God save me from lordly love. Encyclopedic Dictionary of winged words and expressions

The amusing misdeeds of the heir to the throne sometimes amused only himself.

To many they seemed unthinkable even for a 17-year-old teenager. And what happened at the door of the royal dining room caused a real commotion, and the august aunt was literally torn and torn from overflowing hot emotions...

And we live solemnly and difficultly...

Entering the Grand Duke's quarters, the Empress kissed Katya and asked why the beauty was late for mass, caring more about her outfits than about serving the Lord God. Elizabeth dryly added that during the time of Anna Ioannovna, she, the crown princess, had the opportunity to live not in Winter Palace, and at an impressive distance, in the mother’s stone house on Tsaritsyno Meadow, near Summer Garden, not far from which the Promenade walking park has now been created. However, this building, like the neighboring mansion of the late General Adam Weide, became the property of Count Alexei Grigorievich Razumovsky - for services to the Fatherland.

By the way, the monarch explained, his highness Karl Friedrich, Duke of Holstein, the husband of my sister Anna Petrovna and the father of your dearest husband, once lodged there, upon his arrival in Russia. Your deceased father-in-law in Bose! “It is from these walls that the frosty winter night almost five years ago, surrounded by reliable people, I moved in a sleigh to the barracks of the Preobrazhensky regiment, in the Peskov region, beyond the Fontanka, in order, with the help of my valiant guards, to regain the sacred ancestral crown stolen by impostors. But much earlier, during that difficult time for me, when Anna Ioannovna ruled, I did not violate my duties, did not miss church services in the palace, although for this I had to sacrifice sleep, get up in the dark, get dressed by candlelight ... "

Fike timidly lowered her head. Elizabeth squinted at her and ordered her to call the court hairdresser. “Timofey,” she affectionately addressed the faithful servant bowing in bow, “if you continue to comb your hair, Grand Duchess in the same at a slow pace, as usual, I will kick you out of office in no time. Go! (Alas, Katya thought, a day of sadness and sorrow awaits everyone.) “Yes,” Elizaveta Petrovna grinned, as if in tune with her sad thoughts, “and where is your beloved?” - “In your chambers, Your Majesty...” - “Call him for me. I missed my nephew. I’m eager to see it!”

Seven swords pierced the heart...

The heir-Tsarevich did not keep himself waiting long. In a dressing gown and with a nightcap, he cheerfully, slightly frivolously ran up to the royal hand and froze with such an expression as if he was preparing to accept a well-deserved reward. The Empress kissed him on the cheek and asked where and when he found the courage to commit such an unsightly act. Entering the Hermitage room, where the lifting machine for the kitchen is located, the monarch said, she saw a door drilled like a sieve. All the holes were directed towards the place that the autocrat usually prefers at the table. How will Peter Feodorovich order us to understand all this?

“Have you probably forgotten what you owe to me? Ungrateful youth! My father had, as you know, an adult son who was the heir to the throne. Ambitious, independent - no match for you. Even when drunk, he did not fall to his knees in front of busts and portraits of foreign kings. By the way, your half-uncle—you were born ten years after his death. This man had every legal right to the crown. All! But he behaved impudently, recklessly, contradicted, contradicted, intrigued, hid with Caesar in Italy, and his father excommunicated him from the sovereign inheritance. Excommunicated him completely! Keep in mind: I, too, can change my plans!

The Grand Duke perked up and objected something, but the queen angrily interrupted him and, getting seriously angry, as often happened to her in moments of discontent and rage, began shouting reproaches and insults in a thunderous voice. “And how did you dare? The Empress... with guests... privately... And you? Peep? Spy on? Headphones? Brat, boy! What are you allowing yourself? Are you in your right mind? The scout has emerged! I'll teach you good manners. I'll teach you once and for all! They would try to do this at the court of Anna Ioannovna, my eldest cousin... She is not me: she instantly locked up disobedient people and troublemakers in the fortress, drove them to Tmutarakan. AND death penalty with it, be healthy as you used it. That's what they were afraid of, and that's what they were wary of. And I, being a generous nature, canceled it. Then, in the dead of night, at the hour of my triumph, I swore on the Bible in front of witnesses that I would not shed anyone’s blood. And she faithfully fulfilled this vow. I feel sorry for everyone. So I find… gratitude.”

Elizabeth took a breath and then noticed tears on Fike’s face. “Calm down, baby,” she waved her fan, “none of this concerns you. You didn't peek or try to peek. Why should you worry? The Empress fell silent, as if taking a break from the noisy, heavy scene. Then she covered her eyelashes and, nodding to the frowning couple, went out into the corridor...

