The Presidential Library — to the day of remembrance of M. Y. Lermontov

July 27 is the day of remembrance of M. Y. Lermontov (1814-1841), one of the most profound and unsolved poets of Russia. Focused on M. Y. Lermontov (1814-1841) electronic collection of the Presidential Library contains materials that explore the originality of the poet’s personality, his contribution into the development of new literature in Russia.

In the essay of M. Nikolayev of 1940 about M. Lermontov its author is looking for any roots of genius in this fragile at first sight child, who lost his parents too early and remained in his grandmother’s, E. A. Arseniyeva, care in her Tarkhany estate. Defined by the author image of Lermontov's mother is accurate: “One album has survived, in which Maria Mikhaylovna made some notes with her own hand: “…You write because you would like to, — she turns to her future husband, Yuri Petrovich. — You are having fun, this is an entertainment for you. As for me, sincerely loving you, I write only to tell You about my love. I love You. These words stand a poem, when a heart dictates them to you.””

The mother's gift to feel deeply and strongly passed to her son in full volume. He can perceive, not just to hear to music, like any child, as described in the album M. Y. Lermontov: “Maria Mikhaylovna, — according to the memories of Lermontov's relative, — was endowed with a musical soul. Putting her baby on her lap, she was carried away playing piano, and he, nestled up to her with his head, was sitting motionlessly, the sounds seemed to shake his baby’s soul, and tears rolled down his little face. Mother passed her extraordinary nervousness to him.”

As a result, a talented young man with naked nerves grew up, engaged in self-reflection and overreacting to everything that happens around him — for that, in fact, he paid with his own life in a senseless conflict with his regimental fellow officer Martynov, which led to a duel at the foot of the Mashuk Mountain in Pyatigorsk.

All the power of the state machine also exerted a pressure on the poet — especially after the poem “Death of the Poet” that had flown all over Russia, written on the day of Pushkin's death. In a book of I. Andronikov of 1939 Life of Lermontov we read: “Lermontov's verses to the death of the poet were rewriting in tens thousands copies, rereading and learning by heart by everyone.”

The government regarded the poem as a call for revenge, realizing its social significance, and cornet of the Guard Hussar Regiment Lermontov in the rank of sub-officer was exiled to the Caucasus — the place of the imperial troops’ expeditions to suppress the mountaineers' uprising of the 30s — the early 40s of the XIX century. Military engagements in the mountains were brutal. In the Caucasus they were saying about Lermontov as an incomparable daredevil, as if he playing with death.

“I am sure that you received my letters from the active detachment in Chechnya, — Lermontov wrote to his friend A. A. Lopukhin in a message eternalized in the digitized album M. Y. Lermontov. — We were busy every day, and one of them was quite hot, lasting 6 hours in a row. We were only 2,000 of infantry, and there were up to 6,000 of them; and all this time we were bayoneting… — imagine, that in the ravine, where we had fun, a smell of blood remained for another hour after the thing.”

But military feats were not an end in itself. “I hope, my dear grandmother, that I will be forgiven and able to retire, —the poet wrote to E. A. Arseniyeva in May 1841. Lermontov dreamed about a beginning of a magazine and was often discussing it with the publisher Krayevsky, disfavoring the approaches of “Otechestvennye Zapisky / Native Notes” and some other publications. Head of the gendarmerie Benckendorff, however, did not like the literary intentions of the poet, especially his plan to found the magazine. He did not want to have a “restless” young man in the capital, in the sight of everyone becoming everyone’s favorite.

“One evening, — writes the publisher A. A. Krayevsky in his “Memoirs,” quoted in the above-mentioned album M. Y. Lermontov, — Lermontov was at my place, full of confidence that they would finally let him to resign, making plans for his future works… The next morning Lermontov came running in something after nine… and, grabbing my jacket breasts, shocked me so intensively that nearly knocked me off my chair. “Can you believe in it? They told me to leave St. Petersburg in 48 hours!” It turned out that he was awakened early in the morning and ordered to leave the capital during two times twenty-four hours and to go to the regiment in Shura. His case was decided at the insistence of Mr. Benckendorff…”

In digital copy of a book of the literary scholar, publicist, critic N. A. Kotlyarevsky M. Y. Lermontov, published in 1909 and by 1915 already survived five editions, we can read: “Of all the people standing in the forefront of society, no one is so unarmed in ethical questions of life as a poet, this renowned nature’s pet. He more than anyone else has to suffer from persistent cognitive dissonance between an ideal and a reality.”

Second in turn deportation of the war hero to the Caucasus was a crying out loud disorder of common sense with the strict pressure of official structures. As A. I. Herzen wrote, the poet traveled to the Caucasus to meet his fatal foresight of the forthcoming finale: “Unfortunately, to his very thorough insight was added something else — a dare to say many things without a decorated hypocrisy and a mercy. Human beings are feeble, they will never forgive such sincerity…”

Martynov did not forgive. Lermontov died in the implacable and senseless duel, has never gotten round to know that the commander of the troops on the Caucasian line and the Black Sea coast, Adjutant General Grabbe in his report dated February 3, 1841, № 76, repeatedly introduced Lermontov to the award — this time not to the order, but to the “golden hanger — half-saber.” And his request was again denied — after the poet's death.

“Finally, he was bored with us, — Dostoyevsky wrote later. “He laughed at us “with bitter irony of cheated son at wasted father” and flew away… Was killed — aimlessly, whimsically and even funny. However, we did not laugh…”