E.A. Denisiev. Portrait 1851

In two cases out of three, Tyutchev's family life was a tragedy and once a drama. Elena Alexandrovna Deniseva (1826-1864) is one of the tragedies.

In the autumn of 1845, Fyodor Ivanovich arranged for his daughters Daria and Ekaterina to study at the Smolny Institute. Despite the high patronage, they were pensioners of the imperial family, Fyodor Ivanovich considered it useful to get acquainted and maintain good relations with the inspector Anna Dmitrievna Denisyeva, on whom much depended on the fate of the students. Anna Dmitrievna had a niece, Elena Denisyeva, who was a volunteer at the Smolny Institute. A verbal portrait of Elena of that time has been preserved: "... nature endowed her with great intelligence and wit, great impressionability and liveliness, depth of feeling and energy of character, and when she got into a brilliant society, she herself was transformed into a brilliant young person who, with her great courtesy and friendliness, with her natural cheerfulness and very happy appearance, she always gathered around her many brilliant admirers.

Visiting the inspector, he could not help but pay attention to her niece. Meetings could also take place on "neutral" territory, since Elena often visited her friends outside the walls of the institute. Everything happened as in a fairy tale, where the "pathetic sorcerer" bewitched the young beauty. Elena not only fell in love, she threw herself into the pool with her head, forgetting everything.

A "secret marriage" with Denisyeva was concluded in July 1850. Then his wife Ernestina, still unaware of the misfortune that had befallen her family, wrote P.A. Vyazemsky that Fyodor Ivanovich "hired himself a room near the Station and several times stayed there overnight." This was confirmed in a poem written 15 years after the event and a year after Denisyeva's death "". The secret was great: for almost forty years the poem was kept in the Georgievsky archives, and was published thirty years after the death of the poet under the heading "July 15, 1865."

Did Elena know what abyss she stepped into? Hardly. Outwardly, everything looked like a petty affair, at which the world was ready to look condescendingly. However, the apartment rented for Denisyeva was not far from Smolny, and the institute became aware of the meetings of the “young people”. The clouds began to thicken. In March 1851, a solemn graduation from the class was to take place, which was led by Anna Dmitrievna Denisyeva, Elena's aunt, moreover, two more Anna Dmitrievna's nieces studied in this class. The storm broke out:

• Anna Dmitrievna expected to receive a promotion after a successful graduation. Instead, she had to retire and vacate a state-owned apartment;
• Elena was supposed to be a lady-in-waiting. However, after the scandal, she was denied in the houses where she had previously been accepted with joy. Girlfriends stopped relations with her, fans disappeared;
• the father, who came to the graduation party of the younger daughters, having learned about the adventures of the eldest and fearing for the fate of the other daughters, abandoned her.

Already in 1851, Fedor Ivanovich "summed up" the results in the poem "Oh, how deadly we love". He did not change his habits and spent most of his time in society. His "feats" were not approved, but communication with him was not interrupted. The rest of the time he divided between the two families, trying to visit more often where there were fewer problems. In May 1851, a girl was born to Denisyeva, who was named Elena in honor of her mother. At the insistence of her mother, she was recorded in the name of her father. The mother was happy, not realizing that this would emphasize the "illegal" origin of her daughter and prove fatal to her.

Don't look for angels in hell

When a child appears, then a family appears. For Denisyeva, this was obvious. But others didn't think so. Such a split led her to tragic consequences. Elena was in a strange illusion. She wrote: "I am more his wife than his former wives, and no one in the world has ever loved and appreciated him as much as I love and appreciate him, no one has ever understood him as I understand him ... I am all I live his life, I am all his, and he is mine ... "Amazing words, given that Fyodor Ivanovich at that time had a legitimate family, a loving and devoted wife and adult daughters who showed almost maternal care for a frivolous dad.

About Denisyeva’s state of mind, her sister’s husband and, almost Denisyeva’s only friend, Alexander Ivanovich Georgievsky wrote: “Deeply loving and deeply religious ... Lelya talked more than once with her confessor, and not with one, to what extent it is difficult for her to do without the church blessing of marriage; but that she is married, that she is the real Tyutcheva, she was firmly convinced of this, and, apparently, none of her confessors dissuaded her from this, probably for the same motives as I did, i.e. out of deep pity for her." As for pity, Georgievsky apparently did not write the whole truth. He knew that an attempt at dissuasion could lead to hysteria, unsafe for others.

In another letter, Georgievsky wrote about the dispute between Elena and Fyodor Ivanovich over the birth of a third child: “Before the birth of a third child, Feodor Ivanovich tried to turn Lelya away from this; but she, this loving, adoring and generally kindest Lelya, went into such a frenzy that she grabbed from the desk, the first bronze dog on malachite that came into her hands and with all her urine threw it at Feodor Ivanovich, but, fortunately, did not hit him, but into the corner of the stove and beat off a large piece of a tile in it: repentance, tears and sobs There was no end to Lely after that. I happened to be at Lely's on the second or third day after that, this tile had not yet been repaired and was shown to me by Feodor Ivanovich, and he promised me in an undertone to tell me the story of this flaw in the stove when we were with the two of them on their way back. Obviously, the jokes with Lelya were bad, and Tyutchev fully approved that I did not try to refute her theories about her true marriage with him: God knows how such an attempt could It could have ended... This story horrified me: in my right mind and solid memory, such violent acts are hardly possible, and I would not have expected anything like this from such a sweet, kind, educated, elegant and highly cultured woman like Lelya. .."

Outbursts of rage were not uncommon. Fyodor Ivanovich wrote to Georgievsky in December 1865: “I remember once, in Baden, while walking, she spoke of her desire that I should seriously take up the secondary edition of my poems, and she confessed so sweetly, with such love, that so it would be gratifying for her if her name stood at the head of this publication - not a name that she did not like, but she ... I, I don’t know why, expressed some kind of disagreement, dislike to her, it somehow seemed to me that on her part such a demand was not entirely generous, that, knowing to what extent I am all of her, she had nothing, there was no need to wish for other printed statements that could upset or offend other personalities.This was followed by one of those scenes too well-known to you, who more and more undermined her life and brought us - her to Volkovo Pole, and me - to something that has no name in any human language ... "

In fact, Fedor Ivanovich did not belong to Elena. It didn't belong to anyone. Including himself. She completely owned the problems: worries about her little daughter, about Fedor Ivanovich himself, who demanded worries no less than a child, lack of money, exclusion from society. The last years of her life were difficult for Elena Alexandrovna. Forces dried up, consumption made itself felt. Letters to sister Maria and her husband A.I. Georgievsky are full of complaints about the misfortunes that haunted her:

• "I am so exhausted that I live as if in a dream";
• "I am exhausted from fatigue and look forward to my stay in Moscow in order to restore a little my health, upset more than ever during this recent time by so many unrest and anxieties";
• "... Fedya had just recovered, I fell ill, tired of sleepless nights and the anxiety that he caused me - my children agreed to get sick in turn - for months now one of them has always demanded my care."

Excerpts from the letters are the cry of a confused person; they evoke sympathy and pity. Elena gives all her strength to support the family. But there is already little strength, and there is nowhere to wait for help. The birth of a third child in May 1864 aggravated the course of consumption. Elena's condition deteriorated sharply. Remember, Fedor Ivanovich tried to dissuade her from this step.

End of the triangle

In the last winter of 1863/64. Lelya was not let go of his illness. She was practically abandoned to her fate. The family of Fyodor Ivanovich returned to St. Petersburg, and he preferred to sleep there, gaining strength before the next social entertainment. His winter was filled with balls, visits, dinners...

It seems that everyone is tired of the "love triangle", the corners of which stuck out for 14 years. Two months remained before the denouement. In a letter dated June 5, 1864, the last that has come down to us, Elena wrote: "I got up, but I am recovering with great difficulty." These days, Fyodor Ivanovich did everything possible to help Elena, but it was too late. What people could not or did not want to fix, frozen in some kind of terrible stupor, resolved itself. On August 4, 1864, Lelya died in the arms of Fyodor Ivanovich.

And here we recall a poetic appeal to Ernestine, written back in 1837. It could be addressed to any of the three women who risked linking their fate with him:

Elena Alexandrovna was buried at the Volkov cemetery in St. Petersburg.

"Children of the Underground"

Denisyeva and Fedor Ivanovich had three children:

• daughter Elena (1851-1865), named after her mother, had a tragic fate, like her mother. According to Georgievsky, after the death of Lel's mother, "the first fell ill with consumption, and her illness developed very much and intensified as a result of an unfortunate accident that was with her at the boarding house. One of the high-society Petersburg ladies, ... having arrived at the boarding school ... to her daughter, found out from her that in the same class with her was Tyutcheva, with whom she especially got along, wished to get to know her herself, and one of her first questions to Lele was for whom she was mourning. Lelya answered that for her mother; then the high-society lady was extremely was amazed and began to say loudly that she had only seen her mother, Ernestina Feodorovna, only a few days ago, and that she was completely healthy. Then Lelya answered her that her mother's name was Elena Alexandrovna, and that she had died more than eight months ago. she began to ask her what her father's name was, where he served, whether he had a court rank, and also asked about his appearance and, as the girl answered, she expressed more and more astonishment and then from left her without saying goodbye to her and taking her daughter away from her by the hand. The latter, after her mother's departure, began to ask Lelya what it all meant, but Lelya grew up and was brought up, not suspecting any wrong in the mutual relations between her father and mother, and that he was not at home for a long time and only once two or three meals a week with them, she was explained by his official duties. Little Lelya could not answer the questions of her friend, but, returning to her home, she began to persistently question her grandmother about everything and, having learned the whole truth, indulged in excessive grief, cried and sobbed, spent sleepless nights and almost did not take food, she only begged that she should no longer be sent to a boarding school ... Under such conditions, the consumption that was in her embryo developed with extreme speed, and at the beginning of May 1865 she was gone ... ";
• son Fedor Fedorovich (1860-1916) was named after his father. However, neither the name nor the surname of his father brought him happiness. Mother died when Fedor was only four years old. The father did not indulge him with attention and tried to keep the "illegitimate" son away. He saved many poems dedicated to mother E.A. Deniseva. Died from wounds received at the front in 1916;
• son Kolenka (1864-1865) died of consumption the day after the death of his elder sister Elena.