We wandered and bitterly repent...

Pyotr Feodorovich hurried to his rooms, and Katya to the bedroom, to finally change into his formal dress, which had not been taken off after the service. A minute later, the Tsarevich returned to his wife. He stood and said, almost in his ear, in some indistinct, embarrassed, mocking tone: “The Empress was like a fury, she was not aware of the screams and cries.” “Well, not exactly,” Catherine retorted, “she was just very upset. You shouldn't have done what you did. I warned about inevitable troubles.” - “You warned too late!” - “Oh, I’m also responsible! Your Highness, you are an adult, a family man and are called upon to be aware of all the consequences of wrong steps and rash actions...”

The young couple had lunch in Katya’s apartment, talking in low voices and not taking their eyes off the doors and windows. When Peter went to his chambers, Frau Maria Kruse came to see Fike. Her tirade was prepared “on the spot” - and, obviously, on instructions from above. “We must admit,” the “scout” breathed out, “that the empress acted like a true mother!” Catherine listened carefully to the uninvited guest. Where is the conversation going? “The mother gets angry and scolds the children,” the experienced lady said with inspiration, “but then the insult passes and the intercessor absolves them of their sins. You both should have said: we are guilty, mother, forgive us! And they would disarm her with meekness and humility...”

Katya, diligently searching for phrases, squeezed out that, being unusually embarrassed by Her Majesty’s anger, she considered it best to listen and remain silent. Kruse threw up her hands and quietly left the room - rushing to the high offices with an urgent report. But the wisdom of the wise chamberlain was not in vain. The sacramental combination “guilty, mother” sank firmly into the head of the sensible Fika. It sunk like a magic sesame, “opening” any whim of the omnipotent autocrat. Fike picked up the quote and used it successfully for for long years. Of course, Elizaveta Petrovna, due to her character, loved to see people blaming and repenting in front of her.

...Before Easter, Marshal Karl Sievers (the same one who once met Sofia and Johanna near Moscow, in the village of Vsesvyatsky, and later collapsed with Katya at a masquerade, where he had to dance a polonaise in huge women's hosiery) told the princess the cherished royal will. She, who limited herself in food during the first week of Lent, must fast for the same amount of time. Fike told her good friend (who had recently married Maria Cruz's daughter, Benedikta Feodorovna) that she would like to abstain from eating food for the entire month and a half. Soon the nobleman informed Catherine: the empress received extreme pleasure and allowed this spiritual feat. The storm has passed...

Posted by A.A. Bestuzhev: “I’m not talking about poetry, half of it should become a proverb.”

Many of Griboedov’s aphorisms have entered everyday speech:

We use popular expressions without thinking about their authorship.

Of course, quotes from “Woe from Wit” gained popularity not only thanks to Griboedov’s talent. After the 1917 coup, the incriminating play was included in school programs and theater repertoires.

Griboyedov's catchphrases given below are correlated with actors plays. Their characteristics were obtained through catchphrases. There are eighty proverbs in total.

The most popular, and therefore most appropriate proverbs for a given person are included in the headings.

Lisa - Pass us away from all sorrows and master's anger and master's love

Famusov - That's it, you are all proud!

Sofia - The hero of not my novel

Chatsky - Who are the judges?

Skalozub - In my opinion, the fire contributed a lot to her decoration

Molchalin - Ah! evil tongues are worse than a gun

Khlestova – Calendars all lie

Repetilov – A look and something

Princess - He is a chemist, he is a botanist

Moscow opera houses increasingly began to turn to modern repertoire. Previously, Onegins and La Traviata dominated the stages, and works new era appeared forlornly once a decade, if not less often. True, there was the Boris Pokrovsky Chamber Music Theater in the capital, which was known as a “laboratory of modern opera” and regularly worked with living composers. Nowadays, newfangled opuses are good form in the best opera houses. There are such in both “Stasik” and “ New Opera“, even the bastion of conservatism - the Bolshoi - descends not only to Shostakovich and Britten, who are still listed in our modern department, but also to Weinberg and Banevich. The restless Helikon does not lag behind its colleagues. Not so long ago, he only occasionally diluted the mainstream playbill with new products (as a rule, they did not stay for long), and the theater’s box office was made by proven classic masterpieces. Now cooperation with contemporary composers looks like one of the strategic directions of Dmitry Bertman’s multi-vector activity.

