The Jetsam - Lara Biyuts (best adventure books to read .TXT) 📗

chief Benkendorff about the general indignation, caused by Chaadaev’s article. Minister of Education Uovarov gave a proper paper to Nicholas I of Russia, and the Tsar put down the resolution, which declared the article a “daring nonsense, worthy of an insane man”. The magazine Telescope was shut down. After Chaadaev was officially declared insane, he had to live a life of a hermit in his house in Basmannaya Street, where the doctor visited him regularly and every month the doctor gave an account to the Tsar about Chaadaev’s health.

In this atmosphere, Chaadaev wrote his new article The Vindication of a Madman (1837). In this brilliant but uncompleted work he maintained that Russia must follow her inner lines of development if she was to be true to her historical mission. The Slavophiles at first mistook Chaadaev for one of them, but later, on realizing their mistake, bitterly denounced and disclaimed him. Chaadaev really fought Slavophilism all of his life. He wrote: “I’ve not learnt to love my homeland with my eyes closed, head bent, lips sealed. I find an individual may be of use to his native country only if he can see it clearly. I think the time of infatuations has passed […]”

Poet Alexander Pushkin wrote to Chaadaev till his own death in 1837. He dedicated to Chaadaev three poems. Chaadaev’s personality, Pushkin charactered in the famous poem To Portrait of Chaadaev:

“By supreme will of Heaven

he was born to serve to Tsar.

In Rome, he would be Brute. In Athens—Pericles.

And now, he is an army officer.”

And there is such a message of Pushkin to Chaadaev:

“Oh when on earth, my friend, our parting comes to an end?

When will we conjoin words of love and our hands?

When will I hear your warm welcome?

How I’ll hug you!..”

The reader may think whatever of this last poem, but in fact there are nothing in the poem but some conventional rhetoric turns of speech, usual for educated people of those times.

It was matter of course that Chaadaev impressed Pushkin (who was five years younger) as he impressed his all contemporaries. Born at Moscow, our hero and his brother became orphaned when aged three and five. The children inherited a 1, 000, 000 estate (in Russian gold rubles, in late 18th century). Aunt Princess Anna and her brother Prince Dmitry Shcherbatov raised young Pyotr. The boy was an uncommonly beautiful, remarkably educated, spoilt and willful child.

The cloudless childhood in the big house. Nannies, governeurs, tutors. In summer—countryside. In winter—visits to the innumerable noble relatives. In boyhood—lectures in Moscow University. Having wit, beautiful appearance, education, he was nice to deal with him. Perfect manners, brilliant French, reputation of the best dancer of the town. He was an army officer, served in the Napoleonic Wars, entered Paris with Russian Army. “Prince Fortune”, he should be a great success among women, and they crowded around him indeed encircling him wherever he came in society. But this was limited by a vivid flirtation only, and no natural consequences. We recognize Chaadaev in Chapter 1 of Pushkin’s Onegin, in which author calls the main character “Flighty Venus”. Onegin’s boudoir is copy of Chaadaev’s. Our hero was acknowledged and renowned dandy of his time. His entire life, our philosopher was a man of fashion; he needed society; he loved to mingle and shine. All was at his service, and if he refused something then he did not want it indeed.

The climax of friendship of Chaadaev and Pushkin was the countless talks at Demut’s Inn, where Chaadaev, being aide-de-camp of Commander of the Guards Unite, lived in bel-etage. Women loved Pushkin, and most probably he asked his elder friend about that. Judging by the text of Onegin, the answer was that Chaadaev’s “feelings have cooled too early”, that beauties interested him not long, and most probably the young poet was quite satisfied with the answer.

Now, clouds hiding the sun. The Emperor said that Pushkin flooded the Empire with his revolting poems, and the poet well might be exiled to the north, but thanks to his friends all the matter came to the well-known pleasure journey to the south. Afterwards, Chaadaev more than once emphasized that it was he who put in a word in behalf of the poet, at the supreme spheres. While Pushkin was travelling, Chaadaev reached the new promotion in his military and court career, but suddenly, in 1821, he left service. He entered the secret society of Decembrists, but he did not find any satisfaction to his needs there, and in 1823 he set forth for traveling through Europe—Britain, France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy.

In Germany, he met the philosopher Schelling and representatives of different religious streams, familiarizing himself with Catholic socialism, learning much new of cultures of European people.

After wandering abroad, he returned home, domiciled in Moscow (in Basmannaya Street), becoming a permanent member of the English Club. Neither the story of publishing the Philosophic Letter nor his reputation of a madman changed his life too much. He kept on living in Basmannaya Street and Tverskaya Street (where the English Club was), meeting as usual the Emperor at high society balls, when the Emperor visited Moscow. As one of his contemporaries said, “Chaadaev spent the rest of his social life standing at a pillar in ball-halls and contemplating.” In 1856, Chaadaev died in peace.

Apart from the ill-starred Letters, he published nothing. In this sense, we may compare him with Socrates, who left no one line of his works, and who is known by words of his pupils Xenophon and Plato (with the latter promoting his own ideas under the guise of Socrates’). Chaadaev had his own “Xenophon”—Mikhail Zhikharev, historically notable with nothing but the friendship with Pyotr Chaadaev. Mikhail was 18, Pyotr was 44, when they met. Judging by the biography written by Zhikharev, Chaadaev diminished his true age by two or three years, talking with his young friend, but his birthday was known to the biographer—May 27. We may be grateful to Zhikharev (who remained unmarried) and be glad for Chaadaev for the fact that his “sad sunset” was lit by the “parting smile of love”.