Denisiev Tyutchev cycle

After the death of E.A. Denisyeva for decades, memoirists, biographers and other writers avoided mentioning her name. The reason was that the daughters of Fyodor Ivanovich occupied a high position at the imperial court, and they did not need to discuss their father's adventures. Perhaps that is why the Russian similarity of "Ladies with Camellias" or "La Traviata" did not work out. It's a pity:

• for some, this tragedy could serve as an occasion to think about whether the dream of love is worth the peace of loved ones and the future of children. After all, to a large extent, Denisyeva made a decision for her aunt who raised her, for her father, for her sisters and even for her future children. Maybe she did not expect the consequences, but they turned out to be severe. This consideration is for those who are still capable of thinking;
• for others, the main thing is "I want and I will." Well, having stood over the abyss in which Denisyeva disappeared, maybe they would not be so stubborn in their fantasies?

However, the writing of the tragedy did not take place. Only the "Denisiev cycle" of poems took place. This cycle led an inconspicuous existence for a long time. Many poems were kept in archives, dedications were hidden, there were no comments.

The "Denisiev cycle" includes the poems "Oh, how in the declining years of our years", "She lay in oblivion all day", "Today, friend, fifteen years have passed", "Here I am wandering along the high road".

In general, poems dedicated to women who remained at some distance from him differ from poems that are addressed to his wives. Dedications to Amalia Krüdener and Clotilde Bothmer are graceful elegy poems. They leave a feeling of light, sadness, lightness. The poems of the "Denisiev cycle" are at the other extreme. They leave behind a feeling of depression.

Elena Denisyeva sacrificed her life for love. And involuntarily questions arise, to which there seems to be no answer. What was it? Madness... frivolity... How did a man fall into this devastating nightmare? Where is the boundary, crossing which a person controls not only his own destiny, but the destinies, and even the lives of other people? And is this transition compatible with love?

The Denisyev cycle is called the most lyrical and poignant in the work of Fyodor Tyutchev. The addressee of these poems is the muse and last love of the poet Elena Denisyeva. For the sake of love for Tyutchev, she sacrificed everything: her social status, the location of the family, the respect of others. Their relationship lasted a long 14 years. They were sweet and painful at the same time.

Portrait of Elena Alexandrovna Denisyeva.

Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva came from an old but impoverished noble family. Her mother died when Elena was still a child. Some time later, the father married again, but the stepmother did not like the rebellious stepdaughter too much. Therefore, the girl was urgently sent to St. Petersburg to be raised by her father's sister Anna Dmitrievna Denisyeva. She was the inspector of the Smolny Institute. This position allowed the aunt to arrange for her niece to study at the Institute of Noble Maidens.

Usually strict with the pupils, Anna Dmitrievna didted on Elena and spoiled her. She bought outfits for her niece, took her out into the world. The young beauty with perfect manners was noticed by both overgrown society lions and ardent young men.

Years of study at Smolny allowed Elena Alexandrovna to master the art of court etiquette, speak German and French without an accent, and acquire other skills necessary for the pupils. The girl was expected by a completely successful arrangement of her fate: after graduating from the Smolny Institute, she was supposed to become a maid of honor at the imperial court, if not for a big scandal, right before the release of Denisieva.

Ernestina Tyutcheva, wife of Fyodor Tyutchev. F. Dürk, 1840

The daughters of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev studied in the same class with Elena Alexandrovna, so Denisyeva was a frequent guest in his house. The poet's daughters came with their girlfriend for home tea parties. Gradually, Tyutchev began to pay more attention to the girl than etiquette required. The poet's wife saw how he was caring for a young beauty, but did not attach any importance to this. Ernestina Fedorovna, mindful of her husband's past intrigues with aristocrats, considered that his attachment to an orphan girl did not pose any threat.

Elena Denisyeva with her daughter.

In March 1851, just before graduation from Smolny and subsequent distribution to future posts, an incredible scandal erupted. It turned out that Denisyev's pupil was pregnant and would soon give birth. The director arranged for Elena Aleksandrovna to be shadowed and found out that she secretly met with Fyodor Tyutchev in a rented apartment not far from the Smolny Institute. Denisyev already in May of the same year.

Auntie was immediately expelled from her place of work, however, having appointed a generous pension, and almost everyone turned away from Elena. Her father cursed her and forbade her relatives to communicate with her daughter. Only the aunt supported her niece and took her to live with her.

Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev is a Russian poet.

Then Denisyeva was 25 years old, and Tyutchev was 47. For him, the young and stately Elena Alexandrovna was a muse, an all-consuming passion. Their painful relationship lasted for fourteen years.

Tyutchev was not going to terminate the official marriage, but he was not able to part with his beloved either. They had three children. Elena Alexandrovna forgave Tyutchev both infrequent visits and life in two families. When asked by the children about why dad is practically never at home, the woman lied that he had too much work.

Only a few weeks a year abroad, Elena Alexandrovna was truly happy. After all, no one knew her history there, and when she checked into a hotel, she resolutely called herself Madame Tyutcheva.

In Russia, Denisyeva again had to put up with the position of a half-wife, half-lover. She perfectly understood that she was engaged in self-flagellation, but she could not help herself, because she loved the poet too much.

And yet, sometimes this submissive woman could not stand it and showed her temper. When she announced that she was pregnant for the third time, Fedor Ivanovich tried to dissuade her from giving birth. Then Denisyeva, in a rage, grabbed the figurine from the table and threw it at Tyutchev with all her might. She did not hit him, but only beat off the corner of the fireplace.

Their painful relationship would have continued, but in 1864 Elena Denisyeva died suddenly of tuberculosis. Tyutchev was inconsolable.

All day she lay in oblivion -
And shadows covered all of it -
Lil warm, summer rain - its jets
The leaves sounded merry.
And slowly she came to her senses
And I started listening to the noise
And listened for a long time - passionate,
Immersed in conscious thought...
And so, as if talking to myself,
Consciously she said:
(I was with her, killed, but alive)
“Oh, how I loved all this!”
You loved, and the way you love -
t, no one has yet succeeded -
Oh Lord! .. and survive this ...
And the heart was not torn to shreds ...

Frame from the movie "The Last Love of Tyutchev" (2003)

After the death of his beloved, Tyutchev wrote to his friend: “... The memory of her is that the feeling of hunger in the hungry, insatiably hungry. I don’t live, my friend Alexander Ivanovich, I don’t live ... The wound is festering, it doesn’t heal. Whether it's cowardice, whether it's impotence, I don't care. Only with her and for her I was a person, only in her love, her boundless love for me, I was aware of myself ... Now I am something meaninglessly living, some kind of living, painful insignificance. It may also be that in some years nature in man loses its healing power, that life loses the ability to be reborn and renewed. All this can be; but believe me, my friend Alexander Ivanovich, he is the only one who is able to assess my position, who out of a thousand and one has had a terrible fate - to live fourteen years in a row, hourly, every minute, with such love as her love, and survive it.

[…] I am ready to accuse myself of ingratitude, of insensitivity, but I can’t lie: it didn’t get easier for a minute, as soon as consciousness returned. All these methods of opium numb the pain for a minute, but that's all. The effect of opium will pass, and the pain is still the same ... "

.

ELENA ALEXANDROVNA DENISIEVA. "THE TRUE HISTORY OF THE LAST MUSE".

(1826-08/04/1864 St. Petersburg)

About Elena Alexandrovna Denisyeva, the last, passionate, secret and painful love of F.I. Tyutchev, a poet and a brilliant wit - a diplomat, who was often in a low voice - they did not decide loudly - Fyodor Ivanovich was too absent-minded about his magnificent Gift, - they called him "the heir to Pushkin's traditions", almost nothing is known .. and too much is known!

She is the addressee of more than fifteen of his poems, which have become the most precious masterpieces of Russian lyrics of the second half of the nineteenth century. This is a lot for a woman who selflessly loved. And - too little for the heart, which tore itself with this Love. For almost two hundred years now we have been reading lines dedicated to her, admiring the painful and burning power of Tyutchev’s feelings for her, in fact, a very secretive person and despising all “sentimental nonsense”, we are thinking about whether such a sinful passion was justified, Is she sinful at all? We ask ourselves these questions, we try on lines familiar from the school bench to our own lives, but we rarely think about who this Woman was, what She was and how She could bewitch, attract, "enchant" for a long 14 years. "to itself such a fickle nature, longing for novelty and a change of impressions, a sharp, quickly disappointed nature, exhausting itself with a sharp and often fruitless, merciless, endless introspection? .

Let's try to recreate the hitherto hidden canvas of the short, painfully bright life that the Poet called "my living soul."

Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva was born in 1826 into an old but very impoverished noble family. She lost her mother early, with her father, Alexander Dmitrievich Denisyev, a distinguished military man, and his second wife did not develop relations almost immediately. Rebellious and quick-tempered for the new "mother" Elena was hastily sent to the capital, St. Petersburg, to be raised by her aunt, father's sister, Anna Dmitrievna Denisyeva, the senior inspector of the Smolny Institute.

The privileged position that Anna Dmitrievna, the oldest of the educators, occupied in this educational institution, famous throughout Russia, allowed her to raise a half-orphan niece on a common basis with the rest of the Smolyanka girls: the girl acquired impeccable manners, a slender posture, an excellent French-German pronunciation, full a hodgepodge in the head in the course of natural sciences and mathematics, a solid knowledge in the field of home economics and cooking, and an exorbitant ardor of the imagination, developed by reading sentimental novels and poetry at night, furtively from classy ladies and pepinieres *. (* on-duty tutors of younger girls from senior classes - author.)