The librettists (Manotskov and his partner, the author of the project idea, artist Pavel Kaplevich) took Griboyedov’s immortal comedy “Woe from Wit” as a basis. The plot, dramaturgy, characters and roles, and the lion's share of the aphoristic text - all from textbook classics, known to everyone from school. But, in order not to bind themselves with the need to strictly follow Griboyedov, the directors came up with a clever move - they combined Chatsky, the “superfluous man” of Russian literature, with Chaadaev, “ extra person"Russian reality of the 19th century, supplementing the text of the comedy with excerpts from " Philosophical letters” of the latter and modifying the surname of the main character. The result is a meaningful symbiosis that allows us to talk about Russia and its timeless problems.

The idea, frankly speaking, is not fresh: Griboyedov’s contemporaries “read” Chaadaev in Chatsky, and Pyotr Yakovlevich is still called one of the “prototypes” of the main character of “Woe from Wit” (the author himself did not leave any indications on this matter).

The no less fashionable Kirill Serebrennikov was invited to direct the world premiere. The situation around the Gogol Center, which he heads, attracted additional attention to the production. For PR, this is simply a gift, especially considering that modern opera, as a rule, scares away the public. Serebrennikov remained true to himself, although this production of his is not particularly radical. The action begins with a crowd of naked men. To the sounds of Griboyedov's waltz in E minor, athletic boys change their suits in order to take up their usual work - kneading clay with their feet or, more precisely, trampling the black, scorched earth and carrying huge platforms on their hands, where, in fact, the highest light. The idea of ​​social inequality, segregation, presented more than clearly, if not bluntly, there is little novelty in it, it is easy to read. Everything else was based on “recognition”: conversations on mobile phones (including the sacramental “Carriage for me, carriage!”), Olympic suits with the inscription “RUSSIA” on the inhabitants of Famus’s house, soulless bureaucracy in business office couples and a social ball a la Russe in kokoshniks (with a hint of the famous Romanov costume masquerade of 1903).

Signs of the present time are scattered throughout the performance, strung like beads on every scene - they evoke approving giggles from the audience, where at the premiere shows, of course, there are a fair number of admirers of the director’s talent. He speaks in a language familiar to them, the satisfied audience understands this, and is incredibly happy about it. There were also some minor obscenities. For matters of the heart, the Famusovs’ maid Liza chooses a well-heeled gentleman from among the people (the bartender Petrusha), an “Atlantean” who supports the platform, but before taking him to the social top, she strips him naked and washes him off the dirt, spraying him with water from a hose. In another picture, Liza is raped by Molchalin - while Famusov makes pathetic speeches, she rhythmically squeals in an ultra-high tessitura. In general, nothing sensational. We regularly see something similar on stage. drama theater, and not only from Serebrennikov. In a word, put it however you like, and everything will be fine, everything will be in tune, straight into the history of the national stage.

The question of what Chaadaev has to do with it remains open.

Let us not forget that this is, after all, an opera, a work for musical theater, for singers, orchestra and choir, and, in addition current topic and fashionable directing, it would be nice if the score also represented a phenomenon. This part somehow didn’t work out at all. Even in comparison with Manotskov’s previous opuses (for example, “Guidon” and “Titius the Impeccable”) “Chaadsky” appears to be the least expressive and vibrant product. The music is monotonous and boring, has no personality of its own, does not captivate or shock, leaving the listener absolutely indifferent. Exploited Griboyedov's waltzes- the only thing that the ear can “catch onto”, the rest is a set of commonplaces: the postmodernist scraped the bottom of the barrel, that is, all conceivable musical styles of the past. And the execution leaves much to be desired. Whether it is the fault of the soloists, the conductor, the composer or the sound engineers (the use of sub-phonics is quite obvious), but the singing is poorly audible, and the words are impossible to make out - all reliance is placed on one’s own memory and the running line. Maestro Felix Korobov courageously collects the score of “Chaadsky” into a kind of single canvas, but he is not entirely successful - it seems that the monotony of the sound context tires even such an experienced interpreter of modern music.

Photo at the announcement: Dmitry Serebryakov/TASS

What a dumbass I am! The spitting image of Papazoglo! It took 30 years (thirty!) for me to understand the meaning of the strange events that happened in the 70-80s of the last century. I wrote in the corresponding chapter (“How I edited...”) about the changes in the attitude of the regional authorities towards me (they either extol me or destroy me), I was at a loss, but I couldn’t even dream of what was going on. I worked quietly, sang, etc.

I'll tell you in order. This was at the end of 1973. There was an All-Russian festival of rural amateur performances. An official from the regional House called me folk art Mikhail Guryevich Grivkov said that they were asking me to learn “The Song of Zoya” (composer Dm. Kruglov, lyrics by Tatyana Alekseeva). The song was part of a composition dedicated to the defeat of the Germans near Moscow. We had to sing with symphony orchestra cinematography. I went to Chernyshevsky Street and received handwritten notes. One young man (a certain Mamonov) lost and gave the notes, ordering them to be rewritten and returned.

