Everything will be so. There is no outcome

August 7, 100 years ago, the great Alexander Blok died

In the amateur home theater located in Saraya, the seventeen -year -old block played Hamlet, and a sixteen -year -old Lyuba, a girl with golden hair, played Ophelia. Then they, without taking off the theatrical costumes (Gamlet’s costume sewed his grandmother), went in the darkness of the summer near Moscow - he is in black and with a sword, she was in a white and small toy crown in their gold - and saw through the branches in the bottomless sky, as the blue comet flies. The theater came out of the hay barn that night and expanded to the whole world, and the Blok’s soul, marked by touching the night magic, became the poet’s soul.

The girl, in whom he was in love, was silent and seemed cold to him, but he did not know that at night, when everyone was already sleeping, she put on a balloon on her naked body, went down and lit a large chandelier. In the middle of the night in a dazzling light, she seemed dazzling. Then she dropped her dress and stood naked in front of the mirror, admiring herself. "I subsequently found the course of my lines partly in Georgone, especially the flexibility of long legs, a short waist and small, barely flourishing breasts." Here, next to the innocent and seductive girl who smelled of the French spirits Coeur de Jeannette, there was a shallow and divided sensation of the top and bottom, the desire and impossibility of defending it and the fulfillment of desire, as well as a feeling of excellent eternal femininity, which appeared in this golden -haired Ophelia and St. Petersburg The career who laid “so said Zarathustra” in a red flower of Verbena.

In the block, its phenomenon and presence, there was beauty and picture, fascinating everyone. He appeared to the bride in a white tunic, high boots and a stack in his hands, at the tower of Ivanov came in a gray frock coat, precisely sewn on the figure of a military tailor. He froze like a statue, laying his hand over the side of the frock coat, before reading poetry, and waiting for absolute silence with a look, which Gorodetsky called the “stone”; Gippius also said that he had stone or woodenness in his face and gray inattentive eyes, although others called them blue and blue, and Bely spoke about them "his blue lights."

Reading poems, he threw his head back. His voice was slow and deaf. And someone says, with a metal echo.

He distinguished female from feminine. Female is mods, skirts, coquetry, sweet smell, dark desires that he called “Astartism”, and feminine is purity and dream, worship and ministry, so easily, so freely fulfilled into poems. In his poems, as in a silver sieve, she was cleansed and became a magic-transparent life. Those in whom he was in love, he persuaded himself to put himself in a secret and claimed that he sees stars on a black cloak. But he was mistaken, there were no stars on the cloak, there was no sky, but there were women who wanted them to simply, humanly loved. And everything merged in the city of white nights and in the circle of life. "In the evening -" the zucchini of death "in the cinema and such a beauty in the tram that my head was sick for a long time."

Higher, higher, to where love turns into a radiance, where there is nothing carnal in it. He strove there all his life. He wanted to remove from love the body with his desires, because he felt vulgar in animals. "I want a saint, quiet and white." The whole world for him was flooded with vulgarity, vulgarity of carnal desires and passions, inevitable vulgarity of bed. Therefore, he removed his beautiful lady from the human world. Let it be above this, outside of this. But it was not possible to slip away from the world and people, the named after a stranger called themselves whores who walked along Nevsky and with a hint of asking men: "Do not want a stranger?"

