Still languishing longing desires
I still long for you with my soul -
And in the darkness of memories
I still catch your image ...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is before me everywhere, always,
unattainable, immutable,
Like a star in the sky at night...
Analysis of Tyutchev's poem "I am still languishing with longing for desires ..."
In February 1826, Tyutchev, while serving in Munich, met a young widow, mother of four sons, Eleanor Peterson. According to contemporaries, the 26-year-old countess was "infinitely charming", fluent in two languages - French and German, and was distinguished by her fragile beauty. She fell in love with the Russian poet literally at first sight. A few months after they met, the couple secretly got married. For two years, many representatives of the high society in Munich did not know anything about this wedding. Tyutchev officially married Peterson only in 1829. Their relationship, which lasted about twelve years, was for the most part happy. Eleanor turned out to be a good wife, tenderly loving Fyodor Ivanovich, a devoted friend who knows how to provide support in difficult times, a diligent housewife, able to properly manage even her husband's very modest income. In 1833, the poet met Ernestine Dernberg, the famous Munich beauty, his future wife. Naturally, falling in love with her had a negative impact on her marriage to Eleanor. In August 1838, illness and nervous shocks finally knocked down Tyutchev's first wife. She departed to another world, experiencing incredible suffering. Her death made a strong impression on Fyodor Ivanovich. According to the memoirs of contemporaries, during the night spent at the coffin of Eleanor, the poet turned completely gray.
In 1848, ten years after the death of his first wife, Tyutchev dedicated to her a heartfelt poem "I am still languishing with longing for desires ...". In it, the lyrical hero yearns for his beloved who has left him. The text does not directly talk about death, although this motive is quite easy to read between the lines. As in many other intimate poems by Fyodor Ivanovich, love here is directly connected with suffering. In the text under consideration, the word "still" is repeated four times. Thanks to the anaphora used by the poet, the reader understands that some time has passed since the loss of his beloved, but the pain in the hero’s soul has not subsided, his grief has not become less. Her image, characterized by the epithets "sweet", "unforgettable", "unattainable", "unchangeable", remained forever imprinted in the memory. He is compared with a star in the sky, which the lyrical hero is never destined to reach, just as he is not destined to meet at least once in this world with his beloved, taken away by ruthless death.
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Fedor Tyutchev
Still languishing longing desires ...
Don't believe, don't believe the poet, maiden...
I met you - and all the past
In the obsolete heart came to life ...
One look at these lines - and the motive of the romance immediately sounds in my head. Easy, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these verses all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once the poet loved a woman, and suddenly meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, parting, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: both charm, and love, and "spiritual fullness", and life itself is filled with meaning. And it is hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
It was Clotilda Bothmer, the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are placed in the title of the poem. Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced both youthful love, and the family happiness of her husband and father, and a fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, insane passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and remorse. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and every time a love interest turns into not only a merger of kindred souls, but also a fatal duel:
Love, love - says the legend -
The union of the soul with the soul of the native -
Their union, combination,
And their fatal merger,
And ... a fatal duel ...(predestination)
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later in marriage - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips along its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember time is golden...). However, the "golden time" of romantic walks and childishly pure relationships did not last long. The proposal for marriage was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: an untitled Russian diplomat, who is in Germany on a freelance basis, not rich and still too young, was preferred a more successful party. Tyutchev's experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, aching heart message:
Your love of an infant's eye.
Such is the grief of the spirits, the blessed light;("Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion")
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer stopping before the norms of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of neck baptismal chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love - Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer). She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Unusually beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Catherine (1835). In January 1833, into the life of Tyutchev, like a stone thrown from a mountain - by whom was it thrown - by omnipotent Fate or blind Chance? - a new big love burst in, entailing trials and problems ...
Having rolled down from the mountain, the stone lay down in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now -
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Was it cast down by someone else's will?
Century after century passed:
No one has yet resolved the issue.(problem)
The all-consuming insane passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dernberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty, causes the poet's languor, irritation, and desperate longing. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in a real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in the most severe torment. The poet kept a tender memory of her for the rest of his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor's death he wrote:
Still languishing longing desires.
I still long for you with my soul -
And in the darkness of memories
I still catch your image ...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is before me everywhere, always,
unattainable, immutable,
Like a star in the sky at night...(“I am still languishing with longing for desires ...”)
