Mikhail Lermontov - Mtsyri (Poem): Verse. Online reading of the book Mtsyri Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov. Mtsyri And I remembered my father's house

Tasting, I tasted little honey and now I’m dying.

1st Book of Kings.

A few years ago,
Where they make noise merging,
Hugging like two sisters,
The streams of Aragva and Kura,
There was a monastery. From behind the mountain
And now the pedestrian sees
Collapsed gate posts
And the towers, and the church vault;
But there’s no smoking under it
Censer fragrant smoke,
Can't hear the singing at late hour
Monks praying for us.
Now there is one gray-haired old man,
The guard of the ruins is half dead,
Forgotten by people and death,
Sweeps dust from gravestones,
Which the inscription says
About the glory of the past - and about
How depressed I am by my crown,
Such and such a king, in such and such a year
He handed over his people to Russia.

And God's grace came down
To Georgia! - she was blooming

Since then, in the shade of their gardens,
Without fear of enemies,
Beyond friendly bayonets.

Once upon a time a Russian general
I drove from the mountains to Tiflis;
He was carrying a prisoner child.
He fell ill and could not bear it
Labor has a long way to go.
He seemed to be about six years old;
Like a chamois of the mountains, timid and wild
And weak and flexible, like a reed.
But there is a painful illness in him
Then developed a mighty spirit
His fathers. He has no complaints
I was languishing - even a weak moan
Didn't come out of children's lips,
He signly rejected food,
And he died quietly, proudly.
Out of pity one monk
He looked after the sick man, and within the walls
He remained protective
Saved by friendly art.
But, alien to childish pleasures,
At first he ran away from everyone,
Wandered silently, alone,
I looked, sighing, to the east,
We are tormented by vague melancholy
On my own side.
But after that he got used to captivity,
I began to understand a foreign language,
Was baptized by the holy father
And, unfamiliar with the noisy light,
Already wanted in the prime of life
Take a monastic vow
Suddenly one day he disappeared
Autumn night. Dark forest
Stretched around the mountains.
Three days all the searches on it
They were in vain, but then
They found him unconscious in the steppe

And again they brought it to the monastery;
He was terribly pale and thin
And weak, as if long labor,
I experienced illness or hunger.
He did not answer the interrogation
And every day he became noticeably sluggish;
And his end was near.
Then the monk came to him
With exhortation and supplication;
And, having proudly listened, the patient
He stood up, gathering the rest of his strength,
And for a long time he said this:

"You listen to my confession
I came here, thank you.
Everything is better in front of someone
With words, ease my chest;
But I didn’t do harm to people,
And therefore my affairs
It won't do you much good to know;
Can you tell your soul?
I lived little and lived in captivity.
Such two lives in one,
But only full of anxiety,
I would trade it if I could.
I knew only the power of thoughts,
One but fiery passion:
She lived inside me like a worm,
She tore her soul and burned it.
She called my dreams
From stuffy cells and prayers
In that wonderful world of worries and battles,
Where rocks hide in the clouds,
Where people are as free as eagles.
I am this passion in the darkness of the night
Nourished with tears and melancholy;
Her before heaven and earth
I now loudly admit
And I don’t ask for forgiveness.

"Old man! I've heard many times
That you saved me from death -
Why?.. gloomy and lonely,
A leaf torn off by a thunderstorm,
I grew up in dark walls
A child at heart, a monk by destiny.
I couldn't tell anyone
The sacred words are “father” and “mother”.
Of course you wanted, old man,
So that I get out of the habit of being in the monastery
From these sweet names.
In vain: their sound was born
With me. I've seen others
Fatherland, home, friends, relatives,
But I didn’t find it at home
Not only sweet souls - graves!
Then, without wasting empty tears,
In my soul I swore an oath:
Although for a moment someday
My burning chest
Hold the other one to your chest with longing,
Although unfamiliar, but dear.
Alas, now those dreams are
Died in complete beauty,
And I, as I lived, in a foreign land
I will die a slave and an orphan.

“The grave does not frighten me:
There, they say, suffering sleeps
In cold, eternal silence;
But I’m sorry to part with life.
I'm young, young... Did you know
Dreams of wild youth?
Either I didn’t know or I forgot
How I hated and loved;
How my heart beat faster
At the sight of the sun and fields
From the high corner tower,
Where the air is fresh and where sometimes
In a deep hole in the wall,

Child of an unknown country,
Snuggled up, a young dove
Sitting, scared of a thunderstorm?
Let the beautiful light now
I hate you: you are weak, you are gray,
And you have lost the habit of desires.
What kind of need? You lived, old man!
There is something in the world for you to forget,
You lived, I could also live!

"You want to know what I saw
Free? - Lush fields,
Hills covered with a crown
Trees growing all around
Noisy with a fresh crowd,
Like brothers, dancing in a circle.
I saw piles of dark rocks
When the stream separated them,
And I guessed their thoughts:
It was given to me from above!
Stretched out in the air for a long time
Embrace them in stone
And they yearn for a meeting every moment;
But the days go by, the years go by -
They will never get along!
I saw mountain ranges
Bizarre as dreams
When at the hour of dawn
They smoked like altars,
Their heights in the blue sky,
And cloud after cloud,
Leaving his secret overnight stay,
Running towards the east -
It's like a white caravan
Migratory birds from distant countries!
In the distance I saw through the fog,
In the snow that burns like a diamond,
The gray, unshakable Caucasus;
And it was in my heart
Easy, I don't know why.
A secret voice told me

That I once lived there too,
And it became in my memory
The past is clearer, clearer.

“And I remembered my father’s house,
The gorge is ours, and all around
A scattered village in the shade;
I heard the evening noise
Home of the running herds
And the distant barking of familiar dogs.
I remembered dark old men
In the light of moonlit evenings
Against father's porch
Sitting with dignity on their faces;
And the shine of the framed scabbard
Long daggers... and, like a dream,
All this in a vague series
Suddenly it ran in front of me.
And my father? he's alive
In your combat clothes
He appeared to me and I remembered
The ringing of chain mail and the shine of guns,
And a proud, unyielding gaze,
And my young sisters...
The rays of their sweet eyes
And the sound of their songs and speeches
Over my cradle...
There was a stream running into the gorge,
It was noisy, but not deep;
To him, on the golden sand,
I left to play at noon
And I watched the swallows with my eyes,
When they, before the rain,
The waves touched the wing.
And I remembered our peaceful home
And before the evening fire
There are long stories about
How did the people of the old days live?
When the world was even more magnificent.

"You want to know what I did
Free? Lived - and my life
Without these three blissful days
It would be sadder and gloomier
Your powerless old age.
A long time ago I thought
Look at the distant fields
Find out if the earth is beautiful
Find out for freedom or prison
We are born into this world.
And at the hour of the night, terrible hour,
When the thunderstorm scared you,
When, crowded at the altar,
You were lying prostrate on the ground,
I ran. Oh I'm like a brother
I would be glad to embrace the storm!
I watched with the eyes of a cloud,
I caught lightning with my hand...
Tell me what's between these walls
Could you give me in return
That friendship is short, but alive,
Between a stormy heart and a thunderstorm?..

“I ran for a long time - where, where,
Don't know! not a single star
Didn't illuminate the difficult path.
I had fun inhaling
In my weary chest
The night freshness of those forests,
But only. I have a lot of hours
I ran, and finally, tired,
He lay down between the tall grasses;
I listened: there was no chase.
The storm has subsided. Pale light
Stretched out in a long strip
Between dark sky and earth
And I distinguished, like a pattern,
On it are the jagged teeth of distant mountains;
Motionless, silent, I lay there.

Sometimes there is a jackal in the gorge
Screamed and cried like a child
And smooth with glittering scales,
The snake slithered between the stones;
But fear did not squeeze my soul:
I myself, like an animal, was alien to people
And he crawled and hid like a snake.

"Down deep below me
The flow, strengthened by the thunderstorm,
It was noisy, and its noise was dull
Hundreds of angry voices
Got it. Although without words,
I understood that conversation
Incessant murmur, eternal argument
With a stubborn pile of stones.
Then suddenly it calmed down, then it became stronger
It sounded in silence;
And so, in the foggy heights
The birds began to sing, and the east
Got rich; breeze
The damp sheets moved;
The sleepy flowers have died,
And, like them, towards the day,
I raised my head...
I looked around; I'm not hiding:
I felt scared; on the edge
I lay in the threatening abyss,
Where the angry shaft howled and whirled;
Steps of rocks led there;
But only an evil spirit walked over them,
When, cast down from heaven,
He disappeared into an underground abyss.

