* October 19 (“The forest drops its crimson dress ...”) (p. 102). October 19 is the day of the founding of the lyceum, which was constantly celebrated by the lyceum students of the first graduation.

He did not come, our curly singer- Korsakov, Nikolai Alexandrovich, composer, who died on September 26, 1820 in Florence.

Restless lover of foreign skies - Matyushkin, Fedor Fedorovich (1799-1872), sailor; he was at that time already on his third voyage, circumnavigation.

For a long break... paraphrase of the final verses of Delvig's "Farewell Song of the Pupils of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum":

Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit...- Pushchin came to Pushkin in Mikhailovskoye for one day, January 11, 1825. He later told about this visit in his Notes on Pushkin.

You Gorchakov...- A. M. Gorchakov met with Pushkin at his uncle, A. N. Peshchurov, in the Lyamonovo estate, not far from Mikhailovsky, in the summer of 1825.

Oh my Delvig...- Delvig visited Pushkin in Mikhailovsky in April 1825.

Say Wilhelm...— Kuchelbecker.

Unfortunate friend... survived all the comrades in the release of A. M. Gorchakov, who died 84 years old.

The original white version contained stanzas that Pushkin did not include in the final text; after the verse "Minute oblivion of bitter torment ..." (stanza 1):

Comrades! today is our holiday.
Deadline! today there, far away
To a feast of love, to a sweet evening
You flocked at the sound of peaceful bowls. —
You gathered, instantly younger,
Tired spirit in the past to renew,
Speak the language of the Lyceum
And with life again freely fool around.

I aspire to the feast of love with my soul ...
Here I see you, here I hug you dear ones.
I establish order for the holiday ...
I'm inspired, oh listen, friends:
So that thirty places await us again!
Sit down as you sat there
When the places are in the shadow of the holy roof
The difference prescribed to us.

Spartan soul captivating us,
Raised by the stern Minerva,
Let Valchovsky sit down again first,
The last one is me, il Broglio, il Danzas.
But many will not come among us...
Let, friends, empty their place.
They will come: of course, over the waters
Ile on the hill under the shade of dense lindens

They repeat a painful lesson
Or the novel is furtively devoured,
Or lovers compose poems,
And the midday bell is forgotten.
They will come! - for idle appliances
They will sit down; froth their glass
Conversations will merge into a discordant chorus,
And our merry paean will thunder.

After the verse “You turned his lyceum on the day” (stanza 9), a stanza about I. V. Malinovsky follows:

Well, I didn’t meet you right there with him,
You, our Cossack, both ardent and gentle,
Why are you my canopy tombstone
Didn't light up with your presence?
We would remember how Bacchus was brought
We are the silent victim for the first time
How we fell in love with all three for the first time,
Confidants, fellow leprosy...

All three loved- Pushkin, Pushchin and Malinovsky fell in love with E. P. Bakunina (see note to the poem “Autumn Morning” - vol. 1).

After the verse "He took Paris, he founded a lyceum" (stanza 17), it followed:

Kunitsyn tribute of heart and wine!
He created us, he raised our fire,
They set the cornerstone
They lit a clean lamp...
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor - both the dead and the living,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Kunitsyn, Alexander Petrovich is a teacher of "moral and political sciences" at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, one of Pushkin's most beloved and respected professors, known for his progressive convictions.

* * *

“After drinking a glass of lemonade or water, Danzas does not remember, Pushkin left the confectionery with him; got into a sleigh and set off towards the Trinity Bridge.

God knows what Pushkin thought. On the surface, he was calm...

Of course, not a single thinking Russian person would be able to remain indifferent, seeing off Pushkin, perhaps to certain death; it is all the more clear what Danzas felt. His heart sank at the mere thought that in a few minutes, perhaps, Pushkin would no longer be around. In vain did he intensify to flatter himself with the hope that the duel would be upset, that someone would stop it, someone would save Pushkin; the tormenting thought did not lag behind.

On Palace Embankment they met Ms. Pushkin in the carriage. Danzas recognized her, hope flashed in him, this meeting could improve everything. But Pushkin's wife was short-sighted, and Pushkin looked the other way.

The day was clear. The Petersburg high-society society rode on the mountains, and at that time some of them were already returning from there. Many acquaintances of both Pushkin and Danzas met and bowed to them, but no one seemed to guess where they were going; meanwhile, the story of Pushkin and the Heckerens was well known to all this society.