So six years after meeting and insane passion, Ernestine became the second wife of the poet.
I love your eyes my friend
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly raise them
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick circle...
But there is a stronger charm:
Downcast eyes,
In moments of passionate kissing,
And through lowered eyelashes
Gloomy, dim fire of desire.(“I love your eyes, my friend…”)
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what longing in love ...”, “Yesterday, in the dreams of the enchanted”, “I don’t know if grace will touch ...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor ... ". She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, unsettled, compared to European, life; and most importantly - children, their own, tiny, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she fascinated by successes in the "fashionable world"; willingly letting her husband shine in the aristocratic living rooms, she took care of the children, the house with pleasure, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time in the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house ... He felt cramped inside the family circle.
Like a pillar of smoke
shines in the sky! -
Like a shadow below glides
elusive!..
"Here is our life, -
you said to me,
Not light smoke
shining in the moonlight
And this shadow running from the smoke ... "(“Like a pillar of smoke…”)
In such a state of mind and heart, Tyutchev found his acquaintance with Elena Denisyeva. Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, courageous, temperamental woman; the affair with her developed rapidly and passionately. Scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love
What, as a shrine protected,
The fate of human vanity
Betrayed to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul
And you were involuntarily ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Ah, if only living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was rescued from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!("What did you pray with love")
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisiev's cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
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!
…..
Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She lay down on her life!("Oh, how deadly we love...")
The poet's soul was torn between two beloved women. Both Ernestina and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two simultaneously existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of the poems of 1859, addressed to Ernestina Fedorovna, he called "spiritual swoon":
I don't know if grace will touch
Of my painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to rise and rise,
Will spiritual fainting go away?
But if the soul could
Here on earth find peace
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence! ..(“I don’t know if grace will touch”)
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not force out of the poet's soul such a dramatic, but tender love for Elena Denisyeva.
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously ...
Shine, shine, parting light
Last love, evening dawn!
Half the sky was engulfed by a shadow,
Only there, in the west, radiance wanders, -
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last charm.
Let the blood run thin in the veins,
But tenderness does not fail in the heart ...
Oh, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.(Last love)
The denouement of this tense dramatic situation was tragic. Desperately defending her right to happiness with her beloved, Elena Alexandrovna, already in adulthood, decided on a third child, but died in childbirth. The year before, Tyutchev had written a poem in which, for the first time in fourteen years of his fateful romance, he acknowledged its sinfulness:
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...(“When there is no God’s consent…”)
The death of his beloved deeply shocked the poet, his own life seemed to have lost its meaning; he was seized with despair, he was even close to insanity.
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 scope -
Broken wings hang
And all of her, clinging to the dust,
Trembling with pain and impotence ...(“Oh, this South, oh, this Nice! ..”)
The feeling of suffering and guilt was aggravated by the tragedy in the family: one by one, four children died, and soon a brother.
Fedor Ivanovich, already mortally ill, addressed his last words of love to his wife Ernestina:
The executing God has taken everything from me:
Health, willpower, air, sleep,
He left you alone with me,
So that I can still pray to him.
The day of the poet's death fell on July 15, 1873. Twenty-three years before, to the same day, on July 15, the last romantic poet met his last love - Elena Denisieva ...
1820s
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion ...
"Do not give us the spirit of idle talk!"
So from today
You by virtue of our condition
Please don't ask me for prayers.
Early 1820s
Spring greetings to poets
The love of the earth and the charm of the year,
Spring is fragrant to us!
Nature gives a feast to creation,
Goodbye feast gives sons! ..
Spirit of strength, life and freedom
Raises, envelops us! ..
And joy in the heart spilled,
As a response to the triumph of nature,
Like God's life-giving voice!
Where are you, sons of Harmony?..
Here! .. and bold fingers
Touch the dormant string
Heated by bright rays
Love, joy and spring!
0 you whose eyes are so often sanctified
Reverence with tears
Nature's temple is open, singers, before you!
Poetry has given you the key to it!
In your soaring high
Don't ever change!
And the eternal beauty of nature
There will be no secret or reproach for you! ..
Like a full, fiery flowering,
Washed Aurora in light,
Roses shine and burn
And Zephyr - joyful flight
Their aroma spills -
So spill the sweetness of life
Singers, follow you!
So flutter your, friends, youth
By bright happiness flowers! ..
