turn red
And a bright beam glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are excited by an incomprehensible thought,
Our Gantz looked absently
To the great, immense world,
To your unknown lot.
Still quiet, serene
He joyfully played with life;
Innocent and tender soul
In her bitter troubles did not see clearly;
A native of the earthly world,
Earthly destructive passions
He did not carry in his chest,
Careless, windy baby.
And he had fun.
He cut nicely, lively
In a crowd of children; did not believe evil;
Before him, the world bloomed as if marvelously.
His girlfriend since childhood
Child Louise, bright angel,
She shone with the charm of speeches;
Through the rings blond curls
A crafty look burned inconspicuously;
In a green skirt
Does she sing, does she dance?
Everything is simple-hearted, everything is alive in it,
Everything childish in it is eloquent;
Pink scarf around the neck
A little flies off the chest,
And a slender white slipper
It covers her leg.
In the forest, does he play with him -
It will overtake him, everything will penetrate,
Hiding in the bush with an evil desire,
He suddenly shouts loudly in his ears -
And scare; does he sleep
His face is all painted,
And, with ringing laughter awakened,
He leaves a sweet dream
He kisses a frisky minx.
Spring follows spring.
The range of their children's games has already become modest. -
Between them playfulness is not visible;
The fire of his eyes became languid,
She is shy and sad.
They understood clearly
You, the first words of love!
As long as sweet sorrows!
Until the rainbow days!
What would you like with Louise dear?
He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,
He is attracted to her by wondrous power,
Like a wandering shadow.
Full of heartfelt sympathy
Old people don't look
Their simple-minded happiness
their children; and far
From them days of grief, days of doubt:
Peaceful Genius overshadows them.
But soon secret sadness
I took possession of it; foggy vision,
And often he looks into the distance,
And all restless and strange.
The mind is boldly looking for something,
Something secretly indignant;
Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,
About something, mournful, longing;
He sits like a chained
Looks at the stormy sea.
In a dream, everyone hears someone
With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

* * *

Or a thoughtful one walks in the valley;
Eyes glitter solemnly,
When the noisy wind blows
And the thunders speak hot;
Fire instantly pricks clouds;
Rain sources of fuel
They split loudly and make noise. -
Or at midnight, at the hour of dreams
Sitting behind a book of legends
And turning the leaf
He catches the silent letters in it
- Grey-haired centuries speak in them,
And the wondrous word thunders. -
An hour delving into thoughts of the whole,
He won't take his eyes off her;
Whoever passes by Gantz,
Whoever looks will boldly say:
Back far away he lives.
Fascinated by a wonderful thought,
Under the oak gloomy canopy
He often goes on a summer day,
Chained to something secret;
He secretly sees someone's shadow,
And he stretches out his hands to her,
Embracing her in oblivion. -
And simple-minded and alone
Louise is an angel, what is it? where?
Dedicated to him with all my heart,
Does not know, poor thing, sleep;
He brings the same caresses;
He will encircle him with a hand;
Kiss him innocently;
He will be sad for a minute
And sing the same thing again.
They are beautiful, those moments
When a transparent crowd
far 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 is high,
Will they fill the young man?
And will the heart be filled with joy?
While in the dwelling of vanity
Let's listen to him stealthily,
hitherto a mystery,
Various dreams.

PICTURE III

Land of classic, beautiful creations,
And glorious deeds, and liberties land!
Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,
I am chained by the soul!
Here from tripods all the way to Piraeus
Boils, worries solemn people;
Where is the speech of Eschinov, thundering and flaming,
Everything willfully follows,
Like the noisy waters of transparent Illis.
This graceful marble Parthenon is great!
He is surrounded by Doric columns;
Phidias moved Minerva in it with a chisel,
And the brush of Parrhasius, Zeuxis shines.
Under the portico the divine sage
Leads a lofty word about the world;
For whom immortality is ready for valor,
To whom is shame, to whom is the crown.
Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant song of the clique;
With the dawn of the day, the crowd pours into the amphitheater,
Persian candis all mottled glitters,
And light tunics curl.
Sophocles' verses sound impetuous;
Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;
From the honeyed lips of Epicurus' favorite
Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid
They rush to study the beautiful science:
How to live life, how to drink pleasure.
But here's Aspasia! Doesn't even dare to breathe
Confused young man, with black eyes meeting.
How hot are those lips! how fiery those words!
And dark as night, those curls somehow
Worried, fall on the chest,
On white marble shoulders.
But what about the sound of the tympanum bowls wild howl?
Bacchic virgins are crowned with ivy,
They run in a discordant, frantic crowd
In the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..
But you are gone, I am alone.
Again melancholy, again annoyance;
At least the Faun came from the valleys;
Although the beautiful Dryad
It seemed to me in the darkness of the garden.
Oh how wonderful you are your world
Dream, Greeks, inhabited!
How did you enchant him!
And ours - and he is poor, and sir,
And squashed all over for miles.
And again new dreams
They hug him, laughing;
They lift him up in the air
From the ocean of chaos.

PICTURE IV

In a country where living keys sparkle;
Where, miraculously shining, rays shine;
The breath of amra and the rose of the night
Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;
And clouds of incense hang in the air;
Golden mangosteen fruits burn;
The meadows of Kandahar sparkle the carpet;
And boldly throw a heavenly tent;
Luxuriously falling rain of bright colors,
That shine, tremble swarms of moths; -
I see Peri there: in oblivion she
Doesn't see, doesn't listen, full of dreams.
Like two suns, the eyes burn heavenly;
Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;
Breath - lilies of silver children,
When the exhausted garden falls asleep
And the wind will dispel their sighs at times;
And the voice, like the sounds of a sirinda at night,
Or the flutter of silver wings
When they sound, frolicking, I slew,
Ile splashes of Hindara of mysterious jets;
What about a smile? What about a kiss?
But I see how the air, it is already flying,
To the edges of the heavens, to the relatives in a hurry.
Wait, look around! She does not heed.
And drowns in the rainbow, and now it is not visible.
But the memory of the world keeps for a long time,
And the whole air is entwined with fragrance.