“God’s garden was blooming all around me;
Plants rainbow outfit
Kept traces of heavenly tears,
And the curls of the vines
Weaving, showing off between the trees

Transparent green leaves;
And there are grapes full of them,
Earrings like expensive ones,
They hung magnificently, and sometimes
A timid swarm of birds flew towards them.
And again I fell to the ground,
And I began to listen again
To magical, strange voices;
They whispered in the bushes,
As if they were speaking
About the secrets of heaven and earth;
And all nature's voices
They merged here; didn't sound
In the solemn hour of praise
Only a man's proud voice.
Everything I felt then
Those thoughts - they no longer have a trace;
But I would like to tell them,
To live, at least mentally, again.
That morning there was a vault of heaven
So pure that an angel's flight
A diligent eye could follow;
He was so transparently deep
So full of smooth blue!
I am in it with my eyes and soul
Drowning while the midday heat
Didn't disperse my dreams
And I began to languish with thirst.

"Then to the stream from above,
Holding on to flexible bushes,
From stove to stove I did my best
He began to descend. From under your feet
Having broken off, the stone sometimes
Rolled down - behind him the reins
It was smoking, the dust was in a column;
Humming and jumping then
He was swallowed up by the wave;
And I hung above the depths,
But free youth is strong,
And death seemed not scary!

Only I'm from steep heights
Descended, the freshness of mountain waters
She blew towards me,
And greedily I fell to the wave.
Suddenly a voice - a light sound of footsteps...
Instantly hiding between the bushes,
Embraced by involuntary trepidation,
I looked up fearfully
And he began to listen eagerly.
And closer, closer everything sounded
Georgian woman's voice is young,
So artlessly alive
So sweetly free, as if he
Only the sounds of friendly names
I was accustomed to pronounce.
It was a simple song
But it stuck in my mind,
And for me, only darkness comes,
The invisible spirit sings it.

"Holding the jug above your head,
Georgian woman on a narrow path
I went to the shore. Sometimes
She slid between the stones
Laughing at your awkwardness.
And her outfit was poor;
And she walked easily, back
Curves of long veils
Throwing it back. Summer heat
Covered with golden shadow
Her face and chest; and heat
I breathed from her lips and cheeks.
And the darkness of the eyes was so deep,
So full of the secrets of love,
What are my ardent thoughts
Confused. Only I remember
The jug rings when the stream
Slowly poured into him,
And a rustle... nothing more.
When did I wake up again
And the blood drained from the heart,

She was already far away;
And she walked at least more quietly, but easily,
Slender under her burden,
Like a poplar, the king of her fields!
Not far away, in the cool darkness,
It seemed like we were rooted to the rock
Two saklas as a friendly couple;
Above a flat roof
The smoke flowed blue.
It's as if I see now
How the door quietly opened...
And it closed again!..
I know you won't understand
My longing, my sadness;
And if I could, I would be sorry:
Memories of those minutes
In me, with me, let them die.

“I am exhausted by the labors of the night,
I lay down in the shade. Pleasant dream
I closed my eyes involuntarily...
And again I saw in a dream
Georgian woman image is young.
And strange, sweet melancholy
My chest began to ache again.
I struggled to breathe for a long time -
And I woke up. Already the moon
Above she shone, and alone
Only a cloud was sneaking behind her,
As if for your prey,
Greedy arms opened.
The world was dark and silent;
Only silver fringe
Tops of the snow chain
In the distance they sparkled before me,
Yes, a stream splashed into the banks.
There is a light in the familiar hut
It fluttered, then went out again:
In heaven at midnight
So the bright star goes out!
I wanted to... but I'm going there

I didn’t dare to go up. I have one goal
Go to your native country,
Had it in my soul - and overcame
Suffering from hunger as best I could.
And here's the straight road
He set off, timid and dumb.
But soon in the depths of the forest
Lost sight of the mountains
And then I began to lose my way.

“In vain to be furious, at times,
I tore with a desperate hand
Thorn tangled with ivy:
It was all forest, eternal forest all around,
Scarier and thicker every hour;
And a million black eyes
Watched the darkness of the night
Through the branches of every bush...
My head was spinning;
I began to climb trees;
But even at the edge of heaven
It was still the same jagged forest.
Then I fell to the ground;
And he sobbed in a frenzy,
And gnawed the damp breast of the earth,
And tears, tears flowed
Into her with flammable dew...
But believe me, human help
I didn't want... I was a stranger
For them forever, like a beast of the steppe;
And if only for a minute cry
He cheated on me - I swear, old man,
I would tear out my weak tongue.

“Do you remember your childhood years;
I have never known tears;
But then I cried without shame.
Who could see? Only a dark forest
Yes, a month floating among the heavens!

Illuminated by its ray,
Covered with moss and sand,
An impenetrable wall
Surrounded, in front of me
There was a clearing. Suddenly on her
A shadow flashed and two lights
Sparks flew... and then
Some beast in one leap
He jumped out of the thicket and lay down,
While playing, lie down on the sand.
It was the desert's eternal guest -
Mighty leopard. Raw bone
He gnawed and squealed joyfully;
Then he fixed his bloody gaze,
Wagging its tail affectionately,
For a full month, and on it
The wool shone silver.
I was waiting, grabbing a horned branch,
A minute of battle; heart suddenly
Ignited with a thirst for fight
And blood... yes, the hand of fate
I was led in a different direction...
But now I'm sure
What could happen in the land of our fathers
Not one of the last daredevils.

"I was waiting. And here in the shadows of the night
He sensed the enemy, and howl
Lingering, plaintive, like a groan,
Suddenly there was a sound... and he began
Angrily digging the sand with your paw,
He reared up, then lay down,
And the first mad leap
I was threatened with a terrible death...
But I warned him.
My blow was true and quick.
My reliable bitch is like an axe,
His broad forehead was cut...
He groaned like a man
And he capsized. But again,

Although blood poured from the wound
Thick, wide wave,
The battle has begun, a mortal battle!

“He threw himself on my chest;
But I managed to stick it in my throat
And turn there twice
My weapon... He howled
He rushed with all his strength,
And we, intertwined like a pair of snakes,
Hugging tighter than two friends,
They fell at once, and in the darkness
The battle continued on the ground.
And I was terrible at that moment;
Like a desert leopard, angry and wild,
I was on fire and screaming like him;
As if I myself was born
In the family of leopards and wolves
Under the fresh forest canopy.
It seemed that the words of people
I forgot - and in my chest
That terrible cry was born
It's like my tongue has been around since childhood
I'm not used to a different sound...
But my enemy began to grow weak,
Throw about, breathe slower,
Squeezed me for the last time...
The pupils of his motionless eyes
They flashed menacingly - and then
Quietly closed in eternal sleep;
But with a triumphant enemy
He faced death face to face
How a fighter should behave in battle!..

"You see on my chest
Deep claw marks;
They haven't overgrown yet
And they didn’t close; but the earth
The damp cover will refresh them,

And death will heal forever.
I forgot about them then
And, once again gathering the rest of my strength,
I wandered into the depths of the forest...
But I argued in vain with fate:
She laughed at me!

“I came out of the forest. And so
The day woke up and there was a round dance
The guiding light has disappeared
In its rays. Foggy forest
He spoke. Aul in the distance
Started smoking. Vague hum
Ran through the valley with the wind...
I sat down and began to listen;
But it fell silent along with the breeze.
And I glanced around:
That region seemed familiar to me.
And I was scared to understand
I couldn’t for a long time, that again
I returned to my prison;
That so many days are useless
I caressed a secret plan,
He endured, languished and suffered,
And why all this?.. So that in the prime of life,
Barely looking at the light of God,
With the sonorous murmur of the oak forests,
Having experienced the bliss of freedom,
Take it to the grave with you
Longing for the holy homeland,
A reproach to the hopes of the deceived
And shame on your pity!..
Still immersed in doubt,
I thought it was a bad dream...
Suddenly a distant bell rings
It rang out again in the silence -
And then everything became clear to me...
ABOUT! I recognized him immediately!
He has seen children's eyes more than once
Driven away the visions of living dreams
About dear neighbors and relatives,

About the wild will of the steppes,
About light, mad horses,
About wonderful battles between the rocks,
Where I alone defeated everyone!..
And I listened without tears, without strength.
It seemed that the ringing was coming out
From the heart - as if someone
The iron struck me in the chest.
And then I vaguely realized
What traces do I have to my homeland?
Will never pave it.

“Yes, I deserve my lot!
A mighty horse is alien in the steppe,
Having thrown off the bad rider,
To my homeland from afar
Finds a direct and short way...
What am I in front of him? Breasts in vain
Full of desire and longing:
That heat is powerless and empty,
A dream game, a disease of the mind.
I have my prison stamp on me
Left... Such is the flower
Temnichny: grew up alone
And he is pale between the damp slabs,
And for a long time the young leaves
I didn’t bloom, I was still waiting for the rays
Life-giving. And many days
Passed and a kind hand
The flower was touched with sadness,
And he was carried into the garden,
In the neighborhood of roses. From all sides
The sweetness of life was breathing...
But what? The dawn has barely risen,
The scorching ray burned her
A flower raised in prison...

