"SILICON WAY" or "DEAR THOMAS"
(A drama from the life of the Lermontovs in two acts)

Characters:
Grandmother - Elizaveta Alekseevna Arsenyeva, Poet's grandmother, owner of Tarkhan. In 1841 she was 68 years old.
Andrey - Andrey Ivanovich Sokolov, Uncle, Lermontov's valet. In 1841 - 46 years old.
Grandfather - Mikhail Vasilyevich Arseniev, grandfather of the Poet, 1768-1810.
Maria - Maria Mikhailovna, mother, in 1813 -18 years old.
Yuri - Lermontov Yuri Petrovich, father, in 1813 - 26.
Mongo - Alexei Arkadyevich Stolypin, the uncle and closest friend of the Poet. born 1816
Sushkova - Ekaterina, youthful love of the Poet, born in 1812
Nikolai - Martynov Nikolai Solomonovich, friend and murderer of the Poet, born in 1815
Natalya - his sister, born in 1819
Mother - Elizaveta Mikhailovna Martynova, their mother, in 1841 - 58 years old.
Grabbe - Pavel Khristoforovich, general, in 1841 - 52.
Golitsyn - Vladimir Sergeevich, colonel, prince - 47.
Emilia, Agrafena, Nadezhda - Verzilina's sisters, in 1841 - 25, 19, 16 years old.
Stranger.
The king, his retinue,
Thomas Learmont, Byron.
Grunya is a night girl in Grandma's house.
Officers (including Lermontov), ​​jailers, servants, sentries…

STEP ONE

SCENE 1.
Tarkhany, June 1841.
Grandmother, Andrei, Grunya.

Andrey. (He is alone, looking longingly out the window). Here, if you please, see: haymaking in the yard. The men are returning from the meadow ... Braids are shining, eyes are burning: the first grass this year! Following the women - hay was ted. They sing songs ... And then sit, like a restless one, until the mistress wakes up. Ordered to wait!
Pause
And I would be a peasant, like everyone else ... Now at dawn with a scythe - whack-whack, whack-whack! The sun has not yet risen, the sky is turning pink, the early bird is whistling. And the grass under the dew, like silver, lays behind the row - whack-whack, whack-whack! (With annoyance). Eh!
The girl enters
Well, what is there? .. Woke up, no?
Grunya. Looks like it's coming soon... Tossing and turning...
Andrey. I dreamed of something, so it tosses and turns. Now he will wake up, he will say: “Unravel the dream, Andrey Ivanovich!” ...
Grunya. Can you do it, Uncle Andrei?
Andrey. I can do everything! And sing, and dance, and shoe a horse! After all, I was also a village guy - still a bachelor. They called to the estate to the mistress ... "How old are you?" "19, your grace." And I myself think: will they take something into recruits?
Grunya. Did not want?
Andrey. You stupid girl! After all, 25 years under arms, no wife, no kids - who wants to? But no - they took it to the estate, to be with the master's grandson ... Uncle, therefore ...
Grunya. Uncle is good!
Andrey. In different ways ... Who gets what barchuk. And they flog us like Sidor goats and keep us starving… But I was lucky, thank God (he crosses himself). For all the years the young gentleman has not laid a finger on me! He taught me to read and write!* And as for allowances, it wasn't him who gave me food - I fed him.
Grunya. What is it like?!
Andrey. And it's very simple. The lady gave me money, she didn’t trust him: “He’s still young, he’ll squander, he’ll lose at cards!” How much he orders - I give out to the barchuk, the rest for food, oats for the horses - you never know? And he didn’t demand too much, and everything converged with me a penny for a penny ...
Pause.
(With a sigh). That's really 25 years old, like Uncle! (Surprised). You look, Grunyushka! After all, I served my term ... recruit!
Elizaveta Alekseevna enters - just out of bed, yawning sweetly. Andrei and Grunya bow respectfully to the hostess.
Granny. Are you here, Andrey Ivanovich?
Andrei (grouchily). Where should I be? She told me to wait, and I'm waiting ...
Granny. Talk to me! .. (Sits in an armchair in front of the mirror, the girl combs her hair). What's new in the house? Hear nothing?
Andrey. Everything is the same, mother. The men are coming from the hayfield. Grace!
Grandmother (looks out the window). I see it myself ... What kind of sadness is it for you?
Andrey. Let me go, mistress. Well, what am I here? Do not sew a tail to the mare? ..
Grandmother (strictly). You are the valet, Figaro, and you must always be at home!
Andrey. Have mercy, mother! When with a barchuk - another matter. Razi I don't understand? But today they didn’t send me to the Caucasus - they are shying young people?! ** ...
Grandmother (with a snarl). You're afraid to ride in the rocks, you said it yourself...
Andrey. It's different, mother. Not for myself - I'm afraid for the barchuk! Well, how will the horses be carried, overturned?
Grandmother (strictly). Pip on your tongue! And I'll find you a job ... You'll clean up Michel's books in the rooms. So that there is no dust anywhere! Perhaps the owner will come, and there is dirt in the cabinets ?!
Andrei (lazily). I'll clean it up, mistress ... But it won't be long before our falcon is waiting. Only a month in the Caucasus - will not return before autumn ...
Grandmother (tearfully). For me, every day without him is hard labor. How is Mishenka, what's wrong with him?
Andrey. Well, then ... and would you go, mother? .. Huh?! We know the way: maybe we won't get lost...
Grandmother (dreamy). To the Caucasus?.. We know, we went. Why, that was when, Andryusha. I was forty years old then, but now? Scary to say!
Andrey. Years do not take you, mistress, here are those cross!
Granny. Don't lie, bastard! (With a sigh). Today the late gentleman had a dream, Mikhailo Vasilyevich. What is it for?..
Andrey. So it needs to be remembered.
Grandmother (strictly). Is there something I don't remember? And the church was built by Michael the Archangel - his saint! And she called her grandson Mishenka ... Someone, but Mikhailo Vasilyevich should not be offended by me ... (Pause). And I had a bad dream!

* The fact that Andrei Sokolov was literate is evidenced by a letter to him by S.A. Raevsky during the arrest of Lermontov in 1837. And a neighbor and relative of A.P. Shan-Giray recalled that "Sokolov was infinitely devoted to the Poet and enjoyed his trust, acting uncontrollably for the cashier."
**I mean Ivan Sokolov, a valet, and Ivan Vertyukov, a groom, who accompanied Lermontov on his last trip to the Caucasus. Both were his peers, friends from teenage games in Tarkhany.

SCENE 2.
Elizaveta Alekseevna's first dream.
She and Grandfather - her late husband.

Grandfather. One! Around one! But where is everyone?.. Hey, people!.. Sleep, damn it?!!
(Running around the room in fear)
Granny. Are you making noise again, my friend? What are you dissatisfied with this time?
Grandfather. And what about Petersburg?.. And the Swedes?.. We won?!
Granny. Ek, where enough, old warrior! .. Yes, we are not like the Swedes - the French defeated without you!
Grandfather. I don't remember, no. What about my memory?!
Granny. It is known that: the deceased - here you are sleeping. Our daughter, Maryushka, is with you ... (Sobbing). Now wake up as Judgment Day arrives. Remember everything at once!
Grandfather (looks fearfully at his palms). And the ring... Where is my ring?!
Granny. He was on you ... There was no poison left in him, he drank everything! Didn't give me or my rival - Mansurova, I think? She didn't even cry for you. (With mockery). "Hey neighbor! Are you by any chance from Anuchino?”…
Grandfather. Oh, how cold I am! How unfair it is! I'll leave ... (disappears)

SCENE 3.
Grandmother, Andrei Ivanovich, Grunya.

Grandmother (wiping sweat off her face). Such a stupid dream! What is interesting: during my lifetime I never reproached him for infidelity, but then I suddenly laid out everything that I thought before. (Andrey). You didn't catch him, did you?
Andrey. In the wheelchair I saw from afar, but I didn’t get close.
Grandmother (proudly). Mikhailo Vasilyevich was the leader of the nobility! Handsome, stately!.. It was rumored that he stopped by on the way from Chembar to Onuchino, to a bachelor neighbor... But I did not show by word or hint that I knew. We are Stolypin! - do you understand? Stolypins will not stoop to jealousy!
Andrey. How not to understand, mother? All your brothers are all generals, there are countless orders!
Grandmother (disagreeing). And the Arsenievs too - an old, noble family. Mikhailo Vasilyevich was the captain of the Life Guards of the Preobrazhensky Regiment (!) when he wooed me ... Even in a dressing gown he walked like in a uniform - slender, proud! ... Pride ruined him!
Andrey. How is it, lady?
Granny. You can not understand. And he loved me, and my rival too ... And then there was Mashenka, daughter ... He couldn’t breathe on her - how can you leave here? ... My dear got confused - so he took a sin on his soul! (Christened).
Andrey. And you, sir? Left a widow - tea, young at all?
Grandmother (thinking). I was thirty-six years old ... (With annoyance). Half as much as now!
Andrey. I was a kid, I remember. You drove through the village - whether to the church, in the field - a written beauty, honestly!
Grandmother (remembers with a smile). Generals wooed me, but what! One of them didn’t have the whole chest in orders - the sword was golden, donated by Kutuzov!
Andrey. And what about you, mother?
Grandmother (with a sigh). She refused ... Then she repented: you are a fool! You can't bring back the dead! .. Three years have passed, no one will say a bad word ... But I could not decide, even though you cry! Such are we, the Stolypins: from the crown to the grave! .. (Recollecting himself). I blabbed with you, as with equals. Get away!
Andrew (disheartened). I obey, mistress ... (Dejectedly goes to the door).
Grandmother (strictly). Yes, they ordered the carriage to be checked: we will go to Serednikovo tomorrow.
ANDREY (in spirit). I obey, mother Elizaveta Aleksevna! (Leaves).
Granny. At first he was angry, but as she said about Serednikovo, Uncle was delighted! .. He loves to ride! And even then to say: we used to go out often. Either to Penza to the priest, then to the Caucasus ... To Chembar, to Moscow, from there to St. Petersburg! And there I bought my stroller for Mishenka, he did not give her rest. First to Peterhof, then to Tsarskoye Selo... And again to the South: to Ryazan, to Tambov, to Voronezh... There is Stavropol, there is Grozny, there is Tiflis! All right, go! Tell them downstairs to bring tea here. Today the sun, I will drink on the veranda. (The girl bows low, runs away).
Pause.
Ah, Andrei Ivanovich! Gray hair in a beard, and a demon in a rib? As you looked at me as a beardless child, so now you look with oily eyes, like a cat on sour cream ... Yes, the krinka is high - you won’t get it! It's in Europe, I heard the queen herself lived with the mozhardom, in Ancient Rome matrons bathed naked in the presence of slaves... And we have Russia, and this does not happen... (Spitting). Ugh, what an abomination climbs into the head! (Pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen.) I'll write a letter to Michel. He keeps asking for his resignation ... So this will not happen until he becomes a general! (Proudly). Are we Stolypins or not?! (Writes).
Pause.
Let Batiushka say: let the magpie serve according to Mikhailo Vasilyevich. Andryushka is right: it is necessary to remember, if he had a dream ... And at the same time, Masha ... (waving his hand) and Yuri Petrovich of the deceased too! I disliked my son-in-law, a sinner, but it turns out that in vain. He loved my daughter to the grave! Monogamous, like me, a sinner. (He sits, deep in thought, remembering both - both his daughter and his son-in-law). How life goes, Lord! There was a daughter, there was a son-in-law, the kingdom of heaven to them ... And it all started with the fact that I let her go to my aunt - to the Oryol region ...

SCENE 4.
Oryol province, 1813.
Yuri Lermontov and Maria Arsenyeva
It’s getting dark, it’s evening, there’s a ball in the house outside the windows, you can see how couples are spinning ...

Maria Mikhailovna and Yuri Petrovich come out onto the veranda - both young, cheerful, excited by the dance.
Yuri. Mademoiselle! Allow me to explain?
Maria. You don't need anything, Yuri Petrovich. The Viennese waltz is guilty: it will drive everyone crazy!
Yuri. Oh no! I am an officer, and I say openly: You are the best of all whom I know! .. I love you, Mary!!! (He kisses her hands eagerly.)
Maria. You are also not indifferent to me, but I ask you, Lermontov: check your feelings ... Perhaps tomorrow everything will be different? ..
Yuri. Oh no! And tomorrow, and always - to the grave! You are the one who was sent to me by God!
Maria. But I don't know you very well, Captain...
Yuri. My family is not very noble, maybe ... But this is here, in Russia, and in Scotland the name Lermont is known to everyone! The founder of our family is the poet-soothsayer Thomas the Rhymer from Lermont.
Maria. I used to read something as a child...
Yuri (with a smile). You are still a child now, Marie... Well, listen. A long time ago in Scotland, in the province of Learmonth, there lived a certain man, whose name was Thomas the Honest - he never told a word of lies! In addition, he played and sang beautifully - he was a famous bard and even a seer. What he talked about in his ballads came true sooner or later.
Maria. They say that the elves gave him such a gift?
Yuri. This is a legend, but there is an undeniable fact. At that time, Scotland was ruled by the great and formidable Alexander III of Roxborough. From his youth, he fell in love with Margaret of England, they got married, had three children, but all died early, following the queen. The king wept bitterly, but there was nothing to do - he remarried the beautiful Iolanthe.
Maria (sniffling). What a sad story! But go on, Yuri Petrovich.
(Darkness thickens, royal servants bring burning torches, the King and his retinue enter, Thomas with a tool in his hand. In the distance - the appearance of an ancient Scottish castle).
Yuri. They agreed, but each lived in his own castle. And then one day the king ordered the bard Thomas to compose a ballad in honor of his new lover - Iolanthe. Thomas started from afar. He sang about the first wife of the king, and everyone shed tears, remembering the kind, like a mother, Margaret of England. Then he told about the exploits of the king himself, and everyone bowed low to the monarch. But Lermont broke off his third song in mid-sentence.

Thomas plays and sings in recitative:

When, tired of the nocturnal abyss,
In the darkness of the depths, sea spirits will fall asleep,
Killing innocent fishermen
When the stars come out into the sky again
And from the land where the evil Nords rule
The dawn will come,
Not the roar of the waves, harbingers of devastation,
And the gentle whisper of pebbles is the basis,
That which flares up for good reason
Spring dawn in Scotland.

King. Okay, Thomas! Continue!
Thomas (singing):
And now the ruddy face - the sun woke up,
That the shoulders of rocks and the castle will warm,
Where queen Iolanthe sleeps sweetly.
A golden ray only dares to touch her lips.

And the noonday sun says:
- I go around the seas and countries in a day,
I look in every window
But there is no such thing in the world - no such shoulders, no camp!

King. Aw, bravo, Thomas! “There are no such shoulders, no camp”? But let's move on - about me and the queen. I will reward you royally! ..
Pause.
What's the matter? Why are you silent?!
Thomas. Forgive me, your majesty. Everything faded in my eyes...
King. What do you mean faded? Hey! Fire to our bard! (Servants bring torches closer.)
Thomas. An ordinary torch will not help here, sir. My light pours out from here! ... (Points to the forehead and chest). My ballad will end unexpectedly, by the will of fate!
KING (with a proud smile). In my kingdom, I myself command fate! Continue!
Thomas. I dare not, my lord. I'm just a man and I can't resist the will of the gods.
KING (striking with his fist). I command!!!.. You know, bard, what happens to those who disobey my will?!
Thomas. I know, your majesty. But Thomas the Honest never sang what he had not seen. And in this ballad I see Iolanta... she is all in black... and I don't see you!
KING (beside himself). What??? Take him!!! To the tower!!! Tomorrow you will sing under the whip of the executioner, and you will see everyone whom I command!
Thomas is roughly chained up.
(Sweet). Gather up, rogues! We're going to Kinghorn Castle, where lovely Jolanthe is waiting for me, and a cask of good English ale for you!
(The retinue yells joyfully and leaves, throwing up their swords and taking the captive Thomas with them, taking away the torches).

Maria. Oh my God! Poor Thomas!
Yuri. That same night, the king went to his beloved's castle. The moon disappeared behind the clouds, his horse stumbled on a mountain path, and the formidable king was found dead on the seashore. Thus the will of fate was accomplished, and the great bard lived up to his name. Thomas the Honest did not lie even under the threat of execution, for in the moments of revelation he saw the imminent death of the king.
Maria. What a glorious legend!
Yuri. Legend or reality - who knows? It is known for certain that Alexander the Third died in an accident in the prime of life: he turned 44. It was in the 13th century from the birth of Christ. The family of Thomas Learmont continued happily, and in the 16th century the beautiful Margaret Learmont was married to Gordon Byron QC. And in the 19th century, their descendant, a poet and lord, himself called himself the heir to the talent of Thomas the Rhymer.
Maria (with delight). So you are a relative of the great Byron?!
Yuri. Partly, mademoiselle. Our branch went from George Lermont, a Polish lieutenant who swore allegiance to the first Romanov - Mikhail Fedorovich. Georg converted to Orthodoxy and, under the name of Yuri, honestly fought in the squad of Pozharsky himself. The tsar loved Lermontov, granted his estate near Tula - Kropotovo is called ... But the clerk wrote our surname in Russian, and so it has survived to this day: Lermontovs.
Maria. Ah, so how?
Yuri. I served in the noble militia, drove the French beyond the Berezina, but I was wounded here while recovering ...
Maria. And I came to Oryol from Penza, from Tarkhan... Our relatives are here...
Yuri. It was the Lord Himself who brought us together - here, in Orel, far from the family estates and Scottish skerries ... I must admit, Marie, that I can no longer imagine my life without you!
Maria. I believe you, Yuri Petrovich. (With a smile). After all, you are a descendant of Thomas the Honest ...
Yuri. I swear! I will never love anyone but you!
Maria. But my mother, nee Stolypin, dreams of a rich son-in-law ... She is unlikely to approve my choice ...
Yuri. I am ready to answer to her in advance, but I will not give you up without a fight!
Maria. I know my mother... (aside) but I also know myself! When it touches love, I will not give up an inch!
Yuri. Let me ... a timid kiss ... (Kisses her hands - higher and higher) ...
Maria. Oh, how strange everything is in the world! From my youth I dreamed of love, waited for it, - and everything happened suddenly, almost unexpectedly! (They kiss).
Curtain