* * *

Living youth aspirations
That's how dreams faded.
Sometimes heavenly features
Souls of beautiful impression,
On it lay; but what
In the turmoil of your heart
He was looking for an obscure thought,
What you wanted, what you wanted
Why so fiery flew
Soul and greedy, and passionate,
As if the world wanted to hug, -
He himself could not understand.
He felt stuffy, dusty
In this abandoned country;
And my heart was beating hard, hard
On the far, far side.
Then when you see
How violently the chest rose,
How proudly the eyes trembled,
How the heart longed to snuggle
To your dream, an obscure dream;
What ardor boiled in him beautiful;
What a hot tear
Lively filled her eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village,
Where the faces of our world were limited.
I don't know how now, but Lünensdorf
She then, cheerful, was called.
A modest house is already whitening from afar
Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. - For a long time,
Married to the pastor's daughter,
He built it! Cheerful house!
It is painted green
Beautiful and sonorous tiles;
Around the old chestnuts stand,
Hanging branches, as if in windows
They want to break through; flickering because of them
Lattice of fine vines, beautiful
And cunningly made by Wilhelm himself;
Hops hang on it and wind like a snake;
A pole is stretched from the window, linen is on it
Shines white before the sun. Here
A flock crowds into the breach in the attic
furry pigeons; drawlingly cluck
Turkeys; clapping meets the day

IDYL 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 a work of his eighteen years of youth. Without attempting to judge either its merit or its shortcomings, and leaving this to an enlightened public, we will only say that many of the paintings of this idyll, unfortunately, have not survived; they probably connected more now disparate passages and completed the image of the main character. At the very least, we are proud of the fact that, as far as possible, we have helped the world to get acquainted with the creation of a young talent.

PICTURE I

It's getting light. Here is a view of the village

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

All in gold the bell tower shines

And a beam shines on an old fence.

Everything turned captivating

Upside down, in silver water:

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

Everything moves in silver water:

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

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

On the shore far into the sea,

Under the shade of lindens, there is a cozy house

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

It decays, and the old roof

poked her head; the pipe is all blackened;

And flowery moss is molded for a long time

Already on the walls; and the windows were askew;

But somehow cute in him, and for nothing

The old man wouldn't give it up.

Here is that linden

Where he likes to rest, he also grows decrepit.

But around her green counters

From fresh turf.

In hollow holes

Her birds nest, old house

And the garden resounding with a merry song.

The pastor did not sleep all night, but before dawn

Already went to sleep in the fresh air;

And he dozes under the linden tree in old armchairs,

And the breeze freshens his face,

And white hair flutters.

But who's the perfect fit?

As the morning is fresh, it burns

And puts his eyes on him?

Charmingly worth it?

Look how cute it is

Her lily hand

Touching him lightly

And to return to our world urges.

And he looks into half an eye,

And then, waking up, he says:

“O wondrous, wondrous visitor!

You visited my home!

Why secret longing

It goes right through my soul,

And on the gray-haired old man

Your image is marvelous from afar

Is the excitement strange?

You look: I'm already frail,

It has long cooled to the living,

I buried myself in myself for a long time,

From day to day I wait for peace,

I'm already used to thinking about him,

About him and grinds my tongue.

What are you, a young guest,

Are you so passionate about yourself?

Or, inhabitant of the sky-paradise,

You give me hope

Are you calling me to heaven?

Oh, I'm ready, but unworthy.

Great grave sins:

And I was an evil warrior in the world,

Shepherds shy me;

I'm not new to cruel deeds;

But I denied the devil

And the rest of my life

My little pay

For a former life, an evil story ... "

Longing, confusion is full,

Say, she thought.

“God knows where he will go…

Tell him he's delusional."

But he is immersed in oblivion.

Sleep overtakes him again.

Leaning over him, she breathes a little.

How resting! how he sleeps!

Sigh slightly noticeable chest sways;

wrapped in invisible air,

His archangel guards;

Heavenly smile shines

The holy forehead overshadows.

Here he opened his eyes:

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

You got up, minx, early;

The dew hasn't dried yet.

It seems to be 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 it's hot in the morning.

Do you know why I come to you? -

We will have a holiday today.

We already have old Lodelgam,

The violinist, with him Fritz the prankster;

We will ride on the waters...

Whenever Ganz…” Kind-hearted

The pastor waits with a sly smile,

What will the story lead

The baby is playful and careless.

“You, grandfather, you can help

Some unheard-of grief:

My Ganz fear is sick; day and night

Everything goes to the gloomy sea;

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

He speaks to himself, he is boring to us,

Ask - answer inappropriately,

And all terribly exhausted.

He will be conceited with longing -

Yes, he will destroy himself.

At the thought I tremble alone:

Perhaps dissatisfied with me;

Maybe he doesn't love me. -

This is a steel knife in my heart.

I ask you, my angel, I dare ... "

And threw herself on his neck,

Cramped chest, breathing a little;

And all blushed, all mixed up

My beautiful soul;

A tear appeared in my eyes...

Oh how good Louise is!

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

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

The spiritual father told her. -

“God gives us patience, strength;

With your fervent prayer,

He won't refuse you anything.

Believe me, Gantz breathes only you;

Believe me, he will prove it to you.

Why is the thought empty

Mental peace of mind?”

Thus he consoles his Louise,

Pressing her to her decrepit chest.

Here is old Gertrude putting coffee

Hot and all light as amber.

The old man liked to drink coffee in the air,

Holding a cherry chubuk in your mouth.

The smoke went away and the businessmen lay down.

And, thoughtfully, Louise bread

She fed from her hands a cat who

Purring crept, hearing a sweet smell.

The old man got up from the flowered old chairs,

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

And here he put on his elegant robe,

All of silver brocade, shiny,

And a festive unworn cap -

His gift to our pastor

Ganz recently brought from the city, -

And leaning on Louise's shoulder

Lileynoe, our old man went out into the field.

What a day! Merry curled

And the larks sang; there were waves

From the golden wind in the field of bread;

Trees have clustered above them,

On them the fruits were poured before the sun

Transparent; dark waters in the distance

Greens; through the rainbow mist

Seas of fragrant aromas rushed;

Bee worker plucked honey

With fresh flowers; dragonfly

The crackling curled; wild away

A song was rushing, - that is the song of the rowers of the remote.

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 turn red

And a bright beam glides along their edges.

PICTURE II

We are excited by an incomprehensible thought,

Our Gantz looked absently

To the great, immense world,

To your unknown lot.

Still quiet, serene

He joyfully played with life;

Innocent and tender soul

In her bitter troubles did not see clearly;

A native of the earthly world,

Earthly destructive passions

He did not carry in his chest,

Careless, windy baby.

And he had fun.

He cut nicely, lively

In a crowd of children; did not believe evil;

Before him, the world bloomed as if marvelously.

His girlfriend since childhood

Child Louise, bright angel,

She shone with the charm of speeches;

Through the rings blond curls

A crafty look burned inconspicuously;

In a green skirt

Does she sing, does she dance?

Everything is simple-hearted, everything is alive in it,

Everything childish in it is eloquent;

Pink scarf around the neck

A little flies off the chest,

And a slender white slipper

It covers her leg.

In the forest, does he play with him -

It will overtake him, everything will penetrate,

Hiding in the bush with an evil desire,

He suddenly shouts loudly in his ears -

And scare; does he sleep

His face is all painted,

And, with ringing laughter awakened,

He leaves a sweet dream

He kisses a frisky minx.

Spring follows spring.

The range of their children's games has already become modest. -

Between them playfulness is not visible;

The fire of his eyes became languid,

She is shy and sad.