"And, what's his name, he scorched me
The fire of a merciless day.
In vain I hid in the grass

My tired head;
A withered leaf is her crown
Thorn over my brow
Curled up and in the face with fire
The earth itself breathed to me.
Flashing quickly in the heights,
Sparks swirled; from the white cliffs
Steam was flowing. God's world was sleeping
In a deaf daze
Despair is a heavy sleep.
At least the corncrake screamed,
Or a dragonfly's living trill
I heard it, or a stream
Baby talk... Just a snake
rustling dry weeds,
Shining with a yellow back,
It's like a golden inscription
The blade is covered to the bottom,
Traversing the crumbly sand,
She glided carefully; Then,
Playing, basking on it,
Curled in a triple ring;
It's like suddenly being burned,
She rushed and jumped
And she was hiding in the distant bushes...

“And everything was in heaven
Light and quiet. Through couples
Two mountains loomed black in the distance,
Our monastery because of one
The jagged wall sparkled.
Below are Aragva and Kura,
Wrapped in silver
The soles of the fresh islands,
By the roots of whispering bushes
They ran together and easily...
I was far from them!
I wanted to stand up - in front of me
Everything was spinning quickly;
I wanted to scream - my tongue was dry
He was silent and motionless...

I was dying. I was tormented
Death delirium!
It seemed to me
That I'm lying on a damp bottom
Deep river - and there was
There is a mysterious darkness all around.
And I thirst for eternal singing,
Like a cold stream of ice,
Murmuring, it poured into my chest...
And I was only afraid to fall asleep,
It was so sweet, I love it...
And above me in the heights
Wave pressed against wave,
And the sun through the crystal waves
Shined sweeter than the moon...
And colorful herds of fish
Sometimes they played in the rays.
And I remember one of them:
She is friendlier than others
She caressed me. Scales
Was covered in gold
Her back. She curled
Over my head more than once,
And the look of her green eyes
He was sadly tender and deep...
And I couldn’t be surprised:
Her silver voice
He whispered strange words to me,
And he sang, and fell silent again.

He said: “My child,
Stay here with me:
Living freely in the water
And cold and peace.

“I will call my sisters:
We're dancing in a circle
Let's cheer up the foggy eyes
And your spirit is tired.

“Go to sleep, your bed is soft,
Your cover is transparent.

Years will pass, centuries will pass
Under the talk of wonderful dreams.

“Oh my dear! I won't hide it
That I love you,
I love it like a free stream,
I love you like my life...”

And for a long, long time I listened;
And it seemed like a sonorous stream
She poured out her quiet murmur
With the words of a golden fish.
Here I forgot. God's light
It faded in the eyes. Crazy nonsense
I gave in to the powerlessness of my body...

“So I was found and raised...
You know the rest yourself.
I'm done. Believe my words
Or don't believe me, I don't care.
There is only one thing that saddens me:
My corpse is cold and dumb
It will not smolder in its native land,
And the story of my bitter torments
Will not call the deaf between the walls
No one's sorrowful attention
In my dark name.

“Farewell, father... give me your hand;
Do you feel mine is on fire...
Know this flame from your youth,
Melting away, he lived in my chest;
But now there is no food for him,
And he burned down his prison
And will return again to that
Who to all the lawful succession
Gives suffering and peace...

But what does that matter to me? - let him be in heaven,
In the holy, transcendental land
My spirit will find a home...
Alas! - for a few minutes
Between steep and dark rocks,
Where I played as a child,
I would trade heaven and eternity...

"When I start to die,
And, believe me, you won’t have to wait long -
You told me to move
To our garden, to the place where they bloomed
Two white acacia bushes...
The grass between them is so thick,
And the fresh air is so fragrant,
And so transparently golden
A leaf playing in the sun!
They told me to put it there.
The glow of a blue day
I'll get drunk for the last time.
The Caucasus is visible from there!
Perhaps he is from his heights
He will send me farewell greetings,
Will send with a cool breeze...
And near me before the end
The sound will be heard again, dear!
And I will begin to think that my friend
Or brother, bending over me,
Wipe with an attentive hand
Cold sweat from the face of death,
And what he sings in a low voice
He tells me about a sweet country...
And with this thought I will fall asleep,
And I won’t curse anyone!”

And I remembered my father's house,
The gorge is ours and all around
A scattered village in the shade;
I heard the evening noise
Home of the running herds
And the distant barking of familiar dogs.
I remembered dark old men
In the light of moonlit evenings
Against father's porch
Sitting with dignity on their faces;
And the shine of the framed scabbard
Long daggers... and like a dream
All this in a vague series
Suddenly it ran in front of me.
And my father? he's alive
In your combat clothes
He appeared to me and I remembered
The ringing of chain mail and the shine of guns,
And a proud, unyielding gaze,
And my young sisters...
The rays of their sweet eyes
And the sound of their songs and speeches
Over my cradle...
There was a stream running into the gorge there.
It was noisy, but shallow;
To him, on the golden sand,
I left to play at noon
And I watched the swallows with my eyes,
When they're before the rain
The waves touched the wing.
And I remembered our peaceful home
And before the evening fire
There are long stories about
How did the people of the old days live?
When the world was even more magnificent.

You want to know what I did
Free? Lived - and my life
Without these three blissful days
It would be sadder and gloomier
Your powerless old age.
A long time ago I thought
Look at the distant fields
Find out if the earth is beautiful
Find out for freedom or prison
We are born into this world.
And at the hour of the night, terrible hour,
When the thunderstorm scared you,
When, crowded at the altar,
You were lying prostrate on the ground,
I ran. Oh I'm like a brother
I would be glad to embrace the storm!
I watched with the eyes of a cloud,
I caught lightning with my hand...
Tell me what's between these walls
Could you give me in return
That friendship is short, but alive,
Between a stormy heart and a thunderstorm?,.

I ran for a long time - where, where?
Don't know! not a single star
Didn't illuminate the difficult path.
I had fun inhaling
In my weary chest
The night freshness of those forests,
But only! I have a lot of hours
I ran, and finally, tired,
He lay down between the tall grasses;
I listened: there was no chase.
The storm has subsided. Pale light
Stretched out in a long strip
Between dark sky and earth
And I distinguished, like a pattern,
On it are the jagged teeth of distant mountains;
Motionless, silent I lay,
Sometimes there is a jackal in the gorge
Screamed and cried like a child
And, shining with smooth scales,
The snake slithered between the stones;
But fear did not squeeze my soul:
I myself, like an animal, was alien to people
And he crawled and hid like a snake.

Down deep below me
Flow intensified by thunderstorm
It was noisy, and its noise was dull
Hundreds of angry voices
Got it. Although without words
I understood that conversation
Incessant murmur, eternal argument
With a stubborn pile of stones.
Then suddenly it calmed down, then it became stronger
It sounded in silence;
And so, in the foggy heights
The birds began to sing, and the east
Got rich; breeze
The damp sheets moved;
The sleepy flowers have died,
And, like them, towards the day
I raised my head...
I looked around; I'm not hiding:
I felt scared; on the edge
I lay in the threatening abyss,
Where the angry shaft howled and whirled;
Steps of rocks led there;
But only an evil spirit walked over them,
When, cast down from heaven,
He disappeared into an underground abyss.

Read the poem in full:

Tasting, I tasted little honey and now I’m dying.