Anna Dmitrievna, overly strict and dry with her subordinates and pupils, passionately became attached to her niece, in her own way: she spoiled her, that is, she began to buy her clothes, jewelry, trinkets early and take her out into the world, where she wears an elegant, graceful brunette , with an extremely expressive, characteristic face, lively brown eyes and very good manners - both experienced womanizers and ardent "archival youths" quickly drew attention (students of the historical and archival faculties of St. Petersburg and Moscow universities, representatives of ancient noble, often impoverished, families.

This nickname became a household name in general for young people who had a good, solid reputation as a person prone to science - the author), who were seriously looking for brides.

Elena Alexandrovna, with her natural mind, charm, deep thoughtfulness, seriousness - after all, the life of an orphan, whatever you say, leaves an imprint on the soul and heart - and very refined, graceful manners could count on a very good arrangement of her fate: the Smolny Institute was under tireless guardianship of the Imperial Family, and the niece, almost an adopted daughter, the honored teacher was going to be appointed by all means the maid of honor of the Court at the time of graduation!

And there, a marriage, quite decent for her years and upbringing, would have awaited Helen

(* Helen - French - author) a well-deserved reward, and the old woman - aunt could with pleasure indulge (in the shadow of her niece's family hearth) with her so beloved game of piquet, with some impeccably educated and excellently kind guest from a huge number of secular acquaintances !

Of course, Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev also belonged to such "quite secular" acquaintances.

His eldest daughters from his first marriage, Anna and Ekaterina Tyutchev, graduated from the Smolny graduation class with Elena. They were even very friendly with each other, and at first, m - lle Deniseva gladly accepted an invitation to a cup of tea in the hospitable, but a little strange house of the Tyutchevs. Strange because everyone lived their own life in it, despite reading aloud in the evenings in the brightly lit living room, frequent tea parties together, noisy family trips to theaters or balls.

Internally, everyone in this brilliantly - intelligent, deeply aristocratic - in spirit, views, worldview - family was closed and carefully hidden in his own shell of deep experiences and even "lost" in them.

A certain inner coolness always reigned in the house and the flame of love, hidden under a bushel of restraint and aristocratic coldness, never flared up in full force.

Especially confused, restless in this "half-ice atmosphere" seemed to Elena the wife of the most kind, always slightly selfishly absent-minded, Fyodor Ivanovich, delicate, very restrained Ernestine Feodorovna, nee - Baroness Pfefel, a native of Dresden.

She always tried to be inconspicuous, frowned when she was paid too much attention, according to her concepts, but the thin, graceful features of her face, huge brown eyes, always seemed to be “chilling” from the spiritual “draught” that reigned in the house, begged for more a look or a fleeting warm word addressed to her. She adored her Theodora immensely and even encouraged his passion for the graceful and lively friend of her adopted, but sincerely beloved daughters, which surprised Elena very much at first.

True, then, much later, she unraveled the skillful "secret" of Ernestina Feodorovna - she simply - simply, did not take her seriously!

Wise with brilliant secular experience, Mrs. Tyutcheva *

(* Her father, brother and first husband - Baron Dernberg - were in the service of the Bavarian royal court all their lives, and in general, their whole family was cordially friends with the name of the King of Bavaria himself, Ludwig, at whose court balls "dear Nesterle" always shone with a bright star ", as she was called in the family. - the author.) it was thought that the ardent romance - the passion of her "piit" husband for a naive young beauty - Smolyanka would be, although stormy, but short-lived, and that he was much safer than all the previous reckless " whirlwinds of passions" ee Theodora with high society aristocrats - beauties. Any of these hobbies in one minute threatened to develop into a loud scandal, and could cost her husband a court and diplomatic career.

And this could not be allowed!

But if the wife of a diplomat-poet, experienced in high-society "customs", could only imagine what kind of fire would "kindle" from a small spark of ordinary secular flirting!

The novel developed frighteningly - rapidly!

Alexander Georgievsky, the husband of Elena's half-sister, Maria Alexandrovna, recalled in 1861, when from the day of the first - and fatal! - a meeting of lovers in the reception hall of the Smolny Institute - the Tyutchevs came there to visit their daughters on a day off - ten years have passed: "Worship of female beauty and the charms of female nature was Feodor Ivanovich's constant weakness from his earliest youth, - worship, which was combined with very serious, but, as a rule, a short-lived and even very soon transient passion for one or another particular person.But in this case, his passion for Leleya * (* Elena Alexandrovna's home name - the author.) Aroused from her side such a deep, such selfless, such a passionate and energetic love that she embraced his whole being, and he remained forever her prisoner, until her very death! And then Alexander Georgievsky adds with some bitterness, already on his own behalf: “Knowing his nature, I don’t think that he has not been fond of anyone else for a long time, but these were fleeting hobbies, without any trace, Lelya is undoubtedly tied him to her with the strongest bonds": ..

Elena Alexandrovna at that time was twenty-five years old, Tyutchev - forty-seven. Their stormy relationship soon became known to the manager of the Smolny Institute, who attacked the trail of the apartment rented by Tyutchev nearby for secret meetings with Elena Alexandrovna. The scandal erupted in March 1851, almost before graduation and court appointments. Smolyanka Denisyeva at that time was already expecting a child from a poet - a chamberlain! The eldest daughter of Elena Denisyeva was born from Tyutchev on May 20, 1851 - the author.) All hopes for her career as maids of honor of the Court, and Anna Dmitrievna's aunt, as a cavalry lady, of course, were immediately forgotten!

Anna Dmitrievna was hurriedly escorted out of the institute, however, with an honorary pension - three thousand rubles a year, and poor Lelya "everyone left." (A. Georgievsky)

She almost didn't have any friends she didn't know in the world. In her new apartment, where she lived with her aunt and her newborn daughter, also Elena, only two or three friends visited her, the most devoted of them: Varvara Arsentyevna Belorukova, the class lady of Smolny, who after Elena’s death took care of the children and elderly aunt, and a few relatives.

Alexander Georgievsky wrote about Elena Alexandrovna and her Fate as follows: “It was the most difficult time in her life, her father cursed her, and did not want to see her anymore, forbidding all other relatives to see her.

Only her deep religiosity saved her from complete despair, only prayer, good works, donations to the icon of the Mother of God in the cathedral of all educational institutions near the Smolny Monastery, for which all the few decorations she had went.

It seems that Alexander Ivanovich Georgievsky is somewhat mistaken in his memoirs, speaking of the only consolation of the unfortunate woman (in the secular sense) - Elena: God and Orthodox prayers! She had another "God" - Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev and one more consolation: his Love and affection for her! She called him that: "My God." She forgave him absolutely everything: frequent absences, permanent life for two families *, (* he was not going to, and could not leave the faithful and knowledgeable Ernestina Feodorovna and the ladies-in-waiting - daughters, his service as a diplomat and chamberlain - the author) selfishness, irascibility, frequent, absent-minded inattention to her, and in the end - even semi-coldness - and even the fact that she often had to lie to children, and to all their questions:

"Where's Papa and why does he only have dinner with us once a week?" - hesitantly answer that he is in the service and very busy.

Free from sidelong glances, contemptuous pity, alienation, and all that accompanied her false position of half-wife - half-lover, Elena Alexandrovna was saved only by a short stay with Tyutchev abroad - several months a year, and even then - not every summer. There she had no need to hide from anyone, there he freely and proudly called himself: Madame Tutchef, in the hotel registration books, without hesitation, with a firm hand, in response to a courteous question from the receptionist, wrote down:

"Tutchef avec sa famille" * (Tyutchev with his family - French - author).

But - only there!

For the circle in which Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva lived in Russia, until the end of her life she was a "paria", an outcast, a stumble.

Undoubtedly, Elena Alexandrovna, very smart, sensitive to everything and understanding, knew perfectly well that she was engaged in self-deception, but her torn, too ardent heart carefully built her own "theory", thanks to which she lived all her difficult and at the same time, selfless for fourteen long years.

To Alexander Ivanovich Georgievsky, in the hour of frank and bitter confessions, shedding tears, she said this: “But I have nothing to hide and there is no need to pretend from anyone: I am more his wife than all his former wives, and no one in the world has ever seen him like this. loved and did not appreciate, as I love and appreciate him, no one has ever understood him as I understand him - every sound, every intonation of his voice, every mine and wrinkle on his face, every look and smile; I live his whole life , I am all his, and he is mine: "and the two will be one in the flesh," and I am one with him and the spirit is one: Isn't it true, - she turned to me, A. Georgievsky continues in shock, do you agree with me? After all, this is what marriage, blessed by God himself, consists in, to love each other as much as I love him and he loves me, and to be one being, and not two different beings. " How was she to say to this - Georgievsky exclaims - yes, but in a marriage that is not recognized by either the church or civil society, but in this blessing and in this recognition there is great strength, and all the falseness, all the burden of your position comes from that there is no recognition of this. I was deeply shocked by the conversation, and was murderously silent .. Lelya continued: “His previous marriage has already been annulled by the fact that he entered into this new marriage with me, and that he does not ask for a church blessing for his marriage is because he He has been married three times already, and the Church does not crown the fourth marriage, according to some kind of canonical rule! * (* This, indeed, is true: he does not marry, but, in fact, Tyutchev was married only twice, only the wedding ceremony took place in both cases, too - twice - according to the Catholic and Orthodox rites. Both his wives were Catholic - Lutheran faith. It is quite possible that Fyodor Ivanovich misled Elena Alexandrovna about his complicated family circumstances quite deliberately!

And with stunning, heart-piercing sincerity, Elena Alexandrovna ended that difficult, memorable conversation with Georgievsky, with these words: “It was pleasing to God to exalt and at the same time humble me with such a marriage, depriving us of the opportunity to ask for a church blessing on this marriage, and now I am doomed all my life to remain in this miserable and false position, from which the very death of Ernestina Feodorovna could not save me, for the fourth marriage is not blessed by the church.

at times it is bitter to mourn one's fate!"