They understood clearly

You, the first words of love!

As long as sweet sorrows!

Until the rainbow days!

What would you like with Louise dear?

He is with her and the evening, with her and the day,

He is attracted to her by wondrous power,

Like a wandering shadow.

Full of heartfelt sympathy

Old people don't look

Their simple-minded happiness

their children; and far

From them days of grief, days of doubt:

Peaceful Genius overshadows them.

But soon secret sadness

I took possession of it; foggy vision,

And often he looks into the distance,

And all restless and strange.

The mind is boldly looking for something,

Something secretly indignant;

Soul, in the excitement of dark thoughts,

About something, mournful, longing;

He sits like a chained

Looks at the stormy sea.

In a dream, everyone hears someone

With the harmonious noise of decrepit waters.

* * *

Or a thoughtful one walks in the valley;

Eyes glitter solemnly,

When the noisy wind blows

And the thunders speak hot;

Fire instantly pricks clouds;

Rain sources of fuel

They split loudly and make noise. -

Or at midnight, at the hour of dreams

Sitting behind a book of legends

And turning the leaf

He catches the silent letters in it

- Grey-haired centuries speak in them,

And the wondrous word thunders. -

An hour delving into thoughts of the whole,

He won't take his eyes off her;

Whoever passes by Gantz,

Whoever looks will boldly say:

Back far away he lives.

Fascinated by a wonderful thought,

Under the oak gloomy canopy

He often goes on a summer day,

Chained to something secret;

He secretly sees someone's shadow,

And he stretches out his hands to her,

Embracing her in oblivion. -

And simple-minded and alone

Louise is an angel, what is it? where?

Dedicated to him with all my heart,

Does not know, poor thing, sleep;

He brings the same caresses;

He will encircle him with a hand;

Kiss him innocently;

He will be sad for a minute

And sing the same thing again.

They are beautiful, those moments

When a transparent crowd

far 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 is high,

Will they fill the young man?

And will the heart be filled with joy?

While in the dwelling of vanity

Let's listen to him stealthily,

hitherto a mystery,

Various dreams.

PICTURE III

Land of classic, beautiful creations,

And glorious deeds, and liberties land!

Athens, to you, in the heat of wonderful flutters,

I am chained by the soul!

Here from tripods all the way to Piraeus

Boils, worries solemn people;

Where is the speech of Eschinov, thundering and flaming,

Everything willfully follows,

Like the noisy waters of transparent Illis.

This graceful marble Parthenon is great!

He is surrounded by Doric columns;

Phidias moved Minerva in it with a chisel,

And the brush of Parrhasius, Zeuxis shines.

Under the portico the divine sage

Leads a lofty word about the world;

For whom immortality is ready for valor,

To whom is shame, to whom is the crown.

Fountains of harmonious noise, discordant song of the clique;

With the dawn of the day, the crowd pours into the amphitheater,

Persian candis all mottled glitters,

And light tunics curl.

Sophocles' verses sound impetuous;

Laurel wreaths solemnly fly;

From the honeyed lips of Epicurus' favorite

Archons, warriors, servants of Cupid

They rush to study the beautiful science:

How to live life, how to drink pleasure.

But here's Aspasia! Doesn't even dare to breathe

Confused young man, with black eyes meeting.

How hot are those lips! how fiery those words!

And dark as night, those curls somehow

Worried, fall on the chest,

On white marble shoulders.

But what about the sound of the tympanum bowls wild howl?

Bacchic virgins are crowned with ivy,

They run in a discordant, frantic crowd

In the sacred forest; everything disappeared ... what are you? Where are you?..

But you are gone, I am alone.

Again melancholy, again annoyance;

At least the Faun came from the valleys;

Although the beautiful Dryad

It seemed to me in the darkness of the garden.

Oh how wonderful you are your world

Dream, Greeks, inhabited!

How did you enchant him!

And ours - and he is poor, and sir,

And squashed all over for miles.

And again new dreams

They hug him, laughing;

They lift him up in the air

From the ocean of chaos.

PICTURE IV

In a country where living keys sparkle;

Where, miraculously shining, rays shine;

The breath of amra and the rose of the night

Luxuriously embraces the blue ether;

And clouds of incense hang in the air;

Golden mangosteen fruits burn;

The meadows of Kandahar sparkle the carpet;

And boldly throw a heavenly tent;

Luxuriously falling rain of bright colors,

That shine, tremble swarms of moths; -

I see Peri there: in oblivion she

Doesn't see, doesn't listen, full of dreams.

Like two suns, the eyes burn heavenly;

Like Gemasagara, so the curls shine;

Breath - lilies of silver children,

When the exhausted garden falls asleep

And the wind will dispel their sighs at times;

Or the flutter of silver wings

When they sound, frolicking, I slew,

Ile splashes of Hindara of mysterious jets;

What about a smile? What about a kiss?

But I see how the air, it is already flying,

To the edges of the heavens, to the relatives in a hurry.

Wait, look around! She does not heed.

And drowns in the rainbow, and now it is not visible.

But the memory of the world keeps for a long time,

And the whole air is entwined with fragrance.

* * *

Living youth aspirations

That's how dreams faded.

Sometimes heavenly features

Souls of beautiful impression,

On it lay; but what

In the turmoil of your heart

He was looking for an obscure thought,

What you wanted, what you wanted

Why so fiery flew

Soul and greedy, and passionate,

As if the world wanted to hug, -

He himself could not understand.

He felt stuffy, dusty

In this abandoned country;

And my heart was beating hard, hard

On the far, far side.

Then when you see

How violently the chest rose,

How proudly the eyes trembled,

How the heart longed to snuggle

To your dream, an obscure dream;

What ardor boiled in him beautiful;

What a hot tear

Lively filled her eyes.

PICTURE VI

Two miles from Wismar is that village,

Where the faces of our world were limited.

I don't know how now, but Lünensdorf

She then, cheerful, was called.

A modest house is already whitening from afar

Wilhelm Bauch, myznik. - For a long time,

Married to the pastor's daughter,

He built it! Cheerful house!

It is painted green

Beautiful and sonorous tiles;

Around the old chestnuts stand,

Hanging branches, as if in windows

They want to break through; flickering because of them

Lattice of fine vines, beautiful

And cunningly made by Wilhelm himself;

Hops hang on it and wind like a snake;

A pole is stretched from the window, linen is on it

Shines white before the sun. Here

A flock crowds into the breach in the attic

furry pigeons; drawlingly cluck

Turkeys; clapping meets the day

Screamer cock and around the yard that's important

Between colorful chickens, he rakes heaps

grainy; two walking around

Hand goats and frolicking nibble

Fragrant grass. Been smoking for a long time

Already smoke from white pipes, it is curly

Curled and multiplied the clouds.