On the Neva, Pushkin asked Danzas, jokingly: "Are you taking me to the fortress?" - "No, - answered Danzas, - through the fortress to the Black River is the closest road."

On Kamennoostrovsky Prospekt they met two familiar officers of the Horse Regiment in the sleigh: Prince V. D. Golitsyn and Golovin. Thinking that Pushkin and Danzas were going to the mountains, Golitsyn will shout to them: "Why are you driving so late, is everyone already leaving from there ?!"

Danzas does not know which road Dantes and d "Arshiak were driving on; but they drove up to the Commandant's dacha at the same time. Danzas got out of the sleigh and, having agreed with d" Arshiak, went with him to look for a place convenient for the duel. They found such a sazhen about a hundred and fifty from the Commandant's dacha, a larger and denser bush surrounded the area here and could hide from the eyes of the cabs left on the road what was happening on it. Having chosen this place, they trampled down the snow with their feet in the space that was needed for the duel, and then called the opponents.

Despite the clear weather, a fairly strong wind was blowing. The frost was fifteen degrees.

Wrapped in a bearskin coat, Pushkin was silent, apparently, was as calm as he had been during the whole journey, but he expressed strong impatience to get down to business as soon as possible. When Danzas asked him if he found the place chosen by him and d "Arshiak convenient, Pushkin replied:

I don't care at all, just try to do everything as soon as possible.

Having measured the steps, Danzas and d "Arshiak marked the barrier with their overcoats and began to load pistols. During these preparations, Pushkin's impatience was revealed by the words to his second:

Is it all finally over?

Everything was over. The opponents were placed, pistols were handed to them, and at the signal that Danzas made, waving his hat, they began to converge.

Pushkin was the first to approach the barrier and, stopping, began to aim his pistol. But at this time, Dantes, not reaching the barrier of one step, fired, and Pushkin, falling ( wounded Pushkin fell on Danzas overcoat, which retained the bloody lining),said:

I think I have a fractured thigh.

The seconds rushed to him, and when Dantes intended to do the same, Pushkin restrained him with the words:

Wait, I still have enough strength to make my shot.

Dantes stopped at the barrier and waited, covering his chest with his right hand.

When Pushkin fell, his pistol fell into the snow, and therefore Danzas gave him another one.

Rising slightly and leaning on his left hand, Pushkin fired.

Dante fell...

Danzas and d "Arshiak called cabs and with their help they dismantled the fence that was there from thin poles, which prevented the sleigh from approaching the place where the wounded Pushkin lay. Together, seating him carefully in the sleigh, Danzas ordered the cab driver to go at a walk, and he himself went on foot near the sleigh, together with d "Arshiak; the wounded Dantes rode in his sleigh behind them. The wounded Pushkin fell on Danzas' overcoat, which retained the bloodied lining.

At the Commandant's dacha they found a carriage...

Danzas put Pushkinai into it, sat next to him, and drove to the city.

During the journey, Pushkin held himself rather firmly; but, feeling severe pain at times, he began to suspect the danger of his wound ... During the journey, Pushkin was especially worried about not frightening his wife upon arrival home, and gave instructions to Danzas on how to act so that this would not happen.

Pushkin lived on the Moika, on the ground floor of Volkonsky's house. At the entrance, Pushkin asks Danzas to come forward, send people to take him out of the carriage, and if his wife is at home, then warn her and say that the wound is not dangerous. In the hall, people told Danzas that Natalya Nikolaevna was not at home, but when Danzas told them what was the matter and sent them to carry the wounded Pushkin out of the carriage, they announced that their lady was at home. Danzas went straight through the dining room, in which the table had already been set, and into the living room without a report to Pushkin's wife's office. She sat with her older unmarried sister Alexandra Nikolaevna Goncharova. The sudden appearance of Danzas greatly surprised Natalya Nikolaevna, she looked at him with an expression of fright, as if guessing what had happened.

Danzas told her as calmly as he could that her husband shot with Dantes, that although he was wounded, he was very light.

She rushed into the hall, where at that time people were carrying Pushkin in their arms ...

Before evening, Pushkin, having called Danzas, asked him to write down and dictated to him all his debts, for which there were neither promissory notes nor loan letters.

Then he removed the ring from his hand and gave it to Danzas, asking him to accept it as a keepsake.

In the evening he got worse. During the night, Pushkin's suffering intensified to such an extent that he decided to shoot himself. Calling a man, he ordered to give him one of the drawers of the desk; the man did his will, but, remembering that there were pistols in this box, he warned Danzas.