<Апрель 1821>
Tears
O lacrimarum fons…
Gray 1
O source of tears ... (lat.). Gray.
I love, friends, caress with the eyes
Or the purple of sparkling wines,
Or fruits between sheets
Fragrant ruby.
I love to watch when creation
As if immersed in spring,
And the world fell asleep in fragrance
And smiles in a dream! ..
I love when the face is beautiful
Zephyr with a kiss flames,
That curls silk voluptuous,
Then the cheeks dig into the dimples!
But what are all the charms of the Paphos queen,
And grape juice, and the smell of roses
Before you, holy source of tears,
Dew of the divine morning star! ..
Heavenly beam plays them
And, refracted by fire drops,
draws rainbows alive
On the thunder clouds of life.
And only a mortal eye
You, angel of tears, touch your wings -
The fog will dissipate with tears
And the sky of seraphim faces
Suddenly develop before the eyes.
Opponents of wine
(Just like wine gladdens the heart of a person)
Oh, people's judgment is wrong,
What a sin to drink!
Sound mind dictates
Love and drink wine.
Curse and woe
Head to the disputants!
I am help in an important dispute
Holy call.
Our great-grandfather, seduced
A wife and a snake
The fruit ate the forbidden
And rightfully driven away.
Well, how can you not agree?
That grandfather was to blame:
What to seduce with an apple,
Having grapes?
But honor and glory to Noah, -
He acted smart
Quarreled with water
And took up the wine.
No quarrel, no reproach
Didn't drink a glass.
And often bunches of juice
He poured into it.
Good attempts
God himself blessed
And as a sign of favor
I made a covenant with him.
Suddenly I didn’t fall in love with the cup
One of the sons.
Oh fiend! Noah stood up
And the villain went to hell.
So let's get drunk
Drink out of devotion
So that in God's together with Noah
Sanctuary to enter.
Early 1820s
glimpse
Have you heard in the deep twilight
Air harp light ringing,
When midnight, inadvertently,
Dormant strings will be disturbed by a dream? ..
Those amazing sounds
That freezing suddenly ...
Like the last murmur of flour,
Responding to them, went out!
Breath every marshmallow
Sorrow explodes in her strings...
You say: angelic lyre
Sad, in the dust, in the sky!
Oh, how then from the earthly circle
We fly with our soul to the immortal!
The past is like the ghost of a friend
We want to press to our chest.
As we believe with living faith,
How joyful, how light!
Like an ethereal stream
The sky has flowed through my veins!
But, ax, he was not judged by us;
We will soon get tired in the sky -
And not given insignificant dust
Breathe divine fire.
Barely by the effort of a minute
Let's interrupt the magical dream for an hour
And with a quivering and vague look,
Rising up, let's look at the sky, -
And with a heavy head,
Blinded by one beam
Again we fall not to rest,
But in tedious dreams.
<Осень 1825>
To Nice
Nisa, Nisa, God be with you!
You despised the friendly voice,
You are a crowd of fans
Shielded from us.
Indifferent and carefree
gullible child,
Our tribute to heartfelt love
You rejected jokingly.
Our loyalty has changed
On the wrong shine, empty, -
Our feelings are not enough for you to know, -
Nisa, Nisa, God be with you!
<Осень 1825>
K N.
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
Could not - alas! - propitiate them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts, in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run like sentences,
Your love of an infant's eye,
He is terrible to them, like the memory of childhood.
But for me this look is a boon;
Like life is the key, in the depths of the soul
Your gaze lives and will live in me:
She needs him like heaven and breath.
Such is the woe (4d/accent) of blessed spirits light,
Only in heaven does he shine, heavenly;
In the night of sin, at the bottom of the terrible abyss,
This pure fire, like a hellish flame, burns.
Evening
How quietly blows over the valley
Distant bell ringing
Like noise from a flock of cranes, -
And in the sonorous leaves he froze.
Like the spring sea in flood,
Brighter, the day does not sway, -
And hurry, be silent
A shadow falls across the valley.
<1826>
spring thunderstorm
I love the storm in early May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbles in the blue sky.
The young peals are thundering,
Here the rain splashed, the dust flies,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.
An agile stream runs from the mountain,
In the forest, the din of birds does not stop,
And the noise of the forest, and the noise of the mountains -
Everything echoes cheerfully to the thunders.