From the side where the paint fell off the walls

And gray bricks stuck out

Where ancient chestnuts cast a shadow

which the sun crossed,

When the top of their wind briskly swayed -

Under the shade of those eternally sweet trees

There was an oak table in the morning, all clean

Covered with a tablecloth and all lined

Fragrant food: delicious yellow cheese,

Radishes and butter in porcelain duck,

And beer, and wine, and sweet bishef,

And sugar and brown waffles;

Ripe, shiny fruits in the basket:

Transparent bunches, fragrant raspberries,

And like amber, yellowing pears,

And plums are blue, and bright peach,

In the intricate, everything seemed to be in order.

Live Wilhelm celebrated today

Birth of his dear wife,

With pastor and other daughters:

Louise elder and Fanny younger.

But Fanny is gone, she has long gone

Call Gantz and did not return. Right,

He wanders somewhere again in thought.

And dear Louise keeps looking

Attentively to the dark window

Neighbor Gantz. Just two steps

To him; but my Louise did not go:

So that he does not notice in her face

Annoying melancholy, so as not to read

In her eyes he is a caustic reproach.

This is what Wilhelm, father, says to Louise:

“Look, you scold Gantz in order:

Why hasn't he come to us for so long?

You spoiled him yourself."

And here is the child-Louise in response:

“I’m afraid to scold the beautiful I Gantz:

And without that, he is sick, pale, thin ... "

- "What a disease," said the mother,

Living Bertha: “not a disease, melancholy

The uninvited one came to him herself;

Here he marries, and longing will disappear.

So a young shoot, completely deaf,

Sprinkled with rain, it will bloom in an instant;

And what is a wife, if not the joy of a husband?

“Speech is smart,” the gray-haired pastor said:

“Everything, believe, will pass when God wants,

And be in everything his holy will.” -

Already twice he knocked out of the tube

Cinder, and entered into an argument with Wilhelm,

Talking about newspaper news

About the evil crop failure, about the Greeks and about the Turks,

About Misolungi, about the affairs of the war,

About the glorious leader Kolokotroni,

About Caning, about parliament,

About disasters and rebellions in Madrit.

Suddenly, Louise screamed and instantly,

Seeing Gantz, she rushed to him.

The air camp embraced her slender,

With excitement, the young man kissed her.

Turning to him, the pastor says:

“Oh, it's a shame, Gantz, to forget your friend!

What if you already forgot Louise,

Is it about us, old people, to think about? – “Full

Everything is for you, Gantsa, papa, to scold, ”

Bertha said: "We'd better sit down

Now at 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

At the table they sit down peacefully;

And soon the wine revived everything

And, bright, laughter spilled into the soul.

The old violinist and Fritz on a sonorous flute

According to the hostess in honor.

Everyone rushed and spun in a waltz.

Having fun, our ruddy Wilhelm

He set off on his own with his wife, as with a peahen;

Like a whirlwind, Gantz rushed with his Louise

In a stormy waltz; and before them the world

Spinning all over in a wonderful, noisy formation.

And dear Louise can't breathe,

Can't look around, all

Lost in motion. Imi

Without admiring enough, the pastor says:

“Dear, beautiful couple!

My dear merry Louise,

Handsome and smart and modest Gantz; -

They were made for each other

And they will lead a happy life.

Thank you, oh merciful God!

That sent grace to old age,

My extended decrepit strength -

To see such beautiful grandchildren,

To say goodbye to the old body;

Beautiful things I have seen on earth.”

PICTURE VII

With cool calm quiet evening

descending; parting rays

Kiss where-where the gloomy sea;

And sparks alive, golden

The trees are touched; and far away

They see, through the fog of the sea, cliffs,

All multicolored. All calm.

Rushing away from the merry shores,

Yes, a quiet noise in the water of a splashing fish

It will run a little and throw up the sea with ripples,

Yes, a swallow, scooping the sea with its wing,

Gliding circles through the air gives.

Here shone in the distance, like a dot, a boat;

And who is sitting in it, in that boat?

The pastor is sitting, our gray-haired elder

And with dear wife Wilhelm;

And the naughty Fanny is always frisky,

With a hook in hand and hanging from the railing,

Laughing, she shook the waves with her hand;

Near the stern with Louise dear Ganz.

And for a long time everyone admired in silence:

As the stern went wide

A wave and in sprays of fire-colored, all of a sudden

Torn by an oar, she trembled;

How the pink range was explained

And the south wind brought breath.

And here is the pastor, filled with tenderness,

He said: “How sweet is this evening of God!

Beautiful, he is quiet, like a good life

the sinless; she's also peaceful

Ends the path, and tears of tenderness

Sacred ashes, beautiful, sprinkle.

It's time for me too; deadline is set

And soon, soon I won't be yours,

But is it fine to rest in such a way? .. ”

All wept. Gantz who song

Played the sweet oboe

He thought and dropped his oboe;

And again some dream dawned

His forehead; far away thoughts

And a wonderful thing came to my soul.

This is what Louise says to him:

“Tell me, Ganz, when else do you love

Me when I can wake up

Though pity, though living compassion

In your soul, do not torment me, tell me -

Why one with some book

Are you sitting at night? (I can see everything

And windows because we are against each other).

Why are you all freaking out? why are you sad?

Oh, how your sad look worries me!

Oh, how your sadness makes me sad!”

And, touched, Gantz was embarrassed;

He presses her to his chest with longing,

And an involuntary tear shed.

“Do not ask me, my Louise,

And do not multiply this longing with anxiety.

When I seem immersed in thoughts -

Believe, busy and then you alone,

And I think how to turn away

All your sad doubts

How to fill your heart with joy

How would you keep your soul in peace,

Protect your innocent childhood sleep:

So that evil does not approach,

So that the shadow of longing does not touch,

So that your happiness always blooms.

Head down to his chest,

In abundance of feelings, in the gratitude of the heart

She cannot say a word. -

The boat rushed along the shore smoothly

And suddenly she landed. Everybody's out

Flash out of her. "Well! beware, children,

Wilhelm said: “It is damp and dewy here,

So as not to make an unbearable cough for you. -

Our dear Gantz thinks: “what will happen,

When he hears what he would know

Shouldn't she?" And looks at her

And he feels reproach in his heart:

As if he did something bad

As if he were hypocritical before God.

PICTURE VIII

Midnight strikes on the tower.

So, this is the hour, the hour of thoughts is determined,

How Gantz always sits alone!

The light of the lamp in front of him trembles

And pale dusk illuminates,

As if doubt spills.

Everything is sleeping. Nobody's wandering gaze

On the field will not meet anyone;

And like a distant conversation

The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.

Everything is quiet, the night breathes alone.

Now its deep thoughts

Will not disturb the noise of the day:

There is silence over him.