A few days later they called me to a rehearsal. She passed right there. Accompanied by conductor L.V. Lyubimov. I knew him for a long time, since he was Gorky’s chief conductor for many years. opera house. We rehearsed with Grivkov, and I received instructions about the performance. Both praised my voice and expressed confidence that everything would work out. Then I returned the notes.

After some time, an important rehearsal was to take place in front of the authorities. I didn’t care what kind. They told me to dress decently, since the rehearsal was supposed to take place on stage. large hall At home. I put on a dark terracotta wool dress, embroidered at the collar and cuffs with artificial pearls (Ida also had exactly the same dress, only gray. We often performed in them in libraries, cultural centers, etc., where a long dress was not required). The soloists came out and sang their numbers. It was my turn. And I forgot the notes. Lyubimov affectionately scolded me, but got out of the situation by accompanying me according to the orchestral score. I sounded good and sang with pleasure. Before the rehearsal, I went to see Nonna Alekseevna (my vocal mentor at the time). I behaved at ease on stage, everyone treated me friendly.

There were few spectators in the hall - some officials. What are they afraid of? She sang and went down into the hall. Suddenly a guy jumps up and hisses: “Telephone, little telephone...”. Why, I think, I’m not hiding anyway. I did not give my Podolsk home phone number, deciding that it would be inconvenient for them to call me from Moscow. She gave me the telephone number of the office at the printing house, where I usually read my newspaper on the day of layout. And this was the office of the censor, L.B. Davydova, with whom I was very friendly and who was my proofreader. They apparently called, but L.B. She didn’t tell me, but she hinted that I probably have fans somewhere. But we just laughed, since we both knew that I didn’t have and never had any fans.

Then there was a rehearsal with the orchestra. How the orchestra members tapped my bows when I sang!!!

And then the day of the concert arrived. In the morning I arrived in Moscow, walked to the theater Soviet army, went up to the dressing room indicated to me. There were a lot of people crowding behind the stage. Some are rehearsing dances, some are beating the tambourine, some are playing the harmonica. I dressed in the then only silver brocade dress with pearl beads and calmly performed during the preliminary run-through of the entire program. The hall was still empty, numbers were not announced. When I heard the orchestra's introduction to my song, I just went out and sang. Suddenly the same official who asked for the phone number flies out from the hall, and, all excited, he grabbed your hand and said: “You look so wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!" Why, I think, should I talk about this? The main thing is to sing, but I always look the same. Before the concert itself, I still lay on the sofa, went to the buffet, had lunch with some tenor (he sang “Oh, you, darling”) to the accordion. A lot of people moved into my dressing room.

The concert has begun. I knew that I would sing after the choir, whose song was also dedicated to the Battle of Moscow. I was about to rush onto the stage after the choir had left, but the manager intercepted me and held me tightly by the hand until I was fully announced.

Captivated by the usual creative excitement, I sang my song with enthusiasm and unexpectedly waved my arms on the final long high note.

And what applause erupted! Friendly, enthusiastic!..

And I went backstage, changed clothes and went home.

Later I found out that when I started singing, the microphone rattled. They barely removed that overtone towards the end. I stood on a completely dark stage, illuminated by a single spotlight. On the back wall there was a huge, floor to ceiling, portrait of Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya, and “snow” was falling against a black background. Sister Ida and Nonna Alekseevna’s other students were in the hall. After the concert they rushed backstage, and there was no trace of me.

Then some strange events began. Then I will be called to the regional party committee to see the head of the propaganda and agitation department. I’m sitting in his office, on tenterhooks: what does he want? Why do they need me? Well, I work well, but I don’t know how to do it any other way; I’m not accustomed to hack work like others. This official hesitated and hesitated (what a boring man he was!), and then let him go without saying anything. True, later I received hints - to take the post of editor-in-chief of the Klin newspaper, to get new Zhiguli cars without waiting in line, to go for free to the resort in Varna. They praised me at seminars and often showed my face close-up in reports about events at the House of Journalists. By the way, I have not seen a single such report, since I did not watch the 2nd TV program.

By the way, I refused all the offers: I couldn’t go to Klin, since my husband works in Podolsk; I didn’t take the car because there was no one to drive – everyone was distracted; I would go to Varna, but is it possible with my husband, etc.