1st Book of Kings.
1
A few years ago,
Where they make noise merging,
Hugging like two sisters,
The streams of Aragva and Kura,
There was a monastery. From behind the mountain
And now the pedestrian sees
Collapsed gate posts
And the towers, and the church vault;
But there’s no smoking under it
Censer fragrant smoke,
Can't hear the singing at late hour
Monks praying for us.
Now there is one gray-haired old man,
The guard of the ruins is half dead,
Forgotten by people and death,
Sweeps dust from gravestones,
Which the inscription says
About the glory of the past - and about
How depressed I am by my crown,
Such and such a king, in such and such a year
He handed over his people to Russia.
* * *
And God's grace came down
To Georgia! - she was blooming
Since then, in the shade of their gardens,
Without fear of enemies,
Beyond friendly bayonets.
2
Once upon a time a Russian general
I drove from the mountains to Tiflis;
He was carrying a prisoner child.
He fell ill and could not bear it
Labor has a long way to go.
He seemed to be about six years old;
Like a chamois of the mountains, timid and wild
And weak and flexible, like a reed.
But there is a painful illness in him
Then developed a mighty spirit
His fathers. He has no complaints
I was languishing - even a weak moan
Didn't come out of children's lips,
He signly rejected food,
And he died quietly, proudly.
Out of pity one monk
He looked after the sick man, and within the walls
He remained protective
Saved by friendly art.
But, alien to childish pleasures,
At first he ran away from everyone,
Wandered silently, alone,
I looked, sighing, to the east,
We are tormented by vague melancholy
On my own side.
But after that he got used to captivity,
I began to understand a foreign language,
Was baptized by the holy father
And, unfamiliar with the noisy light,
Already wanted in the prime of life
Take a monastic vow
Suddenly one day he disappeared
Autumn night. Dark forest
Stretched around the mountains.
Three days all the searches on it
They were in vain, but then
They found him unconscious in the steppe
And again they brought it to the monastery;
He was terribly pale and thin
And weak, as if long labor,
I experienced illness or hunger.
He did not answer the interrogation
And every day he became noticeably sluggish;
And his end was near.
Then the monk came to him
With exhortation and supplication;
And, having proudly listened, the patient
He stood up, gathering the rest of his strength,
And for a long time he said this:
3
"You listen to my confession
I came here, thank you.
Everything is better in front of someone
With words, ease my chest;
But I didn’t do harm to people,
And therefore my affairs
It won't do you much good to know;
Can you tell your soul?
I lived little and lived in captivity.
Such two lives in one,
But only full of anxiety,
I would trade it if I could.
I knew only the power of thoughts,
One - but fiery passion:
She lived inside me like a worm,
She tore her soul and burned it.
She called my dreams
From stuffy cells and prayers
In that wonderful world of worries and battles,
Where rocks hide in the clouds,
Where people are as free as eagles.
I am this passion in the darkness of the night
Nourished with tears and melancholy;
Her before heaven and earth
I now loudly admit
And I don’t ask for forgiveness.
4
"Old man! I've heard many times
That you saved me from death -
Why?.. Gloomy and lonely,
A leaf torn off by a thunderstorm,
I grew up in dark walls
A child at heart, a monk by destiny.
I couldn't tell anyone
The sacred words are “father” and “mother”.
Of course you wanted, old man,
So that I get out of the habit of being in the monastery
From these sweet names.
In vain: their sound was born
With me. I've seen others
Fatherland, home, friends, relatives,
But I didn’t find it at home
Not only sweet souls - graves!
Then, without wasting empty tears,
In my soul I swore an oath:
Although for a moment someday
My burning chest
Hold the other one to your chest with longing,
Although unfamiliar, but dear.
Alas, now those dreams are
Died in complete beauty,
And I, as I lived, in a foreign land
I will die a slave and an orphan.
5
“The grave does not frighten me:
There, they say, suffering sleeps
In cold, eternal silence;
But I’m sorry to part with life.
I'm young, young... Did you know
Dreams of wild youth?
Either I didn’t know or I forgot
How I hated and loved;
How my heart beat faster
At the sight of the sun and fields
From the high corner tower,
Where the air is fresh and where sometimes
In a deep hole in the wall,
Child of an unknown country,
Snuggled up, a young dove
Sitting, scared of a thunderstorm?
Let the beautiful light now
I hate you: you are weak, you are gray,
And you have lost the habit of desires.
What kind of need? You lived, old man!
There is something in the world for you to forget,
You lived - I could also live!
6
"You want to know what I saw
Free? – Lush fields,
Hills covered with a crown
Trees growing all around
Noisy with a fresh crowd,
Like brothers, dancing in a circle.
I saw piles of dark rocks
When the stream separated them,
And I guessed their thoughts:
It was given to me from above!
Stretched out in the air for a long time
Embrace them in stone
And they yearn for a meeting every moment;
But the days fly by, the years fly by -
They will never get along!
I saw mountain ranges
Bizarre as dreams
When at the hour of dawn
They smoked like altars,
Their heights in the blue sky,
And cloud after cloud,
Leaving his secret overnight stay,
Running towards the east -
It's like a white caravan
Migratory birds from distant countries!
In the distance I saw through the fog,
In the snow that burns like a diamond,
The gray, unshakable Caucasus;
And it was in my heart
Easy, I don't know why.
A secret voice told me
That I once lived there too,
And it became in my memory
The past is clearer, clearer.
7
“And I remembered my father’s house,
The gorge is ours, and all around
A scattered village in the shade;
I heard the evening noise
Home of the running herds
And the distant barking of familiar dogs.
I remembered dark old men
In the light of moonlit evenings
Against father's porch
Sitting with dignity on their faces;
And the shine of the framed scabbard
Long daggers... and, like a dream,
All this in a vague series
Suddenly it ran in front of me.
And my father? He's alive
In your combat clothes
He appeared to me and I remembered
The ringing of chain mail and the shine of guns,
And a proud, unyielding gaze,
And my young sisters...
The rays of their sweet eyes
And the sound of their songs and speeches
Over my cradle...
There was a stream running into the gorge,
It was noisy, but not deep;
To him, on the golden sand,
I left to play at noon
And I watched the swallows with my eyes,
When they, before the rain,
The waves touched the wing.
And I remembered our peaceful home
And before the evening fire
There are long stories about
How did the people of the old days live?
When the world was even more magnificent.
8
"You want to know what I did
Free? Lived - and my life
Without these three blissful days
It would be sadder and gloomier
Your powerless old age.
A long time ago I thought
Look at the distant fields
Find out if the earth is beautiful
Find out for freedom or prison
We are born into this world.
And at the hour of the night, terrible hour,
When the thunderstorm scared you,
When, crowded at the altar,
You were lying prostrate on the ground,
I ran. Oh I'm like a brother
I would be glad to embrace the storm!
I watched with the eyes of a cloud,
I caught lightning with my hand...
Tell me what's between these walls
Could you give me in return
That friendship is short, but alive,
Between a stormy heart and a thunderstorm?..
9
“I ran for a long time - where, where,
Don't know! Not a single star
Didn't illuminate the difficult path.
I had fun inhaling
In my weary chest
The night freshness of those forests,
But only. I have a lot of hours
I ran, and finally, tired,
He lay down between the tall grasses;
I listened: there was no chase.
The storm has subsided. Pale light
Stretched out in a long strip
Between dark sky and earth
And I distinguished, like a pattern,
On it are the jagged teeth of distant mountains;
Motionless, silent, I lay there.
Sometimes there is a jackal in the gorge
Screamed and cried like a child
And smooth with glittering scales,
The snake slithered between the stones;
But fear did not squeeze my soul:
I myself, like an animal, was alien to people
And he crawled and hid like a snake.
10
"Down deep below me
The flow, strengthened by the thunderstorm,
It was noisy, and its noise was dull
Hundreds of angry voices
Got it. Although without words,
I understood that conversation
Incessant murmur, eternal argument
With a stubborn pile of stones.
Then suddenly it calmed down, then it became stronger
It sounded in silence;
And so, in the foggy heights
The birds began to sing, and the east
Got rich; breeze
The damp sheets moved;
The sleepy flowers have died,
And, like them, towards the day,
I raised my head...
I looked around; I'm not hiding:
I felt scared; on the edge
I lay in the threatening abyss,
Where the angry shaft howled and whirled;
Steps of rocks led there;
But only an evil spirit walked over them,
When, cast down from heaven,
He disappeared into an underground abyss.
11
“God’s garden was blooming all around me;
Plants rainbow outfit
Kept traces of heavenly tears,
And the curls of the vines
Weaving, showing off between the trees
Transparent green leaves;
And there are grapes full of them,
Earrings like expensive ones,
They hung magnificently, and sometimes
A timid swarm of birds flew towards them.
And again I fell to the ground,
And I began to listen again
To magical, strange voices;
They whispered in the bushes,
As if they were speaking
About the secrets of heaven and earth;
And all nature's voices
They merged here; didn't sound
In the solemn hour of praise
Only a man's proud voice.
Everything I felt then
Those thoughts - they no longer have a trace;
But I would like to tell them,
To live, at least mentally, again.
That morning there was a vault of heaven
So pure that an angel's flight
A diligent eye could follow;
He was so transparently deep
So full of smooth blue!
I am in it with my eyes and soul
Drowning while the midday heat
Didn't disperse my dreams
And I began to languish with thirst.
12
"Then to the stream from above,
Holding on to flexible bushes,
From stove to stove I did my best
He began to descend. From under your feet
Having broken off, the stone sometimes
Rolled down - behind him the reins
It was smoking, the dust was in a column;
Humming and jumping then
He was swallowed up by the wave;
And I hung above the depths,
But free youth is strong,
And death seemed not scary!
Only I'm from steep heights
Descended, the freshness of mountain waters
She blew towards me,
And greedily I fell to the wave.
Suddenly a voice - a light sound of footsteps...
Instantly hiding between the bushes,
Embraced by involuntary trepidation,
I looked up fearfully
And he began to listen eagerly.
And closer, closer everything sounded
Georgian woman's voice is young,
So artlessly alive
So sweetly free, as if he
Only the sounds of friendly names
I was accustomed to pronounce.
It was a simple song
But it stuck in my mind,
And for me, only darkness comes,
The invisible spirit sings it.
13
"Holding the jug above your head,
Georgian woman on a narrow path
I went to the shore. Sometimes
She slid between the stones
Laughing at your awkwardness.
And her outfit was poor;
And she walked easily, back
Curves of long veils
Throwing it back. Summer heat
Covered with golden shadow
Her face and chest; and heat
I breathed from her lips and cheeks.
And the darkness of the eyes was so deep,
So full of the secrets of love,
What are my ardent thoughts
Confused. Only I remember
The jug rings when the stream
Slowly poured into him,
And a rustle... nothing more.
When did I wake up again
And the blood drained from the heart,
She was already far away;