But what about her? - She gets up

Sits right by the window

“He will not look, will not accept,

And I'll look at him;

He does not sleep for my happiness! ..

God bless him!"

The wave is noisy, and the moon is shining.

And now a dream is hovering over her

And he involuntarily bows his head.

But Gantz is still drowning in thoughts,

Immersed deep into them.

Is it a soul that loves glory,

Insignificance in the world to love?

Is it a soul, fortunately not cooled down,

Do not drink the excitement of the world?

And you can't find beauty in it?

Existence not to note?

Why are you so attracted to yourself,

Luxurious lands?

And day and night, like birds singing,

And day and night is bound by dreams,

I am fascinated by you.

I am your! I am your! from this desert

I will enter heavenly places;

As a pilgrim wanders to the shrine,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ship will go, the waves will splash;

They feel after, full of fun.

And he will fall, the cover is unclear,

Under which the dream knew you

And the world is beautiful, the world is beautiful

Opens wondrous gates

Greet the young man ready

And in pleasures forever new.

Creators of wonderful impressions!

Your cutter, I will see the brush,

And your fiery creations

My soul will be filled.

Shumi, my ocean is wide!

Carry my lonely ship!

Forgive me, my corner is tight,

Both the forest and the field! meadow, sorry!

Rain down on you more often heavenly rain!

And God forbid, bloom longer!

For you the soul is like a guard,

Longing to hug you for the last time

Forgive me, my serene angel!

Don't shed tears on your forehead!

Do not indulge in rebellious longing

And forgive the poor Gantz!

Don't cry, don't cry, I'll be there soon

I will return - will I forget you? ..

PICTURE IX

Who is this later

Steps quietly, carefully?

A knapsack is visible behind the back,

The staff behind the road belt.

To the right is the house in front of him,

Long road to the left

Go the way he wants sim

And asks for firmness from God.

But we torment the mystery,

He turns his legs back

And he hurries to that house.

One window is open in it;

Leaning in front of that window

The beauty girl is resting,

And blowing the wind over her wing,

She inspires wonderful dreams;

And, dear, full of them,

Here she is smiling.

Approaches her with enthusiasm...

Chest shy; a tear trembles...

And leads to the beautiful

Your shining eyes.

He leaned towards her, glowing,

He kisses her and groans.

And, startled, he runs fast

Again a distant road;

But the restless look is gloomy,

But it's sad in this deep soul.

Here he looks back:

But the fog covers the neighborhood,

And more than a young man's chest aches,

Farewell sending glance.

The wind, waking up, is harsh

He shook the green oak tree.

Everything disappeared into the empty space.

Through a dream only a vague 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.

Rainy morning; to the glades

Gray mists are falling;

Frequent rain rings on the roofs.

With the dawn, the beauty woke up;

She marvels that she

Slept all night by the window.

Adjusting her curls, she smiled,

But against my will, my eyes are alive,

She burst into tears.

“Why does Gantz take so long to come?

He promised me to be a little light.

What a day! brings melancholy;

The fog is thick across the field,

And the wind whistles; and Gantz is not.”

Full of lively impatience

Looks at a pretty window:

It doesn't open.

Gantz, right, sleeps, and dreams

Any object is created for him;

But the day is long gone. Tear up the valley

streams of rain; oak tops

Noisy; but there is no Gantz, how not.

It's almost noon. inconspicuously

The fog is leaving; the forest is silent;

Thunder in thought rumbles

Away ... A seven-color arc

Heavenly light burns in the sky;

The ancient oak is studded with sparks;

And ringing songs from the village

Sound; but there is no Gantz, how not.

What would it mean? .. finds

And at the door ... He! he! .. ah, no, not him!

In a pink robe of the deceased,

In a colored apron with a border,

Berta comes: “My angel!

Tell me what happened to you?

You slept restlessly all night;

You are all languid, you are all pale.

Did the noisy rain interfere?

Or a roaring wave?

Or a rooster, a noisy rowdy,

Sleepless all night?

Ile disturbed the unclean spirit

In a dream, the peace of a pure girl,

Inspired by black sadness?

Tell me, I feel sorry for you with all my heart!” -

“No, the noisy rain did not interfere with me,

And not a roaring wave

And not a rooster, a noisy rowdy,

Sleepless all night;

Not these dreams, not those sorrows

My young breasts were excited.

It is not with them that my spirit is indignant,

I had another wonderful dream.

“I dreamed: I was in a dark desert,

Around me fog and wilderness.

And on the swampy plain

There is no dry place.

Heavy odor; muddy, viscous;

What a step, then the abyss under me:

I'm afraid to step foot;

And suddenly it became so hard for me,

It's so hard to say...

Wherever you turn Gantz is wild, strange,

- Blood ran, flowing from the wound -

Suddenly he began to sob over me;

But, instead of tears, streams flowed

Some muddy water...

I woke up: on the chest, on the cheeks,

On the curls of a blond head,

An annoying rain ran in streams;

And it was heartbreaking.

I have a premonition...

And I did not squeeze out curls;

And I've been yearning all morning;

Where is he? and what about him? what won’t work?”

Stands, shakes his head

Reasonable, before her mother:

“Well, daughter! me with your misfortune

I don't know how to cope.

Let's go to him, find out for yourself

May the holy force be with us!”

Here they enter onet's room;

But everything is empty. Aside

Lies, in thick dust, an old volume,

Plato and Schiller are wayward,

Petrarch, Tic, Aristophanes

Yes, the forgotten Winckelmann;

Pieces of torn paper;

On the shelf - fresh flowers;

The pen with which, full of courage,

Conveyed my dreams.

But something flashed on the table.

Note! .. took it with trepidation

Louise in hand. From someone?

To whom?.. And what did she read?..

The tongue babbles strangely...

And suddenly she fell to her knees;

Her torment presses, burns,

The deathly cold flows in it.

PICTURE XI

You look, a cruel tyrant,

To the sadness of the dead souls!

How this lonely color withers,

Forgotten in the cloudy wilderness!

Look, look at your creation!

You deprived her of happiness

And life turned joy

In her longing, in hellish torment,

In the nest of ruined graves.

Oh, how she loved you!

With what delight of feelings alive

She spoke simple words!

And how you listened to speeches!

How fiery and how innocent

There was that sparkle in her eyes!

How often does she, in her anguish,

That day seemed boring, long,

When, betrayed by thought,

She didn't see you.

Did you, and did you leave her?

Have you turned away from everything?

He sent someone else's path to the country,

And for whom? and for what?

But look, the cruel tyrant:

She's still the same, under the window,

Sits and waits in deep anguish,

Will the dear one flash in it.

The day is fading away; evening shines;

A marvelous brilliance is thrown over everything;

Cool wind winds in the sky;

The waves are barely audible.

The night is already covering the shadows,

But the west still shines.

The flute is a little pouring; and she

Sitting motionless by the window.