SCENE 5.
Tarkhany 1817. Yuri, then Babushka

Yuri. Oh, the bright moment of love! We overcame everything and happily went to the crown! And later, in the greenery of Tarkhan, we spent a wonderful honeymoon! - what's there? Honey year! Maria suffered, we went to Moscow, and a son was born there in early October!
Pause.
Two names have always alternated in our family: Peter and Yuri, Yuri and Peter. I wanted to name my son Peter, but where is it! Mother-in-law zealously fought for "Mikhail"! As if she didn’t know: she gave the ship a name - it will float like that. Is it reasonable? - to give the grandson the name of his grandfather, who himself decided to part with his life? .. But the rich always have more rights! I had to give in to my beloved mother-in-law.
Pause.
But here's the problem: Maria fell ill! Consumption increased, doctors did not help, and this winter my queen died out! .... And on the ninth day, we finally met in mortal combat: Father and Grandmother of a young child.
The funeral bells are heard. Grandma enters.
Granny. Why do I need this, Lord? First, a loving husband, then the only daughter ... It would be better if heaven took me! (Crying).
Yuri. No need, mom. I suffer no less and, honestly, I would put a bullet in my forehead from grief! .. But my son remained! Maria begged before her death to take care of the child of our love, like the apple of an eye!
Granny. I believe you, Yuri Petrovich. But think about it my friend. You are young, a short time will pass, and you will bring another wife into the house ... She will give birth to you a new child ...
Yuri. No, I won't love anyone again!
Grandmother (not listening). And me - who will replace my grandson?! For seven short years, I have lost everything that is possible: my husband, daughter, now you want to take away the only thing I have left?!
Yuri (decidedly). And no one will stop me in this!
Granny. I know, I know! The law and the king are all on your side. But have pity on me, Yuri Petrovich! Michel - he will be a hindrance for you, but for me - this is light, this is happiness, this is the only joy of my life!
Pause.
I'm rich, you know that. (Pulls money out of chest.) I'll give you 20-25 thousand... Give up, for God's sake! (Falls to his knees and hands the money to his son-in-law.)
Yuri (indignantly). Remember ma'am!!! (tries to pick it up).
Granny. I'm sorry, it's my fault ... (Rises from his knees, hides the money). Almost lost her head in grief. (wiping away tears). Then let's get down to business. Agree, Yuri Petrovich, that Michel will need a lot in life. Education, great connections, a generous treasury... Can you provide it for him?
Yuri. I have an estate in Kropotovo...
Grandmother (disparagingly). One name that a manor! And that is only a share of it: your sisters are there, they are also entitled to an inheritance. And I will leave all Tarkhany to my grandson, in its entirety, there is no need to share it with anyone!
Pause.
With such an estate, now there are six hundred souls, with connections along the lines of the Stolypins, Arsenyevs, he will become a gallant hussar in no time, by the age of thirty he will become a general ... My brother was Suvorov's adjutant at 25 - is it a joke ?! Michelle, I'm sure it won't get any worse!
Yuri. Hope.
Granny. What about your line? What will she give in Russia, not in Scotland? .. Well, if Michel rises to the rank of captain, like his father ...
Yuri. I was wounded!
Granny. Yes, everything is one ... You are a smart person, Yuri Petrovich, and you are unlikely to be an enemy to your own son. From Kropotovo, life and a modest rank await him, from Tarkhan - the Life Guards Hussars and golden epaulettes! Think...
Yuri (with bitter pathos). Who would have looked from the outside!.. As a thing of your vassal You buy my child!
Granny. Judge as you please. But here is my last word to you: Michel will remain in Tarkhany - I will leave him all my wealth, but no - so, you will be punished, he will not receive a penny !!!
Yuri. Oh, evil age of enmity and strife! Look: before you is a father who sells his son!
(In the hearts leaves, slamming the door)
Granny. Gone! .. Forgive me, my dear son-in-law. Of course, I would not offend my grandson. But what else could I say when I was threatened with separation from the closest creature? He is heaven on earth, the light of my eyes! And now he is mine! My!! My!!! (crying with happiness).
Curtain.

SCENE 6.
Tarkhany 1841, St. Petersburg, 1837.
Andrey Sokolov, later Mongo.

Andrei (looking around the room). Cleaned up so that at least today wait for a dear guest. (Closes closet.) Quiet all around ... Whether it's when the barchuk was at home! In the morning, as soon as he wakes up, immediately give him military armor - chain mail, if you fight with knight dogs, or a hussar mentic when you fight with Napoleon. The “commander” got up, and loyal knights were already waiting below: rural boys, visiting barchuks from neighboring estates ... There were about twenty people recruited! (With laughter). All the nettles in the area will be cut with their "swords" and "swords"!
Pause.
Otherwise, they will arrange a naval battle - on the nearby pond, at the bathhouse ... And everywhere my master is the first, every time at the head! He fights fearlessly, his little eyes burn!.. He was the same in real battles, when he fought in the Caucasus. His uncle, Alyosha Stolypin, spoke excitedly about Michel's courage! And even though he was young, Lermontov became a centurion - he led horse hunters into reconnaissance, into battle. And these are the spitting image of thugs, God bless them!
Pause.
Good gentleman this Alyoshka! Mine called him in a wonderful way: Mongo. Although he is a cousin uncle, he is a couple of years younger than Michel. And they are always together, everywhere nearby! Do not spill water, in a word. I remember how my master was thrown into a jail - Mongo told me about it!
The scenery is changing, on which - winter Petersburg, 1837. Mongo enters.
Mongo. Are you at home, Andrei? .. Are you waiting for the master?
Andrey. Waiting, Alexey Arkadyevich. Isn't he with you?
Mongo. That's just the point... When Michel left, remember?
Andrey. In the morning, sir. He wrote something all night, then grabbed it, ran away - and he was gone. He didn't come to dinner...
Mongo. Did you cook?.. Come on? (opens the lid of the pot and sniffs). Smells nice!
Andrey. Will you dine, Alexey Arkadievich? ..
Mongo. I - no, but you will take down your master.
Andrey. Where to?
Mongo. To prison, Andrey Ivanovich. To jail!
Andrei (in deep dismay). For what?!!
Mongo. Yes, so ... Have you heard of Pushkin?
Andrey. How? .. They say he died sickly?
Mongo. Died.
Andrey. God rest his soul! (Christened).
Mongo. And your master wrote a great verse - "The death of a poet" is called. Here is his and ... that one - on the zugunder!
Andrei (with sincere surprise). For a verse?
Mongo. Verse to verse discord, Andrey Ivanovich. This one has spread all over St. Petersburg, all over Russia! .. But - stop talking! Get dressed, take a bowler hat, a bottle of wine - and march! The prisoner needs to be fed!
Andrei (dressing hastily). So what is he - in transit or what?
Mongo. Ek, where enough! He is still an officer, not a bandit from the high road. He sits in the General Staff - in the guardhouse.
Andrey. Were you with him?
Mongo. Who will let me in, you eccentric man?! Only a valet with food is allowed to see an arrested officer! I finally understand why I'm taking you?
Andrey. Understood…
Mongo. Have fun moving! The horses are waiting below. You will ride like a gentleman!
Andrey. Wouldn't ride like that forever! (With fear). What will I say to Grandma?
Mongo (shaking his fist). I t-tell you!
They leave.

SCENE 7.
Tarkhany 1841, then Monastery1830.
Grandmother, Ekaterina Sushkova, pilgrims, servant ...

Grandmother (hears a bell ringing, crosses herself devoutly). How is he alone, what is there? Without grandma once again he won’t cross himself, he won’t eat sweetly ... Even in my youth, I remember, my favorite place was not a church, but a bench under an oak tree, where I wrote poetry ...
Pause
Near Moscow, in the thirtieth year, we went on a pilgrimage to the Trinity-Sergius Lavra ... There was youth, his passion - Katka Sushkova ... So Michel and there, in a holy place, could not do without rhymes!
The scenery is changing - on it is God's temple, summer. Sushkova enters.
Sushkov. Lord, how tired I am!
Grandmother (strictly). It's a sin to say such things, Katerina! People go to the ends of the Earth to bow to holy icons - on foot, to a foreign land! And you - young, healthy - are too lazy to walk a hundred miles.
Sushkov. Oh, don't judge so harshly, Elizaveta Alekseevna! In our hearts we are the same faithful Christians, but we are embarrassed to admit it.
Granny. Well, of course ... You have Dumas on your mind, French novels!
Sushkov. Not only, grandmother, not only. (Looks out in the crowd for Lermontov). By the way, where is your grandson?
Granny. Was here (looks around too). Here's a shot! Already ran away.
Sushkov. I'll go and rest in my "cell", and you, grandmother, if it's not difficult, tell Michel that I was looking for him. (Leaves).
Grandmother (contemptuously). “Ba-bushka!” .. So I reported to you! .. It’s too early for him to run after the girls, he’s very young! (Christened). God should be prayed in such grace, and not bewitched youngsters without a beard. (Leaves, looking around.) Mishe-spruce! Where are you, tomboy?
It's getting dark.
Sushkova in her "cell" with a candle in her hand, puts it on the table, takes off her gloves.
Sushkov. Looks like he got mad at us. This morning we approach the temple, and on the porch a blind old man asks for alms. Take one of ours and put in his hand not a coin - a pebble. For a laugh! I told Lermontov about this, and he turned pale all over, looks sternly: “And you laughed ?!” ... He turned away and left ... (Looks out the window of the neighboring cell, on the contrary). Here it is! He writes something ... It would be interesting to know what he is so passionate about?
He walks singing from The Queen of Spades, undresses for bed.
He is only 15 years old, a real child, but how much intelligence in this boy! How nicely he draws, plays the violin, writes poetry, finally! ... (Sings something from Rossini). It's a pity that he's so young... Very, very sorry!
There is a knock on the door.
Who is there?.. A letter?.. One minute... (Opening the door slightly, he receives a sheet of paper). "Madame Sushkova" ... To me! Did you miss me, baby? (Opens the letter.) Are there poems here? How interesting! (Sits down by the candle, reads). "Beggar" ... Hmm!

"At the gates of the holy monastery
Begging for alms stood
The poor man is withered, a little alive
From hunger, thirst and suffering.
What's this? No way, about our old man? ..
“He only asked for a piece of bread,
And the gaze showed living torment,
And someone laid a stone
In his outstretched hand.

(Catherine is horrified). Oh, my God!.. At the age of 15 - such lines?! I don't believe my eyes. And this old man - as if alive rises before my eyes! “He only asked for a piece of bread, And his eyes showed living torment” ... I was not so ashamed when I saw the joke of my friends in reality, but now, imprinted with verses ... I blush ... Oh, how disgusting it all is! Ashamed! Vile! How right Lermont was, who condemned us near the temple!
Pause.
But he also condemned us in verse! And now, if anyone reads, he will clearly see that godless, satiated youth who torments the poor old man! great strength poetry, embedded - in whom? In a youth bezus!!! What will his talent be like in five, ten, twenty years?!..
Pause.
An hour ago, I thought that Lermontov was too young for me ... But now I understand: no! He is wise, like an aksakal living in the mountains, closer to God. Very soon he will figure it out - and refuse me! .. No! I do not need a seer - just a husband. Not a Genius, but a straight flexible spouse.*
Curtain
* Over time, this happened. Sushkova married Khvostov, and another passion of Lermontov - Varenka Lopukhin - married Bakhmetev, Natalya Ivanova married Obrezkov ... The only young person who remained faithful to the Poet until his death was Natalya Martynova.

SCENE 8 (continuation of 6th)
Andrei and Mongo near the guardhouse.

Mongo. Well, here we are. Then you will go alone, Andrey Ivanovich, they will not let me in. Yes, look: give the bread as it is - wrapped in paper!
Andrey. Oh my god, it's just bread! After all, he is still a child, he would have something sweeter ...
Mongo. Tell Michel that meringues with champagne are waiting for the hussars at large, and the prison is different. Prison is labor, the worthy will overcome it! Go, but do not forget to look at the jailers cheerfully, without lowering your eyes. No one should guess that you are carrying the forbidden!
Andrey. (Christened). I don't know what you're talking about, sir, but I'll be lost with you not for a pinch of tobacco! (Leaves).
Mongo. Michel and I read these tricks in an English novel. Clever guys, filibusters, so circled their enemies around their fingers. Let's hope that Russian jailers don't read English novels, and everything will turn out well.
Pause.
In general, I am proud of my nephew and friend. The glory that fell upon Lermontov these days, by God, is worth the guardhouse! Panaev says that “The Death of a Poet” is being copied by everyone, in thousands of lists, people learn the verse by heart! .. Look today Pushkin from the sky, he would not have found an admirer more devoted than Lermontov ... And who knows, is not the second Pushkin sitting today in this casemate?
Andrey Sokolov enters
Well, brother? Missed?
Andrey. Missed it, sir. The Herods broke the loaf in half, but they did not find anything inside.
Mongo. What is Michelle?
Andrey. Cheerful and cheerful, even laughing. "Prison," he says, the best place for loneliness. No annoying friends, no creditors ... "
Mongo. Oh, bravo, Lermontov! I recognize the goose! What is he? Did you send something?
Andrei (with offense). Are you kidding me, sir? What can he convey from the dungeons? Here's a pot and leftover bread...
Mongo. In paper?
Andrey. Yes…
Mongo. Come on over here! (Unfolds the crumpled sheets, looks through them in the light). Yes, here it is!
Reads Lermontov's poem "Desire":
- "Open the dungeon for me,
Give me the shine of the day
black eyed girl,
Black-maned horse...
But the prison window is high
The door is heavy with a lock,
Black eyed far away
In his magnificent tower...
Only heard: behind the doors
With sonorous steps
Walks in the silence of the night
Unanswered sentinel."

(Sokolov). Well, old man? Now do you understand what service you served? .. (Looking around). For a long time, Michel and I came up with this: mix wine with oven soot - you get ink, and a sharpened match serves as a pen ... Yes, the paper that you wear!
Andrey. Cunning, sir!
Mongo. There are still good people! While Lermont is in prison, the censorship committee allowed the publication of his Borodin!
Andrei (remembering). Who is this? .. “Tell me, uncle, isn’t it for nothing?” ...
Mongo (picks up): “Moscow, burnt by fire, given to the French?” ...
Andrey (enthusiastically): “After all, there were combat fights?” ...
Mongo (loudly): “Yes, they say, what else! No wonder the whole of Russia remembers "...
Both (with delight, to the entire guardhouse): “About the day of Borodin !!!”
Curtain.

SCENE 9.
Kropotovo, 1831.
Yuri Petrovich Lermontov before his death.

YURI (goes around the portraits on the wall). My friends who died fighting Napoleon! Wait, I'll be with you soon!.. My dear wife! Today or tomorrow I will fall at your feet, and now - forever! (Looks at the portrait of his son). And only you, son, among the unearthly shining peaks, I would not like to see for a long, long time! You will not offend me, no, by separation from your father. Live, my dear, a hundred years! You will be needed by people with your unearthly talent...
Pause.
(With delight). Yes, I read your poems! And he was unable to believe himself: is it really me - I gave Russia a Poet akin to Zhukovsky, and maybe even higher ?! I don’t remember that any of the others sharpened their pen so early on the crest of powerful, unhackneyed words?
Pause.
Do you remember when I was a child I told you about Thomas the Honest, Thomas the Soothsayer of Learmont? We consider him the founder of our family. (With joyful surprise). Are you really the same Thomas who came to us through the depths of centuries?! His distant descendant?! One was in England - Lord Byron, the other is now in Russia?! .. (Raises his hands to the sky). Oh dear Thomas! How glad I am to be part of this. That you appeared in our glorious age - in the guise of my son!
Out of the darkness comes Byron.
Lord Byron? You?!! Another descendant of Thomas Learmonth?! (Doubtfully, rubbing his temples.) Am I going crazy?.. But no. After all, it's you that I dream about in my dying dream? .. My boy adopted the rebellious spirit of your poems so early! Forgive me, but Lermontov's "Demon" is no worse than your "...Harold" *
Thomas Lermont is also embracing Byron.
And Thomas is here?! Our ancestor... And your older brother... Look, Michel, what a constellation!
Coughs and sees blood on the handkerchief.
I'm leaving, friends! You won't believe it, Thomas, but I'm 44... Like a king whose death you predicted... (Visions hide in the dark, Yuri sinks into a chair, exhausted). I don’t know, son, but I bequeath: you are gifted with the ability of a great mind, free, without edge! Don't let your soul use it for something useless, empty. Bear in mind, my son: for this regal talent, you will answer to God! ** (Dies).
Curtain.
* "Childe Harold" - a poem by Lord Byron, written by him at the age of 24. Lermontov completed the second edition of The Demon at the age of 16.
**Original words from the Will of Yu. P. Lermontov to his son.

SCENE 10.
Tarkhany, 1841, St. Petersburg, 1840.
Grandma, then Mongo.

Granny. (She puts down the letter.) A letter from St. Petersburg... They write to me that it is fun there, as before, but I cannot understand this. My Michel is not there, but he is everything to me: all my light, all bliss is in him!*
Pause.
I remember how we first arrived in the capital - to enter the army school. It was August 32nd ... Golden time! On the third day we went for a ride to Peterhof, and you should have seen with what little eyes Michel looked at the sea! Neither palaces nor fountains - the blue of the sea attracted his imagination. And in the evening he came to me to say goodbye for the night, showing his beloved his album. “Listen, granny, what I wrote” ... “Well, if you please, my friend” ... (Remembers):
"The lonely sail turns white
In the blue mist of the sea
What is he looking for in a distant land,
What did he throw in his native land?
I don't remember more, but it's a very funny rhyme! And most importantly - when did you have time, shooter ?! He was thoughtful in the carriage!
Pause.
God! How quickly the years go by! How proud I was, my God, when I saw my grandson in a hussar's cape! How the shape suits the young man! How he reminded me of the young Mikhailo Vasilievich! .. And his temper and qualities - well, a perfect grandfather! God forbid, they will wrap the boy, marry him, take him away from the yard, like gypsies a horse!
Winter scenery in St. Petersburg, 1840. Mongo enters.
Mongo. May I, auntie?
Granny. Finally! And where is Michel?.. Were you together?
Mongo. Hmm ... He lingered ... involuntarily ...
(Pause).
Granny. Alyoshka! .. The rod is needed to continue the conversation with you! Say: will he be back for dinner?
Mongo. I'm afraid, auntie, that no ...
Granny. Oh my God! What happened again?! There is no face on you! .. Is he alive?!!
Mongo. Yes, your granddaughter is alive, alive! .. Only wounded - easily ...
Granny. Injured??? (Ready to faint, but her nephew supports her).
Mongo. Yes, I say - not deadly! will live! He taught the daring Frenchman science - and taught him a lesson! But he himself is slightly hurt ... Slightly, I say !!!
Granny. Do you know this for sure, did you see it yourself?
Mongo (proudly). Excuse me, auntie: I was a second! .. Not daring to open the details, but Michel did not sully his honor! They fought with sabers and shot ... He proved himself a worthy duelist!
Granny. But who is he - the one who dared to raise a hand against my boy ?!
Mongo. Monsieur Barante, son of the French ambassador.
Pause.
There will be a lot of idle fictions about that duel. And the women will be named, because of which, allegedly, they were shooting ... But you don’t believe it, auntie: I was closer than others ... That woman’s name is Russia! The son of the ambassador - the same as Dantes, the French Khlestakov - stood up at the ball for his idol. And Pushkin inherited from him, and Mother Russia as a whole ... Others listened with an obsequious smirk: after all, a baron! But your grandson is not like that, he spoke boldly!
Granny. Hmm ... Dantes caused damage to Russia no less than Napoleon. The burnt-out Moscow was restored, thank God, but who will return Pushkin to us?!
Pause.
So where is Michelle now? Is he in the infirmary?!.. I'll go to him at once! (Hotly going to the grandson).
Mongo. Oh, don't rush, aunty. Did I say that the wound is not dangerous? She was bandaged, and the duelist - in the casemate ...
Granny. Forgive me, for what?! After all, he is not guilty!
Mongo. I was given the words of Nikolai Pavlovich on this subject. The sovereign said: "If Lermontov had a fight with a Russian, I would have known what to do ...". But this is the king, and you know your grandson?! Michel is delighted, God knows! He considers his life monotonous, boring, and the duel entertained him! And everything that will happen later, he expects with the ease of a hussar!
Grandmother (in great alarm). And what will happen later?.. What awaits him, Alyosha?!
Mongo. It is known that - the Caucasus. "They send new Decembrists there - both bullies and brawlers." (With a grin). Today, all military officers are rushing there ...
Granny. And you?
Mongo. Me too, aunty.
Granny. Will you be next to him?
Mongo. Everywhere! After all, I am his Mongo - like Friday for Robinson Crusoe. Although, to be honest, it is not easy with him. He, like his Pechorin, “looks on the rampage everywhere, he is looking for the truth everywhere,” and in our time it is kept behind seven seals.
Granny. Take care, take care of him, Leshenka! In addition to you and me, he has no one closer and dearer!
Mongo. He appreciates it! I read a lot of what he wrote, and I remember the best lines by heart:
"Trust me - happiness is only there,
Where they love you, where they believe you!
Grandmother (sniffling). He wrote about us. My dears! Oh, how I would have warmed him in my native Tarkhany!
Mongo. I have no doubt, auntie.
Granny. God bless you, my dears! (He crosses himself, kisses his nephews on the forehead
Mongo. And you will not be ill, Elizaveta Alekseevna! (He kisses her on the hand and, turning like a hussar, leaves, clanging his sword).
Curtain
*The original words of Elizaveta Alekseevna from a letter to Princess Cherkasskaya.
**From a letter of 1836.