And she walked at least more quietly, but easily,
Slender under her burden,
Like a poplar, the king of her fields!
Not far away, in the cool darkness,
It seemed like we were rooted to the rock
Two saklas as a friendly couple;
Above a flat roof
The smoke flowed blue.
It's as if I see now
How the door quietly opened...
And it closed again!..
I know you won't understand
My longing, my sadness;
And if I could, I would be sorry:
Memories of those minutes
In me, with me, let them die.
14
“I am exhausted by the labors of the night,
I lay down in the shade. Pleasant dream
I closed my eyes involuntarily...
And again I saw in a dream
Georgian woman image is young.
And strange, sweet melancholy
My chest began to ache again.
I struggled to breathe for a long time -
And I woke up. Already the moon
Above she shone, and alone
Only a cloud was sneaking behind her,
As if for your prey,
Greedy arms opened.
The world was dark and silent;
Only silver fringe
Tops of the snow chain
In the distance they sparkled before me,
Yes, a stream splashed into the banks.
There is a light in the familiar hut
It fluttered, then went out again:
In heaven at midnight
So the bright star goes out!
I wanted to... but I'm going there
I didn’t dare to go up. I have one goal
Go to your native country,
Had it in my soul - and overcame
Suffering from hunger as best I could.
And here's the straight road
He set off, timid and dumb.
But soon in the depths of the forest
Lost sight of the mountains
And then I began to lose my way.
15
“In vain to be furious, at times,
I tore with a desperate hand
Thorn tangled with ivy:
It was all forest, eternal forest all around,
Scarier and thicker every hour;
And a million black eyes
Watched the darkness of the night
Through the branches of every bush...
My head was spinning;
I began to climb trees;
But even at the edge of heaven
It was still the same jagged forest.
Then I fell to the ground;
And he sobbed in a frenzy,
And gnawed the damp breast of the earth,
And tears, tears flowed
Into her with flammable dew...
But believe me, human help
I didn't want... I was a stranger
For them forever, like a beast of the steppe;
And if only for a minute cry
He cheated on me - I swear, old man,
I would tear out my weak tongue.
16
“Do you remember your childhood years;
I have never known tears;
But then I cried without shame.
Who could see? Only a dark forest
Yes, a month floating among the heavens!
Illuminated by its ray,
Covered with moss and sand,
An impenetrable wall
Surrounded, in front of me
There was a clearing. Suddenly on her
A shadow flashed and two lights
Sparks flew... and then
Some beast in one leap
He jumped out of the thicket and lay down,
While playing, lie down on the sand.
It was the desert's eternal guest -
Mighty leopard. Raw bone
He gnawed and squealed joyfully;
Then he fixed his bloody gaze,
Wagging its tail affectionately,
For a full month - and on it
The wool shone silver.
I was waiting, grabbing a horned branch,
A minute of battle; heart suddenly
Ignited with a thirst for fight
And blood... yes, the hand of fate
I was led in a different direction...
But now I'm sure
What could happen in the land of our fathers
Not one of the last daredevils.
17
"I was waiting. And here in the shadows of the night
He sensed the enemy, and howl
Lingering, plaintive, like a groan,
Suddenly there was a sound... and he began
Angrily digging the sand with your paw,
He reared up, then lay down,
And the first mad leap
I was threatened with a terrible death...
But I warned him.
My blow was true and quick.
My reliable bitch is like an axe,
His wide forehead cut...
He groaned like a man
And he capsized. But again,
Although blood poured from the wound
Thick, wide wave,
The battle has begun, a mortal battle!
18
“He threw himself on my chest;
But I managed to stick it in my throat
And turn there twice
My weapon... He howled,
He rushed with all his strength,
And we, intertwined like a pair of snakes,
Hugging tighter than two friends,
They fell at once, and in the darkness
The battle continued on the ground.
And I was terrible at that moment;
Like a desert leopard, angry and wild,
I was on fire and screaming like him;
As if I myself was born
In the family of leopards and wolves
Under the fresh forest canopy.
It seemed that the words of people
I forgot - and in my chest
That terrible cry was born
It's like my tongue has been around since childhood
I’m not used to a different sound...
But my enemy began to grow weak,
Throw about, breathe slower,
Squeezed me for the last time...
The pupils of his motionless eyes
They flashed menacingly - and then
Quietly closed in eternal sleep;
But with a triumphant enemy
He faced death face to face
How a fighter should behave in battle!..
19
"You see on my chest
Deep claw marks;
They haven't overgrown yet
And they didn’t close; but the earth
The damp cover will refresh them,
And death will heal forever.
I forgot about them then
And, once again gathering the rest of my strength,
I wandered into the depths of the forest...
But I argued in vain with fate:
She laughed at me!
20
“I came out of the forest. And so
The day woke up and there was a round dance
The guiding light has disappeared
In its rays. Foggy forest
He spoke. Aul in the distance
Started smoking. Vague hum
Ran through the valley with the wind...
I sat down and began to listen;
But it fell silent along with the breeze.
And I glanced around:
That region seemed familiar to me.
And I was scared to understand
I couldn’t for a long time, that again
I returned to my prison;
That so many days are useless
I caressed a secret plan,
He endured, languished and suffered,
And why all this?.. So that in the prime of life,
Barely looking at the light of God,
With the sonorous murmur of the oak forests,
Having experienced the bliss of freedom,
Take it to the grave with you
Longing for the holy homeland,
A reproach to the hopes of the deceived
And shame on your pity!..
Still immersed in doubt,
I thought it was a bad dream...
Suddenly a distant bell rings
It rang out again in the silence -
And then everything became clear to me...
ABOUT! I recognized him immediately!
He has seen children's eyes more than once
Driven away the visions of living dreams
About dear neighbors and relatives,
About the wild will of the steppes,
About light, mad horses,
About wonderful battles between the rocks,
Where I alone defeated everyone!..
And I listened without tears, without strength.
It seemed that the ringing was coming out
From the heart - as if someone
The iron struck me in the chest.
And then I vaguely realized
What traces do I have to my homeland?
Will never pave it.
21
“Yes, I deserve my lot!
A mighty horse is alien in the steppe,
Having thrown off the bad rider,
To my homeland from afar
Will find a direct and short way...
What am I in front of him? Breasts in vain
Full of desire and longing:
That heat is powerless and empty,
A dream game, a disease of the mind.
I have my prison stamp on me
Left... Such is the flower
Temnichny: grew up alone
And he is pale between the damp slabs,
And for a long time the young leaves
I didn’t bloom, I was still waiting for the rays
Life-giving. And many days
Passed and a kind hand
The flower was touched with sadness,
And he was carried into the garden,
In the neighborhood of roses. From all sides
The sweetness of life was breathing...
But what? The dawn has barely risen,
The scorching ray burned her
A flower raised in prison...
22
"And, what's his name, he scorched me
The fire of a merciless day.
In vain I hid in the grass
My tired head;
A withered leaf is her crown
Thorn over my brow
Curled up and in the face with fire
The earth itself breathed to me.
Flashing quickly in the heights,
Sparks swirled; from the white cliffs
Steam was flowing. God's world was sleeping
In a deaf daze
Despair is a heavy sleep.
At least the corncrake screamed,
Or a dragonfly's living trill
I heard it, or a stream
Baby talk... Only a snake,
rustling dry weeds,
Shining with a yellow back,
It's like a golden inscription
The blade is covered to the bottom,
Traversing the crumbly sand,
She glided carefully; Then,
Playing, basking on it,
Curled in a triple ring;
It's like suddenly being burned,
She rushed and jumped
And she was hiding in the distant bushes...
23
“And everything was in heaven
Light and quiet. Through couples
Two mountains loomed black in the distance,
Our monastery because of one
The jagged wall sparkled.
Below are Aragva and Kura,
Wrapped in silver
The soles of the fresh islands,
By the roots of whispering bushes
They ran together and easily...
I was far from them!
I wanted to stand up - in front of me
Everything was spinning quickly;
I wanted to scream - my tongue was dry
He was silent and motionless...
I was dying. I was tormented
Death delirium!
It seemed to me
That I'm lying on a damp bottom
Deep river - and there was
There is a mysterious darkness all around.
And I thirst for eternal singing,
Like a cold stream of ice,
Murmuring, it poured into my chest...
And I was only afraid to fall asleep,
It was so sweet, I love it...
And above me in the heights
Wave pressed against wave,
And the sun through the crystal waves
It shone sweeter than the moon...
And colorful herds of fish
Sometimes they played in the rays.
And I remember one of them:
She is friendlier than others
She caressed me. Scales
Was covered in gold
Her back. She curled
Over my head more than once,
And the look of her green eyes
He was sadly tender and deep...
And I couldn’t be surprised:
Her silver voice
He whispered strange words to me,
And he sang, and fell silent again.
He said: “My child,
Stay here with me:
Living freely in the water
And cold and peace.
*
“I will call my sisters:
We're dancing in a circle
Let's cheer up the foggy eyes
And your spirit is tired.
*
“Go to sleep, your bed is soft,
Your cover is transparent.
Years will pass, centuries will pass
Under the talk of wonderful dreams.
*
“Oh my dear! I won't hide it
That I love you,
I love it like a free stream,
I love you like my life..."
And for a long, long time I listened;
And it seemed like a sonorous stream
She poured out her quiet murmur
With the words of a golden fish.
Here I forgot. God's light
It faded in the eyes. Crazy nonsense
I gave in to the powerlessness of my body...
24
“So I was found and raised...
You know the rest yourself.
I'm done. Believe my words
Or don't believe me, I don't care.
There is only one thing that saddens me:
My corpse is cold and dumb
It will not smolder in its native land,
And the story of my bitter torments
Will not call the deaf between the walls
No one's sorrowful attention
In my dark name.
25
“Farewell, father... give me your hand;
Do you feel mine is on fire...
Know this flame from your youth,
Melting away, he lived in my chest;
But now there is no food for him,
And he burned down his prison
And will return again to that
Who to all the lawful succession
Gives suffering and peace...
But what does that matter to me? - let him be in heaven,
In the holy, transcendental land
My spirit will find a home...
Alas! - for a few minutes
Between steep and dark rocks,
Where I played as a child,
I would trade heaven and eternity...
26
"When I start to die,
And, believe me, you won’t have to wait long -
You told me to move
To our garden, to the place where they bloomed
Two white acacia bushes...
The grass between them is so thick,
And the fresh air is so fragrant,
And so transparently golden
A leaf playing in the sun!
They told me to put it there.
The glow of a blue day
I'll get drunk for the last time.
The Caucasus is visible from there!
Perhaps he is from his heights
He will send me farewell greetings,
Will send with a cool breeze...
And near me before the end
The sound will be heard again, dear!
And I will begin to think that my friend
Or brother, bending over me,
Wipe with an attentive hand
Cold sweat from the face of death,
And what he sings in a low voice
He tells me about a sweet country...
And with this thought I will fall asleep,
And I won’t curse anyone!”