Danzas went up to Pushkin and took the pistols from him, which he had already hidden under the covers; giving them to Danzas, Pushkin admitted that he wanted to shoot himself, because his suffering was unbearable ... "

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, autumn cold friend,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would wash down a long parting,
Who could shake hands from the heart
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; vain imagination
Calls comrades around me;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my dear soul does not wait.

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?

He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtle of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly cutter
Did not draw over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that once you find a sad hello
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.

Are you sitting with your friends
Is someone else's skies restless lover?
Or again you pass the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of midnight seas?
Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And since that time in the seas your road,
O waves and storms, beloved child!

You saved in a wandering fate
Beautiful years original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Amid the stormy waves dreamed of you;
You extended your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in a young soul
And he repeated: "For a long separation
We may have been condemned by secret fate!”

My friends, our union is beautiful!
He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal -
Unshakable, free and carefree
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate takes us,
And happiness wherever it leads
We are all the same: the whole world is a foreign land for us;
Fatherland to us Tsarskoye Selo.

From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
With trepidation I enter the bosom of a new friendship,
The charter, stuck with a caressing head ...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
To other friends, he surrendered himself to a gentle soul;
But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting.

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here. Poet's disgraced house,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You delighted the sad day of exile,
You turned his lyceum into a day.

You, Gorchakov, are lucky from the first days,
Praise to you - fortune shine cold
Didn't change your free soul:
All the same you are for honor and friends.
We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.

When fate befell me with anger,
For all a stranger, like a homeless orphan,
Under the storm I drooped head languid
And I was waiting for you, prophet of Permesian maidens,
And you came, inspired son of laziness,
Oh my Delvig: your voice awakened
Heart heat, so long lulled,
And cheerfully I blessed fate.

From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we knew a wondrous excitement;
From infancy, two muses flew to us,
And our lot was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul;
I spent my gift as life without attention,
You brought up your genius in silence.

The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams delight us ...
We will come to our senses - but it's too late! and sadly
We look back, not seeing any traces there.
Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not so with us,
My own brother by muse, by fate?

It's time, it's time! our mental anguish
The world is not worth it; Let's leave the confusion!
Let's hide life under the canopy of solitude!
I'm waiting for you, my belated friend -
Come; the fire of a fairy tale
Revive heartfelt legends;
Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus,
About Schiller, about fame, about love.

It's time for me too ... feast, O friends!
I foresee a pleasant rendezvous;
Remember the poet's prediction:
The year will fly by, and I'm with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will be fulfilled;
A year will pass, and I will come to you!
About how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many bowls raised to heaven!

And the first is fuller, friends, fuller!
And all to the bottom in honor of our union!
Bless, jubilant muse,
Bless: long live the lyceum!
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Full, full! and with a burning heart,
Again, to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? other than that, guess...
Hooray, our king! So! let's drink to the king.
He is a human! they are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded a lyceum.

Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who, distant, orphans;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the beginning of our...
Which one of us, in old age, is the day of the lyceum
Will you have to celebrate alone?

Unfortunate friend! among new generations
Annoying guest and superfluous, and a stranger,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing your eyes with a trembling hand...
Let him with joy, even sad
Then this day will spend a cup,
As I am now, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.

Analysis of the poem October 19, 1825 by Pushkin

October 19 was a significant date for Pushkin. In 1811, on this day, the opening of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum took place, which became the cradle of his talent for the poet. During his studies, his main life views and beliefs were formed. Pushkin found real friends, to whom he remained faithful until the end of his life. On the graduation day of the lyceum, the comrades agreed to gather together on October 19 every year so as not to break their “sacred union”, to share their sorrows and joys. In 1825, Pushkin for the first time could not attend this friendly meeting, as he was in exile in the village. Mikhailovsky. Instead of himself, he sent a poetic message.

Pushkin celebrates a significant anniversary in solitude. He raises a glass to true friends and has a mental conversation with them. In the poem, each of the lyceum students is assigned special sensitive lines. “Our curly-haired singer” is N. A. Korsakov, who died in 1820 in Florence and is now sleeping “under the myrtle of Italy.” "The Restless Lover" - F. F. Matyushkin, famous for his numerous sea voyages. Pushkin notes that neither death nor distance can interfere with the spiritual communication of friends who are forever bound by their joint youth.