SCENE 11.
Moscow region, spring-summer 1841.
Mother and son Martynov

Mother. Son, why do you need to go back to the Caucasus? Still good for the sake of service! But you’ve retired, haven’t you?.. Already a major!.. Live in the estate for summer, take care of the household, hunt ...
Nikolay: Ah, mother, should you speak, and should I, Martynov, listen to you?! Our clan became famous in the service of the military! Great-grandfather suppressed the Streltsy rebellion and received a snuffbox from Peter! Father led the Preobrazhensky regiment, uncle was the treasurer of the Penza militia! Should I breed guinea fowl?!
Mother. Without a doubt, the army is dearer to you ... But even a brave warrior, seeing the superiority of the enemy, retreats for a while. Step back and you, wait until all the rumors subside ...
Nikolay. What are the rumors, mom?
Mother. Ah, full, full, Nicolas!.. Do you think that in the suburbs, in the wilderness of the forest, no one knows anything?
Nikolay. Oh my God! And the vile ones have already leaked here? What do you know? Speak openly!
Mother. Son ... Why should I pass on empty gossip when you yourself are in front of me?
Nikolay. No, I beg! I want to know how perverted?
Mother. OK then. Just don't be offended. I heard from third parties, by chance ... No, the tongue does not turn!
Nikolay. I demand, mom!
Mother. Well, if so, I'll tell you. Rumor has it that you... accidentally or not, but... twitched the card!? ..
Nikolay. Did they say so?
Mother. Yes son.
Nikolay. Oh my god, what nonsense! (Walks around the room excitedly.) Who could make such an accusation?!
Mother. Was it like that or not?
Nikolay. Enemies! Enemies all around!
Mother. You didn't answer son. What? There was no such thing? .. So why didn’t you immediately expose the slanderer? The question would be solved in two counts!
Nikolay. Ah, mom, it's not so simple ... (Rubs his palms, worried).
Mother. Tell me son, I'll try to understand everything. After all, am I a mother or not a mother?!
Nikolay. Well, there was… something. The candle burned dimly or whatever, but - I mistook ... At night, I already drank pretty much ... Who the hell does not happen to?!!
Pause.
Are you silent?!
Mother (guessing). So that's why you - resign?! ​​.. 25 years old, major ... You soon could command a regiment, like a deceased father! (Christened).
Nikolay. Oh, mother, and you do not believe me?! I say: an unfortunate accident! That's why I'm going to the Caucasus to justify myself to everyone again - friends, commanders ... I'm ready to make amends in battle when I have to !!!
Mother (frightened). I believe! I'm sorry, son, that I didn't understand you right away. Anything happens, you're right. Especially among the highlanders, in the Caucasus ...
Nikolay. And here it is?
Mother. No, don't tell me... Do you remember how you stood in Olginskaya, and Lermontov arrived there, your bosom friend?
Nikolay. Well, yes, I remember.
Mother. He was supposed to bring you a package from us - it contains money and a letter from Natalie ...
Nikolay. But it was stolen from him! - in Taman, it seems ...
Mother. He told everyone so, and even wrote in his novel. (Reads aloud). “Alas, my box, saber .., Dagestan dagger - everything has disappeared!”. I read, I remember...
Nikolay. But he gave me the money in full, maman. Everything is honest, without hiding ...
Mother. And Natalie's letters?.. What was in them, do you know?
Nikolay. The one who stole threw the papers into the sea...
Mother. That's what I'm saying! Lermontov himself wrote about local customs: “in war time, and especially in the Asian war, tricks are allowed. Do you remember the conspiracy against Pechorin?..
Nikolay. I remember mom. But isn't it better to stop talking on this topic!
Mother. I mean, son, that poor Natalie, it seems to me, has completely lost her head from this Lermontov. When meeting, he does not leave him, when parting, he writes letters, and this novel of his - she completely read it to the holes!
Nikolay. And what can I do?
Mother. Talk to her son. She does not want to listen to me, and you, as an older brother, are obliged to influence! You are leaving, you must give her parting words before the road, so you say ...
Nikolay. Okay, I'll talk, but what should I say, mother?
Mother. Anything, but try to talk her out of her engagement to this man. I don't like Lermontov - that's my whole story! (leaves)
Nikolay (with a bitter smile). She doesn't like it!.. What about me?!.. From my youth I wrote poetry and, like all beginning writers, I considered myself a genius! But everything faded the minute I read his "Khadzhi Abrek" ... (Reads aloud):

Great, rich aul Dzhemat,
He pays no tribute to anyone;
Its wall is handmade damask steel;
His mosque is on the battlefield.

I remember that we studied then at the school of junkers, we were not even twenty, but when, from where did he know all the charm of Dagestan, the proud soul of his wild sons ?! And although we were still counted good friends, participated in the expedition of General Galafeev, but fierce envy has been living in my soul since then! .. We fought side by side, and later we sang this battle together in verse, but everyone knows his “Valerik”, and no one knows my “Gerzel-aul” !!! Oh, who would have known how fiercely you can hate a bosom friend!

SCENE 12.
There. Brother and sister.

Enter Natalya
Natalia. Ah, Nicola! Are you going to the Caucasus?
Nikolay. Yes, and very soon.
Natalia. You will see Lermontov, must be?
Nikolay. Quite possible.
Natalia. Take him a couple of lines from me.
Nikolay (with a smile). Secret? La-mur?
NATALIA (offended). And nothing at all! I wanted to send him greetings from mutual friends ...
Nikolay (strictly). You, Natka, are the younger sister, and you dare not deceive your elder brother!
Natalia. I am telling the truth! In the end, I can deliver the envelope unsealed. Read, sir!
Nikolay. Well, it will, it will, I was joking!.. The example of your older sisters gives me the right to hope that you are no worse than them. One married Sheremetyev, the second - Lieutenant Rzhevsky, the third - Prince Gagarin ... Listen, what names!
Natalia. "Lieutenant Lermontov" sounds no worse!
Nikolay. Have you spoken yet?
Natalia. And not at all. I just objected - for example. But do not worry: my chosen one will also be known throughout Russia!
Nikolay. Think, Natalie, think. You are young, spring is in your soul, and in May in the dark all cats are gray!
Natalia. I know, brother, why you have changed so much towards him.
Nikolay. Oh well?
NATALIA (sarcastically). Because you are Grushnitsky, here!
Nikolay (strictly). Didn't understand?!
Natalia. Ah, stop it! Everyone says that you look like: Lermontov is like his Pechorin, and you, sorry, like his unfortunate friend ...
Nikolay. And you, miles sorry, on whom?
NATALIA (embarrassed). Guess!
Nikolay (with a smile). Not otherwise than on Princess Mary?
Natalia. And laugh in vain! Michel himself told me that he painted her portrait from me! Remember - (reads by heart):
“The second was a closed dress of gray-pearl color, a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck ...”. Take a closer look, brother: here is a pearl dress, here is a scarf!
Nikolay. These are worn today by every second young lady.
Natalia. Do you want to annoy me? Well, please! But only Michelle, darling, darling! Just now Belinsky said that Lermontov would be the size of Ivan the Great!
Nikolay. Who will be who, it is still written with a pitchfork ... (Strictly). And it's too early for you to think about the wedding!
Natalia. I'm five years younger than him! And when I make up my mind, I will listen only to my soul. Remember this, brother!
Nikolay. Stubborn! .. Go write your letter, I'm leaving soon. (Leaves).
Natalia. God! What cat ran between them? After all, before, in the army school, they were very friendly. Nicky said that he sat at night at the bedside of a sick friend - when Michel was injured by a horse in the arena ...
Pause
Is it possible that a woman is between them? .. Well, no, I would know about it. Everyone whom my dear loved - Sushkova, Ivanova, Lopukhina - all have been married for a long time. And only I am free, because I wait and will wait - for him! My love is not one that flares up sharply ... and goes out quickly. Oh no! She matured for a long time: from my childhood years, and will not depart soon.
Pause.
Whether he loves me or not, I still don’t know for sure ... But this will come with time! I will wait for his love, as a cat waits in ambush, a mouse guards a mink. I will cover it from all sides! By the way, his grandmother came to Serednikovo. She alone replaces both mother and father for Michel, he listens to her unquestioningly! Although they say that she does not favor young ladies, but the head is not only to wear hair and hairpins on it ... I will give the letter to Nikolka - and I will go to her!
Curtain.

SCENE 13.
Serednikovo. June 1841.
Grandmother, Andrei, then Natalya Martynova ...

Granny. What a charm - Moscow region! Michelle loves these places!
Andrei (holding a travel chest). Will you order me to carry you to your favorite outbuilding, mistress?
Granny. Carry, my friend ... (Andrei takes the chest). What bedlam it was here when his friends and young girls from all around came together! The Bakhmetevs, the Sushkovs, the Lopukhins, the Martynovs, the Stolypins, of course... And the Vereshchagins, Arseniev's relatives... And picnics, and horseback riding, and light flirting - everything was allowed here! (Strictly). In addition to frank outpourings, fiery declarations of love ... We, adults, followed this strictly! Michel - he is amorous from an early age. I remember, as a child, in the Caucasus, he fell in love with his cousin ... nine years old! * And she was such a beauty! Even then she was called "Rose of the Caucasus" ...
Enter Uncle Andrey
Do you remember, old rascal?
Andrey. What are you talking about, lady?
Granny. About the tricks of the barchuk, to which, I know, you were also involved! (Shakes his finger at him).
Andrey. Let me mother...
Granny. Be quiet! I know that Michel is the same womanizer as his late grandfather, and you took him to the actresses, and more than once! ..
Andrey. All this is a slander!
Granny. Well, it will be! I forgive you only because I did not allow more steps than intrigues. He did not allow the treacherous fashionistas to suddenly separate the grandmother from her grandson! I would never forgive you for this!
Andrey. I know, madam, and therefore I always inspired the barchonka so that I would not offend my grandmother ...
Granny. And well done, I appreciate it!
Andrey. Alas, madam, but sooner or later nothing will hold him back. Michel will soon be 27 ... Some kind, but a girl will seduce!
Granny. And what do you want to tell me?
Andrey. That it is better for you to find a bride for him yourself than for him to find him on the side.
Granny. Do you want me to bring her into the house with my own hands?!
Andrey. But bring the one you like!
Pause.
Grandmother (with a sigh). Perhaps you are right. I'm getting old, I need a young mistress in the house.
Andrey. It's time for you to nurse your great-grandchildren, mistress!
Grandmother (thoughtfully). Great-grandchildren?! That would be nice! To repeat life again ... (Rubs the heart). Oh, how the soul hurts about the meeting! How the heart is torn to the Caucasus!!! Go! (Andrey leaves).
The clatter of hooves is heard.
Already guests ... Who is this time? .. (Looking closer). Yes, this is a young neighbor! Martynova... Natalya, I think?.. And this one is in love with him, I know! (Intriguing). I wonder: does she confess her love for Michel or not? ..
Enter Natalya Martynova
Natalia. Oh, how glad I am for you, Elizaveta Alekseevna! How long has it been from Tarkhan?
Granny. Come on, honey.
Natalia. How did you get there?
Granny. Like an old man. Thank God ... What a hat you have!
Natalia. It's fashionable today. (With a smile): Your grandson is a trendsetter!
Granny. My grandson?!..
Natalia. Well, yes. His Pechorin and the charming Princess made everyone connoisseurs of Pyatigorsk fashion.
Grandmother (with a smile). That's even how?
Natalia. Our fashionistas now have only one assessment: would Pechorin approve or not? .. Would Princess Mary wear this dress or not? .. Your grandson has an amazing taste, he understands women and knows a sense of proportion!
Granny. I'm happy for him. Well, for you, since you share the same views with him ... I remember you as a girl!
Natalia. Yes it is. Your grandson treated me like a sister when I was just a child. At first he kept joking with me, but I was already seventeen - and he increasingly began to choose me as his confidante in conversations ... He was not the first for me? - told about "Mary", about "Grushnitsky", read his poems ...
Granny. And what are you?!
Natalia. She was his grateful listener, nothing more. I perfectly understood, Elizaveta Alekseevna, that only friendship should be given to the Poet - then he will create without regard to other feelings.
Granny. And love?..
Natalia. Love by no means!!! It fogs the eye, distracts from the main thing ...
Grandmother (strictly). The main business of the hussar is to serve the Sovereign faithfully!
Natalia. Exactly so, Elizaveta Alekseevna. Homeland - above all!
Grandmother (kindly). I've always thought you were a reasonable girl.
Natalia. Thank you, Elizaveta Alekseevna ...
Grandmother (gently). Yes, you will, just call me aunt.
Natalia. Thank you, auntie.
Grandmother (in secret). Well, what about yourself, in your soul? .. Do you not love Michel at all?
Natalia. By secret?
Granny. Yes.
Natalia. Since childhood, I have been looking at him enthusiastically ... But I can hide my feelings so far that he will never know about them. To be next to him, to serve his talent - that's all I dream of!
Granny. Mishka didn’t explain love to you?! ..
Natalia. I didn't, madam.
Pause
Granny. Before, I was afraid that his beauties would seduce him, marry him. She looked at all the girls as rivals: they would take the child out of the house - and that's it! (Sobbing). After all, without him I would die in a week! ..
Natalia. It's terrible that no one understands this. In the place of the sovereign, I would issue a decree so that young wives should be inseparable from their husbands !!! In his estate to give birth, to raise children for the joy of the elderly. Only then will a child be happy when it grows under the gaze of older generations!
Granny. Old and small - they understand each other. Parents are all too busy; only grandmothers love their grandchildren with all their hearts, not knowing other love, not wanting!
Pause.
(With a deep breath). Yes, Michel is 27 in the fall! Whatever one may say, it's time to get married ... Now I only pray to God for one thing: send me a daughter-in-law who will not lure him from Tarkhan. Whoever I would love, become the mistress of the house, and I would nurse their children ... I don’t need more, God knows! ... (Kisses Natalie as Michel’s future bride. Both cry with happiness).
Curtain.
*The fact is real. “Who am I to believe that I already knew love, having 10 years of age?” - wrote Lermontov in 1830.

SCENE 14.
Stavropol, early summer 1841.
The commander of the troops in the Caucasus, Adjutant General Grabbe and the commander of the cavalry, Colonel Prince Golitsyn.

Grabbe. Well, colonel? How do we deal with a hero?.. You know who I'm talking about...
Golitsyn. Your Excellency! I myself saw him in battles, and I can say unequivocally: Lermontov is one of our best officers! The bravest warrior, the smartest commander… Hunters, you know, the people are both brave and capricious: not every centurion will suit them.
Grabbe. How not to know? I remember that the daring men of General Galafeev were commanded by the legendary Dorokhov Rufim Ivanovich, the son of a military general, a troublemaker and a duelist. That's who the hunters selflessly loved!
Golitsyn. That's right, General! And suddenly he is injured. His team carried him out of the battle. And Dorokhov, in front of everyone, pointed to Lermontov: “He will replace me!”
Grabbe. Yes! Such an assessment is worth a lot.
Golitsyn. Furthermore. Already from the infirmary, Dorokhov wrote to his friend Yuzefovich, and he showed me a letter from the warriors. I rewrote it - just in case. (Takes out a crumpled sheet, reads): “This is a nice fellow Lermontov - an honest, straight soul ... We became friends with him and parted with tears in our eyes ...”
Pause.
Grabbe. Is something wrong, Prince?
Golitsyn. The last lines did not please me, Your Excellency. Dorokhov made a gloomy postscript: “Some kind of black presentiment told me that he would be killed ... It’s a pity, it’s a pity for Lermontov, he is ardent and brave, I can’t blow his head off” ...
Grabbe (with a smile). But now we know that everything went well? Lermontov survived!
Golitsyn. Yes ... Experienced Dorokhov was mistaken, thank God. But you must admit, General, that we are ungrateful to our hero. I looked through the lists - everyone who served in the Galafeev detachment, who was in the hunter team ... They have orders and titles. And only one name is not there ...
Grabbe. Don't you know, prince? ... (Bitterly). That's an old story, alas. First, "The Death of a Poet", then a duel with Barant ... Disgrace after disgrace ... We sent the award sheet more than once, but someone's highest hand of the lieutenant removed it from the list.
Golitsyn. But you must admit, General, that it is not so good, not in the army, not in the Divine after all! When such brave men are not rewarded, what will the rest say? The desire to fight as boldly as this fellow will not disappear?
Grabbe. I was informed that Lermontov had expressed a desire to resign...
Golitsyn. That's how we drive the best officers! .. And yet, General: what should we write in the award sheet this time? After all, they say that a drop wears away a stone ...
Grabbe. You are right, prince ... (Thinking). Let us approve Lermontov by asking him for a golden saber. How do you see it, Colonel?
Golitsyn. Oh, bravo, Pavel Khristoforovich! Weapons have always been valued in Rus', weapons for courage - twice! We hope that the hero himself will understand - and will not condemn.
Grabbe. And how glad Yermolov will be! He loves Lermontov too.
Golitsyn (with a slight smile). You say you argued with him once? ..
Grabbe. About Lermontov? Yes! That "Mtsyri" wrote - an amazing thing!
Golitsyn. I read…
Grabbe. Even more so. And there are lines:
"Once a Russian general
From the mountains to Tiflis I drove ... "
Golitsyn. "He was carrying a prisoner child ...".
Grabbe. That's it! .. And Yermolov boasts to me: “A lieutenant wrote about me!” ...
Golitsyn (innocently). Isn't that right?
Grabbe (indignantly). Of course not! I was driving at that time from Vladikavkaz to Tiflis!.. Brave General Alexei Petrovich, I won't say anything, but why misrepresent it?!
Golitsyn (with a secret smile). Well, nothing, Your Excellency. Here we are handing Lermontov a golden saber - we ask: whom did he mean?
Grabbe (with a sigh). If only they handed it over! .. It's time, it's time for the Sovereign to forget insults and change anger for mercy ... I, too, was once ... not in the unit, but now? General of the whole Caucasus! *
Golitsyn. Yes… Virtue suits the strong!
Curtain.
* Pavel Khristoforovich Grabbe in his youth was a member of the Welfare Union, but was forgiven and rose to the rank of general.