Mtsyri in Georgian means “non-serving monk”, something like “novice”. (Lermontov's note).

Published during the poet’s lifetime in 1840 in the collection “Poems of M. Lermontov” (pp. 121–159), with some poems omitted due to censorship conditions.
Written in 1839 (on the cover of the notebook there is Lermontov’s note: “1839 August 5”).

In the autograph, the poem was called “Beri” with the note: “Beri, in Georgian monk.” There, on l. 3, the epigraph was first written: “On n’a qu’une seule patrie” (“Everyone has only one fatherland”), later crossed out by Lermontov and replaced by an epigraph from the 1st Book of Kingdoms, ch. 14 (“Tasting a little honey, and now I die”). This biblical epigraph has a symbolic meaning of violating the prohibition.

The poet himself changed the title, and the poem was included in the collection “Poems of M. Lermontov” under the name “Mtsyri”. In Georgian “mtsyri” means, firstly, “novice”, and secondly, “alien”, “stranger”, who arrived voluntarily or brought forcibly from foreign lands, a lonely person without relatives (see: V. Shaduri.

Notes on Lermontov's Georgian connections. – Literary Georgia, 1964, No. 10, p. 102–103). Lermontov threw out many of the poems that were in the original edition.

So, he crossed out, for example, 46 verses after the verse “I love it like my life” (the end of the song of the goldfish, p. 423), which contained a description of the mountaineers - Mtsyri’s compatriots, including his father) who fought for their freedom .

We present them in full:

But soon a whirlwind of new dreams
My thought was carried away far away,
And I saw before me
The Great Steppe... Its edges
Drowning in the cloudy distance,
And the clouds walked across the sky
A shaggy stormy crowd
With inexpressible speed:
In the desert it doesn't move faster
A herd of frightened horses,
And then I hear: the steppe is humming,
Like a thousand hooves
Suddenly they hit the ground.
I look around with fear,
And I see: someone on a horse,
Whisking up the ashes, it flies towards me,
Behind him is another, and a whole row...
Their swearing outfit was wonderful!
Everyone had a steel shell on them
Wrapped in a white cap
And under the chain mail he wears
Each one had a red beshmet.
Their eyes sparkled proudly;
And with a wild whistle, like a thunderstorm,
They rushed past me.
And everyone, leaning from his horse,
Threw a full look of contempt
On my monastic outfit
And with a loud laugh he disappeared...
We are tormented by shame, I could hardly breathe,
There was lead in my heart of melancholy...
My father was the last to go.
And here's a seething horse
He laid siege against me,
And quietly raising his head,
A familiar pale face revealed:
The autumn night was sadder
The motionless gaze of his eyes,
He smiled - but was cruel
There was reproach in his smile!
And he began to call me with him,
Beckoning with a mighty hand,
But it’s as if I’ve grown
To the damp earth: without thoughts, without tears,
Without feelings, without will I stood
And he didn’t answer anything.

Sometimes Lermontov himself threw out poems, most likely for censorship reasons. In particular, he crossed out 69 verses after the verse “And I cast my eyes around” (chapter 20), in which Mtsyri reproaches God for “Giving him a prison instead of a homeland.”

These are the verses:

That region seemed familiar to me...
And I was scared, scared!..
Here again measured in silence
There was a sound: and this time
I understood its meaning immediately:
It was a harbinger of a funeral
The big bell is ringing.
And I listened, without thoughts, without strength,
It seemed that the ringing was coming out
From the heart, like someone
The iron struck me in the chest.
Oh God, I thought, why
You gave me what you gave to everyone
And the strength of strength, and the power of thoughts,
Desires, youth and passion?
Why did you fill my mind
With unquenchable longing
By wild will? Why
You are on earth for me alone
Given a prison instead of a homeland?
You didn't want to save me!
You are my desired path
Didn't point out in the darkness of the night,
And now I am like a tame wolf.
So I grumbled. It was an old man
A mad cry of despair
A groan forced by suffering.
Tell? Will I be forgiven?
I was deceived for the first time!
Until now every hour
Gave me dark hope,
I prayed and waited and lived.
And suddenly in a dull sequence
The days of childhood rose before me.
And I remembered your dark temple
And along the cracked walls
Images of saints
Your land. How their eyes
Followed me slowly
With a dark and silent threat!
And on the lattice window
The sun was playing above...
Oh, how I wanted to go there
From the darkness of the cell and prayers,
Into that wonderful world of passions and battles...
I swallowed bitter tears,
And my childish voice trembled,
When I sang praises to him
Who is on earth for me alone?
Instead of a homeland he gave me a prison...
ABOUT! I recognized that prophetic ringing
I was accustomed to it since childhood
My hearing. - And then I realized
What traces do I have to my homeland?
Will never pave it.
And I quickly lost heart.
I felt cold. Dagger,
Piercing into the heart, they say,
This is how coldness pours into your veins.
I despised myself. I was
For tears and rage without strength.
I am with dark horror at that moment
Realized his insignificance
And smothered in my chest
Traces of hope and passion,
How an insulted snake strangles
Your trembling children...
Tell me I'm weak at heart
Haven't you earned your lot?

The poem "Mtsyri" repeats many thoughts and individual verses from earlier poems - "Confession" and "Boyar of Orsha". If in “Confession” the character of the hero is revealed mainly in the feeling of love, then in “Boyar Orsha” it becomes more complicated, his inner world expands: Arseny “languishes with longing for freedom.”

Mtsyri's behavior is already completely determined by his aspirations for freedom. The motive of contrasting nature with the laws of society, which constrain individual freedom, turned out to be especially stable in Mtsyri.
The image of Mtsyri is Lermontov’s original creation.

Unlike the disappointed hero of a romantic poem, Mtsyri is characterized by a desire for a bright and fulfilling life.

In his romantic image, the poet created the heroic character of a fighter against oppression and violence against the individual. Mtsyri opposes the monastic world, since the monastery is a symbol of reality, hostile to natural naturalness and simplicity.