But sometimes this restrained - quiet and deeply religious nature still could not withstand the cross of "humility and obedience to God's permission", a temperament, bright and stormy, but crushed by the bitter circumstances of life, from time to time "boiled" in her, and then in the Tyutchev family - Denisiev, there were scenes similar to the one described by Al. Georgievsky in his unpublished memoirs:

"Before the birth of his third child, Feodor Ivanovich tried to turn Lelya away from this risky step,

* (And quite rightly, for he knew for sure that illegitimate children did not have any property rights and would be equated with peasant ones. Later, after the death of the Beloved, Feodor Ivanovich had to beat the thresholds a lot, and raise a whole crowd of high-society acquaintances to their feet before he managed to attach orphans-children to noble educational institutions; this is evidenced by the documents preserved in the archives of the Muranovo estate! - the author.), but she, this loving, kind, and generally adoring Lelya, went into such a frenzy that she grabbed from the desk the first one that came across to her hand a bronze dog on malachite and with all her urine threw it at Feodor Ivanovich, but, fortunately, did not hit him, but into the corner of the stove, and beat off a large piece of tile in it: there was no end to repentance, tears and sobs of Lely after that. .

It is obvious that the jokes with Lelya were bad, - A. Georgievsky continues further. - Feodor Ivanovich himself reacted very good-naturedly to her weakness to fall into such a frenzy out of love for him; This story horrified me, in a sound mind and firm memory such violent acts are hardly possible, and I would not have expected anything like this from such a sweet, kind, educated, elegant and highly cultured woman like Lelya ..

However .. The author of the memoirs cited here so often is again mistaken! And the quietest stream can, at least for a while, but become a stormy river. Over time, the crack, the break in the relationship between Tyutchev and Denisyeva intensified, and it is not known how their fifteen years of suffering would have ended if it were not for the sudden death of Elena Alexandrovna from transient consumption in August 1864, at the age of 37 incomplete years!

Vladimir Veidle, a historian and publicist who did a lot of research and creativity and biography of Tyutchev, wrote in his brilliant psychological essays - studies analyzing the lyrical world of poetry and the very soul of the Poet:

“Tyutchev was not a“ owner ”, but he could not be possessed either. Elena Alexandrovna told him:“ You are my own ”, - but, probably, precisely because he was neither her nor anyone else, and by her very nature Hence the captivating, but also the “creepy and restless” that was in him: both in the passion itself, inexhaustible spirituality, and in the tenderness itself, something like the absence of a soul.

As if in confirmation of what Weidle said, in the poem "Do not believe, do not believe the poet!", Written back in the thirties, we read:

Your shrine will not break

The poet's clean hand

But inadvertently life will suffocate

Ile will carry away for the clouds.

A certain distance must always have been felt, a certain aloofness, a separateness. And at the same time, Tyutchev himself had a huge need for love, but a need not so much to love as to be loved. Without love there is no life; but to love for him is to recognize, to find oneself in someone else's love. In the poem of the 30th year "This day, I remember, was the morning of my life day for me ..." the poet sees a new world, a new life begins for him, not because he fell in love, as for Dante - incipit vita nova *, ( *beginning of a new life - author) - but because

Love confession golden

burst from her chest,

that is, the world was transformed the minute the poet found out that he was loved. With such an experience of love, it is not surprising that those who loved Tyutchev remained unsatisfied with his love; it is also not surprising that for him there was fidelity, which did not exclude betrayal, and betrayal, which did not exclude fidelity. The intimacy once realized no longer disappeared from his memory and imagination, but the need for love, for someone else's love for him, was so inexhaustible, so insatiable that Tyutchev was looking for more and more new intimacy. The theme of false fidelity and love of others for him runs through his whole life and is reflected in his poetry. "V. Weidle. "Tyutchev's Last Love" But the crisis of the Poet's relationship with his last Love looms best in Tyutchev's bitter confession to the same A. I. Georgievsky, sent a few months after the death of Elena Alexandrovna:

You know how, with all her highly poetic nature, or rather, thanks to her, she did not put a penny on poetry, even mine, and she liked only those of them where my love for her was expressed, expressed publicly and publicly This is what she cherished, so that the whole world would know what she [was] for me: this was her highest not only pleasure, but spiritual demand, the vital condition of her soul ... I remember once in Baden, walking, she spoke of her desire that I should seriously take up the secondary edition of my poems, and confessed so sweetly, with such love, that how gratifying it would be for her if her name (not a name that she did not know) stood at the head of this publication. loved, but she), and what - will you believe this? - instead of gratitude, instead of love and adoration, I, I don’t know why, expressed some kind of disagreement, dislike to her, it somehow seemed to me that something like that was on her part the demand is not entirely generous, that, knowing to what extent I am all of her ("you are my own", as she g yelled), she had nothing, there was no need to wish for other printed statements that could upset or offend other personalities. This was followed by one of those scenes, all too well known to you, which more and more undermined her life and brought us - her to Volkovo Pole, and me - to something that has no name in any human language. O! How right she was in her most extreme demands, how truly she foresaw what was bound to happen in my stupid misunderstanding of what constituted her vital condition! How many times did she tell me that the time of terrible, merciless, inexorably desperate repentance would come for me, but that it would be too late. I listened and did not understand; I probably thought that just as her love was boundless, so her vitality was inexhaustible, and so vulgarly, so vilely, to all her cries and moans, I answered her with this stupid phrase: "You want the impossible!" Whether Elena Alexandrovna was right or not, the torment was undeniable.

So fourteen years passed. In the end, Elena Alexandrovna fell ill a lot (she was tuberculosis). Her letters to her sister, relating to the last year and a half of her life, have been preserved. It is in them that she calls Tyutchev "my God", and in them she compares him with the unentertained French king. It also appears from them that in the last summer of her life, her daughter, Lyolya, almost every evening went with her father to ride on the Islands. He treated her to ice cream; they returned home late. Elena Alexandrovna was both pleased and saddened by this: she remained alone in the stuffy room or in the company of some compassionate lady who volunteered to visit her. That summer, Tyutchev especially wanted to go abroad, he was weary of Petersburg; we know this from his letters to his wife. But then he suffered a blow from which he never recovered to death.

During the life of Elena Alexandrovna, she was the victim of their love; after her death, Tyutchev became a victim. Perhaps he loved her too little, but he could not live without her love. We definitely hear him say: "Your love, yours, not mine, but without this yours there is no life, there is no me myself." J. Keats had an insight that it is common for a poet to be deprived of a clearly defined, convex personality; this applies more to Tyutchev than to any other of the Russian poets.

Back in 1851, he complained to his wife: “I feel that my letters are the most vulgar and sad. They say nothing and look like windows smeared in the summer, through which nothing is visible and which indicate departure and absence. the misfortune of being so completely devoid of personality." Much later, three years after the death of Elena Alexandrovna, he wrote to another correspondent: "Thanks to my low-energy and unstable personality, it seems to me that there is nothing more natural than to lose sight of me."

And two months after her death, in a letter to Georgievsky, he gave the key to his entire fate: "Only with her and for her I was a person, only in her love" ... I was aware of myself.

Elena Alexandrovna died in St. Petersburg or at a dacha near St. Petersburg on August 4, 1864. She was buried at the Volkovo cemetery. On her grave was a cross, now broken, with an inscription consisting of dates of birth and death and the words: "Elena - I believe, Lord, and I confess." About her dying days and hours and about Tyutchev's despair, verses speak:

All day she lay in oblivion -

And shadows covered all of it -

Lil warm, summer rain - its jets

The leaves sounded merry.

And slowly she came to her senses -

And I started listening to the noise

And listened for a long time - passionate,

Immersed in conscious thought...

And so, as if talking to myself,

Consciously she said:

(I was with her, killed, but alive)

"Oh, how I loved all this!"

You loved, and the way you love -

t, no one has yet succeeded -

Oh Lord! .. and survive this ...

And my heart didn't break into pieces...

On the day after the funeral, Tyutchev wrote to Georgievsky: "It's all over ... Yesterday we buried her ... What is it? What happened? What I'm writing to you about - I don't know ... Everything is killed in me: thoughts, feelings, memory "That's it... I feel like a complete idiot. Emptiness, terrible emptiness. And even in death I do not foresee relief. Oh, I need it on earth, and not there somewhere... My heart is empty, my brain is exhausted. Even to think about her, to call her alive in my memory, how she was, looked, spoke, and I can’t do it. Terrible, unbearable ... I can no longer write, and what to write? .. "

Five days later, he wrote to him: "Oh, come, come, for God's sake, and the sooner, the better. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Perhaps "..." you will be able, at least for a few minutes, to lift this terrible burden , this burning stone that presses and suffocates me ... The most unbearable thing in my present situation is that with all possible tension of thoughts, relentlessly, relentlessly, I keep thinking about her, and yet I cannot catch her ... Simple madness would be more gratifying... But... I still can't write about it, I don't want to; how can I express such horror..."

By the same time, probably, an excerpt from a letter to an unknown addressee, reported at one time by F.F. Tyutchev, the son of Elena Alexandrovna: “My state of mind is terrible. Day after day, I languish more and more in a gloomy bottomless abyss ... The meaning of my life is lost, and nothing else exists for me. What I feel cannot be expressed in words and if my last day came, I would greet it as a day of liberation ... My dear friend, life here on earth is impossible for me. And if "she" exists anywhere, she should take pity on me and take me to myself..."

Fet visited Tyutchev in those days and spoke about it in his memoirs: “Silently shaking hands, Tyutchev invited me to sit next to the sofa on which he was reclining. He must have been feverish and shivering in a warm room from sobs, since he was all He was covered up to his head with a dark gray plaid, from under which only one exhausted face was visible. There is nothing to say at such a time. A few minutes later I shook his hand and quietly left."