ACT TWO

SCENE 1 (15).
Pyatigorsk, July 13, 1841.
Evening at the Verzilins' house. Sisters Emilia (Rose of the Caucasus), Agrafena and Nadezhda, then Nikolai Martynov, Mongo, other officers, including Lermontov.

A piano is heard in the hall. Emily comes out of there.
Emilia. Lermontov, Michel! .. Already gone ... What a pity!
Nikolai Martynov enters.
Nikolay (with a sneer). What? Not caught up, Emma?
Emilia. Martynov? You?.. What is happening to you?
Nikolay. With me, mademoiselle? By God, nothing.
Emilia. I see: there is no face on you! Are you jealous? To whom? Lermontov and I are old friends - that's all.
Nikolay. From friendship to love is a short step.
EMILIA (with a deep sigh). We have it behind us! Don't believe? He was still a child and stayed with his grandmother in Goryachevodsk. He was at that time ... 10 years old! And I'm even younger. Well, can we be jealous of childhood?
Nikolay. So in you the old feelings have all cooled down?
Emilia. They did not exist before, these feelings. He imagined, not me.
Nikolay. I'm talking about the fact that Lermontov is changeable. I am also his old friend, since the army school, and I remember at balls, in salons ... He turned many ladies' heads!
EMILIA (shrugs). Well, so what? He is young and smart, a poet and not bad-looking ... So the ladies sigh ...
Nikolay. What do I care about everyone?! But there is a dear sister - he drove her crazy!
Emilia. Oh, what the hell?!.. How old is your sister?
Nikolay. At that time there were nineteen ...
EMILIA (turning away to hide her jealousy). Well, God bless them with love and happiness!
Nikolay. What about us?
Emilia. Sorry, I didn't understand...
Nikolay. Are you and I, Emma, ​​unworthy of great and fiery love? To be honest, I have not been indifferent to you for a long time ...
Emilia. Since when?
Nikolay. Yes, when I saw you, and someone whispered to me: “Emilia! Rose of the Caucasus!”…
Emilia. Who is the Rose, who is the Star of the Caucasus calls me here ...
Nikolay. So what do you say?
Emilia. I need to think...
Nikolay. When?
Emilia. Think? It's never too late...
Nikolay. I am not kidding!
Emilia. You come to us more often, Martynov. The house of the Verzilins is always open to those who are cheerful, young, (shaking his finger) not jealous!
Nikolay. May I invite you to dance?
Emilia. No, later... The next one... (Runs away to hide her tears).
Martynov. Well, she sped off ... I followed her! (Walks with a proud gait, holding his long mountain dagger). This Rose of the Caucasus - I'll pick it anyway! (Leaves).

Enter Mango and Agrafena with Hope.
Mango. And in your garden you have grace, and in the hall there are heavenly tunes!
Agrafena. This is Prince Trubetskoy playing today ...
Hope. Magical music, isn't it?
Mango. The true truth!.. And who else is visiting you today?
Agrafena. All old friends: Lyova Pushkin, and Martynov, and Glebov, and Vasilchikov...
Mango. And Michelle?
Hope. He went away somewhere, but promised any minute ...
Agrafena. Where Leva Pushkin is, so is Lermontov always. Both give only a reason to slander!
Hope. Yes, tongues are worse than a gun!
(They go into the hall, joyful greetings are heard from there, then a romance is heard to the words of M. Yu. Lermontov).

Granny. Some kind of evening today is strange ... Don't you think, Andrey Ivanovich?
Andrey. Or has the sun set in a cloud?
Granny. July should not be without rain. And the ear ripens, and flax, and apple trees in the garden ...
Andrey. Then why be sad, mistress? All thanks to God...
Granny. Don't you know what worries me? My dear grandson is far from Tarkhan... Michel is not with me!
Andrey. Now I will say - you will be angry, mistress.
Granny. Then don't tell me if I'm angry...
Andrey. I am silent...
Pause.
Grandmother (strictly). How long will we be silent like this?
Andrey. At least they led me to the stable - I'll tell you anyway!
Granny. Well, speak!
Andrew (bravely). I'll tell you!!! How long, mother, will you entertain yourself with empty dreams? Michel will soon be 27, and he is still a lieutenant. To the general with these steps he will go another hundred years! So you will never wait for him!
Grandmother (with a threat). And it's all?!
Andrey. Not yet, wait. I was with the master a lot in Moscow, and especially in St. Petersburg. There, Lermontov has long been among the first persons - Editors, Poets, Theater-goers ... Wherever we come, he is honored everywhere, everyone bows, everywhere there is a whisper: “He came himself!” ... In the theater - the author of the play, in the magazine - a poet, novelist! I saw, mother, that obese generals are not welcomed like Michel, really!
Granny. And then what?
Andrey. The fact that the general's aiguillettes have long been outlived by your grandson. He is a lieutenant in the army, and a field marshal in literature, nothing else!
Pause.
Grandmother (with tears in her voice). Oh, how I dreamed of such a time when my grandson, in all the splendor of the Guards, would return to dear Tarkhany! And first of all we will go to the grandfather's grave. Mikhailo Vasilyevich will see his grandson from heaven - and he will rejoice in the soul of a Suvorov warrior! Then to the neighbors, to balls, to Chembar and Penza ... “Let me introduce you: Mikhailo Yuryevich is my grandson and general!” ... And there are young girls: who doesn’t want to be a general? .. And a wedding, and, of course, children ! And everything is as before: you are still the same Uncle, I am a grandmother ... Great-grandmother already ...
Pause.
(Decidedly). Well, to hell with you! Field Marshal, Field Marshal! My Michel has been asking to retire for a long time. Bring paper! I will write: I agree, so be it!
Curtain.

SCENE 3 (17).
Continuation of the evening at the Verzilins.
Young officers, among them Lermontov, leave the hospitable house.

Martynov. Lermontov! I ask you to stay for two words!
Lermontov. I'm waiting in the air! (leaves)
Emilia. Martynov!
Martynov. I'm listening, mademoiselle...
Emilia. You are not yourself again ... Did Lermontov offend you?
Martynov. Well, you are right ... A mere trifle! Hundreds of times I asked him to be witty and caustic, to keep ridicule at my expense to himself ... *
EMILIA (with a smile). And what do you want now? Fight with swords?! In our garden, under the moon? Oh, how romantic!
Martynov. For this, mademoiselle, there are more secluded places. And the weapon is more powerful than the rapier.
EMILIA (removing her smile). Are you serious, Nikolai Solomonovich? I beg you: don't joke like that, don't! It doesn't suit you.
Martynov. What is it?
Emilia. Well ... in Russia, the French introduced this fashion. They are well-known fighters and bullies ... And you are a serious person, you are not capable of such stupidity.
MARTYNOV (angrily). Let's see if I can or not! (wants to go).
EMILIA (Steps in his way, hands clasped pleadingly). Monsieur, Martynov!.. Just now you hinted that you were not indifferent to me?...
MARTYNOV (with a smile). What does it matter?..
Emilia. The most direct, sir... Yes, I agree!
Martynov. How?!
Emilia. "Rose of the Caucasus" at your feet, major!.. But with one condition...
Martynov. What?
Emilia. You will give up your intentions towards Monsieur Lermontov and will not even lay a finger on him!
MARTYNOV (with a sad smile). However!.. And after that you say that you don't love him?!.. Farewell, mademoiselle! (Exit in anger.)
Enter Mongo arm in arm with Agrafena and Nadezhda; all three are laughing merrily at something.
Emilia. Alexey Arkadievich! Let me have three words...
Agrafena (indignantly). More, mademoiselle!
Hope. Are you not many suitors today?
Emilia. Sisters, dear! Just five minutes!
The sisters, pursing their lips, step aside.
Mongo. I'm all ears, Emil.
Emilia. You, Stolypin, have a golden character: you are a friend to everyone in the district.
Mongo. Quite possible…
Emilia. You are a friend of Martynov and Lermontov's brother ... Go ahead, separate this couple!
Mongo. So what happened?
Emilia. Just now, in my presence, Martynov was about to challenge Michel to a duel!
Mongo. May you be! Why's that? We were together the whole evening: no one hid a map in his sleeves, no one threw a glove in his face ...
Emilia. And yet it's all the same! (Almost crying). Believe you lady or not?! Go! Separate!!!
Almost pushes Mongo out into the garden. Pause.
Oh my goodness! It's been 16 years since this brown-eyed boy confessed his love to me. I called him Monsieur Lermont, and he called me a Caucasian rose ... (Reads)
Was an innocent childish love
We both forgot her
But here he is again - and again
We are ready to swear to the grave! ..
Pause.
No, it's all empty... Is Michel in love with Martynov's sister? And for me, for “balance”, I need to stick to her brother ?! (Laughs). You are completely confused, Rose of the Caucasus!
Curtain.
* Direct speech by N. S. Martynov at the investigation: “Witticisms, barbs, ridicule at my expense ... he brought me out of patience ...”

Nikolay (drinking wine). That's it! It finally happened! An army friend, whom we have known for a long time, challenged me ... Or did I tell him? .. I don’t remember anymore: I drank pretty much! (Changes the bottle.) Perhaps we are "older" friends than Onegin and Lensky. “The poet died - a slave of honor, fell, slandered by rumors ...” (with laughter). No, it was Lermontov who wrote about Pushkin. (Drinks). Tokay hit my head nicely!
Pause.
Perhaps stop drinking: I have to shoot myself tomorrow! I have to be sober as a glass so as not to miss ... (Shaking his head). It's easy to say: "Do not miss"! .. After all, Lermontov is a famous shooter! Will shoot a friend in flight, like a partridge! (Smiling). No, he is noble, he is a Poet! In that Frenchman - how is he? - Baranta - he laid it out in the air ... Or not? .. There were many disputes about that duel - and even Benckendorff intervened in it * ... (Decidedly). No, I'll do the same: a bullet in the sky, and come what may! (Pours wine, drinks). How glorious, damn it: I will save my honor, and I will reconcile with a friend!
The Stranger enters.
Stranger. Are you sure, Martynov?
Nikolay. And what kind of obsession is this?!.. Who are you?...
Stranger. You have just named the person who sent me.
Nikolay. Whose name?.. Damn?!
THE STRANGER (with a merry smile). Not! Before... But my master is so significant that his messengers are received everywhere.
Nikolay. And what do you want from me?
Stranger. Find out your decision about tomorrow's duel.
Nikolai (cheerfully). But it won't happen!!!.. No, we'll get together - everything, as the dueling code says, I'll shoot in the air, my enemy too... And both, having reconciled, we will disperse. Or rather - let's go to a restaurant, go on a spree! To pour wine into an empty quarrel! (Pouring glasses, drinking).
Stranger. Hey, bravo! Well done! .. (Taking a sip, puts down a glass). Tell me, Nikolai Solomonovich: did you come up with this together with your opponent? .. Or did the seconds agree? ..
Nikolay (with the same smile). No, I am alone.
Stranger. And who told you that Lermontov only shoots in the air?
Nikolay. He is a noble man!
Stranger. Let me remind you that there, with Barant, they fought with swords too. Barant touched him slightly, and your friend thrust the blade in such a way that the tip broke! Lucky chance saved the Frenchman!**
Nikolay. And what do you mean by that?
Stranger. Only that your tomorrow's opponent is not always merciful in duels. Remember his novel...
Nikolay. What about romance?
Stranger. Did Pechorin spare his friend Grushnitsky? Alas, no. He is cold-blooded - mind you, cold-blooded! - shot his former comrade!
Nikolay. But before that, Grushnitsky shot him on the same terms!
Stranger. Are you defending a killer? Bravo! Before that, perhaps, you also defended Onegin, didn’t you?.. Wasn’t it?!
Nikolai (roughly). When you're the devil, then go... to your hell!
THE STRANGER (with a merry smile). "Damn it" did you mean? but did not dare ... No, I'm from another department. I'm on the line ... chain of command ...
Nikolay. And what does it mean?
Stranger. The fact that it is not permissible for a junior in rank to insult elders in public. Lieutenant - major, for example.
Nikolay. Were you at the Verzilins'? I don't remember...
Stranger. Everyone is talking about this today. I myself have heard from many how carelessly that lieutenant bullied you. Laughed ladies, more often - officers ... Laughed at the major! - that's bad!
Nikolay. Yes indeed…
Stranger. But many - believe me - for you!
Nikolay. What - for me?
Stranger. For the fact that you do not forgive such liberties!
Nikolai (with a drunken grin). Are you saying that the stakes are in my favor? ..
Stranger. I am convinced of this, Nikolai Solomonovich. For you - All sane people. Although there are, of course, suckers. They are on fire for the one who blames both the throne and morals ... Who writes free verses:
"Land of slaves, land of masters!"...
Nicholas (guessing):
"And you, blue uniforms,
And you, the people obedient to them?
THE STRANGER (as if not hearing Martynov's sarcasm). But the majority of people - from those who are higher in rank, who are already majors at 25 - do not approve of such thoughts and poems. The army and the state cannot live without discipline! There are many enemies of the country, for whom our weakness is very useful ...
Nikolai (terribly). I agree with these words!
Stranger. How nice! You are for the majority! And it is waiting for you to take a decisive step!
Nikolay. Which one exactly?
Stranger. Be merciless, Martynov!.. If you forgive the offender, he will not forgive you. Even if he doesn't shoot, it's all the same. He will not forgive your weakness and will again and again, at every opportunity, mock you in the presence of ladies and friends.
Nikolay. Well no, never!!!
THE STRANGER (with sarcasm). Do you know what they say behind your back? “Grushnitsky, Grushnitsky is coming! That weak, insignificant person whom Pechorin scoffed at, whom he casually threw off a cliff ... "
Nikolay (angrily). Could not remind!!!
Stranger. I didn't do this to offend you. Tomorrow you can put an end to this vile slander with one decisive blow - once and for all! Yes, you are Grushnitsky ... But the one who himself throws Pechorin off the cliff! Not him, but you must become a winner!!!
Pause
NIKOLAI (drinks his glass again). To be honest, as a shooter I am not the most accurate ...
Stranger. Don't worry, Nikolai Solomonovich. You will shoot at ten steps ... at most fifteen. And you have the most powerful pistol you have today: a long-range, large-caliber Kuchenreuther with a rifled barrel. From this it is difficult to miss, and if it hurts, it kills on the spot!
Nikolay. What if he is me?
Stranger. The main thing here is to shoot first !!!
Pause.
Nikolai (squinting). You surprisingly know a lot about tomorrow's business!
Stranger. Such a service, sir.
Nikolay (pouring glasses, drinking). No, you're still the devil!
Stranger. So be it. (Laughs). Your personal Lucifer!
Nikolay. God knows what! (falls asleep).
Stranger. Fell asleep? (Counts bottles). Yes, well drunk. Well, nothing, he is young, somehow ... The main thing is now boiling in him: the thirst for revenge, and envy, and resentment, and jealousy ... An excellent cocktail to drink at least a friend, even an enemy!
Pause.
Our language is our enemy! Lermontov let slip the other day that he was going to write a novel Caucasian. Or a trilogy even ... But he can! His poems, play and novel - all in great demand, disperse instantly! He knows a lot about the Caucasus, is friends with Yermolov, with the Decembrists, who are many here. He is now approaching secrets that neither the Russians, nor even the Turks, the British - anyone should know! With his talent and inquisitive mind, such a bomb will turn out that it will burst not only in Russia - all over the world !!!
Pause.
This must be stopped! And there is nothing better than the muzzle of a nearby major. (Martynov). Sleep, miserable instrument of fate! Let you dream that the devil has appeared to you! Satan's best trick is to convince people that he doesn't exist. (Mephistopheles laughs, covers himself with a cloak and leaves).
Curtain.
*“Benckendorff intervened”… The chief of gendarmes summoned Lermontov before sending him to the Caucasus and demanded that a written apology be sent to Barant in Paris. The poet refused, turning to Grand Duke Mikhail Pavlovich for help. He asked for the intercession of his Brother, and the Emperor Benckendorff did not support ... Alexander Khristoforovich could not forgive the hussar for this unspoken slap in the face.

Mongo. Mount Mashuk... Oh, how many times did we pass over you - to Zheleznovodsk, to Scotchka*... You were green, birds were whistling all around... And now? Became gray and silent. A black cloud covered Mashuk - thunder is about to strike. Everything froze, everything hid... Does nature really know that here, on Mashuk, a murder is being prepared?!..
Pause.
(Convinces himself). Calm down, captain! Remember what battles Lermont and I were in! Bullets whistled like hornets near the ear! Did he fight a duel with a Frenchman?!.. A bullet also flew by there. Michel is talking from them! ..
There is a clatter of hooves, the creak of a racing droshky, Martynov enters.
Nikolay. Oh, is that you, Mongo?
Mongo. I am Nikolay Solomonovich.
Nikolay. But you're the second of the enemy?! And we didn't get to meet alone...
Mongo. Alas, I am an exile, for a duel, and Lermontov dissuaded me. Vasilchikov will replace**…
Nikolay. So why are you here?
Mongo. As a private person, and therefore I can say three words.
Nikolay. Well, if only three ... And speak quickly, because Glebov is following - my second today ...
Mongo. As long as we're alone, Major, I'll be frank. Not because Lermontov is my relative and friend... I ask you to try it on because he is no longer with us - History belongs by right. Who are we? - one of the millions, two pathetic ants in uniform, and he is the lord of people's thoughts !!!
Pause.
Think, friend Martynov: how will our descendants remember us? Only those who lived next to Him! What will they say if a shot is fired?.. “Envious people! They also tried to become equal with him, without becoming, they threw up the sight ?!
Pause.
It's not too late, friend Martynov! Russia is watching you! Think! Don't shoot her in the back!!!
Martynov. Enough big words, Mongo. I can already hear: the seconds are coming... And there is Lermontov... We can't be together... Farewell! (leaves)
Pause.
Mongo. Oh Rus! “Unwashed Russia!”.. Rich in land - you don’t take care of it, you don’t appreciate it with talents! Griboyedov, Pushkin were shooting! Has it come to Lermontov's turn?!
Pause.
Great talents! You are able to reach shining heights in creativity! - but defenseless against a bullet just like all of us, mortals ... And they themselves did not defeat anyone! “Genius and villainy are two things that are incompatible”?.. Is Pushkin right?
Looks at the clearing where the duel is unfolding.
They set up barriers… There are not many steps. Not a yard more! .. They handed out pistols ... Here they converge ... (Turns away). What more would I want? For Michel to kill the major? Oh, no! He would become the first genius - the killer! (Looks). Here he threw up a pistol to shoot into the air ... What thunder rumbles!
Thunder and shot mix together.
He falls… Killed???.. So a bullet or lightning from heaven?!! Is this and that possible? (grabs his head). It's not hard to go crazy at a time like this.
Curtain.
*Shotladka (Karras) - a settlement of foreign settlers on the way from Zheleznovodsk to Pyatigorsk, where Lermontov had lunch with friends for the last time; from there he went to the duel.
** The seconds were Glebov and Vasilchikov; the participation of Trubetskoy and Stolypin (Mongo) was decided to be hidden.