You say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus' eagle
A thundering cup from the sky
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.
<1828, 1854>
Cache-cache
2
Hide and seek (French).
Here is her harp in the usual corner,
Carnations and roses stand by the window
The midday ray dozed off on the floor:
Conditional time! But where is she?
Oh, who will help me find a minx,
Where, where has my sylph taken refuge?
Magic closeness, like grace,
Spilled in the air, I feel.
Carnations look slyly for a reason,
No wonder, oh roses, on your sheets
Hotter blush, fresh scent:
I realized who was hiding, buried in the flowers!
Was it not your harp that I heard ringing?
Do you dream of hiding in the strings of gold?
Metal shuddered, animated by you,
And the sweet thrill has not subsided yet.
As the dust particles dance in the midday rays,
Like sparks alive in native fire!
I saw this flame in familiar eyes,
I know his rapture too.
A moth flew in, and from a flower to another,
Pretending to be nonchalant, he began to flutter.
Oh, full of spinning, my dear guest!
Can I, airy, not recognize you?
<1828>
Summer evening
The hot ball of the sun
The earth rolled off its head,
And a peaceful evening fire
The sea wave swallowed.
The bright stars have risen
And gravitating over us
Heavenly vault lifted
With their wet heads.
The airy river is fuller
Flowing between heaven and earth
The chest breathes easier and more freely,
Freed from the heat.
And sweet thrill, like a jet,
Nature ran through the veins,
How hot her legs
Key waters touched.
<1828>
Vision
There is a certain hour, in the night, of universal silence,
And in that hour of phenomena and miracles
Living chariot of the universe
Rolling openly into the sanctuary of heaven.
Then the night thickens like chaos on the waters,
Unconsciousness, like Atlas, crushes the land;
Only the Muses a virgin soul
In prophetic dreams the gods disturb!
<Первая половина 1829>
Insomnia
Hours of monotonous fight,
A tormenting night story!
The language is foreign to everyone
And intelligible to everyone, like conscience!
Who without longing listened from us,
In the middle of the world's silence
Silent groans of time
A prophetic farewell voice?
We imagine: the world is an orphan
Irresistible Rock overtook -
And we, in the struggle, the whole nature,
Abandoned on ourselves;
And our life is before us
Like a ghost, on the edge of the earth
And with our age and friends
Pale in the gloomy distance;
And a new, young tribe
Meanwhile, the sun bloomed
And us, friends, and our time
It has long been forgotten!
Only occasionally, the rite is sad
Coming in the midnight hour
Metal voice funeral
Sometimes mourns us!
<1829>
Morning in the mountains
The azure of heaven laughs
Night washed by a thunderstorm,
And between the mountains it winds dewy
Valley with a light stripe.
Only the highest mountains up to half
Mists cover the slope,
Like air ruins
Chambers created by magic.
<1829>
snowy mountains
It's already midday
Shooting with sheer rays, -
And the mountain smoked
With their black forests.
Below, like a steel mirror,
Jet lakes turn blue,
And from the stones, shining in the heat,
Streams rush into the native depths.
And while half asleep
Our valley world, devoid of strength,
Permeated with fragrant bliss,
Rested in the mist of midday, -
Woe, like native deities,
Above the dying earth
Ice heights play
With the azure of the sky fiery.
<1829>
Noon
Hazy noon breathes lazily,
The river rolls lazily
In azure fiery and pure
Clouds drift lazily.
And all nature, like fog,
A hot slumber envelops,
And now the great Pan himself
In the cave the nymphs doze peacefully.
<1829>
1830s
I remember golden times...
dreams
As the ocean embraces the globe,
Earthly life is surrounded by dreams...
Night will come - and sonorous waves
The element hits its shore.
Then her voice: he forces us and asks ...
Already in the pier the magic boat came to life;
The tide is rising and taking us fast
Into the immensity of dark waves.
The vault of heaven, burning with star glory,
Mysteriously looks from the depths -
And we are sailing, a flaming abyss
Surrounded on all sides.
<Начало 1830>
two sisters
I saw both of you together -
And I recognized all of you in her ...
The same look of silence, the tenderness of the voice,
The same freshness of the morning
What blew from your head!
And everything, as in a magic mirror,
Everything is redefined:
Past days of sadness and joy
Your lost youth
My lost love!
<1830>
To N.N.