It was impossible to stay in Petersburg. Tyutchev wanted to go to the Georgievskys in Moscow, but changed his mind, perhaps due to the call of his wife, and at the end of the month went to her, abroad. Through Germany, stopping several times along the way, he went to Switzerland, and from there to the French Riviera. Turgenev, who saw him in Baden, wrote to Countess Lambert: "I saw F.I. Tyutchev here, who was very sad that he did not see you. His condition is very painful and sad. You probably know why."

Remembering this time, Anna Feodorovna Tyutcheva, the maid of honor of Empress Maria Alexandrovna and the tutor of the little princess, wrote in her diary: “I took communion in Schwalbach. On the day of communion, I woke up at six in the morning and got up to pray. I felt the need to pray with a special diligence for my father and for Helen D. During mass, the thought of them again came to me with great vivacity. A few weeks later I learned that on that very day and at that hour Elena D. had died. I saw my father again in Germany "He was in a state close to insanity. What days of moral torture I experienced! Then I met him again in Nice, then he was less excited, but still plunged into the same painful grief, into the same despair from the loss of earthly joys , without the slightest glimpse of striving for something heavenly. With all the strength of his soul, he was chained to that earthly passion, the object of which was gone. And this grief, ever increasing, passed into despair, which was not accessible to the consolations of religion and brought him, by nature affectionate and just, to irritation, barbs and injustice towards his wife and towards all of us. I saw that my younger sister, who is now with him, suffered terribly. How many memories and painful impressions of the past have resurrected in me! I felt engulfed in hopeless suffering. I could no longer believe that God would come to the rescue of his soul, whose life had been wasted in earthly and illicit passion."

In early October, from Geneva, Tyutchev wrote to Georgievsky: “... The memory of her is that the feeling of hunger in the hungry, insatiably hungry. It doesn’t live, my friend Alexander Ivanovich, it doesn’t live ... The wound fester, it doesn’t heal. Be it faint-heartedness, whether it be impotence, I don't care, only in her presence and for her I was a person, only in her love, her boundless love for me, I was aware of myself ... Now I am something meaninglessly living, some kind of living, painful It may be that in some years nature in man loses its healing power, that life loses the ability to be reborn, renewed. All this may be; but believe me, my friend Alexander Ivanovich, he is only able to assess my situation, to whom out of a thousand one, a terrible fate fell - to live fourteen years in a row, hourly, every minute, with such love as her love, and outlive it ... Now everything is known, everything is decided; now I am convinced by experience that there is nothing in me of this terrible emptiness fill in. What I have tried in those the meaning of these last weeks: both society, and nature, and, finally, the closest kindred affections; Sasha (Prince A.M. Meshcherskaya), her participation in my grief. I am ready to accuse myself of ingratitude, of insensitivity, but I can’t lie: it didn’t get easier for a minute, as soon as consciousness returned. All these methods of opium numb the pain for a minute, but that's all. The effect of opium will pass, and the pain is still the same ... "

Tyutchev's state of mind, as can be seen from the notes of his eldest daughter, could not but upset and irritate his family members. However, Darya Feodorovna was hardly right when she wrote in November from Nice to her younger sister in Moscow: “Dad has a healthy look. He leaves home for the whole day. When he does not think about it, he has fun. However, he wants to appear sad ..." Tyutchev really tried to have fun. In Lausanne, in Ouchy, in Montreux, he visited friends, went to lectures and to the theater, from Geneva he traveled with a large company to Ferney. The shores of Lake Geneva have long been dear to him. But it wasn't easy to forget about it. Once, returning home from a sermon by Bishop Mermilho, he dictated to his youngest daughter, Maria, to whose diary we owe information about Tyutchev's pastimes abroad, the verses:

The biza subsided ... Breathe easier

Azure host of Geneva waters -

And the boat sails on them again,

And again the swan sways them.

All day, like in summer, the sun warms,

The trees shine with variegation -

And the air is a gentle wave

Their splendor cherishes the decrepit.

And there, in solemn peace,

Exposed in the morning -

Shining white mountain

Like an unearthly revelation.

Here the heart would forget everything,

I would forget all my flour,

Whenever there - in his native land -

There was one grave less...

On the way from Geneva to Nice, Tyutchev examined Lyon, Marseille, Toulon, Cannes. In Nice, he tried to have fun, as in Geneva, he rode around the neighborhood, saw many acquaintances and friends. But on December 8, he wrote to Polonsky: “My friend Yakov Petrovich! You asked me in your letter to write to you when I feel better, and that’s why I haven’t written to you until today. Why I’m writing to you now, I don’t know. because everything is the same in the soul, and that this is the same - there are no words for this. A man was given a cry for suffering, but there are sufferings that even a cry does not completely express ... From the minute I met you last summer in the Summer Garden and for the first time spoke to you about what disgusted me, and to this moment, if a year ago everything I experienced and felt I dreamed with some vividness, then it seems to me that, without waking up, I immediately on the spot and died of fright. Perhaps there was no human organization better organized than mine for the most complete perception of a certain kind of sensations. Even during her lifetime, when I happened to be in her presence, in front of her, I vividly recall something from our past, I remember what a terrible longing my whole soul was then poisoned, and at the same time I, I remember saying to her: "My God, it may happen that all these memories - all this, that even now, already now it's so terrible - one of us will have to repeat to the lonely one, having outlived the other," - but this thought pierced the soul and disappeared immediately. And now? My friend, now everything has been tried, nothing has helped, nothing has consoled me, I can’t live, I can’t live ... Only one need is still felt, hurry to you, where there is still something left of her, her children, friends, all her poor domestic life, where there was so much love and so much grief, but all this is so alive, so full of her, so that for that day, lived with her, then my life, I would gladly buy, but at the price - at the price of what ? This torture, every minute torture, this fate, what life has now become for me ... Oh, my friend Yakov Petrovich, it’s hard, terribly hard, I know you experienced part of it yourself, part, but not all. You were young, you are not fourteen years old ... (Tyutchev did not add it - ed.) Once again I am drawn to St. Petersburg, although I know and foresee that there too ... but at least there will not be that terrible split in the soul, which is here. Here there is even nowhere to shelter my grief ... I would almost like to be called to Petersburg in the name of our committee, for which, it seems, there is also a reason - due to Komarovsky's ill health - what is he, poor? It will be very, very gratifying to see you, my dear Yakov Petrovich. Say the same for me and Maikov. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart for your friendship and I value it much, much... The Lord is with you. Sorry and see you soon. F. Tyutchev".

Two days later, he writes to Georgievsky: “My friend Alexander Ivanovich! That moment was fatal for me when I changed my intention to go to Moscow with you ... This completely ruined myself. What happened to me? now? Is there anything left of that former me that you once, in some other world, there, in her presence, knew and loved - I don’t know. Some kind of burning, vague memory remains of all this, but also she often changes, only one thing is inherent and relentless - this feeling of boundless, endless, suffocating emptiness. Oh, how scared I am of myself ... But wait ... I am not able to continue now. How long have I been rushing and struggling with the thought, whether to write to you or not... Woe like mine is the same leprosy. illnesses that simply repel participation and must close in and complete their process inside a person...

At the end of November or in December, poems were written:

Oh, this south, oh, this Nice! ..

Oh, how their brilliance disturbs me!

Life is like a shot bird

Wants to get up but can't...

There is no flight, no span -

Broken wings hang

And all of her, clinging to the dust,

Trembling with pain and impotence ...

Tyutchev sent this and two previous poems to Georgievsky in early December. “You know,” he wrote, “how I have always abhorred these pseudo-poetic profanations of inner feeling, this shameful exhibition of my heart ulcers. My God, my God. But what is there in common between poetry, prose, literature, the whole external world and that ... terrible, inexpressibly unbearable, what is happening in my soul at this very moment - this life, which I have been living for the fifth month now and about which I have as little idea as about our afterlife, and it is - remember, remember her, she is my life, with whom it was so good to live, so easy and so gratifying, she now doomed me to these inexpressible hellish torments ... "

At the end of January, Tyutchev was, according to his daughter, unwell and full of sad forebodings. The Mediterranean could not heal his sadness. In early February, he married his daughter, and a month later he left with his wife for Russia. On the way, he stopped for ten days in Paris, saw friends there, dined with Herzen (who wrote to Ogarev: "Tyutchev is even more honey and milk") and once again spoke about his grief with Turgenev, who later recalled: "We, in order to talk , went into a cafe on the boulevard and, asking themselves out of decency for ice cream, sat down under a trellis of ivy. I was silent all the time, and Tyutchev spoke in a painful voice, and the chest of his shirt at the end of the story turned out to be wet from the tears falling on it ... "

In the last days of March, still in a very depressed state of mind, he returned to St. Petersburg. Here they demanded poems from him on the occasion of the hundredth anniversary of the death of Lomonosov, which was celebrated on April 4, and on the eve of that day he sent them to Maikov with a note: “Here you are, my friend Apollo Nikolaevich, a few poor rhymes for your holiday, in my current disposition not I can do more."

Soon another loss was to befall him. Tuberculosis, inherited from her mother, fell ill with the eldest daughter of Elena Alexandrovna, Lelya, who bore her father's surname, like her two brothers (all three were adopted by Tyutchev with the consent of his wife Ernestina Feodorovna). The girl was fourteen years old. In the winter, when Tyutchev was abroad, there was a nuisance that took a heavy toll on her health. At a reception at the famous boarding house madame Truba, where she was brought up, some lady unfamiliar with Tyutchev's family circumstances asked her how her mother was doing, meaning Ernestina Fedorovna. When Lyolya Tyutcheva understood the reason for the misunderstanding, she ran home to A.D. Denisyeva and announced that she would not return to the boarding house. She had a nervous attack, and by the spring transient consumption was discovered, on May 2 she died, and on the same day her little brother Kolya, who was not even three years old, died. Only five-year-old Fedya survived and outlived his father by many years. He studied at a prestigious institution - the Katkov Lyceum, and for a long time was in the care of the eldest daughter of the poet, Anna Feodorovna Tyutcheva and her husband Ivan Sergeevich Aksakov.