Grandmother (in a night cap, frightened). Oh my God! Dream like this! Hey, somebody call me Uncle!
Andrey Ivanovich enters.
Andrey. Did you call, ma'am?
Granny. Apparently, she called ... (Girls). Go away! .. (They leave) ... I dreamed in a dream - Yuri Petrovich, my late son-in-law. You knew him...
Andrey. Well, how not to know? I took the barchuk both to Kroptovo and Shipovo *, where the church is ... And I remember all three before, when Maria Mikhailovna was still alive ... (crosses herself).
Granny. Here! This is how I dreamed about them: young, beautiful! The daughter remained silent, and Yuri Petrovich smiled, pleased ...
DREAM.
A lamp is burning, Yuri Petrovich and Maria Mikhailovna slowly walk with candles in their hands: she has one, he has two candles ...
Yuri. We are back to you, Elizaveta Alekseevna. Accept?
Granny. My home is your home, Yuri Petrovich. I never closed the gate. Michel is your son!
Yuri. Now he is ours (smiles to his wife). And you are visiting us, dear mother-in-law.
Granny. Where to? In Kropotovo?
Yuri. From now on, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere!
Granny. Why three candles? Is one mine?
Yuri. No, yours will come later...
Spouses Lermontov go into darkness.

Granny. Such a stupid dream... What do you think of it, Andrey Ivanovich?
Andrew (thoughtfully). Well, what can I say? He didn't give you the candle - that's fortunate. Not soon the dead man is waiting for you.
Granny. Then who was it for?
Andrew (shrugs). Well, isn't it enough? There are three sisters ... or maybe four ... Which one of them will be introduced ...
Grandmother (sighing in relief). Well, if only so? .. How cute you are! (Kisses Uncle on the forehead). One of the few who can solve my dreams!
ANDREY (He kisses her hand warmly). My soul is because it is always next to yours, mistress. She understands all the twists and turns...
Granny. My dear you! (Hugs - and immediately pushes the servant away). Well, it will be! Come to yourself!
Andrew leaves.
Here you go! Again offended Andrey Ivanovich ... (Bitterly). Yet he didn't say what he thought. Eyes flashed - frightened too. To whom, to whom did the late son-in-law carry an extra candle, when not to me ?!
Pause.
I have already buried all my loved ones. Father and mother, and husband, and sister ... Only daughter ... And even son-in-law ... One star in the darkness shines for me: grandson! .. (in horror). I don't believe it, no!!! (Recalling a dream). “From now on, everywhere, everywhere…”… Not him! Not him! God have mercy, not he ... (Falls in exhaustion).
Curtain.
*Shipovo is a village five miles from Kropotovo. There, in October 1831, Lermontov was at the funeral of his father, who was buried near the Shipovskaya church.

Mongo (looks at the sky). But here comes the night. The storm has passed, the changing of the guard is in the sky. The moon is shining, the stars are shining ... Everything is as if nothing around has changed! There was a man, and he is not, but the moon smiles, vile! ...
Pause.
(Shaking up). The authorities will be notified, friends will find out for themselves, but to whom he is obliged to inform personally is Michel's grandmother. The black news will kill her anyway, but all the same, a dear hand will soften the fatal blow to a fraction. (Sits down at the table and writes):
"Auntie! Do you remember Diana's grotto in Pyatigorsk?* We had a picnic there a week ago. Everyone is extremely cheerful, and only Michel suddenly became sad. "What happened to you?" I asked him. “It seems to me that I will die soon.” Believe me, aunt, all the hops flew off me from these words. We were with him in reconnaissance, in fierce battles, but he never said that! And here - far from the line of fire, from enemy villages - suddenly declare this? This is strange!
Pause.
And yet, on the night of the 13th, they quarreled with one major. You should know him, he is from Penza - Martynov ... No matter how we tried to reconcile them, everything is useless. Stubborn as sheep! And so they agreed yesterday in the evening by the road that, having rounded Mashuk, leads to Zheleznovodsk ... And they were shooting there ... Forgive me, auntie, but it’s impossible not to say: Michel’s premonition was justified!
Pause.
The enemy outdid himself: the shooter is not the most accurate, he hit right in the chest! .. Your grandson fell ... We ran up! At the same moment, his soul left the body ...
Pause.
Alas, madam, I did not keep my promise to you, did not protect him from the power of the enemy. But where is the enemy? They are friends! The world has changed, of course, when your school friend aims at your heart! ..
Pause.
But I loved and will always love Michel - as a friend, a warrior, as a brother, Poet above all else! He will multiply our family with glory, and we will not turn into smoke, because we lived next to him!
Curtain
*According to eyewitnesses, on July 8, 1841, a week before the fatal duel, at a picnic in Diana's grotto, Lermontov spoke to friends about a premonition of imminent death. In this respect, he turned out to be a true descendant of Thomas Learmont, who was called a seer.

SCENE 8 (22).
Stavropol, 17 July.
Adjutant General Grabbe and Colonel Prince Golitsyn.

Golitsyn. Bad news, general!
Grabbe. From Pyatigorsk?
Golitsyn. Yes. Do you already know?!
Grabbe. I didn’t sleep well at night, but in the morning they rode up, reported ... What is it all about, prince? It turns out that Dorokhov was right when he predicted his imminent death? .. (Recalls the words of the grunt): “Some kind of black presentiment told me that he would be killed” ...
Golitsyn. Dorokhov is a well-known duelist, his forebodings can be trusted. Remember what else he said? “It’s a pity, very sorry for Lermontov. He is ardent and brave, do not take his head off.
Grabbe. Hmm! .. (Officially). Well ... Please report the details, Colonel!
Golitsyn (standing at attention). Lieutenant Lermontov was killed in a duel on July 15 in the evening. His rival is the major who retired in the winter ...
Grabbe. Martynov? This is strange! Until recently, they were considered good friends. So what could have happened?.. Is there a woman?!
Golitsyn. I don't know, Your Excellency... They quarreled at a party at General Verzilin's house. Pyotr Semyonovich himself serves today in Warsaw, but his wife and daughters sometimes arrange musical evenings, which happened on July 13th. No one knows for sure the motive of the quarrel, but the result is obvious. They fired on Mount Mashuk, from fifteen steps, the major fell under the ribs on the right. The large-caliber pistol, carved, belonged to Captain Stolypin ... The bullet pierced through, there was no way to survive. The lieutenant died instantly... The investigation into the case has already begun...
Grabbe. But they say that Major Martynov was not among the most accurate shooters? ..
Golitsyn. Officers have been arguing about this since morning. Thunder, lightning besides ... Evening, darkness ... A rare case!
Grabbe. But be that as it may, Colonel, we are responsible for everything. Didn't check! The Poet died, of which there are few, and the officer is one of the best!
Golitsyn. You are right, Pavel Khristoforovich. Such is the way of geniuses in Russia.
Grabbe. Unfortunate fate! As soon as a man with talent appears between us, how ten vulgar people pursue him to death! *.
Pause.
Golitsyn (with a sad smile). Here is a real hussar! Such as was Denis Davydov. In battle, a desperate grunt, and at the dinner table he liked to joke about discipline! ..
Grabbe. Do you mean "Tambov treasurer"?
Golitsyn. And this too, but I remembered his satirical poem - “Mongo” is called. (Reads with a bitter laugh):
And he did not pull his foot in the heel,
As every patriot should...
GRABBE (wiping away a tear with a smile). Ah, Lermontov! Welcome to the battlefield! .. (Pours glasses, drink without clinking glasses). In the prime of life, in the prime of glory!!!
Curtain.
*From a letter from Adjutant General P. H. Grabbe dated July 17, 1841.

SCENE 9 (23).
Tarkhany, second half of July
Elizaveta Alekseevna, in deep mourning, aged and completely gray-haired, prays to God:

Granny. Let, Lord, go to the grave! There are no people left in this world for whom I would like to live. First a husband, then an only daughter, now a beloved grandson. My whole life was cut short! (Shows the letter to the icon Mango). A letter came from Pyatigorsk. Read on God!!! You will understand that after this it is impossible to live ...
Pause.
Is it really enough for one fate that everything that I got is not enough?!
In a frenzy:
Why don't you take me with you, Lord? Give me peace! I would lie in a cold coffin, not knowing either such black news, or bitterness from such losses ... (Reckoning). Oh no! I still have to live to choose punishment for the executioner !!! And day and night they will pray to you, Lord: make it so that on his forehead it burns "I am an executioner!" - so that every good person runs away from this villain !!!
Pause.
And I won't leave Mishenka there, in a foreign land. I myself will go to the sovereign, I will raise all my relatives, but I will get them to allow my grandson to be transferred to Tarkhany! So that the oak, which he loved, would bend down and rustle over him - as if over a living one! As over the living!
Curtain

SCENE 10 (24).
Moscow region. End of July.
Natalya Martynova alone.

Natalia. Oh my goodness! What is punishment for? Almost a Shakespearean story! Romeo is killed, and Juliet is his widow, the killer is her brother!!!
Pause.
But there, in Verona, it was easier: the Montagues and the Capulets are warring clans. And we? Neighbors and friends! In our estate, Lermontov was at home, met with his brother, amused his sisters. I could tell a lot about Michel's wit! Could it be that these jokes and witticisms could not become epigrams - no, duels?! and my fiancé is in the grave!!!
Pause.
What happened in Pyatigorsk? It can’t be that a stupid impromptu became a reason for such a deep quarrel ... There, the meaning is different, and for the sake of nobility, they publicly kept silent about it ... (Guessing). It's the woman's fault! Cherchet la femme, as the French say?
Pause.
There are many such stories in novels, Onegin killed Lensky ... But our triangle is not fatal! The groom and brother can not compete! (thinking). Of course, if my brother didn't find out that Michel had another and stood up for me?! So what? Did Nicole decide to save my honor in battle?!
Pause.
All this would be romantic and would tickle my pride if Lermontov were a simple hussar ... But he is a Poet, all of Russia reads his novel, his heroes are on every stage ... He is a "Demon" ... "Masquerade" ... "Prisoner of the Caucasus" ... To be proud that I stole its idol from the country - no, this is mean! .. (With bitter pathos):
Russia! We are with you now
Shot down with one bullet
Failed wives,
But both became widows!
Curtain.

SCENE 11 (25).
Stavropol. August 1841.
Mother and Daughter Martynova. Elizaveta Mikhailovna in an ordinary dress, Natalya in mourning.

Mother. Caucasus! Oh, how I did not want to let my son go here! I felt it wasn't good...
Natalia. Your son is in prison, but alive, maman. And my fiancé is in the grave!
Mother. Oh, Natalie, my dear, why do you hurt my heart? Lermontov was not your fiancé! And this mourning of yours... it looks ridiculous...
Natalia. Was, mother, was! I will show you his last letter - so write those who wholeheartedly with their beloved. And with his grandmother, Elizaveta Alekseevna, we saw each other for the last time ... by kindred. She already considered me the bride of her grandson!
Mother. All this is true, Natalie ... But death puts a limit on everything and does not return the old feelings. Take at least the same "grandmother" ... I knew her too. Worthy gray-haired lady, noble family, loved you ... And now? We are enemies to the grave for her! The Martynovs are damned forever!
Natalia. I'm afraid, mom, that not only her. Friends write from the capitals that Lermontov is on everyone’s lips today, old and young read it, “Masquerade” is staged in all theaters ... And they scare children with the name Martynov! He is for everyone, like Cain, who angrily killed his brother!
Mother. Watch out, Natalie! I'm his mother, don't forget that! And you are a sister!
Natalia (aside). And I want to forget, but no way.

SCENE 12 (26).
The same and General Grabbe.

Duty officer. Matam, mademoiselle! Commander of the troops on the Caucasian line and in the Black Sea region, Adjutant General Grabbe.
General enters.
Grabbe. To me, madam? Mademoiselle? Please sit down. (To Natalia). You, I see, mourning? ..
Natalia. Yes, Your Excellency. My fiance was killed - your former officer!
Grabbe. Forgive me if I offend, but is it possible to find out the name of the groom? ..
Natalia. Yes, general. It is known. This is Lieutenant Lermontov.
Grabbe. Ah, that's what?! So he had a fiancee?!!.. Sorry, I didn't know. (Bows and kisses Natalie's hand.) Oh my God! Another drop in the source of universal grief!
Golitsyn enters.
Allow me to introduce: Prince Golitsyn Vladimir Sergeevich, Colonel. Lieutenant Lermontov served in his team and enjoyed common love. And I present to you, colonel: the fiancee of the lieutenant ...
Natalia. Natalya Solomonovna ...
Golitsyn. My sympathy, mademoiselle! To tell the truth, you could have a wonderful husband! I can especially say about his work, since I draw and play myself ... But he was fearless in battles, he led a hundred of the most courageous grunts - hunters, as we call them. "The experience of cold-blooded courage" * - that's what he acquired in battles and in time would be a worthy replacement for us old people.
Natalia. Mercy, Colonel (curtsies).
Grabbe (Mothers). And you, I suppose, are your mother? .. Your daughter has the right to be proud of the fact that she called such a person a groom. We still don't really understand how big this genius was! And a brave, wise officer, too.
Mother. Mercy, Your Excellency. But we ask...
Grabbe. Your every request is the law for us!
Mother. Tell me, General: could we visit a criminal who is placed in a guardhouse?
Grabbe (Golitsyn). And who do we have today, prince? ..
Golitsyn. One Martynov, no one else.
Mother. With Martynov, I ask goodbye ...
Grabbe. With Martynov?!.. And what do you care about him?
Mother (embarrassed). He is my son, gentlemen...
Pause.
Golitsyn. A son?!!
Grabbe (surprised). However!.. How is it? The murdered man is a son-in-law, and the killer himself is a son?!
Golitsyn. Don't write stories like this!
Mother. What to do, gentlemen? Alas, this is how life turns us around. This and that one were friends from childhood, they studied together, fought too ... And they were, in general, not against intermarriage ... What happened on that rainy day in July - for the life of me, none of us can understand! I will say one thing: for us, the Martynovs, this duel will always be a black spot. And my daughter? Which of the Russian cavaliers will marry the sister of the murderer Lermontov?!**
Pause.
Grabbe (resolutely). Well ... Major Martynov is now on trial, and everyone is not allowed to see him, but ... he gave his word - he will have to fulfill it. (Golitsyn). Please, Colonel, see your mother and... You, mademoiselle?... Will you go too?...
Natalia. Alas, my general. That is my brother...
Golitsyn and Martynov leave.
Of course, it would be interesting to know what the defendant would say to his relatives in private... But the Army does not spy on mothers! There is another department, blue overcoats ... ***
Curtain
* “In the second battle on the river, Valerik gained experience of cold-blooded courage” - from Lermontov's presentation for the award of a golden saber - signed by Colonel Golitsyn.
** The mother's fears were not in vain: in Russia, the name of the Martynovs became a household name. Natalya married a foreigner and took his last name: de la Tourdonnet.
*** The trial, which took place on September 27-30, 1841, did not provide solid evidence of Lermontov's guilt in insulting Martynov at the Verzilins' evening: there were no direct witnesses.

SCENE 13 (27).
Prison cell.
Mother, Natalia and Nikolai Martynov.

Mother (embracing her son). Nicolas! My dear! How thin have you been this summer! Don't they feed you here?
Nikolay. What food, maman? Nothing goes down the throat.
Mother (daughter). Natalie! Say hello to your brother...
Natalya defiantly turns away.
Nikolay. No need, mom. She doesn't want to see me. Me too.
Natalia (indignantly). What?!..
Nikolay. I don't want to see myself either, sister. I disgust myself!
Pause.
All this month, right after the duel, I met with the most different people: escorts, investigators, with seconds at confrontations ... And in every look, in everyone! - I saw the same thing: "How disgusting you are to us!" ...
Mother. Well, it will, son. Now you are among the closest, we love you ...
Nikolay. Don't lie to me, maman! I know what you have been through this month. You entered other people's salons and all the voices fell silent instantly. All heads turned to you. Everyone who used to meet you with a smile now looked with caustic curiosity. "That's the killer's mother! everyone thought. “The blood of a poet is on him, damned, but she is also guilty - by the fact that she gave birth to a murderer!”
Mother (with tears). No need, son!
Nikolay. No, you have to, you have to, you have to!!! During this month I have experienced and changed my mind as much as I have not changed my mind in 20 years. I realized how stupid I was, how insignificant all my former empty life was! Envy - to whom? Such a friend that I would be proud of!
Natalia (surprised). Are you talking right?
Nikolay. How in the spirit, Natasha! Because I loved him, do you remember?
Natalia. I remember yes.
Nikolay. And I was glad to see you again in Pyatigorsk. We lived nearby - in the wing of the Verzilins' house. I am with Glebov, and Lermontov with Stolypin, Mongo. It used to happen that in the morning you look out the window - and Lermontov is sitting in his open window and writing something, writing, writing ... Everything is green in the garden, birds are whistling, and watching Elbrus from a height!
Natalia (enthusiastically). How wonderful it is, brother! I see as if in reality ... (Waking up). But why the quarrel?
Nikolay. To this day, I don't understand! What cat ran between us? I have said before, and at the trial I will say that there were no serious reasons for the quarrel. The next day I was ready for reconciliation ...
NATALIA (with bewilderment). And what?!..
Nikolay. I had some kind of vision ... I don’t remember exactly, I drank pretty much. But I remember well that I forgave my friend and promised myself to shoot in the air!
Mother. So be it. Your father also shot at the regiment, but a bullet in the sky - and friends again!
Nikolay. I wanted that too! But it was decided to shoot up to three times ... *
Natalia. Oh, my God, what bloodlust!
Nikolai ... and I said to myself: I'll put a bullet in my leg! He still wanted to leave the army, but for someone else this is not a hindrance; and the great Byron limped all his life ... But by evening the whole sky was clouded, a thunderstorm thundered, it was hard to see ... It seems that I missed.
Mother. Oh my God! Whenever you, men, give birth at least once, you would leave forever the stupid habit of killing!
The cell door opens with a creak, the warder looks in: - The date is over!
Natalia. I listened to you with attention, Nicolas, and I understood one thing: in those fateful days you never thought of me! (Leaves).
Mother. Brace yourself, son! God bless you! (He kisses his son and leaves.)
NIKOLAI (looks slyly after them). Did I move you to pity?.. I hope that the court will be able to move to pity**.
Curtain.
* There is a version that Rufin Ivanovich Dorokhov proposed the unreasonably difficult conditions of the duel, wanting to force the participants to abandon it. There are also reasons to doubt the fifteen steps between the barriers: Vasilchikov spoke about ten in his circle of friends.
** Initially, the court demanded to deprive Martynov of his ranks and rights of state, but later, at the request of the prisoner and on the orders of the tsar, the killer of Lermontov got off with three months of a guardhouse in the Kyiv fortress and church repentance.

SCENE 14 (28).
Pyatigorsk, autumn 1841.