You love! you know how to pretend
When, in the crowd, furtively from people,
My foot touches yours
You give me the answer - and do not blush!
All the same kind of scattered, soulless,
The movement of Perseus, the look, the smile is the same ...
Meanwhile, your husband, this hated guard,
Admire your obedient beauty!
Thanks to both people and fate,
You learned the price of secret joys,
Recognized the light: he puts us in treason
All joys... Treason flatters you.
Shame blush irrevocable,
He flew away from your young cheeks -
So from the young roses of Aurora a ray runs
With their pure soul fragrant.
But so be it: in the scorching summer heat
Flattering to the senses, more enticing to the eye
Look, in the shade, like in a bunch of grapes
Blood sparkles through the thick greenery.
<1830>
"There was still a merry day..."
Still noisy fun day
The street shone with crowds,
And the shadows of the evening clouds
It flew over the light roofs.
And sometimes they came
All the sounds of a blessed life -
And everything merged into one system,
Hundred-sounding, noisy and indistinct.
Tired of spring bliss,
I fell into involuntary oblivion;
I don't know how long the dream was
But the awakening was strange ...
Silence everywhere noise and din
And silence reigned -
There were shadows on the walls
And half-asleep flickering...
sneak into my window
The pale light looked
And it seemed to me that it
My drowsiness was guarded.
And it seemed to me that I
Some kind of peace genius
From a lush golden day
Carried away, invisible, into the realm of shadows.
To read the verse “I am still languishing with longing for desires ...” by Tyutchev Fyodor Ivanovich follows after familiarizing himself with the circumstances of the poet’s personal life, because this is the only way to feel the emotions embedded in the lines of the work. It is known that the verse is dedicated to Tyutchev's wife Eleanor, with whom he lived happily for 12 years before meeting Ernestina Dernberg. Shortly after the poet had an affair with Ernestina, his wife died. Tyutchev was very upset by her death, and 10 years later he wrote the verse "I am still languishing with longing for desires ...".
In an emotional background, the text of Tyutchev's poem "I am still languishing with longing for desires ..." conveys longing for a dear person. Balanced intonations indicate that the pain associated with the loss has subsided, but does not leave the lyrical hero. The second quatrain expresses the feelings of the lyrical hero for his beloved, which the author concentrated in the epithets "sweet", "unforgettable".
The work is taught in literature classes in the 10th grade during the acquaintance with the biography of Tyutchev. On our website you can read the poem in full online or download it from the link.
I met you - and all the past
In the obsolete heart came to life ...
One look at these lines - and the motive of romance immediately sounds in my head. Easy, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these verses all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once the poet loved a woman, and suddenly meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, parting, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: both charm, and love, and "spiritual fullness", and life itself is filled with meaning. And it is hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
It was Clotilda Bothmer, the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are placed in the title of the poem.
Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced both youthful love, and the family happiness of her husband and father, and a fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, insane passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and remorse. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and each time a love interest turns into not only a merger of kindred souls, but also a fatal duel.
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later in marriage - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips along its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember time is golden...).
However, the "golden time" of romantic walks and childishly pure relationships did not last long. The proposal for marriage was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: an untitled Russian diplomat, who is in Germany on a freelance basis, not rich and still too young, was preferred a more successful party. Tyutchev's experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, aching heart message:
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
Could not - alas! - appease them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts, in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run like sentences,
Your love of an infant's eye.("Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion")
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer stopping before the norms of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of neck baptismal chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love - Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer).
She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Unusually beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Catherine (1835). In January 1833, a new big love burst into Tyutchev's life, like a stone thrown from a mountain, which entailed trials and problems ...
Having rolled down from the mountain, the stone lay down in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Was it cast down by someone else's will?
Century after century passed:
No one has yet resolved the issue.
The all-consuming insane passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dernberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty, causes the poet's languor, irritation, and desperate longing. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in a real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in the most severe torment. The poet kept a tender memory of her for the rest of his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor's death he wrote:
Still languishing longing desires.
Still longing for you with my soul -
And in the darkness of memories
I still catch your image ...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is before me everywhere, always,
unattainable, immutable,
Like a star in the sky at night...(“I am still languishing with longing for desires ...”)
So six years after meeting and insane passion, Ernestine became the second wife of the poet.