NIGHT VISIONS

It's getting dark, the red evening is fading;

The earth sleeps in ecstasy;

And now on our fields

It turns out important month clear.

And everything is transparent, everything is light;

The sea sparkles like glass. -

Wonderful shadows in the sky

Developed and merged

And wonderfully rushed

To heavenly steps.

Cleared up: two candles;

Two shaggy knights;

Two serrated swords

And chased armor;

Looking for something; stood in a row.

And for some reason they pass;

And they fight and shine;

And they don't find anything...

Everything is gone, merged with darkness;

The moon shines over the water.

Brilliantly announces the whole grove

Nightingale king. The sound is quietly distributed.

The night breathes a little; earth through a dream

He listens dreamily to the singer.

The forest does not sway; everything is sleeping

Only an inspirational song sounds

Appeared as a wondrous fairy

Merged into the air palace,

And a singer sings in the window

Inspirational ideas.

On a silver carpet

All wrapped in clouds

A wonderful spirit flies in the fire;

North, south covered 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 tmy ...

The moon shines over the water.

Through the steam, the surroundings sparkle a little.

What a bunch of secret thoughts

Makes the sea strange noise!

A huge whale flashes with its back;

The fisherman wrapped himself up and sleeps;

And the sea is still noisy, noisy.

Here from the sea are young

Miraculous virgins swim;

blue, fire

Waves are white.

Pondering, swaying

chest lily water,

And the beauty breathes a little ...

And a luxurious leg

Spreads spray in two rows ...

Smiling, laughing,

Passionately beckons and calls,

And thoughtfully floats

Like he wants and doesn't want

And thoughtfully sings

About myself, young siren,

About insidious treason

And on firmament blue,

The moon shines over the water.

Here is a deaf cemetery in the side:

Fence dilapidated around,

Crosses, stones... hidden by moss

Silent dead dwelling.

Flight and screams only owls

They disturb the sleep of empty coffins.

Rising lingeringly

A dead man in a white shroud

The bones are dusty, he is important

Wipes, well done.

From the brow of a long time cold blows,

Fire in the eye,

And under him is a great horse,

Immense, all turns white

And growing more and more

Soon the sky will surround;

And the dead in peace

A terrible crowd is drawn.

The earth is prickly and - boom

Shadows at once into the abyss ... Phew!

And she became afraid; instantly

She slammed the window.

Everything in the trembling heart is confused,

And fever and trembling alternately

They flow over it. It is in sadness.

Attention diverted.

When, with a merciless hand,

Fate will move a cold stone

Poor at heart - then,

Tell me, who is true to reason?

Whose soul is firm against evil?

Who is forever the same forever?

In adversity, who is not superstitious?

Who strong did not pale in soul

Before an insignificant dream?

With fear, with grief secret,

She throws herself into bed;

But he waits in vain in the bed of sleep.

In the dark, will something randomly rustle,

Will the scraper-mouse run, -

From vezhd, an insidious dream flies.

PICTURE XIII

Sad are the antiquities of Athens.

Colon, a row of dilapidated statues

Among the deaf stands the plains.

Sad trace of centuries of tired:

The graceful monument is broken,

Broken weak granite

Some debris survived.

Still majestic to this day

The decrepit architrave blackens,

And ivy winds along the capital;

Fallen splintered cornice

In the long-dead trenches.

This marvelous frieze still shines,

These relief metopes;

Even to this day there is sadness

The Corinthian order is multi-layered,

- A swarm of lizards slides on it -

He looks at the world with contempt;

All the same, he is magnificent,

Past times are pressed into the darkness,

And without attention to everything.

Sad are the antiquities of Athens.

A number of past paintings are foggy.

Leaning on cold marble,

In vain the greedy traveler is hungry

Resurrect the past in my soul

Strives in vain to develop

A decayed scroll of leaked affairs, -

The labor of impotent torture is worthless;

Everywhere reads a vague look

And destruction, and shame.

A turban flickers between the columns,

And a Muslim on the walls

Along these debris, stones, ditches,

The horse savagely pushes

The remains with a cry destroys.

Unspeakable sadness

Instantly embraces the traveler,

He hears the heavy murmur of the soul;

He is sad and sorry

Why did he lead the way here.

Is it not for decayed graves

He left his serene shelter,

Have you forgotten your quiet rest?

Let them dwell in thoughts

These airy dreams!

Let the heart be excited

A mirror of pure beauty!

But it's deadly and cold

You are pissed off now.

Ruthless and ruthless

You slammed the door on him

Sons of pitiful materiality,

The door to a quiet world of dreams, hot! -

And sad, slow foot

The traveler leaves the ruins;

He swears to forget them with his soul;

And everything involuntarily thinks

About the victims of frailty blind.

PICTURE XVI

It's been two years. In peaceful Lünensdorf

Still flaunts, blooms;

All the same worries, and the same fun

Excite the inhabitants of the dead hearts.

But not still in the Wilhelm family:

The pastor has been gone for a long time.

Having finished the path, both painful and difficult,

Not our sleep, he soundly rested.

All residents saw off the remains

Sacred, with tears in their eyes;

His deeds, deeds were remembered:

Wasn't he our salvation?

He endowed us with his spiritual bread,

In words, good teaching is excellent.

Was he not the comfort of the mourners;

Orphans and widows as an unshakable shield. -

On a festive day, how meek he used to be,

Ascended to the pulpit! and with tenderness

He told us about the pure martyrs,

Of the grievous sufferings of Christ,

And we, touched, listened to him,

They wondered and shed tears.

From Wismar when someone is on the way,

Found to the left of the road

Him cemetery: old crosses

Bent over, sheathed in moss,

And time is worn out by a chisel.

But between them the urn sharply whitens

On a black stone, and above it humbly

Two green sycamores make noise,

Far cold hugging shadow. -

Here the mortal remains of the Pastor rest.

Called at your own expense

Build good villagers over it

The last sign of his existence

In this world. Lettering on four sides

Says how he lived and how many peaceful years

Spent on the flock, and when he left

His long journey, and handed the spirit to God. -

And at the hour when the bashful develops

Ruddy east with their hair;

A fresh wind will rise across the field;

Dew will be sprinkled with diamonds;

In their bushes, the robin will flood;

Half the sun rises on the earth, it burns; -

Young villagers go to him,

Carnations and roses in hand.

Hang with fragrant flowers,

Wrapped around with a green garland,

And again they go on the appointed path.

Of these, one, young, remains

And, leaning on a lily hand,

He sits over him in thought for a long, long time,

As if thinking about the incomprehensible.

In this pensive, grieving maiden

Who wouldn't recognize sad Louise?

For a long time in the eyes of fun does not shine;

Doesn't seem like an innocent smile

In her face; won't run over it

Although a mistake, a joyful feeling;

But how sweet she is in languid sadness!