Nature in the poem is not only a picturesque background, but also an effective force. It contains greatness and beauty that are absent in human society.

Nature contains a formidable danger, but it also brings the joy of enjoying beauty, wild freedom, and allows the hero to fully express himself. Lermontov's position is determined by the Rousseauian assertion that in human nature there is a guarantee of possible harmony, while in society, on the contrary, there is a source of disharmony.

The problematics of the poem anticipate a typical Tolstoy literary situation: the idea of ​​a simple patriarchal life as a social norm and the tragic inability of the hero to realize his desire for it.

There is a story by P. A. Viskovatov about the origin of the idea for the poem, based on the testimony of A. P. Shan-Girey and A. A. Khastatov. The poet, wandering along the old Georgian Military Road in 1837, “came across in Mtskheta... a lonely monk or, rather, an old monastery servant, “Beri” in Georgian.

The watchman was the last of the brethren of the abolished nearby monastery. Lermontov got into a conversation with him and learned from him that he was originally a highlander, captured as a child by General Ermolov during the expedition.

The general took him with him and left the sick boy of the monastery brethren. This is where he grew up; For a long time I could not get used to the monastery, I was sad and tried to escape to the mountains. The consequence of one such attempt was a long illness that brought him to the brink of the grave.

Having been cured, the savage calmed down and remained in the monastery, where he became especially attached to the old monk. The curious and lively story “Bary” made an impression on Lermontov... and so he decided to use what was suitable in “Confession” and “Boyar Orsha”, and transferred the entire action from Spain and then the Lithuanian border to Georgia.

Now in the hero of the poem he could reflect the prowess of the unyielding free sons of the Caucasus, which he liked, and in the poem itself depict the beauty of Caucasian nature” (Russian starina, 1887, book 10, pp. 124–125).

Even if the information reported by Viskovatov is not entirely reliable, one cannot ignore the fact that the capture of mountaineer children by the Russians was a typical phenomenon during the conquest of the Caucasus.

It is known, for example, that the academician artist P.Z. Zakharov (from the Chechens) as a child was captured by the Russians and General Ermolov took him to Tiflis. Lermontov could have known the dramatic story of Zakharov and others similar to it (N. Sh. Shabanyants.

Academician Zakharov P.Z. (Chechen artist) (1816–1846). Ed. 2nd, revised and additional Grozny, 1974). The plot situation and images of the poem are quite specific, although at the same time they are symbolic. The real image of a highlander hero languishing in captivity is at the same time a symbol of a young man contemporary to Lermontov, experiencing a similar kind of drama in the conditions after December 14, 1825.

“Mtsyri” is almost entirely a monologue of the hero, which is one of the characteristic features of a romantic poem. The verse of the poem is extremely expressive; “This iambic tetrameter with only masculine endings, as in “The Prisoner of Chillon,” according to V. G. Belinsky, “sounds and falls abruptly, like the blow of a sword striking its victim.

Its elasticity, energy and sonorous, monotonous fall are surprisingly in harmony with the concentrated feeling, the indestructible strength of a powerful nature and the tragic position of the hero of the poem" (V. G. Belinsky. Complete collection of works, vol. 4. M., 1954, p. 543).

At the beginning of the poem, Lermontov described the ancient Mtskheta Cathedral and the graves of the last Georgian kings Irakli II and George XII, under whom the annexation of Georgia to Russia took place in 1801. The Caucasian material in the poem is rich in folklore motifs.

Thus, the central episode of “Mtsyri” - the battle of the hero with the leopard - is based on the motives of Georgian folk poetry, in particular the Khevsur song about a tiger and a youth, the theme of which was reflected in Shota Rustaveli’s poem “The Knight in the Skin of a Tiger” (see: Irakli Andronikov Lermontov, M., 1951, pp. 144–145).

There are 14 known versions of the ancient Georgian song “Young Man and the Tiger”, published by A. G. Shanidze (see: L. P. Semenov. Lermontov and the folklore of the Caucasus. Pyatigorsk, 1941, pp. 60–62).

Memories of contemporaries about the reading of “Mtsyri” by the author himself have been preserved. “I happened once,” writes A. N. Muravyov, “in Tsarskoe Selo to catch the best moment of his inspiration.

On a summer evening I went to see him and found him at his desk, with a flaming face and fiery eyes, which were especially expressive. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Sit down and listen,” he said, and at that very moment, in a fit of delight, he read to me, from beginning to end, Mtsyri’s entire magnificent poem... which had just poured out from under his inspired pen... No story has ever produced a I was so strongly impressed” (A. N. Muravyov. Acquaintance with Russian poets. Kiev, 1871, p. 27).

It is also known that Lermontov on May 9, 1840 (on Gogol’s name day) in Moscow “read by heart to Gogol and others who happened to be here an excerpt from his new poem “Mtsyri”, and they say he read it perfectly” (S. T. Aksakov. The story of my acquaintance with Gogol. M., 1960, p. 38).

"Mtsyri" as a romantic poem about a rebel hero had its predecessors in literature. It was pointed out its connection with “Chernets” (1825) by I. I. Kozlov (external similarity of plots and different ideological content), with Decembrist literature. In particular, the closeness of “Mtsyri” to “Voinarovsky”, “Nalivaiko” and “Dumas” by Ryleev (all 1825) was noted.
Lermontov's poem also reveals his familiarity with the poetry of I.-V. Goethe: in the song of the mermaid fish, to a certain extent, the plot situation of the poems “The Forest King” (1782) and “The Fisherman” (1779) is recreated.

The rebellious pathos of the poem “Mtsyri” turned out to be close to the revolutionary democrats. “What a fiery soul, what a mighty spirit, what a gigantic nature this Mtsyri has! This is our poet’s favorite ideal, this is the reflection in poetry of the shadow of his own personality.

In everything that Mtsyri says, he breathes his own spirit, amazes him with his own power,” noted Belinsky (V.G. Belinsky. Complete collection of works, vol. 4. M., 1954, p. 537).
According to N.P. Ogarev, Lermontov’s “Mtsyri” is “his clearest or only ideal” (N.P. Ogarev. Selected Works, vol. 2. M., 1956, p. 485).

A thick mustache, a cloak, a mountain shepherd’s hat, a gun over his shoulder... He could have lived such a life, but he didn’t: history threw him into its boiling cauldron on a grand scale. He did not drown, but surfaced - with a new fate and far from his native place. In a civilian frock coat and with the craft of a portrait painter - unthinkable for a man of his origin. Two portraits - one life. Artist Petr Zakharov. From Chechens.

MTSYRI AND ACADEMICIAN...

….And I remembered my father’s house,

The gorge is ours and all around

A scattered village in the shade;

Lermontov did not invent Mtsyri’s confession. He heard her. When he posed for a portrait of Pyotr Zakharov, which his contemporaries considered the most similar, “even though he was very flattered in it.” The incredible fate of the artist was reflected in a bizarre manner in Lermontov’s lines - despite the fact that Zakharov the Chechen did not spend a minute in the monastery.

He was a completely secular man - the same as he depicted himself in his youthful self-portrait. And a magnificent artist - all critics and researchers are unanimous in this. The council of the Academy of Arts agreed with this, which in 1843 awarded Pyotr Zakharovich Zakharov the title of academician. To receive this title, Zakharov painted a portrait of Alexei Petrovich Ermolov, a major commander of the hero Borodin. The powerful and cruel Ermolov, who first crumbled his own peaceful home into dust, and then saved the future artist from death and, like a magician, created another world around him.

Zakharov did not die a slave and an orphan like Mtsyri in a foreign land. Although, in fact, I saw the Fatherland, home, friends, relatives at other, and dear graves - the great Russian poet wrote the pure truth! - I didn’t find it at home.

CAUCASIAN PRISONER AND RUSSIAN GENERAL...

That I once lived there...

In Zakharov’s portrait, Ermolov stands tall against the backdrop of the Caucasus. That Caucasus, where Pyotr Zakharov was born and once lived, although his real name was different, and no one knows what. That Caucasus, which the commander of the Separate Georgian Corps and the manager of the civilian unit in Georgia, the Astrakhan and Caucasus provinces, Ermolov so cruelly pacified.

It was his decision that “the scattered village in the shadows” of Dada-Yurt was erased from the map in 1819. “Wanting to punish the Chechens who are constantly committing robbery, especially the villages called Kachkalykovsky residents, who drove away our horses, I proposed to expel them from the Aksayevsky lands that they occupied,” Alexey Petrovich frankly admitted in his own “Notes.”

The Chechens rejected the offer to voluntarily leave their homes, and were unable to protect their children and wives.

“On the enemy’s side, everyone who was with weapons was exterminated, and their number could have been no less than four hundred people. Up to one hundred and forty women and children were taken prisoner, whom the soldiers, out of regret, spared as they were already left without any protection and asked for mercy”...