I love your eyes my friend
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly raise them
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick circle...(“I love your eyes, my friend…”)
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what longing in love ...”, “Yesterday, in the dreams of the enchanted”, “I don’t know if grace will touch ...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor ... ". She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, unsettled, compared to European, life; and most importantly - children, their own, tiny, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she fascinated by successes in the "fashionable world"; willingly letting her husband shine in the aristocratic living rooms, she took care of the children, the house with pleasure, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time in the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house ... He felt cramped inside the family circle.
In such a state of mind and heart, Tyutchev found his acquaintance with Elena Denisyeva.
Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, courageous, temperamental woman; the affair with her developed rapidly and passionately. Scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love
What, as a shrine protected,
The fate of human vanity
Betrayed to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul
And you were involuntarily ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Ah, if only living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was rescued from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!("What did you pray with love")
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisyev's cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
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!
…..("Oh, how deadly we love...")
The poet's soul was torn between two beloved women. Both Ernestina and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two simultaneously existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of the poems of 1859, addressed to Ernestina Fedorovna, he called "spiritual swoon":
I don't know if grace will touch
Of my painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to rise and rise,
Will spiritual fainting go away?
But if the soul could
Here on earth find peace
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence! ..(“I don’t know if grace will touch”)
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not force out of the poet's soul such a dramatic, but tender love for Elena Denisyeva.
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously ...
Shine, shine, parting light
Last love, evening dawn!
Half the sky was engulfed by a shadow,
Only there, in the west, radiance wanders, -
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last charm.
Let the blood run thin in the veins,
But tenderness does not fail in the heart ...
Oh, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.(Last love)
The denouement of this tense dramatic situation was tragic. Desperately defending her right to happiness with her beloved, Elena Alexandrovna, already in adulthood, decided on a third child, but died in childbirth. The year before, Tyutchev had written a poem in which, for the first time in fourteen years of his fateful romance, he acknowledged its sinfulness:
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...(“When there is no God’s consent…”)
The death of his beloved deeply shocked the poet, his own life seemed to have lost its meaning; he was seized with despair, he was even close to insanity.
The feeling of suffering and guilt was aggravated by the tragedy in the family: one by one, four children died, and soon a brother.
Fedor Ivanovich, already mortally ill, addressed his last words of love to his wife Ernestina:
The executing God has taken everything from me:
Health, willpower, air, sleep,
He left you alone with me,
So that I can still pray to him.
The day of the poet's death fell on July 15, 1873. Twenty-three years before, to the same day, on July 15, the last romantic poet met his last love - Elena Denisieva ...
The deep lyrical work of F. I. Tyutchev “I am still languishing with longing for desires ...” is dedicated to Eleanor Peterson, the first wife of the poet. They met during his youth. Widowed by the age of twenty-six, a woman with four sons in her arms made an indelible impression on the poet. She was a smart, subtle, educated beauty and soon they secretly married. Eleanor was able to wrap Tyutchev with such attention and care that he could not forget until the end of his days. But, unfortunately, during her lifetime, the poet could not appreciate this and started an affair on the side. The poet's wife was unable to endure the shocks and died suddenly.
The dedication verse was published ten years after her death. The premature departure of a loved one hurt the poet so much that he could never come to terms with it. The poet's contemporaries said that during the night spent at the tomb of his wife, he turned gray.
The use of an anaphora in the form of a fourfold repetition of the word “more” tells the reader that a considerable period has already passed since the separation. But, nevertheless, the hero yearns and suffers. It is not surprising, because Eleanor was able to become not only a friend and colleague, but also an inspiration to the poet. No one else could take such selfless care of him.
Even after eleven years of their life together, his wife loved him so much that it was impossible not to notice. Her image, “sweet”, “unforgettable”, lives in his soul to this day. He is inaccessible to the hero, but at the same time close to the heart. In order to convey this to the reader, the poet uses a comparison with a star, bright and unattainable. Here, Tyutchev's guilt is clearly felt, he opposes his wife to himself. And he concludes that he is not worthy of an exalted feeling on her part.
Metaphorical images of "longing desires", "in the twilight of memories" make it clear how deep and inexhaustible the poet's grief is. But, nevertheless, the sincerity of his emotional experiences makes anyone understand the height of his feelings. Tyutchev skillfully was able to express this with pen and paper.
Analysis of the poem I still yearn for desires according to the plan
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