Then the poet turns to those who visited him in "exile": Pushchin, Gorchakov and Delvig. They were closest to Pushkin, with them he shared his most intimate thoughts and ideas. The poet is sincerely glad of the success of his comrades. At the mention of the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, the modern reader, first of all, associates with Pushkin. The rest of the graduates also achieved success in various fields, which gave the poet the right to be proud that he studied with them.

Under the influence of a joyful feeling of spiritual closeness, Pushkin is ready to forgive the tsar who "offended" him. He offers to drink for him and not to forget that the emperor is also a man, he is prone to mistakes and delusions. For the sake of founding the Lyceum and defeating Napoleon, the poet forgives the offense.

In the finale, Pushkin expresses the hope that the annual meeting will be repeated more than once. The poet's words about the inevitable narrowing of the friendly circle over time sound sad. He regrets the unfortunate one who will be forced to meet another anniversary alone. Pushkin turns his message to the future and wishes the last living lyceum student to spend this day "without grief and worries."

The poem "October 19" is studied in grade 9. The poem is directly related to the life of Alexander Pushkin. The fact is that on October 19, 1811, he, along with other young people, became a student of the famous Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum. It was the first set of lyceum students and, probably, the most famous. Others who became famous people also studied with Alexander Pushkin. Suffice it to recall the Decembrist Pushchin, the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Empire Gorchakov, the poet Kuchelbeker, the publisher Delvig, the composer Yakovlev, Admiral Matyushkin. At the end of the final exams, the lyceum students agreed that they would meet every year, on October 19, on the birthday of the lyceum brotherhood. In 1825, Pushkin, while in exile in Mikhailovskoye, could not get to the meeting of the lyceum students, but he addressed poetic lines to friends, included in the collections under the title "October 19". The poem is a true friendly message. But it is so solemn and at the same time sad that it can be compared with both an ode and an elegy. It has two parts - minor and major.

In the first part, the poet says that he is sad on this rainy autumn day and, sitting in an armchair with a glass of wine, tries to mentally transfer himself to his friends - lyceum students. He thinks not only about himself, but also about those who, like him, will not be able to get to the meeting, for example, about Matyushkin, who went on another expedition. The poet remembers everyone and everyone, and speaks with special trepidation about his friend Korsakov, who will never join the cheerful circle of former lyceum students, since he died in Italy. Pushkin sings of lyceum friendship, says that only his former classmates are true friends, after all, only they ventured to visit the exiled and disgraced poet (and the new friends who appeared after studying at the Lyceum are false), their friendship is a sacred union that neither time nor circumstances could destroy. The feeling of sadness and loneliness is intensified by the description of the autumn landscape, which the poet watches from the window. In the second part of the poem, the mood is different, the poet says that next year he will definitely come to the meeting, and the toasts he has already prepared will sound. This day, despite the autumn gloom, he nevertheless spent without grief. The work is extremely emotional. This is both a monologue and a dialogue with friends who are far away and whom the poet would very much like to see. The text of Pushkin's poem "October 19" is replete with appeals, epithets, comparisons, interrogative and exclamatory sentences. They convey the mood of the poet in both parts of the work even more vividly.

This poem is a hymn not only to friendship, but also to the Lyceum. It was in this educational institution that the poet was formed as a person, here his literary talent manifested itself. It was in the Lyceum that he understood the deep essence of the words "honor" and "dignity", it was here that all students were taught to truly love their Motherland, so the poet is grateful to the Lyceum (and even to Tsar Alexander the First, who founded it) and is ready to carry the memories of the wonderful school years through a lifetime. Due to their musicality, brightness, the poem "October 19" can be considered a real literary masterpiece. You can read the verse “October 19” by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin online on our website, or you can download it in full for a literature lesson.

The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, autumn cold friend,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.

I am sad: there is no friend with me,
With whom I would wash down a long parting,
Who could shake hands from the heart
And wish you many happy years.
I drink alone; vain imagination
Calls comrades around me;
The familiar approach is not heard,
And my dear soul does not wait.

I drink alone, and on the banks of the Neva
My friends are calling me...
But how many of you feast there too?
Who else have you missed?
Who changed the captivating habit?
Who from you was fascinated by the cold light?
Whose voice fell silent at the fraternal roll call?
Who didn't come? Who is not among you?

He did not come, our curly singer,
With fire in his eyes, with a sweet-voiced guitar:
Under the myrtle of beautiful Italy
He sleeps quietly, and a friendly cutter
Did not draw over the Russian grave
A few words in the native language,
So that once you find a sad hello
Son of the north, wandering in a foreign land.