Oh, how sublime is this innocent look!

So the bright seraphim yearns

About the pernicious fall of man.

Mila was a happy Louise,

But somehow I'm kinder in misfortune.

Eighteen years then she passed,

When the wise pastor passed away.

With all her childish soul

She loved the godlike old man;

And he thinks in his heart:

“No, living hopes did not come true

Yours. How, good old man, you wished

To marry us before the holy altar,

Forever unite our union.

How you loved dreamy Gantz! And he…"

Let's take a look at Wilhelm's hut.

Already autumn. Cold. And he is at home

Turned with art cunning mugs

From strong with layers of beech,

Decorating with intricate carving;

At his feet lay curled up

Beloved friend, faithful comrade, Hector.

And here is the reasonable hostess Berta

In the morning already caringly busy

About everything. Crowds also under the window

Geese gang long-necked; same way

Restless clucking chickens;

The impudent sparrows are chirping,

All day digging in the dunghill.

We've already seen a handsome snigir;

And autumn has long smelled in the field,

And the green leaf turned yellow for a long time,

And the swallows have long flown away

For distant, luxurious seas.

The sensible hostess Berta cries out:

“It’s not good enough to be Louise for so long!

The day is getting dark. Now it's not like summer;

Already damp, wet, and thick fog

So the cold of everything and penetrates.

Why wander? I'm in trouble with this girl;

She will not throw Gantz out of her thoughts;

And God knows whether he is alive or not.”

Not that Fanny thinks at all,

Behind the hoop, sitting in your corner.

She is sixteen years old, and full of longing

And secret thoughts about an ideal friend,

Absently, indistinctly says:

“And I would, and I would love him.” -

PICTURE XVII

It's sad autumn time;

But today is a beautiful day

Waves of silver in the sky

And the face of the sun is bright and clear.

One dear postal

Wandering, with a knapsack behind his back,

A sad traveler from a foreign land.

Sad, and he is languid, and wild,

Walks bent over like an old man;

There is not even half of Gantz in him.

Half-extinct wandering gaze

On the green hills, yellow fields,

Along the colorful range of mountains.

As if in happy oblivion,

He is touched by a dream;

But the thought is not so busy. -

He is deep in thought.

He needs rest now.

He went a long way, apparently, the way;

Suffering painfully, apparently, the chest;

The soul suffers, sorry for Noah;

He is not at peace now.

What are those strong thoughts about?

He marvels at the vanity:

How tormented he was by fate;

And evil laughs at itself

That I believed in my dream

The light is hateful, feeble-minded;

What marveled at the empty brilliance

With his unreasonable soul;

That, without hesitation, boldly he

I threw myself into the arms of these people;

And, bewitched, drunk,

I believed in their evil enterprises. -

How cold are the graves;

As the most despicable creature are low;

Greed and honor alone

They are only dear and close.

They dishonor the wondrous gift:

And trample on inspiration

And they despise revelation;

Their feigned heat is cold,

And their awakening is disastrous.

Oh, who would have intrepidly penetrated

In their soporific language!

How poisonous their breath!

How false is the fluttering of the heart!

How cunning is their head!

How empty are their words!

And he is many truths, sad,

Now I have experienced and learned

But did he become happier

In the depths of the soul disgraced?

Radiant, distant star

He was attracted, pulled by fame,

But her dense child is false,

Bitter brilliant poison. -

The day is leaning to the west

Evening long shadow.

And clouds of brilliant, white

Brighter scarlet edges;

On dark, yellowed leaves

A stream of gold sparkles.

And then the poor wanderer saw

Your native meadows.

And his eyes instantly flashed pale,

A hot tear flashed.

Swarm of the former, those innocent amusements

And those pranks, those ancient thoughts -

All at once leaned on the chest

And don't let him breathe.

And he thinks: what does this mean? ..

And, like a weak child, cries.

Blessed be that wondrous moment,

When in the time of self-knowledge,

In the time of their mighty forces,

He, chosen by heaven, comprehended

The ultimate goal of existence;

When there is no empty shadow in dreams,

When glory is not tinsel

He is troubled night and day

He is drawn into a noisy, stormy world;

But the thought is both strong and cheerful

He alone embraces, torments

Desire for good and good;

He teaches great works.

For them, he spares no life.

Here the rabble screams insanely:

He is firm among these living ruins.

And only hears how it makes noise

Blessing of descendants.

When are insidious dreams

Excite with a thirst for a bright share,

And there is no iron will in the soul,

No strength to stand in the midst of the hustle and bustle -

Isn't it better in secluded silence

To flow through the field of life,

To be content with a modest family

And ignore the noise of the world?

PICTURE XVIII

The stars come out in a smooth chorus,

Viewed with a meek gaze

Resting the whole world;

They observe the sleep of a quiet person,

They send peace to the good;

And the evil poison is a fatal reproach.

Why, stars, are you sad

Do not send peace?

For a miserable head

You are joy, and rest on you

Your sad longing look,

Passion he hears the conversation

In the soul, and he calls you,

And he trusts you.

Still always dark.

Louise hadn't undressed yet;

She can't sleep; in her dreams

I looked at the autumn night.

The subject is the same, and one ...

And here is the delight to her soul enters:

She starts a harmonious song,

A cheerful harpsichord sounds.

Listening to the noise of leaf fall,

Between the trees, where it bleeds

From the walls of the lattice fence,

In sweet oblivion, by the garden,

Our Gantz is wrapped up.

And what's with him when he sounds

What a long, long time did not hear;

And the song that is in hot passion,

In love, in abundance of marvelous forces,

To the tune of the soul in bright tunes,

She, enthusiastic, folded?

Through the garden she rings, rushes

And silently pours in rapture:

I'm calling you! I'm calling you!

I admire your smile

With you not an hour, not two I'm sitting,

I can't take my eyes off you:

I marvel, I do not marvel.

* * *

Do you sing - and the sound of speeches

Yours, mysterious, innocent,

Tears the depths of the heart,

And you yourself are trembling, in fun you are thrilled,

You dare not find any thoughts or words;

In delight, in a heap of sweet torments,

Merge into a slender, light sound!

Coming to his senses, Ganz looks through tears

Into the eyes of her 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!

Covered the brow with sadness,

Fresh blush withered,

She ruined her young age;

And I, insane, stupid,

I flew to look for a new twist! ..”

And slept a heavy dream of suffering

From his soul; alive, calm,

He was reborn again.

For a time the storm is indignant,

So again our harmonious world shines;

Fire-tempered damask steel

So again brighter a hundred times.

Guests feast, glasses, bowls

They go round and rattle; -

And the old people are chatting ours;

And in the dances the young men boil.

Sounds like a lingering, noisy thunder

Music is bright all day;

Turns fun home;

The canopy shines hospitably.