The Biography of Chaadaev written by Mikhail Zhikharev in the 1860s was published entirely only 120 years later. Some extracts of the book could explain what seemed incomprehensible to contemporaries of the great man.

“Chaadaev had a connection and innumerable female friends, but nobody ever heard he was a lover of any of the woman[…] He himself talked on the subject evasively, never defying anything, never refuting anything, letting imply of much, leaving freedom for any guess. Then I ventured to ask plainly the question of a very personal sort: ‘Is it true that you never in your life took a woman? If yes, then what was a reason? Was it out of chastity or in virtue of other reason?’ The answer ensued immediately: ‘You’ll know when I die.’ Eight years have passed after his death, but I’ve learnt of nothing he promised. Eventually, last year, one witness, trustworthy and only among the living, whose name I am not entitled to say, said that Chaadaev never, neither at his young age nor being mature, felt like coupling, that he was made like this by nature… Wishing to go deep into the subject, I questioned the witness more, but I did not get more information, and now I don’t dare claiming anything—however, from some hints and rumor, quite unfounded, I could permit myself some guesses.”

We permit ourselves to make doubt to the incredible supposition that living side by side with Pyotr for 17 years Mikhail suspected and guessed of nothing, at the same time being on intimate terms with the man, who was 25 years older. The following excerpt, which was placed by Zhikharev as a comment to other question, explains it all. Chaadaev had a valet by name Ivan.

“He was sooner a friend than a servant of his master, and they said that he was always well-dressed, had good manners and decent demeanour although he was simple by nature. He seemed to be so decent person that one lady, one of the splendid persons ever, greeted him every time being at Chaadaev’s, and Pushkin held his hand to him.”

Speaking about those times, we often omit the fact that noblemen moved, ate, slept, travelled being surrounded with lots of people. Servants helped them to dress, drew curtains open, served tea, made ready a carriage for masters, cleaned rooms. The numerous domestic moved around, enveloping and pleasing all alone. This mute background is usually ignored. But in Russia in particular, being bonds, the servants should do whatever their master wanted. No matter what kind of inclinations the master had. The lord-sybarite’s valet was wearing a tail-coat from the best tailor. What wonder? One day, Chaadaev had to go for audience at the Emperor’s. He was to be wearing a tail-coat, which Chaadaev had not at his household, at that moment. The valet Jean (Ivan) gave his one to his master. The valet’s appearance corresponded to his noble lord so much that he was taken for a nobleman sometimes. There was a funny story. In those times, like in Soviet Russia, Russians abroad reckoned necessary to put in an appearance at Russian Embassy. One day, on his arrival in Dresden, Chaadaev went to the Embassy. While talking with him, Ambassador remarked that one Russian nobleman apparently did not want to introduce himself. “There he is,” Ambassador exclaimed looking out of the window and pointing to a man wearing a tail-coat, who walked along the terrace, “Over there!” “What wonder?” said Chaadaev in reply, “It’s my valet.”

However great scandal the hero of this essay produced with his writings, he left so little for rumor about his personal life, which remained quiet and decent.

 

2009

 

One Winter Poem

(essay)

 

Winter holidays is a good time for mystery storytelling. This essay is not one of the stories, although it tells about some mysterious things. Insights. Revelation. Clairvoyance. A prophet who foretells his own death. Poet as prophet. History of literature.

It is known that some writers of past times, in their works, foretold some present day inventions and innovations that did not exist in their times and that are well-known at present. For example, in the Old Testament, we can see the description of a creature, which looks much like a submarine. And in Dostoyevsky’s novel The Devils, we can see something like the shameful phantasmagoria, which took place in Russian culture in the 1990s, and some ideas of fascism was foreseen by Dostoyevsky in the novel too. I am not about to discuss all or brightest examples of the writers’ insights; I am about to adduce only one, most controversial and less known. But first I’d like to say about some poets of the historical periods and country, best known to me.

 “Poet in Russia is more than a poet,” as one classic said. Murdering poets is an old good tradition in Russia. It is well-known that some Russian poets, in their works, foretold their own violent death. A most striking example is the poem The Dream by Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841), who describes the hour of a day, the place in the Caucasus and himself lying dead, shot in his breast:

“At steaming noon in a valley in Dagestan

With a hole in my breast I lay motionless.

The wound still smoked foully

My blood flowed in a river of drops.

I lay alone on the sand of the valley;

The ledges of the crags crowded around,

And the sun burned their yellow peaks

And burned me, but I slept a dead sleep.” (translation found on the kiwix.org)

Stunning.

The poet of the Russian Silver Age Nikolay Gumilyov (1886-1921) foretold the fact that his death will be committed by hand of an executioner, in his The Tram That Lost Its Way (the poem, which is considered one of the greatest poems of the 20th century), and in another poem he foretold the fact that a bullet will cause his death saying that “a worker has cast the lead bullet which will kill me”. Indeed, the poet died in a