Two years later, on a completely different occasion, which did not concern him personally, Tyutchev wrote to his wife: "Here is the difference between physical and spiritual wounds: the former add up to each other, while the latter most often exclude each other." Perhaps this thought was the fruit of his own experience, what he experienced that spring, after returning from Nice to Petersburg. It can be assumed that this new double loss did not so much become a new grief for Tyutchev, but deepened and prolonged the old one. During these days he wrote "There is a melodiousness in the waves of the sea...". P.V. Bykov, who saw him at the same time, recalled half a century later: “Tyutchev at that time was terribly depressed by the loss of his daughter and the person he loved dearly. I expressed my condolences to him. He thanked me almost with tears and said:“ There are no limits to my suffering, and there is no higher love for the one that gave me so much happiness. Have you experienced such a state when the whole being is permeated, every vein, with this all-encompassing feeling? “And if the afterlife is given to us,” as Baratynsky says, I console myself only with an afterlife meeting ... But this consolation still does not reconcile with reality ... ”Then he wrote to Polonsky in response to his poems:

There is a dead night in me and there is no morning for it ...

And soon it will fly away - invisible in the darkness -

The last, meager smoke from an extinct fire.

True, a week after these lines, a madrigal poem dedicated to N.S. Akinfieva, but it only testifies to the need in society, especially women's, which Tyutchev never left. Under this cover of tenderness, sociability, talkativeness, complete emptiness continued to gape, which received its deepest expression in the verses "There is also in my suffering stagnation ...". The deadness of the soul, dull melancholy, the impossibility of realizing oneself are opposed in them to burning, but living suffering, just as during the life of Elena Alexandrovna, the power of her love was opposed to the inability to love that the poet experienced when he recognized himself as "your living soul a lifeless idol" .

At the end of June, he writes to M.A. Georgievskaya: "I must confess that since that time there has not been a single day that I would not start without some amazement, how a person continues to live, although his head was cut off and his heart was torn out." He commemorated two anniversaries that summer with mournful verses: on July 15 in St. Petersburg he wrote "Today, friend, fifteen years have passed ...", and on August 3 in Ovstug:

Here I am wandering along the high road

In the quiet light of the fading day,

It's hard for me, my legs freeze ...

My dear friend, do you see me?

Everything is darker, darker above the ground -

The last reflection of the day has flown away...

This is the world where we lived with you,

My angel, do you see me?

Tomorrow is a day of prayer and sorrow

Tomorrow is the memory of a fateful day...

My angel, wherever souls hover,

My angel, do you see me?

This month Tyutchev was especially hard. Relatives note his irritability: he wanted them to show more participation in his grief. On August 16, he writes to M.A. Georgievskaya: “My vile nerves are so upset that I can’t hold a pen in my hands ...”, and at the end of September she was from St. in verses to gr. Bludovoy will say that "surviving does not mean living." "There is no day that the soul does not ache ..." written in the same year in late autumn. The next spring, Tyutchev did not want to go abroad and wrote to the Georgievskys: "It is even more empty there. I have already experienced this in practice." In the summer of the same year, he complained from Tsarskoye to his wife: “I am becoming more and more unbearable every day, my usual irritation is greatly facilitated by the fatigue that I experience in the pursuit of all kinds of fun and not to see a terrible emptiness in front of me.”

Of course, time, as they say, "did its job." Another year has passed. The mention of Elena Alexandrovna in the correspondence disappears. But it is known that in the autumn of this year, at one of the meetings of the Council of the Main Directorate for the Press, of which he was a member, Tyutchev was very upset and drew or wrote something with a pencil on a piece of paper lying on the table in front of him. After the meeting, he left in thought, leaving a piece of paper. One of his colleagues, Count Kapnist, noticed that instead of business notes there were lines of poetry. He took the sheet and kept it in memory of Tyutchev:

No matter how hard the last hour -

That incomprehensible to us

The languor of mortal suffering, -

But even worse for the soul

Watch how they die in it

All the best memories.

Another Petersburg winter passed, then spring ... In June, Tyutchev wrote:

Again I stand over the Neva,

And again, as in the old days,

I look, as if alive,

To these slumbering waters.

No sparks in the blue sky

All was quiet in a pale charm,

Only along the thoughtful Neva

A pale glow emanates.

In a dream, do I dream all this,

Or do I really look

On what with the same moon

Did we look alive with you?

This should be taken literally. He did not have enough life, and he did not have long to live. He died in July 1873 (In the essay on Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna, I erroneously indicated: April 1873 - the author!)

Even in his latest hobbies: romantic letters to Baroness Elena Karlovna Uslar - Bogdanova, madrigals to Nadezhda Akinfieva - Gorchakova, half-joking poetic lines to the Grand Duchess Elena Pavlovna, there is only a "glow", the light breath of Tyutchev's last Lyubov, her flashes and shadows: This is - only an attempt to fill that heart emptiness that was formed in the soul of the Poet after the departure of the Beloved Woman. This is so natural for the Poet.. So understandable. But so bitter!

* In one of the recent publications in the periodical press, I came across a note that a chapel was built next to the grave of Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva at the Volkovo cemetery.

Whether the cross with the date of birth of the Last Muse of the Poet was restored on it was not reported .. I still don’t know when she was born ...

"Copyright: Svetlana Makarenko (Princess), 2007

19. 07. 2011 306

Here I am wandering along the high road
In the quiet light of the fading day,
It's hard for me, my legs freeze ...
My dear friend, do you see me?

Everything is darker, darker above the ground -
The last reflection of the day has flown away...
This is the world where we lived with you,

Tomorrow is a day of prayer and sorrow
Tomorrow is the memory of a fateful day...
My angel, no matter where you are,
My angel, do you see me?
F.I. Tyutchev, "On the eve of the anniversary of August 4, 1864"

Elena Alexandrovna Deniseva

It's not for us to judge

how complex and inexplicable is the path of love, on what invisible strings the music of attraction sounds over it, how strong is the note of passion in this melody and how firmly it is intertwined with the impulse of the heart.

In different destinies, this appears in its own way, and sometimes the external look turns to the feelings of lovers and lovers with condemnation, and foreign languages ​​\u200b\u200bare ready to disgrace these feelings, especially if they result in a long-term relationship.

This happened to the woman to whom the lines of the poem from the epigraph are addressed. Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva was born in Kursk into an old noble family, however, pretty impoverished by the time she was born. The girl lost her mother early, and her father's remarriage led to growing problems in the couple's relationship with Renk.

Elena was sent to St. Petersburg in the care of her aunt, the senior inspector of the Smolny Institute, who quickly became attached to her niece, bought women's toilets and jewelry, and began to bring out early. A young girl with good manners, good looks and a remarkable mind was noticed and began to enjoy the attention of men, which promised her the possibility of a successful marriage. But…

Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev

Together with Elena in Smolny, the two eldest daughters of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev, a poet and diplomat, were brought up. He, by that time already married a second time, had some kind of magical influence on all the ladies he met in his life. Our heroine was no exception. But F.I. Tyutchev could not resist the charm of the charming E.A. Deniseva. The passion that flared up in both led them into each other's arms. And while she remained a secret for secular society, nothing prevented meetings. She was 24, he was 47.

However, there was a scandal when, just before graduation and court appointments
it turned out that the pupil of Smolny was expecting a rank. Auntie was hurriedly escorted out of the institute, having appointed a pension. Almost all relatives and acquaintances abandoned Elena herself, and her father cursed her daughter. But just Alexandra Dmitrievna Denisyeva, an aunt who lost her prestigious job, did not leave the young woman, settling with her, and even a classy lady from Smolny, Varvara Arsentyevna Belorukova, visited the ladies rejected by society, taking care of them for many years.

E.A. Denisyeva with her daughter Elena Tyutcheva

Despite everything, Lelya Denisyeva did not break off relations with her beloved man, and a strange love triangle existed for fourteen years, until the death of E.A. Deniseva. She gave birth to F.I. Tyutchev three children, and he gave them his last name with the consent of his legal wife Ernestina, who was aware of her husband's relationship with another woman. Relations in this unofficial couple were completely cloudless. Exhausted Lelya could throw a scene to her lover, but she could not refuse him. And he, despite these scenes, also could not imagine life without her.

Elena Alexandrovna died of consumption on August 4, 1864 at the age of 37, and soon the eldest daughter, also Elena, and her youngest son Nikolai, who was less than three years old, died of this disease. Only his son Fedor survived, who then lived a long life.

F.I. Tyutchev, who adored two women for almost a decade and a half and therefore did not make a choice between them, dedicated the most poignant cycle of poems to his insane passion for his Lela, among which are the well-known “Oh, how deadly we love ...”, “Don’t say: he, like me, before, loves ... "," What did you pray with love ... "," I knew the eyes - oh, these eyes! .. "," Last love "and others.

One of them describes the dying hours of a woman who put her whole life on the altar of love, and not just prosperity and secular approval:

All day she lay in oblivion -
And shadows covered all of it -
Lil warm, summer rain - its jets
The leaves sounded merry.
And slowly she came to her senses
And I started listening to the noise
And listened for a long time - passionate,
Immersed in conscious thought...
And so, as if talking to myself,
Consciously she said:
(I was with her, killed, but alive)
“Oh, how I loved all this!”
You loved, and the way you love -
No, no one has yet succeeded -
Oh Lord! .. and survive this ...
And the heart was not torn to shreds ...

And even many years after meeting with Elena Alexandrovna, the poet will still turn to her:

Today, friend, fifteen years have passed
From that blissfully fateful day
How she breathed her whole soul,
How she poured everything into me ...