Natalia (writes and reads what is written):

There is a sign in Pyatigorsk:
When on you in the morning
Looks Elbrus - good news,
And no - do not expect good!

The whole city in the greenery of gardens,
Flowers for every taste!
And from above in the glare of ice
Elbrus looks at them.

Once here, long ago
Created by a poet
Elbrus looked out the window
And grandfather smiled.

July warm bright day
Trouble did not foretell
But a shadow ran through the sky
And in it Elbrus disappeared.

Silent, frowning, Mashuk
Under a storm cloud
A Sound of Thunder! And all around
Covered with a veil.

And in the morning, like a heavy load,
Like a dream, the storm is gone.
Elbrus looked at Pyatigorsk -
Cold, tears...

SCENE 15 (29).
Tarkhany. February 1842, evening.
Andrey Sokolov, later Babushka

Andrey. Yesterday Maslina was met. The first time without festivities and songs. And what kind of party? After what happened in Pyatigorsk, as if a black shadow fell on Tarkhany. They loved a very young master. Who remembered him as a boy, as I did, who as a young hussar - there is not a single one who would not remember with a kind word. He didn’t offend any of the peasants with a finger, but he gave freedom to his personal ones!
Pause.
And before? When the barchuk came to Tarkhany, any gray day became a holiday! In the morning I laid down the sleigh, and rushed to visit - to Shan-Girey in Apalikha *, in Chembar, somewhere else ... And if Baptism, Christmas time, Olive tree - a festivities for the whole district, from village to village!
Pause.
(With great annoyance). Well, why didn't the master take me to Pyatigorsk?! And the young - well, what do they understand? .. Whether it's the old Uncle! If I had been there, I would not have looked at Martynov either. It is for others that he is a major, but for me - from the same boys with whom I wiped the snot ... You look, he would reconcile two bullies!
Pause.
And ahead ... what a life awaited us all! The lady had already agreed to the resignation, Mikhailo Yuryevich arrived home, took up his literature ... And I, as before, beside him: sharpen pens, carry mail ... Whatever the magazine is, the work of my master! Whatever the theater - its performance is staged! Otherwise, he would have started publishing the magazine himself - he thought about it ... It's gratifying - to serve as an editor! A little light at the door, visitors, young writers ... If you please wait, gentlemen: the gentleman is resting! (Listens to the clatter of hooves.) No way, the lady returned from Chembar.
Elizaveta Alekseevna enters:
Granny. Well?.. Dance, Andrey Ivanovich. The letter from St. Petersburg has arrived!
Andrey. Has anything been allowed?
Granny. The tsar-father took pity! (Is reading). “It is allowed for the widow of the captain of the Life Guards of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, Mikhailo Vasilyevich Arsenyev, Elizaveta Alekseevna, nee Stolypina, to transfer the ashes of her grandson Mikhailo Yuryevich Lermontov from Pyatigorsk to the family estate of Tarkhany, Penza province ... Nikolai Pavlovich, Emperor of the Great and White and others, had a hand in this ... " .
Andrey. Here it is - great joy!
Granny. Mishenka will be with us again!!! (Cries, but quickly copes with himself.) This is not the time to grieve, it's time to do the deed! First things first, Andrey Ivanovich, check: is the master's tomb ready? The steps should be comfortable, so that I, an old hag, do not get hurt when going down.
Andrey. Certainly, mother! I will personally check each one.
Granny. But to whom? You and I can walk, Andryusha. You and me - his closest people remained. How is it there? Read!
Andrew (reading):
"Trust me - happiness is only there,
Where they love us, where they believe us!
Granny. That's right! .. Yes, get ready for a long journey: you will go to Pyatigorsk for Mishenka. Take with you Vanka Sokolov and Vanka Vertyukov; they buried him, they remember the road. And you will be the elder!
Andrei (bows). Thank you mother!
Granny. Take this paper with you, do not lose it!
Andrey. How can you, lady?
Granny. Do not disturb the wooden coffin, let everything be safe! And there you lower it into lead, solder it - and you will carry it in it ...
Andrew (baptized). It will be done, mother Elizaveta Alekseevna!
Granny. Do not drive back, drive reverently! (Leaves).
Andrei (with a deep sigh). Oh, lady, she could not speak! You and me - that's all who love Michel selflessly **. (thinking). Yes, even Russia, maybe? ..
Curtain.
* Apalikha - the estate of Shan-Gireev, three miles from Tarkhan.
** In 1843, Andrei Ivanovich Sokolov received his freedom and until the end of his days, until the age of 80, lived in a separate wing of the master's estate. He died 30 years after his beloved mistress.

SCENE 16 (30).
Pyatigorsk - Tarkhany, April 1842.

Andrei Sokolov (sitting on a cart, reading):

Low mists hung
Above the white-foamed Kuma,
From the Caucasus to lovely Tarkhany
They take the owner home.

The cart creaks:
And the way is long, and the load is heavy,
freed from the snow,
A wide valley turned green ...

Ah, if only at such a time
On your black horse!
What handicap would he give them?
In an old Chechen saddle!

What a whirlwind he burst into
To Apalihu, to a family of friends,
I would kiss everyone
Rustic, no nonsense
And again, again, foot in the stirrup -
Bring it to Tarkhany, faithful horse!

You flew into battle, there was a time
Fire was blazing everywhere
A military friend spun like hell,
And the bullets didn't hit us
And now, proud, but humble
Bend your knee at that hour
When a grandmother, seeing her grandson,
Leaving the house slowly...
What a long separation
How the soul breaks!

Low mists hung
Over the Miloraika river, *
From the Caucasus to lovely Tarkhany
Take the owner home
And on April's day, in the new church, **
In the Motherland they sang so that
They put a simple, lead,
An unbearably heavy coffin.
Curtain.
*Miloraika - a river in Tarkhany.
** The Church of Michael the Archangel was built with the money of Arsenyeva in the 1830s.

EPILOGUE
Granny:
A gray tale of former days...
Why do we remember her?
What is there in this world
What do our children not know?

And not at all for
To preach and argue...
Love! Here is the secret meaning of everything.
Love and death, love and sorrow -
Everything is intertwined in a sea of ​​feelings! ..
All-conquering force
Sometimes stronger than the grave
And harder than the earth's axis!

Location: Tarkhany, Orel, Moscow, Tula provinces, St. Petersburg, Stavropol, Pyatigorsk, Scotland ...
Time of action: summer 1841 with separate inserts from an earlier period: Elizaveta Alekseevna's dreams, Andrei Sokolov's memoirs, etc.
The drama reflects such events from the life of Lermontov as first love, early work, the poem "The Death of a Poet" and the first imprisonment, the first duel, participation in hostilities in the Caucasus, "A Hero of Our Time", a picnic in Diana's grotto, an evening in the house Verzilins, a duel with Martynov, a return to Tarkhany - alas, already in a coffin ...
But in general, the drama is supposed to be “bright sadness”: there is a lot of love, poetry in it, there is even humor, so appreciated by the hussars, and Lermontov is a hussar in spirit and flesh.
Background. This drama was not written in one year, not on the occasion of the anniversary of the Poet. Repeatedly visiting Tarkhany, Pyatigorsk, meeting with famous Lermontov scholars, the author came to the conclusion that Lermontov's genius is his distant heredity through the famous Scottish bard Thomas Lermont, whose descendant Lord Byron considered himself. And although the Russian poet wrote "No, I'm not Byron, I'm different", but not because he refused their poetic relationship, but because he considered himself "the chosen one unknown to the world" (he was 17 years old at that time). In another poem he says:
"I'm young, but the sounds boil in my heart,
And I would like to reach Byron ... "
The gift of a common ancestor - Thomas the seer, alas, went to his Russian descendant: “I started earlier, I’ll finish the wound, / My mind won’t do much” ... Lermontov lived ten years less than his “English brother”, a bright mind accomplished a lot, but bitterness still does not leave us: oh, how much more I could !!! ..
Unfortunately, the almighty enemies of the Poet (those who “stand by the throne in a greedy crowd”) understood this too. They knew about Lermontov's intention to retire and sit down for a big novel about the Caucasus, and there was a lot - not in favor of the authorities ... Isn't the secret spring of the Poet's murder here? .. Alas, one can only guess about this, which I did, deducing the role of the Stranger. Whether he is the devil or Benckendorff's agent is for the theatrical audience to judge.
And the brightest line of the drama is the story of Natalya Martynova's love for Lermontov ... The fact that she, very young, was delighted with his poems, his novel, that he painted a portrait of Princess Mary from her, is not denied by most Lermontov scholars. But was the Poet himself in love with his friend's sister?.. This is evidenced by the episode described by Viskovatov: secret meaning: "It will not work ...". Apparently, he had the intention of marrying Natalya, and it really would not work to cuckold the husband of his own sister.
Another bright couple in the drama is the poet's grandmother Elizaveta Alekseevna and Dyadka, his valet Andrei Ivanovich Sokolov. They selflessly love Michel, love each other (but secretly, hiding even from themselves) and in general look like an old man's grouchy, but very nice couple.
Rough in the army, but the heroes of the past war, General Grabbe and Colonel Golitsyn, his uncle and best friend Mongo, and even Martynov's mother, who did not honor him too much during her lifetime, pays tribute after death.
The author deliberately does not put the image of Lermontov himself in the first place: his presence is felt, he is somewhere nearby, just left ... Not every theater has a second Burlyaev, and this is not necessary. When the hero is not “in the frame”, it is more convenient for the rest to speak about him.

The scenery of the performance, according to the author, can be the simplest. On one canvas - Tarkhany in summer, on the other - St. Petersburg in winter; turn - and the action is transferred ... In the costumes, the author asked only one thing: to observe Lermontov's interpretation of the clothes of Princess Mary (Natalya Martynova is dressed in the same way in the drama): a closed dress of gray-pearl color, a light silk scarf ...

Drama title. The author made several versions of it. In January 2012, the first "Drama from the life of the family" - "The Arsenievs" was published. Then - “Where they love us, where they believe us”, “ flinty path and finally, Dear Thomas. The author does not mind if the Chief Director co-authors the drama for staging it on the stage of his TD and chooses the name at his discretion.
Drama in verse. At the discretion of the Chief Director, the drama can be staged in a poetic version, like Lermontov's Masquerade or Griboedov's Woe from Wit. It is placed in the National Server "Poems of Ru" on the site of the author: Yuri Arbekov, "Silicon Way". The current drama, in prose, is hosted on the Prose Ru Server.

P. S. At your request, 10 romances to the words of M. Yu. Lermontov by the Penza composer Gennady Grossman (piano, tenor) will be sent.

About the author.
Kuznetsov Yuri Alexandrovich (Yuri Arbekov) - a member of the Union of Writers and the Union of Journalists of Russia, laureate of the Literary Prize. Karpinsky, board member of the Penza regional organization of the Writers' Union of Russia, author of 30 books of prose, poetry, dramaturgy, works for children.
Published in the journals Our Contemporary, Rural Youth, Literary Newspaper (Moscow), Sura (Penza), Detective+ (Kyiv), Teegin Girl (Kalmykia), in the electronic journal Continent No. 1/2013 and others.
Other plays by the author:
"Identified Object" - a comedy in two acts,
"Hippodrome" - a historical drama in two acts,
"Portrait of a usurer" - a play in two acts,
"Kingdom of unfinished business" - a fairy tale for young viewers.

flinty path

Pyatigorsk. View of Mount Mashuk

The past is all around us. Old mansions and bath buildings, old parks and boulevards help to plunge into the past, though not so old. But to look into the most distant, when the city was just born, you need to go to the Goryachevodskaya valley. Behind the bulk of the Operetta Theatre, in the gap between the buildings, you can see the road leading to Goryachaya Mountain. Here it can be safely considered a witness to the first years of the existence of the resort at the foot of Mashuk. Today it is covered with asphalt, overgrown with trees and shrubs, surrounded by buildings of a later construction. But this is the same road that the captured Poles from the Napoleonic army were building back at that time, when only Kalmyk wagons and temporary booths stood in the Goryachevodskaya valley. Having gone to walk along this road, let's forget about the signs of the present day. Let's try to see only white limestone rocks on the left and imagine that the road itself was once rocky as well.

In Russian, the word "stony" has a poetic synonym - "silicon". So it is quite possible to say about this road - “a flinty path”. And this expression, well known to lovers of poetry, is quite appropriate here. After all, little Misha Lermontov, accompanied by a governess, walked along the road cut by the captured Poles - in the summer of 1825, at the age of eleven, and maybe even earlier - at the age of six, in 1820. This road was the shortest way from the house where he lived with his grandmother to the springs of Mount Goryachaya, which helped to heal his childhood ailments. Perhaps he did not yet know the word "siliceous", which he could later meet in Pushkin's "Prisoner of the Caucasus", but he felt its meaning well with his small legs. And the keen eye of the future poet noticed how the white stones of the road glow in the rays of the midday sun.

The researchers of the poem “I go out alone on the road” believe that the poet noticed the shine of the flinty path as an adult, during lonely night walks along the roads at the foot of Mashuk. Well, it is quite possible - he traveled for many miles around the outskirts of the city. And yet, he took his first steps along the rocky roads of Pyatigorye, climbing Goryachaya Mountain.

The word "siliceous" has other meanings recorded in dictionaries - "solid", "inflexible". And sometimes it is associated with the word "difficult", which is very suitable for a poet. After all, it was very, very difficult life path. And it is no coincidence that in the same poem written here, at the foot of Mashuk, he exclaims: “Why is it so painful and so difficult for me ...”

But Pyatigorsk brought the poet not only pain. Here he experienced many joyful moments. He was fascinated by the amazing Caucasian nature, and the clean, brand new town that ran up the slopes of Mashuk. And the picturesque landscapes around, uniting a chain of snowy peaks on the horizon, bizarre outlines of the nearest mountains and huge white rocks hanging right above the streets. He was pleased to meet friends, interesting people, beautiful women. In everything he drew inspiration for his best creations. An inspiration that visited him more than once in these blessed places.

For Pyatigorsk and Pyatigorsk residents, Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov is not just a representative of Russian literature, albeit a genius, but exalted to unattainable heights in a textbook manner. No, it is an indispensable part of the existence of the city and its inhabitants. Everything here is correlated with his name, breathes his presence, is connected with his works, where the past of the resort town is vividly and convexly presented. Remember the poet and today lives on the old streets, in the green coolness of parks and squares. And in the white rocks by the old road to Goryachaya Mountain, which, with its midday glow, anticipated for young Michel the mysterious brilliance of the flinty path of later night walks.

Current page: 1 (total book has 4 pages)

Georgy Ivanovich Chulkov
flinty path

I go out alone on the road,
Through the mist the flinty path gleams.

Lermontov

Zarnitsa

Some lightning bolts,
flaming in succession,
Like dumb demons
They have a conversation among themselves.

Tyutchev

Introduction

I want and I will scream among the sounds of madness and tears;
And my dissonances are needed - the revival of wounded dreams.

I will break your harmony, break its sweet melody;
I will not accept roses or a crown from the people, from young men, virgins.

I am standing on a rock. I'm high Executioners will not get me;
And in vain do fools shout to me: shut up, shut up, shut up!

And my groan, and my cry, and my cry is the way from the plain to the star
And everywhere I carry my discord - in heaven, on earth and in water.

I knew a winged chamber on the threshold of boundless nights;
I'm alone in my discord: I'm not yours, I'm not theirs, I'm nobody's!

dissonances

Patterned beam, sultry smell,
Fleeing shadow.
Gloomy face and discordant spirit, -
Disagreement step.

A bird in the sky shines, flies:
The insects are calling.
Thought persists, grows numb, -
Greedy dreams languish.

Everything is so bright, everything is so harmonious;
Everything gives birth and creates;
And my heart is so restless,
Something black knocks.

And in conception, with rapture,
Everything is spontaneous, everything is light.
For me, everything is a doubt:
Everything was and everything is gone.

"Under heavy layers..."

Under heavy layers
Among the gloomy, menacing walls.
In the twilight, with hammers,
We go from shift to shift.

Our lives, our strengths
Together with us they go into the depths.
Where the marble veins
Our bones will rest.

We will be crushed by stones, rocks,
The feet of others will rub into the dust.
Coal, yachts, opals -
Instead of the liberties of the steppe.

Is this true? Really
Can't get revenge?
Are we aimless
Shall we live not to live?

Raise the heavy hammer
And crush the stones of the walls;
The one who is proud and the one who is young
He despises dust and decay.

Under heavy layers
Among the gloomy, formidable walls,
In the twilight, with hammers,
We go from shift to shift.

"Among the black dreams..."

Among black dreams
Amid screams and struggles
I came to you as a ghost
Fatal, blind fate.

I came like the demon of hell
Bleeding the way;
I bring the fire of discord
To sparkle in the darkness.

Let it splash around me
A crowd of curly waves;
I stand like a rock, cursing love,
Full of arrogance.

And I caress a crazy wave
I will not believe forever;
My dreams are free like death
I am a free man!

"Trumpet Sounds..."

Sounds of trumpets
sad,
Shadows of Doom
Hateful!
Throw yourself into the dust
Get dusty!
I am angry
bloodied;
I am exhausted
I am crushed.
Groaning pipes
sad,
Shadows of Doom
Hateful!
Get dusty
Throw yourself into the dust.

Taiga

On the banks of the Amga, when there is sludge on it,
Sparkling like a diamond, crowded between the rocks,
I saw you, Lady Taiga.
I understood your language, I guessed you.
You stand formidable, anticipating in a dream
The coming deeds of the parting walls;
You knew the secrets and revealed them to me,
I am a passionate fighter for the right to change.
And I entered you, fell on the chest of the earth,
With a groan, gnashing, I struggled among the moss, -
And I was, like you, clumsy and dusty,
And the whole earth became submissive and quiet.
And the first snow fell, the decoration of long days;
Dreams mixed up, sheets curled up;
I fancied a rush of angry nights;
The soul was embarrassed, the bushes frowned ...
You, lifting your eyebrows, stand
And, having removed the snow with a crown.
You look arrogantly into space,
With the earth engaged in a ring.
You raise the hammer for a moment,
You want to forge chain mail;
In vain! Fate I comprehended:
You dare not break the chains.
And now, under the whisper of curly birches,
The murmur of thorny branches,
In a taiga fairy tale I live among dreams,
Alien people...
Disheveled, like your goblin - a taiga child
You raise your furry chest,
Sighing, you yearn to return all the past,
In the fight against violence, for the wounds to avenge.

"I love you, children, and your fun ..."

I love you children and your fun,
I love your tears, whims and laughter.
You are pure as gods; like gods, you are right.
You don't need truth, you don't need sin.

Bloody tortures, blows and torments -
For you it's a fairy tale, for you it's nonsense.
Flowers captivate you, sounds delight you;
Doubt is alien to you, there is no discord in you.

Cainite

I went into the depths of broken times,
And in the depths of fading moments
I am surrounded by soundlessness.

I don't want crowded doubts
I am a Cainite, leader of the rebellion
I am a reflection of the devil's visions.

In vain false rumor
Slaves of divine captivity:
Bloody words tremble!

Renegades of mute decay,
You burn in the radiance of blue.
Shameful days life-giving change!

I will not die a crushed slave
I will perish, having risen like a wrestler;
I am proud of myself, my mind, -

I am a ray of knowledge, creator of eternity.