Of the one hundred and forty of these prisoners mentioned in the honest general’s report, 46 girls rushed at the crossing to the Terek so as not to fall to the enemy (and in memory of their feat, we note in parentheses, Chechen Women’s Day was established in the republic in 2009, celebrated in September). And one tiny prisoner touched the soldiers with something.

They took pity on the three-year-old boy who was bleeding near his dead mother: they wrapped him in an overcoat and took him to the commander’s headquarters. "Cure!"- barked the stern general, - "I'll exact it!" There was no need to exact retribution: the army doctors did their best, and the Cossack from the Borozdinovskaya village, Zakhar Nedonosov, completed the general’s order.

The foundling was baptized Peter, and the patronymic and surname were made from the name Nedonosov. So everything about Lermontov is true: the Russian general, Tiflis, and the captive child. Only a Cossack guy instead of an old monk.

“STRANGE PETRUSH” AND THE ACADEMY STUDENT...

By the age of seven, another Russian general appeared in the fate of Petya Zakharov. The major general, commander of the 3rd brigade of the 21st infantry division also bore the surname Ermolov, but his name was Pyotr Nikolaevich. The archives have preserved priceless paper: "Certificate No. 3610 dated August 25, 1823 on the transfer by A.P. Ermolov in Tiflis of a captured Chechen boy, Pyotr Zakharov, to be raised by Mr. Major General P.N. Ermolov...".

A few years later, the cousin of the “proconsul of the Caucasus” with many children retired and took his “strange Petrusha” to Moscow. Why is it strange? So judge for yourself, because “besides learning to read and write,” Pyotr Nikolaevich wrote to his mother, “he draws everything that comes to hand. Apparently, he will be an artist, and not a bad one.”

Peter Zakharov turned out to be an artist, and not a bad one at that. The impossible happened - Apelles emerged from a Chechen, as Pyotr Nikolaevich Ermolov wrote to a friend. If he had remained “between steep and dark rocks,” we would not have recognized the wonderful portrait painter Zakharov: Islam forbids drawing people.

At first, the adoptive father tried to send ten-year-old Petrusha to the Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, but received a polite refusal: the child is small, hire a private teacher. He was discovered in the neighborhood: the mediocre portrait painter Lev Volkov taught the boy the basics of his craft.

Then Zakharov will visit the teacher again and paint a portrait of his daughter Glasha. The portrait will reveal the artist’s love for the model, and, to escape from the Caucasian, the girl will be sent... to the Caucasus, to her sister, where she will be married to a Frenchman.

But that will happen later. After a persistent applicant finally makes it into the Academy of Arts, even if only as an “outsider student”: foreigners and serfs were not accepted into the Imperial Academy. And the godfather, Alexei Petrovich Ermolov, could not help in any way: since 1827 he was retired from business and was in disgrace. But the Society for the Encouragement of Artists noticed “significant success” and bright talent and awarded Zakharov a scholarship.

He will not let you down - Zakharov was awarded a small silver medal for the painting “Old Woman Fortune Telling Cards”. And from the very first earnings - as much as seventy rubles for a copy of a Van Dyck painting! - He sent part of it to his adoptive father. And on the other - it seemed like he went to his homeland.

THE LEGEND AND THERE WERE...

...In the distance I saw through the fog,

In the snow, burning like a diamond,

The gray, unshakable Caucasus;

And it was in my heart

Easy, I don't know why.

There is no documentary evidence. We have to believe the legend, and it says that Zakharov’s older sister was among those 140 captive residents of Dada-Yurt. She grew up, got ready to get married and set a condition for the groom: to find his lost brother. The highlander fulfilled the condition, and found his brother in the capital. There was also evidence that this was a brother: in childhood, the sister dropped the baby on a sharp scythe, and a scar remained on his back. They allegedly discovered Peter’s scar. After that mountain wedding, legend says, the artist began to indicate in his paintings: “Zakharov is from the Chechens.”

In 1836, Pyotr Zakharov-Chechen received a certificate and the title of “non-class” or free artist and the right of an honorary hereditary citizen. For Zakharov (from the Chechens) and his (that never happened) offspring, this meant freedom - from conscription service, from corporal punishment, in choosing a field of activity.

The artist never made it to Italy to improve his skills - they say that the Tsar personally crossed the foreigner off the list. And the free Italian air would be much useful to Zakharov - the heat-loving son of the Caucasus suffered in St. Petersburg with “breasts”. Instead of Italy, he went to Pargolovo for kumiss.

“What a handsome and fashionable Petrusha we have”“, - the adoptive father rejoiced, looking at Zakharov’s self-portrait. A true handsome man and a dandy, he worked as a barge hauler, fulfilling orders and earning his bread.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s true: it was he, the handsome dandy, who confessed to Mikhail Lermontov while he was painting his ceremonial portrait. Grandmother Elizaveta Arsenyevna passionately wanted to capture the newly minted cornet, graduated from the Life Guards Hussar Regiment from the School of Guards Ensigns. The grandmother received a portrait - the best, as is considered, of fourteen Lermontov portraits painted by different artists. In 1944, the year of the deportation of Chechens, a Chechen artist who died a century ago was also subjected to ethnic cleansing: the portrait was attributed to the brush of Philip Budkin. But later the artist was rehabilitated along with the people.

Portrait of Mikhail Lermontov. Hood. Pyotr Zakharov-Chechen

SHORT HAPPINESS AND LONG MEMORY...

“...I am no longer a free artist, but an employee in the Department of Military Settlements of the War Ministry. Having lost my health and, moreover, the hope of being sent abroad, I, resigned to fate, decided to choose at least a little, but a faithful piece of bread...”

Still no money was collected for the coveted Italy, and his health continued to deteriorate: damp St. Petersburg was slowly killing the artist. Concerned about the illness of his beloved adopted son, Pyotr Nikolaevich Ermolov insists on returning to Moscow - we’ll live, there will be orders!

And the return turns out to be happy: there is a family to which Pyotr Zakharov is so emotionally attached. The “Portrait of the Children of P.N. Ermolov” and the portrait of the named father himself were painted with undisguised tenderness.

In Moscow there is a friendly family of the Postnikovs, the whole medical world, the flower of the Moscow intelligentsia, poets, writers, visits Gogol, Yazykov, Pyotr Kireevsky. And there is the beautiful Sasha, secret love...

Out of an abundance of feelings, the best portraits are painted in a row: the writer A.N. Muravyov, the historian T.N. Granovsky, the beautiful Alexandra Alyabyeva - Zakharov subtly conveyed her brilliance, sung by Pushkin, the surgeon F.I. Inozemtsev, doctor I.P. Postnikov, brother of the beloved Sasha. And also composer P.I. Bulakhov - he also visited the Postnikovs, here for the first time he performed his famous romances “Troika”, “Here is a big village on the way”. And the romance “Shine, Shine, My Star” seemed to be written about the artist himself, about his unconcealed feeling, which was noticeable to all his friends.

The ceremonial Yermolov portrait brought Zakharov not only the title of academician, but also new official orders. Pyotr Zakharovich writes Maximilian of Leuchtenberg, president of the Academy of Arts and the Tsar's son-in-law. And my own future mother-in-law too: a portrait of N.A. Postnikova is now considered among his most powerful works.

Yes, yes, it happened, on January 14, 1846, in the Church of the Intercession of the Virgin Mary in Kudrin, exactly where one of the Moscow high-rise buildings now stands, Pyotr Zakharovich, pale with excitement, stood hand in hand with Alexandra Petrovna. And the best man is General Alexey Petrovich Ermolov himself, the godfather! Happiness remained for exactly five months: on June 15, in the same Intercession Church, the funeral service was performed for the servant of God Alexander. Transient consumption, the scourge of time, what can you do...

Zakharov also did not overcome the mighty leopard - consumption - and even before Christmas he lay down in the Vagankovskoye cemetery next to his wife. Fate gave him exactly thirty years. "...Zakharov, a Chechen by origin, is known as having distinguished himself and having extraordinary promise in this type of painting..."- the Imperial Academy of Arts mourned his death. The works of the second, in the opinion of Karl Bryullov, a portrait painter of Russia (the first, of course, was Bryullov himself) decorated the Hermitage, the Tretyakov Gallery, and the Russian Museum.

Pyotr Zakharov-Chechen. Self-portraits	The first one is written in 1833-1834, the second - in 1842.

Yes, I deserve my lot!

A mighty horse, a stranger in the steppe,

Having thrown off the bad rider,

To my homeland from afar

Finds a direct and short way...

Pyotr Zakharov also returned to his homeland: with a self-portrait. That same “Militant self-portrait in a burqa and with a gun” and several more of his works were kept in the Republican Art Museum in Grozny. Now they are being restored in Moscow - the paintings were damaged during the Chechen war. Just like their author once did.

Olga SLAVINA