It is not for us to judge the love story, and the language does not dare to call the anal word "romance". But today, the fourth of August, you can remember about it ...

Valentina Ponomareva

Tyutchev became a master of love lyrics, each of his poems accurately conveys the emotions and worldview of a person in love, creates a special mood and influences readers. The most romantic and successful is the "Denisiev cycle", dedicated to the poet's beloved woman - Elena Aleksandrovna Denisyeva.

In July 1850, Tyutchev met Elena Denisyeva, a pupil of the Smolny Institute for Noble Maidens. During these years, he creates a cycle of poems - masterpieces of love lyrics - addressed to Denisyeva, a kind of "novel in verse", in which the poet spoke about a proud young woman who challenged secular society.

All poems of the "Denisevsky cycle" in chronological order

Send, Lord, your consolation
To the one who in the summer heat and heat
Like a poor beggar past the garden
Wandering on a hard pavement -

Who looks casually through the fence
To the shade of the trees, the grass of the valleys,
To inaccessible coolness
Luxurious, bright meadows.

Not hospitable for him
The trees have grown into a canopy,
Not for him, like a smoky cloud,
The fountain hung in the air.

Azure grotto, as if from fog,
In vain his gaze beckons,
And the dewy dust of the fountain
His head will not dawn.

Send, Lord, your consolation
To the one who is the path of life
Like a poor beggar past the garden
Wandering along the sultry pavement.

And again the star plays
In the light swell of the Neva waves,
And again love entrusts
Her mysterious boat.

And between the swell and the star
He glides as if in a dream,
And two ghosts with me
It carries away on a wave.

Children, is it idle laziness
Spend your leisure time here at night?
Ile blessed two shadows
Leave the earthly world?

You, spilled like the sea,
fluffy wave,
Shelter in your space
The secret of the humble boat!

No matter how hot noon breathes
Through a broken window
In this temple of peace,
Where everything is quiet and dark

Where are the living incense
Wandering in the dark shadow
In the sweet twilight half-asleep
Dive in and rest.

Here the fountain is indefatigable
Day and night singing in the corner
And sprinkles with invisible dew
Enchanted darkness.

And in the twinkling half-light,
Busy with a secret passion
Here the poet in love
A light dream blows.

Under the breath of bad weather,
Swollen, darkened waters
And turned to lead -
And through their harsh gloss
The evening is overcast and crimson
Shines with a rainbow beam

Throws golden sparks,
Sow fire roses,
And - the stream carries them away ...
Above the wave of dark azure
The evening is fiery and stormy
Breaks his wreath...

Do not say: he loves me, as before,
Me, as before, cherishes ...
Oh no! He destroys my life inhumanly,
Though, I see the knife in his hand is trembling.

Now in anger, now in tears, yearning, indignant,
Passionate, wounded in the soul,
I suffer, I do not live ... by him, by him alone I live -
But this life!.. Oh, how bitter it is!

He measures the air for me so carefully and meagerly...
They don’t measure like this to a fierce enemy ...
Oh, I'm still breathing painfully and hard,
I can breathe, but I can't live.

How many times have you heard the confession:
"I'm not worthy of your love."
Let her be my creation -
But how poor I am in front of her...

Before your love
It hurts me to remember myself -
I stand, I am silent, I revere
And I bow to you...

When sometimes it's so sweet
With such faith and prayer
Involuntarily bend your knee
Before the cradle dear,

Where she sleeps - your birth -
Your nameless cherub, -
Understand well and you my humility
Before your loving heart.

Oh, how deadly we love

We are the most likely to destroy
What is dear to our heart!

How long have you been proud of your victory?
You said she's mine...
A year has not passed - ask and tell,
What is left of her?

Where did the roses go,
The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?
All scorched, burned tears
Its combustible moisture.

Do you remember when you met
At the first meeting fatal,
Her magical eyes and speeches
And the laughter of a child is alive?

And now what? And where is all this?
And was the dream durable?
Alas, like northern summer,
He was a passing guest!

Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She lay down on her life!

A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!
In her soul depth
She had memories...
But they changed it too.

And on the ground she became wild,
The charm is gone...
The crowd, surging, trampled into the mud
That which bloomed in her soul.

And what about long torment,
Like ashes, did she manage to save?
Pain, the evil pain of bitterness,
Pain without joy and without tears!

Oh, how deadly we love!
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are the most likely to destroy
What is dearer to our heart! ..

The sun is shining, the waters are shining,
A smile on everything, life in everything,
The trees tremble with joy
Swimming in the blue sky

The trees sing, the waters sparkle,
Love dissolves the air
And the world, the blossoming world of nature,
Intoxicated by the abundance of life.

But in excess of ecstasy
There is no stronger rapture
One smile of tenderness
Your tortured soul...

O my prophetic soul!
Oh heart full of anxiety
Oh how you beat on the threshold
As if a double existence!..

So, you are a resident of two worlds,
Your day is painful and passionate
Your dream is prophetically obscure,
Like a revelation of spirits...

Let the suffering chest
Fatal passions excite -
The soul is ready, like Mary,
To cling to the feet of Christ forever.

All day she lay in oblivion,
And shadows covered it all.
Lil warm summer rain - its jets
The leaves sounded merry.

And slowly she came to her senses
And I started listening to the noise
And listened for a long time - passionate,
Immersed in conscious thought...

And so, as if talking to myself,
Consciously she spoke
(I was with her, killed, but alive):
"Oh, how I loved all this!"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You loved, and the way you love -
No, nobody has succeeded yet!
Oh my God! .. and survive it ...

When there is no God's consent,
No matter how she suffers, loving, -
The soul, alas, will not suffer happiness,
But he can hurt himself...

Soul, soul that is whole
One cherished surrendered to love
And she alone breathed and hurt,
Lord bless you!

He, merciful, almighty,
He, warming with his beam
And a lush flower blooming in the air,
And a pure pearl at the bottom of the sea.

How she poured herself into me.

And now a year, without complaints, without reproach,
Having lost everything, I salute fate...
To be so terribly lonely until the end
How I will be alone in my coffin.

There is not a day that the soul does not ache,
I would not languish about the past,
I searched for words, I did not find,
And dried up, dried up every day, -

Like one who is burning with longing
Languished on the edge of his native
And suddenly I would know that a wave
He is buried at the bottom of the sea.

These poems were written under the influence of sudden, strong and destructive love. The cycle began to describe not only love itself, but also how it can be perceived by others, a motif of suffering appeared, which was not characteristic of early work.

From the biography

At the age of 47, the poet met a young graduate of the Institute of Noble Maidens. By that time, Tyutchev was already known as a poet and a family man. He had a wife and children, but this could not keep the passion for Elena, who was almost the same age as his daughters. A forbidden passion flared up between an adult poet and a 24-year-old girl.

The novel lasted for 14 years and became disastrous for the young Elena. Society could not accept such an open display of feelings. They talked about Tyutchev and his chosen one everywhere, they were no longer accepted in the world. Even Denisyeva's father abandoned his daughter. For the girl, it was a hard blow. Her character has changed a lot. Elena became irritable and nervous, but did not leave her beloved.

Their love continued to blossom despite the condemnation of society. Tyutchev understood what he had done and how he ruined the life of a young girl, but he could not do anything.

Soon Elena fell ill with tuberculosis and quickly fell ill. Fyodor Ivanovich sat with her until his death. By that time, they already had three children, whom Tyutchev recognized and recorded under his last name.

The poet well remembered the last day of his beloved's life. She carefully examined all the objects around the bed, as if she understood that she would soon die. This served as a powerful impetus for writing a special cycle, which was supposed to reflect the full severity of their love.

When Elena died, Fedor Ivanovich could not come to his senses for a long time. He continued to work on poems and often wrote to friends, saying that he missed Elena. Soon the poet returned to his family and finished the cycle, which reflected his feelings and guilt for everything that had happened. The poems, supported by feelings, turned out to be strong and reproached the society that could not accept such love.

Features of the "Denisiev cycle"

Some literary scholars believe that the cycle is very similar to a novel in verse. It can be divided into chapters, stitched together by a common idea and theme. The poems were based on the author's real experiences and real feelings for Elena. Almost the entire "novel" tells about hard love. In some poems Denisyeva herself acts as a lyrical hero and everything is told on her behalf.

The cycle reflected all the stages of the joint life of lovers. Tyutchev sought to describe how love can be both good and terrible evil. It in itself inspires and destroys everything that has been built before. Fedor Ivanovich did not forget to mention the society that controls these feelings and evaluates them. Every step of the lovers is tracked and spread by gossip. Judgment and discussion everywhere - makes love become poison to the weakest of the couple.

The cycle is characterized by the comparison of love with natural phenomena, the chanting of feelings and emotions, the depiction of romantic moments. The poems can be divided into two parts: some describe the tragic side of falling in love, all the troubles and obstacles that are encountered on the way, others describe the depth and tenderness of forbidden feelings.

The heroes of the cycle seem to oppose the whole world at once, which sets itself the goal of destroying the union. Society is portrayed as a combination of barriers and anger, it is not able to understand motives and forgive passion. Heroes have to defend their right to happiness. Together they are both happy and unhappy at the same time. They understand everything that is happening and are lost in feelings. They are able to rationally reason and assess the situation, but they cannot help themselves.

In some poems of the cycle, the word “fatal” is constantly repeated, creating the necessary shade, indicating the peculiarity of the relationship of the main characters, their doom. The poet seems to curse and at the same time rejoices at that day, the meeting, the merger, the look that brought him to Elena. Merging these words with the epithet "fatal", he gives his own assessment of what is happening, focuses on the reality of the experienced feelings.

The entire cycle consists of romantic poems depicting his relationship with Elena Alexandrovna, but there are also deeply tragic ones among them. The last poems describe the sadness of losing a loved one. The poet even depicted the last day of his beloved's life, her every movement and the shadows that enveloped the dying.