"I do not want in vain ..."

I do not want in vain
Dream distortions;
There are many beautiful
Between anger and tears.
Let the drives and hammers
They will be able to avenge for honor,
And about the death of gold
Let everyone know the news.
I don't want the opposite
Completion of the path -
And from the depraved bed
I want to leave.
I don't want to imitate
fearfulness of dreams;
And I understand the desire
Between anger and tears.

“Along a narrow street, looking indifferently ...”

Along the cramped street, gazing indifferently,
I walked gloomy, thirsty, sick;
The darkness sounded reproaches in vain ...

I walked gloomy, thirsty, sick,

I thought the voice was indistinct, unearthly ...

The dark figures glided hastily;

Crazy shy women were walking ...

The tired light of sad lanterns trembled;
The darkness sounded reproaches in vain,
Gaping with the depth of opened eyes.

And it was all criminal, voluptuous ...

"In a narrow corridor, groping-by-hand ..."

In a narrow corridor, groping by hand,
I wandered embraced by greedy anguish;
I wandered in confusion between the dark walls
There were no movements, no continuous shifts.

And in the dark I came across the love of the earth,
I found the woman on the floor, in the dust;
Writhing with her in passion, we began to play, -
And I managed to rip off the cover from Eternity.

But I did not see the woman's face,
I was with her, as before, passionate and blind.
And again I went along the silent wall,
And again I had bad dreams.

“Do not rush, awakening, to evade the struggle ...”

Do not rush, awakening, evade the fight,
And arrogantly do not run from the dictates of fate.
And in the rays of superdimensional life, anticipating the dreams of heaven,
Don't forget to see Eternity's plumb line through the zigzags.
Where there is eternity, there is an abyss. Abyss of Eternity slave.
And for us, people of expanse, the road is bloody struggle.
If you doze off in the voluptuousness of pleasures;
If you only understand the stars, the body, the glitter and the laughter;
If you cannot remove torture and torment, -
You will have to return yourself to the bosom of boredom again.
Do not rush, awakening, to evade fate
And in the crucible of vengeful life, forge your sword to fight.

Poet

I dismembered dreams with a poisonous mockery.
Verse - the image of the morning - a shining crystal
Helplessly lies by your hand killed.

But I feel in you the fiend of hidden forces,
A spell of inspiration splashes into my eyes;
Poet doubtful ruined graves,
Die untimely for the abyss and return!

You came uninvited to the feast of the blind,
But I understood you, fellow inspiration:
I tasted drowsiness, chains and deceit,
And he paid tribute to faith, as he paid tribute to doubt.

“Objectless, extra-spatial, transcendent spirit…”

Objectless, extra-spatial, transcendent spirit,
Do not disturb my hearing with a strange, indistinct sound;
Between rooms, on the threshold, where the beam shines,
You hesitate silently. Everything is terribly silent.
In immeasurable infinity, beyond the limit of days,
Rushing in eternity, a bottomless eternal swarm of shadows, -
Do not disturb my hearing with a strange, indistinct sound,
Non-objective, extra-spatial, transcendent spirit.

"Desert of time, wandering shadows..."

Desert of time, wandering shadows
Your mysteriousness oppresses me!
I am tormented by the monotony of days ...
And day after day goes silently.

Harsh days persistent bias,
To the steps of tartare crawling like a snake,
It draws me like a shaky ringing,
Like a reflection of eternity in the expanse of being.

“I don’t like people’s rumors…”

I do not like human rumor,
I live in a high tower.
But sometimes on earth
Something terrible is spinning in the darkness,
And spins, and turns black, and growls,
And knocking, knocking, knocking...
I rise and rise from the bed,
I hear screams: I'll kill you! I will kill! I will kill!
I open a creaky window;
I see everything is hazy, gloomy and dark.
A distinct rustling of bones is heard
Among crushed crushed stones.
With my heart I listen to cries in a half-sleep;
Someone is sneaking up the stone wall.
I understand, I listen to everything.
I throw terrible thoughts into the darkness.
Thoughts rush about, whirl and ring ...
In the tower-fortress I am embraced by madness.

"On the mountains and on the ravines ..."

Over mountains and ravines -
I climbed between the steep;
And in a swift zigzag
There was a beam in front of me.

I, humpbacked and clumsy,
Brought anxiety into their peace,
And my cloak is rotten, full of holes,
Waving like crazy.

And laughed wickedly
Above my hump are slaves;
And my dreams sparkled -
Songs of royal fate.

And ridiculed by the crowd
Ringing the jester's cap,
Laughed and I sometimes
An evil shalya song.

Laughter corrupted, ulcerated
resounded around me;
My spirit is slender, winged
Flared up like the dawn.

“I have the soul of Pygmalion…”

I have the soul of Pygmalion;
I made a statue and I'm in love with it
I am above demons, fate, law;
I create myself. I'm drunk.

Oh, sultry tender, holy Aphrodite,
Breathe into her the excitement of fire;
Or the statue will be broken by my hand,
And I will die, cursing the gift of love.

"I recognized a shaky dream..."

I recognized a shaky dream
Serene and gentle oak forests.
Guessed a quiet groan
Those thirsty, fading herbs.

rustling sheets,
And the trees murmured in their sleep;
And whispered dreams
Incessantly, so strange in me.

And red dawn, -
I delved into, understood its color;
And gave, grief,
That dawn is this clear light.

And suddenly spots and shadows
Incomprehensible, indistinct rumble;
And the canopy fluctuates fearfully;
And in the darkness - roaring hell:

This laughter and sigh;
This squeal, this rumble and darkness;
Moss burnt on a tree;
Bloody glass reflection...

Arrow

In the lingering fog
I'm flying - a greedy arrow.
I want to find blood in deceit.

Everywhere - chaos, subsoil, haze.
In the midst of immovable oblivion
Silent distance entered the gap.

In the darkness - a moment of separation;
The bloody color of the living dawn, -
Crazy colors of reflection;

And the whistle of an arrow: sleep, die!

Silence

The silence of the forests, the silence of the soul,
Becklin's anxieties are a living reflection!
Abyss space in numb silence.
Immortality trembling languor!

In the absence of centuries, in spans of silence,
Silence wavers before God;
And solemn dreams are blowing over me,
Mirrors gaping before Eternity's threshold.

half-decayed flowers

dedication

Oh, the medium's strange look!
Mistress of discordant sounds, dreams!
You are both happiness and shame for me:
Everywhere, always - in verses, on a bed, in pearls of tears.
You are the proud silent birth of the sea!
You splashed on the shore in a wave,
And, surrounded by an excited crowd,
With naive joy, she turned away her doubts.
And the soul of an alien and passionate people
You comprehended with a sensitive soul;
And you were all a ray, madness and dreams;
You are the image of a royal star
Radiant round dance in the sky.
Chopin's polonaise, like a mirror of water,
You could reflect in mysterious eyes.
You are in sounds, you are in love, in painful dreams.
Beautiful and humiliated!
You sleep dead, you sleep in love.
I beg, crazy, I beg, arrogant,
Hear the sobs, sealed one!
Let the grave seal fall,
And let the heavy stone topple over!
Appear, immortal, appear, beautiful,
Appear to the lover, like the sun, powerful!
Accept kisses, accept prayers.
Take for Eternity my creations!

I

In massive books with heavy edges
I saw half-decayed flowers;
From now on you will be my friends
Withered stems transparent dreams.

I will unravel the hints of past legends in you,
I will remember the once virgin fragrance;
Like stars, you are sad, lonely...
Your sad dream is a broken return ..

II

Half-decayed flowers and the spicy scent of breath,
Issera-dark, rustling sheets,
And memories rustling in the dark!
I love you, autumn dreams!

I love you, constrained languor of the park!
Here are the shadows of the past and the sadness of bygone days,
Broken figures of nymphs, a cracked arch,
And a rare row of flickering lights.

Here is the thrill of a virginal embarrassed embrace,
Here are dreams, here is love, here is death.
A moment of beauty, a moment without exception.
Here the numb firmament is reflected.

III

The terraces are rickety steps;
Faded untimely bouquet;
How hot! How much laziness!
No rustle. Not a drop of moisture.

Here is ivy and tender carnation;
Past caresses faded dawn;
Here is a graceful dense dodder;
No rustle. There is no crazy dream.

Once sighs were heard in the valley -
Love life sweet nonsense!
Everything withered in a sad, heavy back.
No whisper. There is no love story.

IV

Heavy stones, fences and walls,
Solemn vaults haughty granite;
Bends, cornices beautiful change:
Everything is sternly silent in vague reflection.
In the gaping black blind embrasure,
And in the hard smile of gloomy stones,
And in the torso of the once broken figure -
I feel the past of days gone by.
And the bloody disk - the color of degeneration -
The spot is reflected in the sepia of the rocks;
And antiquity proud gray visions
Glitter between stones...

V

Among the silence, under the vaults, between the arches,
I wander poisoned to silence by enmity.
On the plates from the moon, the iron reflection is bright,
Sad reflection of the abyss, trembling and gray.

What silence of eternal promises!
I hear the echoes of timid footsteps,
I feel the past memories in my heart, -
And the eyes of the dead extinct gods.

I ask the shadow: touch me with your hand!
And I feel the touch of hands on my face ...
Embraced, I stand insane longing;
With my soul I strive to get away from voluptuous torments.

VI

The stones were heated in the sultry rays,
And the colors of the whitened walls mixed up;
I know the sleepless oddities of the night
And I love the ardor of selfless change.

Burning languor laziness streams out the window.
Basking under the vault, shaking in the shadows;
The shadows fall asleep and the gap shines;
At night, everything was mixed up, what was in the days.

Lunar, radiant, incomprehensible light, -
And lazy lines a thoughtless dream;
Looks and smiles, semi-bright color;
Half-word hints, half-intelligible tone.

Night on the Lena River

Dedicated to Nyura

It was bright, crazy, light;
Our canoe glided across the azure;
White gulls sparkled the wing;
The vault of heaven was bottomlessly deep.

It was night, but it seemed like day
Opens his arms;
Strange dots obscure shadow
Fluctuated river jets.

And the river spread between the rocks,
Like the mistress of bright nights;
The wind, running, whispered
Tales of the northern, powerful rays.

And our embarrassed plank boat;
And the tempting splash of water;
And the discordant ripple of the waves:
Everything was an unrevealed brilliance.

VIII

I remember this alley
And a shaky row of trembling lights,
Sleepless longing walks
In the cool silence of attentive nights.
What a greedy, deep embrace!
Crazy strange, dumb skies
And sweet happiness - without blood, without exclusion -
And distinctly passionate confessions, voices.
I have not forgotten the embarrassed excitement of spring,
The agonizing trembling of revealed passions, -
And the charms of youth - luxurious oblivion
Heavy suffering, broken paths.

Dance of the Stars

In memory of Tyutchev

To you, the poet of discord, bifurcation,
I will burn fragrant incense;

I will recreate in myself.

You outlined with a bold foot
The paths are dangerous in the chaos of unsteady rocks;
And I am your constant companion -
He entered them.

And now yearning for a holy rebirth
And alien to smoldering coffins,
Your presentiment, your languor
I will recreate in myself.

"Do you hear the thrill of silent nights? .."

Toute la vie est dans l'essor.

Emile Verhaeren.

The soul would like to be a star.

Tyutchev.

Do you hear the trembling of the silent nights?
Do you understand the madness of rapids?
Be radiant, glow hot ...
I am the master of the elements and stars.

Do you see a strange gap in Eternity?
Do you feel the broken lines?
I'm in a dream I am not on earth;
And around me the stars dance.

Can you guess the riddle of the shadows?
Will you break the vague fog of life?
Be like me, between the rays, -
And then you will understand the madness!

"Crash and Darkness..."

Do you feel the broken lines?

Break and darkness. Zigzags and slope.
The water is motionless with lights on the chest.
And a sultry thirst for languor and roses.
I'm waiting for you in the fog. Come to me, come!
Heaven curved parted vault;
The railings are dark, sliding from heights;
And the dance of the stars is a radiant round dance;
And a rose wet on a virgin breast...
I want to crush a rose! Come to me, come!

“I understand everything where the colors are…”

I understand everything where the colors are,
Where is the pattern of rays;
I understand the life of affection
And the delight of the nights.
In the infinity of the slope
Haze, flaws, light;
In the bowels of the eternal law
There are no external colors.
I understand everything, where the sounds
The course of air waves;
When meeting and parting
My spirit is full of colors.
But the rebellious swarm is closer to me
Out-of-span words:
The sound is silent, pale tender
Forever young and new.

“I understand the lily-of-the-valley, moist and intelligible ...”

I also understand the lily of the valley, moist, intelligible, fragrant;
I understand everything that is clear, that passes irrevocably.

I live, I live in a dream, continuously, immensely;
The sound and the sun are all in me, everything, like a reflection, is clear to me.

Sonnet

The great Pushkin paid tribute to love to the sonnet,
Petrarch in love, remembering a sweet verse ...
I follow their path, I serve their covenant;
But I don’t want to put a moment of delight into a sonnet.

Winged hymn to the dawn, searching for an answer,
Bashful gleam of eyes and awe of hidden forces
I don't want to be constrained by the shackles of a sonnet!
In the creations of others, he captivated my heart.

Sonnet - Italy's luxurious awakening,
The desire of feelings to prolong the constrained languor,
Fourteen verses - the consonance of love ...

I sensed a mystical law in you now:
Fourteenth century, medieval days!
Child of centuries of dreams! You are a wonderful ringing in the desert.

spontaneous

I pray to you, like the sun, like the radiance of the day!
And with sunrise and sunset I am at the altar.

And spontaneous thoughtlessly forever I serve,
With an early anthem, before dawn, I wake up dreams.

The secret is you. And in the abyss of Mystery I see myself;
And eternally, it is not by chance that you are mine, mine!

No doubt, reasoning, but the dawn - the answer:
Only in it you know yourself, only in it is your light.

Accept my sacrifices. I am at the altar.
I pray to you, like the sun, like the radiance of the day.

Song of Songs

Introduction

I want to climb the Lebanese slopes,
I want to hear the voice of Solomon.
Let the cedars speak passionately to me about happiness,
Cypresses whisper thoughts of voluptuousness.
I will clearly convey the life of an ancient fairy tale,
Ancient Jew fiction and caresses.
I will understand the beauty of the wrist with a dream;
I'm tired of living with my soul - to live in the midst of bad weather.
I will go with hope to Lebanon's slopes,
To hear the songs of Solomon there.
Let them give me the sweetness of inspiration
Let them give me oblivion of pale days.
Nard, saffron, aloe, myrrh and cinnamon,
The fragrance of love, the passion of a dove,
Vineyard, roses, swarthy chest awe!
Your colors are bright, your babbling is understandable.
I will go with delight to the slopes of Lebanon,
To overhear the sighs of Solomon there.

I

Spring among the mountains of Lebanon is luxurious,
The fig trees bud with hope;
And the dove sings in the sky,

It smells of myrrh, the sweetness of sin.
There are baskets near the bed with roses.

Will he come from the dusk of the valley.

II

Cypresses and cedars rustle among the rocks,
Passionately whisper love tales;
The nightingale groaned:
He needs spring caresses.

And on the bed alone
Embarrassed by the dream of love,
The greedy shepherdess languishes in bliss...
Where is he? Why doesn't he knock on the door?

- Where is my beloved?
Why am I alone
Need to live among dreams and longings?
I can't bear the torment!

III

- Come, come from the valley to me,
I will sing you a song about spring,
I will drink the fragrant wine of my lips
And, kissing, I will encircle you with a snake.

Like a seal, put me on my heart;
So that it is not stuffy, untie the chiton ...
And your hot thirst
I will quench the juice of pomegranate apples.

My jealousy burns like hell;
And like sharp arrows - my opinion.
Come, come from the valley to me
I will sing you a song about spring!

IV

“My love, like death, is omnipotent.
Her arrow is more terrible than fire;
My languor is voluptuous;
Everything is consumed by my passion.

Come, beloved, to me
And refresh me with fragrant fruits,
Let the heart be strengthened in wine,
His amber jets.

Let left hand yours
Lies on a bed under the head;
Chiton white edge
Raise your right hand.

V

Kiss me with the kiss of your mouth,
Do not come off with greedy lips;
I want to forget for a moment
I want to drink drunk fruits.

Oh, don't look that I'm swarthy!
In the rays of the sun I tanned:
I guarded the vineyard
My mother told me to keep it.

For that your garden and grapes
I don't want to save, of course;
You will be happy with the fruits of love
I will give them to you without hesitation.

VI

I forgot my sleep and peace...
Give the sweetness of love nights!
Where is my beloved?
Answer quickly!

I hear his steps in the darkness.
I'm trembling. I'm on fire
Chu! He knocks on the door
But now I'm afraid to open...

- Oh, my dove, I have come!
Open, open quickly...
In the heart of a greedy trembling entered:
I want your caresses and curls.

VII

“I cannot, my beloved,
Open my doors for you
I took off my woolen chiton,
I don't want to wear it again.

“Oh, let me in, dear, let me in!”
You with the fruits of a luxurious garden:
I want to enter the fence -
And inhale the aroma of cinnamon.

Your lips turn red like blood
And nipples, like lambs in the meadows;
Like a snake wriggling an eyebrow,
And you are like the dawn on the mountains.

VIII

- I do not want to get up from the bed;
I removed my lampada;
I don't want to light it up again!
I didn't expect you dear...

- Oh, let me in, dear, me!
You are proud, like the banners of the regiments;
You are luxurious, like a harvest land,
You are like a palm tree in the desert sands.

I want to climb the palm tree
I want to hug her branches...
And I knock again with hope:
Don't you want to accept?

IX

Let me drink your breast!
Your chest is a vine -
Smells better than amber brushes...
Give me breasts, lips and eyes!

- I do not want to get up from the bed;
I anointed my feet.
I don't want to mess them up again;
Come see me tomorrow night...

So the shepherdess repeats with a smile.
Suddenly a tunic flashed under the window ...
The beauty's heart is on fire:
There are no sounds in the twilight of the night.

X

Here it smells of myrrh, the sweetness of sin;
By the bed with roses are baskets;
The shepherdess is waiting in the excitement of the shepherd,
Will he return from the dusk of the valley.

Spring among the mountains of Lebanon luxurious blooms.
The fig trees bud with hope,
And the dove sings in the sky,
And drunken vines in bloom are fragrant.

Afterword

Once Solomon, tired of wise deeds,
Leaving the darkness of worries, he fled to the cedar forest,
And there, among the flowers, he sang his love ...
And I tore off the veil from the love of the king again.

Let the song of his love sound for us forever,
Let the secrets of the terrible gaze go out for me:
I will be sinless, like the first man;
I will breathe happiness, ringing with a verse of love.

I woke up early, so early that the light in the room was dim, uncertain, and I managed to hear the rustle of the receding night shadows.

I can't stand those silent gray figures that always rustle with the folds of their veils. But they constantly catch my eye either in the early morning, as today, or at dusk, when the human soul is split into many mirror pieces and when each fragment pierces the brain and heart.

I knew that something unpleasant was going to happen to me today, something like a prick of a poisoned needle.

Autumn was in the yard, a strange annual disease that makes nature, this magnificent woman, cry in hysterics with annoying tears.