One day the phone rang from Moscow. The assistant to the 2nd Secretary of the CPSU MK spoke. I offered to speak at a regional meeting of journalists with a story about my work experience. Finally, I thought, they found my home phone number. I got ready, went, and suddenly they put me in the very center of the Presidium, right hand from the 2nd secretary. He even asked a few questions about our state farm. When I had to go speak, the 2nd secretary was suddenly called, he left, and I spoke without him. I was so glad, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of my superiors. I don’t say it very eloquently.

The meeting ended, I rushed to get dressed with my wardrobe number (it was winter). Suddenly the new assistant of the 2nd secretary catches up: “Okay,” he says, “we performed, but we could have been more confident, so that the microphone shook, like then.” It was he who hinted at my singing at CTSA. We said goodbye, I extended my hand (along with my number!), it was so awkward.

Years passed. I'm already used to my work being always praised. Once we even agreed that my large circulation was almost better than any regional newspaper. People from the Rodina radio station came to me and offered to go work for them. They took an interview as a test, broadcast it early in the morning on regional radio, and that was the end of the matter. Didn't fit.

One day, somewhere in the spring, there was again a regional meeting of journalists in Moscow. They remembered me kindly again, and at the end, when everyone stood up and began to disperse, someone from the Presidium said into the microphone: “We ask Comrade Tolstobrova to go to the Presidium.”

What? Why else? I won’t go anywhere from Podolsk. I feel good at the state farm too. And she didn’t go.

I’m going to the metro, and my friends from the shop ask: “Why didn’t you stay? You were told to.” - “Well, come on. They will offer a “promotion” again. I’m not going anywhere.”

Then they called me again, this time to the Press office, and offered to supervise all rural mass-circulation publications.

“I don’t want to, I’m retiring.”

And that's where it began! The regional committee of the CPSU issued a special resolution about my person. They accused me of helplessness, illiteracy, and how could they still endure such worthless work.

A special meeting of journalists was convened regarding this resolution (clustered, for several districts). The speaker (the executive secretary of Podolsk Worker) mumbled something unintelligible. Some colleagues did not hide their gloating. Someone even saw an almost obscene typo in the title of one note. Someone shrugged their shoulders, or walked by with their eyes downcast.

They didn’t kick me out of work, but they asked me to take measures to improve my qualifications. I then asked that speaker one-on-one what was the matter? What's seditious in my newspaper?

I didn’t see anything bad or weak in your newspaper; I myself don’t understand all this noise.

They even called me to the Podolsk State Committee of the CPSU: “Why are they literally trampling you, they want to destroy you? What's happened?"

I don’t know, - I babble, - I work as I worked.

I myself thought that the reason for everything was the desire of one colleague with a large circulation to take my place. It seemed to everyone that I was rolling around like cheese in butter on the state farm. But I never took any food, taxes were deducted from my salary 10 times, especially on bonuses and vacation pay. And I never even thought that someone was after me. Yes, Lord, my God! I didn’t see anything around my husband Olezhenka and didn’t want anything else! It's scary to think what could have happened if I fell for all these traps. My dense naivety saved me from such dirt! Lord, thank You for saving me, a fool, from encroachment!

As I remember, many high-ranking bosses looked at me. My soul, apparently, was so far from their unclean thoughts that it turned out to be unaffected and undisturbed by anyone.

Really:

“Pass us beyond all sorrows
And lordly anger, and lordly love.”

You can still survive anger, but it’s better to avoid so-called “love”.

Yes, somehow no one has ever interested me except Olezhenka, honestly.

And only recently, in September 2006, I suddenly realized what explained such persistent attention to my person from the outside. powerful of the world this (regional scale). The drivers told me (those who drove me) how the big bosses had fun in bathhouses, sanatoriums and other hot spots.

Phew, what's good about that?

P.S. For some reason, all my pursuers died shortly after the 1991 coup.

Posted by A.A. Bestuzhev: “I’m not talking about poetry, half of it should become a proverb.”

Many of Griboedov’s aphorisms have entered everyday speech:

We use popular expressions without thinking about their authorship.

Of course, quotes from “Woe from Wit” gained popularity not only thanks to Griboedov’s talent. After the coup of 1917, the accusatory play was included in school programs and theater repertoires.

Griboyedov's catchphrases given below are correlated with the characters in the play. Their characteristics were obtained through catchphrases. There are eighty proverbs in total.

The most popular, and therefore most appropriate proverbs for a given person are included in the headings.

Lisa - Pass us away from all sorrows and master's anger and master's love

Famusov - That's it, you are all proud!

Sofia - The hero of not my novel

Chatsky - Who are the judges?

Skalozub - In my opinion, the fire contributed a lot to her decoration

Molchalin - Ah! evil tongues are worse than a gun

Khlestova – Calendars all lie

Repetilov – A look and something

Princess - He is a chemist, he is a botanist