Are you sitting with your friends
Is someone else's skies restless lover?
Or again you pass the sultry tropic
And the eternal ice of midnight seas?
Happy journey! .. From the lyceum threshold
You stepped onto the ship jokingly,
And since that time in the seas your road,
O waves and storms, beloved child!

You saved in a wandering fate
Beautiful years original morals:
Lyceum noise, lyceum fun
Amid the stormy waves dreamed of you;
You extended your hand to us from across the sea,
You carried us alone in a young soul
And he repeated: "For a long separation
We may have been condemned by secret fate!”

My friends, our union is beautiful!
He, like a soul, is inseparable and eternal -
Unshakable, free and carefree,
He grew together under the shadow of friendly muses.
Wherever fate takes us
And happiness wherever it leads
We are all the same: the whole world is a foreign land for us;
Fatherland to us Tsarskoye Selo.

From end to end we are pursued by a thunderstorm,
Entangled in the nets of a harsh fate,
With trepidation I enter the bosom of a new friendship,
The charter, stuck with a caressing head ...
With my sad and rebellious prayer,
With the trusting hope of the first years,
To other friends, he surrendered himself to a gentle soul;
But bitter was their non-brotherly greeting.

And now here, in this forgotten wilderness,
In the abode of desert blizzards and cold,
A sweet consolation was prepared for me:
Three of you, friends of my soul,
I hugged here. Poet's disgraced house,
Oh my Pushchin, you were the first to visit;
You delighted the sad day of exile,
You turned his Lyceum into a day.

You, Gorchakov, are lucky from the first days,
Praise to you - fortune shine cold
Didn't change your free soul:
You are the same for honor and friends.
We are assigned a different path by strict fate;
Stepping into life, we quickly dispersed:
But by chance a country road
We met and fraternally embraced.

When fate befell me with anger,
For all a stranger, like a homeless orphan,
Under the storm I drooped head languid
And I was waiting for you, prophet of Permesian maidens,
And you came, inspired son of laziness,
Oh my Delvig: your voice awakened
Heart heat, so long lulled,
And cheerfully I blessed fate.

From infancy, the spirit of songs burned in us,
And we knew a wondrous excitement;
From infancy, two muses flew to us,
And our lot was sweet with their caress:
But I already loved applause,
You, proud, sang for the muses and for the soul;
My gift, like life, I spent without attention,
You brought up your genius in silence.

The service of the Muses does not tolerate fuss;
Beautiful must be majestic:
But youth advises us slyly,
And noisy dreams delight us ...
We will come to our senses - but too late! and sadly
We look back, not seeing any traces there.
Tell me, Wilhelm, was it not so with us,
My own brother by muse, by fate?

It's time, it's time! our mental anguish
The world is not worth it; Let's leave the confusion!
Let's hide life under the canopy of solitude!
I'm waiting for you, my belated friend -
Come; the fire of a fairy tale
Revive heartfelt legends;
Let's talk about the stormy days of the Caucasus,
About Schiller, about fame, about love.

It's time for me too ... feast, O friends!
I foresee a pleasant rendezvous;
Remember the poet's prediction:
The year will fly by, and I'm with you again,
The covenant of my dreams will be fulfilled;
A year will pass, and I will come to you!
Oh, how many tears and how many exclamations,
And how many bowls raised to heaven!

And the first is fuller, friends, fuller!
And all to the bottom in honor of our union!
Bless, jubilant muse,
Bless: long live the Lyceum!
To the mentors who guarded our youth,
To all honor, both dead and alive,
Raising a cup of gratitude to your lips,
Remembering no evil, we will reward for the good.

Full, full! and with a burning heart,
Again, to the bottom, drink to the drop!
But for whom? other than that, guess...
Hooray, our king! So! let's drink to the king.
He is a human! they are dominated by the moment.
He is a slave of rumors, doubts and passions;
Forgive him the wrong persecution:
He took Paris, he founded the Lyceum.

Eat while we're still here!
Alas, our circle thins hour by hour;
Who sleeps in a coffin, who is a distant orphan;
Fate looks, we wither; the days are running;
Invisibly bowing and growing cold,
We are nearing the beginning of our...
Which one of us is the day of the Lyceum in old age
Will you have to celebrate alone?

Unfortunate friend! among new generations
Annoying guest and superfluous, and a stranger,
He will remember us and the days of connections,
Closing your eyes with a trembling hand...
Let him with joy, even sad
Then this day will spend a cup,
As I am now, your disgraced recluse,
He spent it without grief and worries.