Ah, those autumn days with their incomprehensible tones written in sepia and yellowish-green paint! Where did the juicy verdigris and hot gold go?

You walk down the street, and all around you are wilting and tears and this sensually pliable autumn humidity. A little more autumn sun - and you will no longer get away from this drunken weakness, longing and involuntary, but viscous combination with nature, when you surrender to sweet languor, fading all over, like a sounding string.

And it seems that everywhere, in all these huge houses, in which there must be many rooms with delicate carpets and heavy silent curtains, something secret and seductive is happening.

However, what do I care about these seductive secrets? My nerves are dancing some demonic dance. They are probably all entangled and running erratically toward my brain, screeching and moaning. It is no wonder that there is such chaos in me and each sound causes a series of ridiculous colorful impressions, and each colorful tone entails a special combination of smells.

Some kind of greenish-brown autumn cry is born inside me.

I was walking down the street past a large, ominous building that looked like a stock exchange. I remember a damp wall, these huge, gray stones, and wet asphalt under my feet.

My heart was beating unevenly and timidly, and tensely awaiting something inevitable.

And this expectation crossed the limit line, turned into some kind of strange fever.

I could not sit at home, where everything was full of memories of these rustling creatures, and I wandered around the city all day long and rode the tram, listening eagerly to the discordant chorus of stones.

I dined in a small restaurant on the embankment and saw from the window a line of white steamers, which were waiting impatiently for midnight, when the bridge was opened and allowed to sail on to the solemn music of the stars.

I drank beer, golden beer that casts a shadow across my heart. And while the beer roared in my head, I did not feel anxiety, but at six o'clock the river air sobered me and anxiety again stabbed my chest.

Then, on a small steamboat, I crossed to the other side and there until eight o'clock I walked along the passages, looking at the motley audience in the hope of meeting someone I knew.

Near the window of a Japanese store stood a young man in a worn jacket and a crumpled hat. This young man was remarkably similar to me when I was twenty-five years old and I studied at the university.

I wanted to go up to him and offer him a golden beer, because I remembered my youth, but he had gone somewhere and I did not know where he had gone.

Then I went alone to the beer-house and drank there until the thoughts made a round dance in my brain. And then on the street everything was unlike everyday life, everything was very interesting: and the lights of the lanterns, which know something; and a pale lady in a black hat with an ostrich plume; and purple granite, cold purple granite...

People wrapped in black walked hurriedly, and it seemed that everyone had treacherous knives with a greedy blade hidden under their coats.

And I shouted out loud:

- Hurry, hurry!

And the cornices and the moon shuddered. Everything swirled. My cry was bold and defiant. Some people were running towards me, waving their long dark arms, but I quickly climbed over the railing and began to descend the slope to the river, where lights flickered over the water - red, blue and purple ...

My feet slid across the crumpled grass, and above, right in front of my eyes, strange streaks of bright light zigzagged.

The water sighed below and something stubbornly pounded against the wooden piles. It is a boat, dark as night and smelling strongly of tar.

Near the pile on the shore, in the mud, sat a little girl in rags.

And on her right shoulder she had a large greenish-white spot; the moon must have accidentally smeared this pitiful figure with its beam.

- He went to the right, I tell you! grumbled an angry, hoarse voice.

And someone angrily replied:

- Shut up, Adam! I'm going around the corner. I saw it myself.

And then I laughed:

– Ha-ha-ha!

So I sank to the ground and sat next to the girl, with a small, thin girl whose shoulders were trembling. And I got a greenish-white spot on my left shoulder.

I don't know if I dozed off or not; I don't know if it was a dream; it seemed to me that everything was separated from me and gone, and I was left alone, and only a thin thread still tied me to this big and heavy world, on which I could rely. And suddenly, like a rocket, the thought soared and flashed in my brain: and the whole world is held on by a thread!

And immediately horror, cold and damp, crawled up to me and hugged my legs.

It was as if I was standing in a black embrasure on a high tower, and at the bottom of its foundation a thick, sticky darkness was floating. Someone took my heart out of my chest and put a small bat inside me.

I made a terrible effort and tears sprang from my eyes; I crawled up the slippery grass. And when I finally touched the cold railing with my trembling hand, a bat flew out of my chest with a noise and someone again hastily pushed a warm, trembling heart into my tormented chest.

I rushed headlong to run along the narrow street, and the tall buildings to the right and left staggered and shifted, trying to crush me, but I slipped out of their stone paws, turned the corner and found myself next to my house.

In the dark passage, I immediately smelled human body. But no one was downstairs, next to me. I carefully felt with my hand all the corners and walls: obviously, he was standing on the upper platform. Then I had to climb up the iron staircase, which always rattles and bends underfoot like a roof. The apartment door was unlocked. The landlady's dress lay on the floor in the hallway.

Then I shouted:

She ran out, shaggy, in a short and dirty night skirt, and whimpered over the dress.

Really, what a horror. There was a thief and he stole her son's coat, a new warm coat.

I laughed.

– Ha-ha-ha! I saw a thief. He stood on the top platform and trembled with fear. I could smell the human body and feel someone's trembling.

Then the hostess screamed furiously and waved her bony hand.

"And you didn't arrest him?" Get on, get on quickly...

- Catching a thief? Well, I'm ready. I love weed. Now they poisoned me, and now I will run and whistle.

And I ran, choking with laughter. In the hallway I stumbled upon some kind of knot and struck hibernation. This thief left his jacket. Where did I get this jacket?

I rushed to the right around the corner and ran into a little man, who was apparently heading towards our apartment to grab a jacket, which he, poor fellow, had forgotten. I immediately recognized it by its smell.

Then I grabbed my prey by the sleeve.

– Ha-ha-ha! Where did you put your coat, my dear? Where to?

And I writhed with laughter and incomprehensible unnecessary tears crawled down my cheeks.

The thief did not run away from me, but somehow strangely stamped his feet, bulging his arms and shaking from the dampness, because he was wearing only a tattered, thin jacket.

- Ba, yes, this is the same young man who was standing at the window of a Japanese store!

I wanted to offer him golden beer again. How nice we would drink with him, eat crayfish, warm ourselves in a cozy pub ... How he looks like me!

But it was already too late. Two men, huge men with badges, emerged from the gloom and grabbed the thief by the scruff of the neck.

Where did you put your coat? one croaked in a low, crushed voice.

- Where? Ha-ha-ha… Where to?

- Yes, by God, I didn’t take it! By God, I didn't take it. I lost my jacket myself... There, in the entryway.

And the thief pointed to our door.

And the hostess jumped out of the door and held out his jacket.

- Here she is! Here... yours?

features of intertextual dialogue-palimpsest*

What are you whispering, what are you telling me

Caucasus, Caucasus, what should I do!

Boris Pasternak

Hunting to sleep - so that the oak bows,

Sergei Gandlevsky

PartI

Mikhail Gasparov, referring to Lermontov's octagon Mountain peaks(1840), reveals the intonational, rhythmic, thematic and semantic movement of Goethe's text in Russian poetry of the 19th-20th centuries. Starting almost immediately, in 1848, Rosenheim ( Hard road - Stone and sand. Well, now a little, the path is not far ...), this movement becomes permanent for a number of reasons. One of them is the existential and taxonomic nature of the concept way , acquiring from Lermontov the quality of a certain universal thought forms , incorporating many variations of the expression of the transcendental essence of the Poet and his Path.

"Mountain peaks", as a kind of contamination of the poems of Goethe and Lermontov, in its continuous movement through substance Russian poetry, more than once turned out to be the center of spontaneous and at the same time naturally arising poetic dialogues, more precisely, a dialogue that lasts throughout fast- Lermontov time. Its participants were a variety of poets, often not intersecting in any other poetic continuum. When it comes to poetry I go out alone on the road, the repeated appeals to its depth are simply amazing and make you comprehend what is happening.

multiplied word, unity past, future and eternal poets (S. Sutulov-Katerinich) is the law of the existence of Poetry in all epochs of its existence. And every time the operation of this law reveals itself in all its fullness and versatility, when in question about genius poets. In the case of Lermontov, his action has the result of constantly developing, a multi-level palimpsest dialogue created by poets over the past two centuries. Metaphor plays a special role in this dialogue. flinty path, not only referring to the amazing night revelation poet, to whom Russian poetry returns again and again, but also demonstrating the manifestation of poetic metaconsciousness with all its features.

Georgy Yaropolsky, “The Flint Road. A wreath of stanzas "- single stack of reversible times, poetry about poetry. In 2014, the "Wreath ..." is perceived as a kind of summing up the results of the steady deployment of Lermontov's text Path- as an existential, philosophical and creative concept and the main constants of the life-creativity of the Poet and Poetry per se. It takes the form of intertextual dialogue, poetic amalgams, transforming into a distinct peacebuilding A text whose entelechy is life multiplied Word born the unity of departed, future and eternal poets. How can one not recall the lines of I. Bunin: there are no different souls in the world and there is no time in it. As Yuri Perfilyev rightly notes, “all the verses of the past, present and future are fragments of an endless poem that belongs to all the poets of the Earth. At the same time, there is not a single true poet who has not minted his own symbol. … Attachment to the word is no less mysterious than love or some other guise of confusion called life. At the same time, it is not the mystery itself that is important, but the way to comprehend it.

Not having the purpose to give an exhaustive series of references to flinty path, I note that even a kind of dotted line that is drawn in my mind - A. Fet, I. Bunin, M. Voloshin, V. Khlebnikov, V. Khodasevich, S. Yesenin, V. Mayakovsky, G. Ivanov, O. Mandelstam , B. Pasternak, A. Tarkovsky, A. Kushner, B. Ryzhy, S. Gandlevsky, S. Sutulov-Katerinich, J. Koshubaev, G. Yaropolsky - indicates that these are not single exercises variations on a given theme, but some single text, parts of a huge scores, the center of which is the text-matrix I go out alone on the road. This is a demonstration of the law of poetic dialogue-palimpsest, which does not require special proofs - the law of the semantic and figurative concentration of the Word, its comprehension, regardless of the laws of time and space.

Poetry has always been nourished and nourished by the metamorphoses of being, domestic poetry - especially: due to the coincidence of the ontological law of language, in which Poetry and elements merged together. Poetry, according to S. Sutulov-Katerinich, is lovebird of eternity, companion of truth . AT round dance of epochs it seeks not only to solve the aesthetic, but also the ontological problem - life repeated, multiplied the word, its echoes and new overtones; to identify peacebuilding essence of poetic reflection in general.

How undead you are, silver night,

In the soul, the flowering of dumb and secret power!

O! covered - and let me overcome

All this decay, soulless and dull.

What a night! diamond dew

Living fire with the fires of the sky in dispute.

Like an ocean, the skies opened up

And the earth sleeps - and warms like the sea.

My spirit, O night! like a fallen seraph,

Recognized kinship with imperishable stellar life

And, inspired by your breath,

Ready to fly over this secret abyss.

Poetry is dark, inexpressible in words.

How this wild stingray excited me.

Empty flinty vale, sheep herds,

Shepherd's fire and the bitter smell of smoke!

Anxiety strange and joy tormented,

My heart says: "Come back, come back!"

The smoke smelled to me like a sweet fragrance,

And with envy, with longing, I pass by.

Poetry is not, not at all, that light

Calls poetry. She is in my legacy.

The richer I am with them, the more I am a poet.

I tell myself, feeling the dark trail

What my ancestor perceived in ancient childhood:

There are no different souls in the world and there is no time in it!

Sergei Gandlevsky, reflecting on world order poetry in the essay "Metaphysics of Poetic Kitchen" in the book "Dry Residue" , comes to the following conclusion :

Anyone who has given time and effort to art knows that art is a device. And not arbitrary, but consistent with the world order.

- Poems are an ancient catapult of harmony, carrying the poet to the creative,author's tier of the world ... - Art is one of the most acceptable ways for the existence of truth, at least on this side of life.

Sama Lermontov's poetics was originally the poetics of response, of repeated echo, of dialogue with pre- texts of European and Russian poetry… Translations, imitations, motifs; Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, Chenier, Schiller, Moore, Mickiewicz, Seydlitz, Heine... Boris Eikhenbaum laconically calls it alloy art: "To see someone else's in order to realize one's own."

As you know, a literary text is constantly in the process of movement and generating new meanings. This is the dominant aspect of the work that he does in the system of culture, following the law of the poetic palimpsest, in which the preceding lines are not washed off, but appear like watermarks on the letter. flinty path Lermontov, becoming one of the existential and taxonomic foundations of his poetic universe, receives a special status in this context. Wherein before- and fast- the texts of the dialogue with Lermontov are read as a consistent, multi-level development of a striking existential paradox conjugation and empathy of epochs, multidimensionality of contextual connections(Mikhail Epstein).

In this context, the poem by Sergei Yesenin Songs, songs, what are you screaming about (1917-1918), with the desire of the poet expressed in it to learn how to weave into his curls blue dormant thread; desire be quiet and strict capable learn the silence of the stars and collect ears of corn on the road in an impoverished soul-bag becomes, conditionally, the first replica of the twentieth century in the considered dialogue-palimpsest . However, chronology in such cases reveals its inability to be an impeccable search criterion, since the way of poets, according to Marina Tsvetaeva, is to connect scattered links of causality. And when in love lyrics Mayakovsky appears silence, in which you want speak to the ages and the universe, desire expressed tongue of flint and air Mandelstam, one should not be surprised. AT mirror gallery Georgy Ivanov Lermontov stays as an ever-existing opportunity and readiness for above-temporal incarnation and movement along the Path of Poets, like an impeccable poetic tuning fork. I think one would be enough Slate ode Mandelstam to mighty junction of star with star, flinty path from an old song became another before-fast- text in hypertext silicon path.

Tragic the end the path of the poet in the most irrevocable, hopeless sense we find in Arseny Tarkovsky -

People betrayed this boy

And, shot in a duel,

Wet, dead, he lies in a hollow,

Like a dead bird in a basket...

But in this replica-provocation, replica-pain, a person dies, but not a poet. He, resolutely sent by Georgy Ivanov, into the twentieth century, out on the road, ringing with silver spurs becoming authentic hero of our time. However, much earlier Velimir Khlebnikov with his beautiful death on Mashuk, with death iron verse, doused with bitterness and anger, turned death into overcoming death when, correct death by death,

In Heaven lit up like eyes,

Big gray eyes.

And still live among the clouds,

And deer still pray to them,

Russian writer with misty eyes,

When the flight of the eagle writes over the rock

Big slow eyebrows.

Since then the sky is gray

Like dark eyes.

The dialogue-palimpsest under consideration has a pronounced metatextual, analytical level, at which the Word of Poetry, as well as the rivers of Pasternak, does not think apart and the poetic universe is unimaginable without the Caucasian Helikon and Lermontov. And the appeal of the poets of the Caucasus to the path of the Poet and Poetry is something taken for granted - noblesse oblige in the most precise and noble sense. Therefore, let us dwell on some features of comprehension flinty path in the dialogue of Sergei Sutulov-Katerinich, Dzhambulat Koshubaev, Georgy Yaropolsky.

Sergey Sutulov-Katerinich

Lieutenant, leg in the stirrups! Duels are ardent.

It's your fault that the seeds of poetry are deadly.

S. Sutulov-Katerinich

Probably your own Table of Periodic Insights every poet has. One of these insights is Angels and bullfinches baptized the Caucasus in rhyme - can be called the cornerstone of the Caucasian catechism Sutulov-Katerinich. Alexander Karpenko, in the preface to the two-volume "Wounded Angel" (2014) by S. Sutulov-Katerinich, rightly notes: "The individual often manifests itself in the poetry of S-K as historical and fateful memory." This memory is the basis of poetic consciousness and independence Sutulov-Katerinich. Fates somersault, epochs gambit- immutable subject and axiom of self-searching, according to Andrey Voznesensky's palindrome. He aspired and strives transcend space with rhythm, being absolutely sure that from the rhyme Time grows. S-K again and again checks tense names and focuses on pirouettes of correspondences.

In the poem "Caucasus-2013: two and a half quotes over the abyss" the system of poetic coordinates is set and emphasized already in the title. Moreover: the poet specifically stipulates collective authorship in the note - A. Pushkin, M. Lermontov, B. Pasternak. And it's natural, because through the looking glass of time for Sutulov-Katerinich - an undoubted reality:

Correcting the grimaces of space,

Performing a deadly somersault,

Troubadours crush tyranny

And tear the planets out of their orbits.

In the "Caucasus ..." by Sutulov-Katerinich, a dense historical-geographical and poetic-cultural space arises, allowing us to talk about a single masonry of times and them reversibility , and then the clear outlines of Lermontov's poetic thesaurus appear naturally - road, path, God, heaven, heart, love, homeland, abyss - and undoubted contextual links with Lermontov poetry of Koshubaev and Yaropolsky:

On a mountain road, perhaps leading to a gloomy formidable God,

I walked carefully - a nomad, an atheist ... And the abyss, which is on the right,

Painfully squeezing the tired sinful heart, which is on the left ...

Caucasus what should I do with other people's poems, eagles soaring to the right,

And someone else's glory, and someone else's sadness - over sunset, dawn, ash,

Above the abyss, remembering the departed, future and eternally living poets?

We especially note the reference of Sutulov-Katerinich to Boris Ryzhy - little boy, which is capable extend the line from the gorges of the Darial to the spurs of the Urals- and his "Question to the Muse" (1996). The Ural poet appears here as another interlocutor of truth in alliance-dialogue bygone , future and eternal poets :

Through grief, through the snow you come in transparent clothes -

tell me, Euterpe, to whom did you dictate before?

Sister of mercy got up to whose headboard,

Whose forehead did you kiss with your last, farewell love?

Whose heart, Goddess, held in the hands of guilt,

who died, immortal, and whose dear widow are you?

In whose brown, tell me, not wondrous expanses spread -

did the Ural Mountains rise like a grave ridge?

A single masonry of times Sutulova-Katerinich discovers the vertical and the horizontal, materiality and incorporeality, faith and unbelief, heights and abysses, soaring and falling, glory and infamy, the past and the future in all their inseparability, losses and gains, as well as the amazing, inconceivable at first glance, existential the paradoxical unity of poets is outside the traditional division of time and space. I will allow myself auto quote: “For S-K there is no self-sufficiency of the unconditional and conditional, earthly and heavenly, bright and dim, patriotic and cosmopolitan, sectarian and ecumenical, sacred and profane, infernal and ethereal. This is the poetry of complementarity, special combination, art arbitrariness, total eclecticism, in which “freedom is born” 8

And in the remainder of the dry - instead of doomed rhymes -

Settling hill and granite prose.

Eikhenbaum B. Youthful poems. The question of foreign "influences" ... From the book: Lermontov. Experience of historical and literary assessment. Gosizdat, 1924. Quoted from: Lermontov. In the wild north... Translations. M., 2011. S. 229-230.

Sutulov-Katerinich S. Wounded Angel. Selected works in 2 vols. T. 2. M.-Stavropol, 2014. Anniversary collection “Like a sweet song of my homeland, I love the Caucasus”, Stavropol, 2014.

Smirnova N. Poems, poems and other forms of life // S. Sutulov-Katerinich. Wounded angel. M.-Stavropol, 2014. V.2. S. 348.