The cycle ends with parting poems. They describe the difficult fate of Elena, her premature death and regret. The poet says that many years have passed, but he still could not forget his beloved. His soul dries up and languishes without support, wants to find its former strength, but can no longer do it.

Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev was able to describe all the experiences and excitement that a person experiences throughout a relationship. This is the joy of a first date, and romantic everyday life, and even farewell to love and the bitterness of loneliness.

The cycle is rightfully considered a novel in verse, because it has character development and action that inexorably leads to the destruction of the family and complete loneliness. You can even find a force that hinders the achievement of happiness - the opinion of the public, which, as if with its own hands, brought the weakest - Elena - to the grave.

Analysis of the poem "Oh, how deadly we love ..."

The poem "Oh, how deadly we love ..." sets the tone for the entire cycle. The first line gives an impetus to the beginning of the love story and at the same time completes the whole cycle. The poem can be called the first and last, because it identifies not only the main problems, but also shows the whole life of a man in love.

It can be conditionally divided into three parts, which are interconnected. First, the poet draws attention to his memories, which torment the soul. A lot of guessing and trying to find answers to difficult questions that make him vulnerable. He seems to be confused in himself and now cannot understand what was for the better and what was for the worse.

In the second part of the poem, the hero already knows the answers. He survived the first and most difficult stage of falling in love. Now he has confidence in the future. He understands exactly how it all happened. The hero confidently tells the reader about how and what happened. He no doubt describes everything that happened and easily talks about the decision that changed his life.

In the third part, all previous stories are evaluated. The hero talks about the results of his destructive love, shows it for what it is, but does not want to change anything. He is still confident in himself and his innocence. However, the last lines make you think about who is to blame for the anger of the crowd, who caused everything that happened.

Oh, how deadly we love
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are the most likely to destroy
What is dear to our heart!

In the main characters of the poem, Elena and Fedor Ivanovich himself are easily guessed. This is the story of their acquaintance, falling in love and falling. The poet draws a line with the last lines, he separates the poem from the philosophical search for the guilty person.

The poem "Oh, how deadly we love ..." is considered one of the best examples of love lyrics. It is the most recognizable of the entire cycle due to the chronological narrative and a large number of epithets. Punctuation marks point to nuances, draw attention to what would be imperceptible without them. All this makes the poem unique, combining both a romantic line and philosophical overtones.

Analysis of the poem "Last Love"

One of the few poems written on behalf of the author. It is built in a special manner of dialogue. There are no replicas and questions in it, but the words are perceived as a stream of speech. You can hear disturbed breathing, slight disappointment and discontent. Rhymes and assonances, the size of the poem and some epithets create the illusion of living speech, consisting of answers to non-existent questions.

The dialogue of the poem gives the impression that there is a silent listener nearby, who participates in the conversation, but does not directly intervene. All the words written in the poem answer questions that no one has ever asked.

This is the poetry of contrasts, in which heavenly love is opposed to fatal love, south to north, and thunder to silence. The poet masterfully describes natural phenomena, comparing them with the state of his soul, talks about the problem, but does not call it directly. Everything is presented through images and actions that serve as a reflection of what is happening in reality.

The poet conveys impressions of objects and phenomena in the present tense, as if during a conversation he sees and hears everything that happens (“crystal day”, “the sea lulls dreams with a quiet stream”, “that meek smile of fading”). He conveys the past days in the present, as if returning to pleasant memories, wanting to make them a reality after a long time.

The poem seems to be a piece of conversation in the middle of it, when the topic has already been set and all that remains is to maintain the dialogue. As if the interlocutor has already asked his questions and is just waiting for answers to them. "Last Love" is a sample of love lyrics that shows feelings in a different way than before. He creates an imitation of communication, and not a simple story about feelings, as was often the case before.

Analysis of the poem "All day she lay in oblivion ..."

The poem is very tragic, devoid of any hope for the best. This is a description of the last hours of Elena Alexandrovna, her farewell to life. The poem can be conditionally divided into several parts, united by a common motive of suffering and grief of the loss of a loved one.

In the first part, the poet describes a rainy day when his beloved already felt her death. She was in oblivion all the time, and only a few hours before her death, she finally came to her senses. Elena understood that her time was running out and listened carefully to the sounds of rain. She was still drawn to life, but she could no longer change anything.

The second part is devoted to the home environment. The hero seems to meticulously remember everything, so that later he will resurrect this day in his memory more than once in all the details. He pays attention to the little things that were completely insignificant before, notices what was not important to him before. He has to create an exact copy of the room in which the great grief happened.

And then the state of the soul of a man is depicted. He is heartbroken, he does not want to believe that such a thing can be experienced. He was left by a very important person who loved in a way that not every woman can. The hero has to put up with it, but the very thought terrifies him.

Oh, Lord! .. and survive it ...
And my heart didn't break into pieces...

The poem contains many exclamatory sentences that convey the mood and priorities of the protagonist. They highlight the most important emotions at that moment, make them dominate the rest. Three dots are also often found, which emphasize the incompleteness of thought. This is not a dry documenting of facts, but the perception of the creative soul of a great tragedy. Therefore, the accents change and the main things in the poem become trifles that did not matter before. They all gather around death and create its portrait.

The frequent repetition of the sounds "l", "s", "sh" imitates the sound of rain and creates musical accompaniment to the words. This allows you to immerse yourself in the moment described by the poet, to feel it, to create your own impression of it.

Lil warm summer rain - its jets
The leaves sounded merry.

The poem is dedicated to Elena Alexandrovna, although it accurately conveys the sorrow of any person in whose eyes a loved one dies and creates a sad mood full of sorrow and pity.

Analysis of poems written on the first anniversary of Elena's death

The poem was written before the first anniversary of Elena's death. Tyutchev experienced this day very hard. He constantly blamed himself for everything that happened, because he thought that he could save his beloved. At that time, love affairs were more readily forgiven to a man than to women. And Elena bore all the burden of condemning the crowd on her shoulders. Because of her love, even my aunt had to leave the Smolny Institute. She was left all alone, without support. And Tyutchev knew this, but he always refused to legalize their marriage.

He understood that if he had decided to take this step, then Elena would not have suffered so much. Every year before the anniversary of her death, Fedor Ivanovich was very sorry that he had not helped his beloved. He wrote two poems a few days apart, which conveyed his warm and tender feelings for the deceased.
The poem "On the eve of the anniversary of August 4, 1864" very different from all other works included in the cycle. It deliberately creates an oppressive atmosphere. The epithets “quiet light”, “fading day” indicate the onset of night, which appeared in the soul of the poet after the death of Elena. The use of "r", "s" and hissing sounds make the atmosphere darker and more mysterious.

The poet also uses appeals, for example, "my angel", which transfer the actions of the poem to an unreal world. As if Elena is still alive and hears every word addressed to her. She appears as a ray of hope in the dark kingdom and cuts through the darkness surrounding the hero.

The poem "How unexpected and bright ..." is very different from the previous one. It is brighter and happier. There is no longer a thickening of colors in it, the world does not become gloomy and hostile, but on the contrary, it attracts to itself, creates comfort and warmth. Ringing sounds create a feeling of happiness and tranquility.

There are many epithets in the poem, which make it softer and brighter (“rainbow knowledge”, “air arch”). They show the mood of Tyutchev, create a picture of the world that surrounds him, and which is trustworthy. However, the sad fate of Elena was also reflected in the poem.
From the sublime and joyful tone turns into sad and tragic. The verb "turned pale" completely changes the mood of the entire poem, returning it to the original theme again. The death of a loved one does not let go of the poet.

These two poems are very different from each other. This can be explained by the fact that they were written on opposite sides of the critical number - August 4th. The date seems to play the role of a barrier through which the poet has to pass every year. Before her, he is in sadness, cannot forgive himself for much. He is ready to repent for every mistake he makes. After August 4, Tyutchev again becomes himself. Accepts everything that happened. He regrets the lost opportunities, but does not put them above all else.

Therefore, these two poems are so different and very different from each other. They show a different poet who struggles with his emotions and desires, against all odds.

Analysis of the poem "Today, friend, fifteen years have passed ..."

The poem was written a year after the death of Elena Denisyeva. In it, the poet recalls a happy life with his beloved and the tragic death of a girl. It was a shock for him that cannot be forgotten. The poet thinks that Elena gave him the opportunity to love, breathed her soul into him.

Memories of her are only bright, there is only a shadow of sadness in them, but they do not cease to please the poet.
This poem is like a tribute to Elena, who was able to awaken feelings and make her fall in love again. She gave her emotions without worrying that they could be destructive to herself. This Tyutchev and bribed. He knew that not every woman is capable of sacrificial surrender to love and go to any lengths just to be close to her beloved.

The poet wrote a poem, trying to convey it to the addressee. In eight lines he managed to portray his whole happy life with Elena and convey the pain due to her death.

Today, friend, fifteen years have passed
From that blissfully fateful day
As she breathed her whole soul,
How she poured herself into me.

In the poem, the epithet "fatal day" appears again, which occurs more than once throughout the entire cycle. He immediately points to both joy and sadness from meeting with his beloved. The second stanza is about loss. The hero is unhappy and crushed, he believes in his eternal loneliness and can no longer find a place for himself. His love has been shattered by fate, and there is no turning back.

Conclusion

Tyutchev's "Denisevsky" cycle brought together the joy of a first date, the passion of forbidden love and a bitter fate. In each poem, opposites and obstacles intertwine. Society does not allow to fully find spiritual harmony. The hero understands this and constantly exclaims: “Oh, how deadly we love!” To convey the fate of those who dared to break the taboos and try to find happiness. Each poem is both tragic and joyful, because they combine everything that the author himself experienced. He put his experience into lines, trying to convey his own experiences and worries on paper as accurately as possible. That is why his poems still evoke a response in the hearts, because they are filled with real emotions that are difficult to hide.