And therefore - below and lower, at night to the baked night taverns and at the scorchs in restaurants and to the stations where he drank vodka (during the war from dirty tea cups) and fell into wild and dark adventures with prostitutes (he gave them his business cards), acrobates, gypsies. This is also poetry. At night, “under the pouring rain on the platform, the gypsy, which actually was the whole thing, gave me a kiss - dark -skinned, with long fingers - all in armor of prickly rings.” His wife explained his repulsion from love, unwilling love, evasion of love, translation of love into a high sphere, where there is no longer love for a woman, but there is only an abstract idea and a lot of words, a psychological trauma obtained in his youth. “Physical proximity with a woman for a block from the gymnasium years is a paid love, and the inevitable results are a disease ... Not a shocking mistress brought him to life, but a random, impersonal, bought for several minutes. And humiliating, painful suffering ... ”But this is too little and narrow, and you can’t explain the entire Blok’s public house. He torn himself off not only from desires, periodically overwhelming with caustic malice, almost rabies, not only from the hot and miserable tickle of bodies, but also from something incomparably greater: from human life, from its pity and futility, from a narcissistic talker and petty cunning, which he contemptuously called "verbal cafesantan." He went up, into the sophisticated world of clean lines and symbols, and the earthly vulgarity stretched and rose behind him with a muddy cloud.

“It is necessary for everyone - white nights. Lyuba, Lyuba! What will happen? "

And this is what. Once, a student at the university called the Blok a “scoundrel” for the fact that he was apolitically going to take the exam at the moment when the students announced a strike. But in 1905, he already rudely covers the soldier and wants to know, "when we are all cut off." He walks with a red flag in the streets, in the evenings he reads poetry in a room lit by candles stuck in bottles (electricity is disconnected), and is waiting for the revolution as deliverance. And in 1918, the hungry year is tormented by the lack of bread, while his beautiful lady is also tormented, standing on the knees above the newspapers laid on the floor, on which she, crying from disgust, cleans her herring.

And in exchange for quarters of bread, her colored scarves, her beads from pearls, are empty, all five chests of her outfits are empty.

Life is like an abomination, people like an abomination are a secret block, the penultimate and last block alone with themselves. “The favorite occupation of the intelligentsia is to express protests: they will take the theater, close the newspaper, destroy the church - protest. A sure sign of anemia: it means that they did not particularly love their newspaper and their church. ” Professors are a “stupid professor”. And even a neighbor’s girl hates: “In the voice of this young lady behind the wall - what a dullness, what a boredom: whether they bury the brownie, they give a witch to marry. When will she finally look at? Some cornet goes there.

This one will look around - another carrion will settled for bulkhead, and it will also whine, in anticipation of the Ulan stallion. ”

This is written by the singer of eternal femininity, who said the most subtle words about love, who felt a mystical secret in his wife and in Russia. “Oh my Rus', my wife, to pain ...” But he flies to the side, like a fierce rag, the mystic of the St. Petersburg poet, who once in a winter day, driving around the city in a horse, saw a huge woman with a white veil on his face, under which there were black failures in place of the nose and eyes - and felt the close presence of the devil. Everything departs: mysticism, historiography, a beautiful lady, a snow mask, suffering in a booth and a booth himself - and what remains?

Outwardly, there is none of this in him, everything is hidden and stolen in a closed image. Outwardly, he is always, in all the years and in all places of his life - on the stage, reading verses, and in the brothel, in a drunken frenzy - a restrained, silent, benevolent gentleman. And then also humble. Gippius, who torn relations with him due to the fact that he supported the Bolsheviks, he kisses his hand in the tram.

Blok hears life, this is true, but what does he hear in it with his sharp hearing that he feels in her with his nervous sensitive gut?

The struggle of the Aryan and Semitic principles. Does he not foresee fascism, which in 1918, Hitler did not even come up with? He hates Europe, democracy, “founder”, all these boring forms, necessary only for the bourgeois; And the dream of being Aryan, the dream of being a barbarian. “Your skins will go to Chinese tambourines. He disgraced himself, so isolated, is no longer an Aryan. ” The revolution should go deeper, deeper, leaving on the surface rallies, meetings, liberal conversations, parties, founders, all these dead and empty forms, deeper, to where giant boulders turn over, huge columns and, like the clouds of the soot, goes to Europe Asia. You have to go there and wander there, even with a stomach and burst cheeks brought from hunger, albeit with an inflamed brain and feverishly brilliant eyes, but there, in this element, in order to finally strangle and kill the unbearable, eternal, which has always tormented his vowel in his life and in his blood. And whoever does not want to go there, who does not want their own death and the Nietzschean death of the world, who clings to the forms and molds, those "cowards, senches, the henchmen of the bourgeois scum."