And young villagers

A couple in love is given:

They carry blue violets,

Bring them fire roses,

They are removed and noisy:

May their young days bloom for a century,

Like those field violets;

Let the hearts burn with love

How firey these roses are! -

And in ecstasy, in the bliss of feelings

In advance, the young man trembles, -

And bright eyes sparkle with fun;

And shamelessly, without art,

Throwing off the fetters of coercion,

Eats the heart of pleasure.

And you, insidious dreams,

He won't worship,

Earthly admirer of beauty.

But what is it that confuses him again?

(What an incomprehensible person!)

Saying goodbye to them, he forever, -

As if by an old faithful friend,

Sad in zealous oblivion.

So in prison the schoolboy waits,

When the desired time comes.

Summer by the end of his teaching -

He is full of thoughts and ecstasy,

Dreams aerial leads:

He is independent, he is free,

Satisfied with himself and the world,

But parting with the family

Your comrades, soul

Shared with someone a prank, work, peace, -

And he thinks, and groans,

And with inexpressible longing

She will drop an involuntary tear.

In solitude, in the desert

In the 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

Does anyone get excited

Whether the young man lives a thought,

Or the maiden's fiery breast?

I lead with involuntary tenderness

I am my quiet song

And with unexplained excitement

I sing my Germany.

The land of lofty thoughts!

Air ghost country!

Oh, how your soul is full!

Embracing you like a Genius

Great Goethe protects

And a wonderful array of hymns

Lights up clouds of worries. -

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

Brief biographical note

Nikolai Gogol was born on March 20, 1809 in the village of Velikiye Sorochintsy and was named after Saint Nikolai 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). From childhood he drew well, but in general he did not shine in school.

At the age of nineteen, he moved to St. Petersburg, where at first he 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 dramaturgy - he still loved the theater very much and wanted to somehow be 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 writings

Of 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”, “Inspector”, “Marriage”, “Overcoat”, “Nose”.

Among the works of Gogol there is also a certain "Hanz Küchelgarten". However, rather, on the contrary, it is little known - it is not studied either in schools or in 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 Kühelgarten": a summary

As can be understood from the above, this work is poetic. Gogol broke it into several paintings. In addition to Hanz Kuchelgarten, there are several more heroes in it - his beloved Louise, with whom he has been friends since childhood, her parents, younger sister and grandparents, grandfather, moreover, is a pastor, a respected and revered person in the local village. It is the appearance of the pastor that opens this work. He is already old; sitting in an armchair in the fresh air, he now rejoices at a good warm morning, then he slumbers.

Granddaughter Louise, who has come running, seems anxious, she tells her grandfather that her "dear Gantz" has not been himself lately, something makes him sad, he is preoccupied with something. She worries that he does not stop loving her, and asks her grandfather to talk with the young man. When the next picture begins from the face of Gantz, it becomes clear to the reader that he is passionate about reading. He raves about ancient Greece, its culture, its heroes. He is fascinated, it seems to him that there is "life", and here he has - like, vegetation. The further plot of "Hanz Kühelgarten" is simple and obvious - Gantz leaves, leaving a note for Louise 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 did not come true. And the granddaughter herself, Louise, despite the elapsed time, is still waiting for her Gantz, no, no, yes, 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 with him.

History of creation

The history of the creation of the poem "Hanz Küchelgarten" by Gogol is interesting. At first, by the way, it was not known that it belonged to Gogol's pen - 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 permissible years for the composition of the poem are, therefore, 1827-1829), the young man took it to the publisher Adolphe Plushard, 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 thing would never have seen the light of day, if not for circumstances "known only to the author." At that time, only two knew that the “Hanz Kühelgarten” belonged not to some Alov, but to Gogol himself - the servant of the young man Yakim and one of his friends, with whom he shared the shelter at that time.

sources of inspiration

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

After graduating from the gymnasium, Gogol went to Petersburg, which in his dreams seemed to him something majestic and sublime. He saw himself in this city in a halo of glory, with an excellent job that brings him happiness, with success in the literary field. He dreamed about what he did not have, but what seemed so easy to achieve - he just needed to get to this city of dreams. This is exactly what the hero of "Hanz Kühelgarten" reasoned - by the way, Gogol had unthinkable hopes for this poem, believing that it would bring him both fame and honor.

In fact, everything turned out to be far from being as rosy as it seemed in the imagination. The impression of St. Petersburg remained dull: the city is dirty, gray, and life is expensive, and even there is not enough money for the theater, only for food. There were enough temptations, beckoning with bright signs and shop windows, but due to lack of money they were not available, 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 Voss's idyll "Louise" - he even borrowed the name of the main character from there. In addition to the name of the girl, Gogol took from this work the image of a pastor and a description of rural life, which is so reminiscent of his pastoral. Nevertheless, one cannot speak of the exceptional influence of Foss's work on Gogol, if only because the former has features of a sentimental idyll, the latter also has them, but apart from them, one can also notice the influence of romanticism that came from Zhukovsky and Byron, whom Gogol undoubtedly revered. Also, researchers highlight in Gogol's poem something from Pushkin and his poetics - for example, Louise's dream obviously reminds of Tatiana'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 fond of the country itself and its inhabitants, and, as he himself admitted much later in one of his letters, perhaps he simply mixed love for art with people, creating a kind of romanticized ideal in his representation. German romantics excited Gogol's mind, he tried to write, adjusting 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 the summary of Gogol's "Hanz Küchelgarten", is the danger of falling under the influence of one's imagination, being completely in its power. In other words, in rose-colored glasses. Gogol showed in his work (and himself felt in life) what such a situation could lead to.

Another feature of the poem is that the author himself called it an idyll, but at the same time destroys all the canons of this genre. The classical idyll depicts happiness in full measure, while Gogol's idyll is filled with elegy, in which the end is inevitable - far from being happy. Subsequently, the destruction of the idyll will become one of the popular topics in literature, so we can assume that in the "Hanz Küchelgarten" Gogol took the first step towards this.

Also, a significant difference between the poem and the subsequent works of the writer was that in it he described events that did not exist in reality, but which should have happened (he himself planned a trip to the West), and later, in his future stories and stories, 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 head of the hero - this is easy to follow if you read Gogol's letters of this period, which he wrote to his mother and some friends.

The hero of "Hanz Kühelgarten" is the desire to say goodbye to the hated petty-bourgeois world, to express his abilities in something else. There is a hint of the Decembrists here - it is no coincidence that the name of Ganz is so similar to the name of the 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 than he imagined. Life plays a cruel joke on him, but if the rest of the Decembrists paid with their freedom, Gantz, like Gogol himself, had only to say goodbye to his illusions. However, in some ways this is also a lack of freedom.

The name of the protagonist is also interesting - Ganz. In German, the word ganz means "the whole", "entirely" - the hero of Gogol's work also wants to "embrace the immensity", let the whole world into his life.