So he hears the music of the spheres, she is the music of the revolution, she is a song of demonism. “But demonism is power. And strength is to defeat weakness, to offend the weak. ”

Therefore, when the peasants burn his beloved, native Shakhmatovo, his youth verses are stomping with boots, they are right. They offend the weak. Scraps from the ashes were brought to him to St. Petersburg. “On some are the dirt and traces of human hooves (with horseshoes). And that's it. " Therefore, when rude people in leather jackets lead to the prison of professors, they are right, they offend the weak. About the same and Gumilev, who approached him after one of the meetings, which was rich in 1919, and said that the Huns who disappeared in history were found. These are the Sovdepa.

We do not understand, do not feel a huge, terrible, catastrophic fall from the exquisite height of the silver age into the mud and cold of the revolution. This is “dark -hearted” (a word from his diary, said on a different reason) time. Instead of elegant vinettes of Apollo magazine - red flags above the broken windows. Instead of “gold as the sky, AI” - three bottles of pharmacy alcohol, which the publisher of Alyakrinsky got to drink with white and block. Instead of well -fried steaks in restaurants, the hot air above which Dick and Deaf is a force made of purple frozen potatoes. Instead of a comfortable life in a warm apartment - the need to carry ligaments of firewood from the basement, constant chills and heavy sleep without undressing, in clothes.

By the spring of 1921, Blok forgot his past verses. Sometimes he asked him to read them and listened carefully. They left, ostali, not only past poems disappeared-all his own past life with the intricate puns of Sologub and a fragrant papyro gippius, with a drunken Balmont and talkative white, with joy-suffering, thoughts of a beautiful lady and tone of the higher, sublime and subtle, which was now suffering, was left from memory. And freeze without taking firewood for the stove. However, the one who had previously wore a gray frock coat and an artistic blouse now had a good, okay sheepskin coat and a big poker in the room.

Once he closed the door behind him, took the poker and split the figurine of the snow -white Apollo with heavy blows.

“I was sinned so that I sinned: a little boy who, as usual, rolled towards a slippery panel (and with a mokhova path not close, frost and a large wind) pushed so that it fell. I am ashamed, forgive me, Lord. ”

“Russia is the same for me - a lyrical value. In fact, it is not, it was not and will not be. ” She was "like tears the first love," but she became "filthy, gognous, darling mother-Russia, like a flash." And what is and will be? In his despair, in his nervous and hungry exhaustion, in his immersion at the bottom of the collapse, in his hatred of all and pain for everyone, this burned man did not feel anything and did not see anything, except for the extinct, black, hidden streets and a timeless patrol consisting of robbers and killers.

Ahead - Jesus Christ. In a white whisk of roses? Blok prayed to him and his wife, his unhappy and rejected by him, whom he called "sweet." "Cute today washed my golden hairs." The temple and woman, the highest being and the beautiful lady, the high syllable and treatment with mercury were connected for him - from the very beginning, when she was not his wife and they met in the lateral dual of the Kazan Cathedral and sat for a long and silent icon of the Mother of God for a long time and silently. “She leaves, in front of me is“ the facet of God's knowledge. ” In this person there is a terrible chemical process of decomposition of life, culture, civilization, religion - everything, everything. Everything in the depths of it is twisted, twisted, decomposed, and then out of the black slurry is released again and nano in some terrible forms that foresee the future: the Bogodyl, the Human Republican, the Saint Sin, the Divine Hermaphrodite.

“Jesus enters (not a man, not a woman). Sinful Jesus. "

"Nagornaya sermon is a rally."

"Judah has a forehead, a nose and feathers of a beard, like Trotsky."

"Immediately - prostitutes."