ńollected works of Daniel and Alla Andreevs in
The Rose of the World's casket
Chapter 1. Angel from a rainbow.
Chapter 2. Counter course.
Chapter 3. First waves.
Chapter 4. Return.
Chapter 5. Kind house.
Chapter 6. Summer etudes.
Chapter 7. Ring of Nibelungs.
Chapter 8. “Around the city aimlessly wandering...”|
Chapter 9. Storm is still behind a window.
Chapter 10. To the high sea.
Chapter 11. “Bears” in the pink wood.
Chapter 12. “The narrow way isn't appointed for two...”
Chapter 13. War.
Chapter 14. Lindens blossom.
Chapter 15. Together.
I would like to begin this book with an explanation of its name. It can seem pretentious, self-confident. It is the name of the unwritten poem of Daniel Andreev.
History of occurrence of the poem's plan is such. There was 1958, it passed slightly more than a year since Daniel returned from prison, returned the dying. We just wedded. There was it so late, only shortly before his death, for the simplest reason: earlier we had no money for rings. We hardly made ends meet and simply couldn't wed before arrest because of our poverty. After release too it was necessary to us very hardly financially. At last in the 58th year Daniel received the fee for a thin-thin book – the small collection of Leonid Andreev's stories (at that time he already started publishing), and then he was defined a personal pension. Before we simply lived thanks to the aid of my parents and friends because both were seriously ill.
And here we wedded and went to a honeymoon travel by steamship. It was a wonderful trip – not from Northern port by big motor ships, but from Southern one, and steamships were small. The trip was called "Moscow-Ufa". It passed through the Moskva River, Oka, Volga, Kama, Belaya and back. Coming back, we from below floated up to Yaroslavl. There was an early morning. Daniel came to the deck, I did something in a cabin. He sat on the deck under our window and suddenly cried: "Go fast here!". I was frightened because "go fast here" usually meant one – heart attack. His condition was hopeless, and it became clear that to live to him remained very not for long. I jumped out on the deck, ran up to Daniel, but, thank God, I was frightened in vain. Thr matter was absolutely in other. If early in the morning from below to float up to Yaroslavl, the first that you see, are marvelous Yaroslavl temples. As they stand on the high river bank, and in the morning the fog rises from water, it seems that these temples appear in the sky, fine, white, absolutely unearthly. To see it, it is necessary to rise to Yaroslavl across Volga from below and surely very much early
Then we returned to Moscow, wandered on another's houses. From time to time Daniel got to hospital. He worked over the book "Russian Gods" which called poetic ensemble. The poem "Voyage to the Heavenly Kremlin" had to become one of the final chapters of this book. The plan of the poem was born in that early June morning on Volga, slightly lower than Yaroslavl.
The plot of the poem had to be approximately such (I now simply repeat Daniel's story). There is a real voyage on the real river along the spoiled coast with the broken belltowers, the domes deprived of crosses, destroyed churches. And here the steamship floats, floats, and the landscape slowly starts being displaced. The river becomes purer and clearer, coast rise lighter and more joyful. Crosses on domes rise up, the ringing from belltowers reaches. And so the ship floats in to the shining, Heavenly Kremlin filled with ringing of church bells.
I ask to forgive me that I took the name of this poem for the book about my own life, but after all each life can be compared (and very often is compared) to voyage. And probably many of us anyway during all life float to the Heavenly Homeland. God grant, that also I at the end of my life – difficult, guilty, long and very much different – nevertheless would moor to the Heavenly Kremlin.
I think that this feeling of life flow as voyage prompted to Alexander Isayevich Solzhenitsyn the name of his shaking work, one of the most considerable books of the XX century – "The Archipelago GULAG". Camps were located not on islands, but on Russian ground. And nevertheless it was the archipelago GULAG. A prayer which the Orthodox Church follows us to the grave is even more deeply: "Seeing the everyday sea erected by a storm of misfortunes, I inflowed to Your quiet haven..."
Well, let's go to voyage.
By then the Institute of labour was already crushed, and my father passed to the Institute of management technique in Khrustalny Lane. He suited me in “Tekhnika upravleniya” publishing house which existed at the institute. I worked at first as a copy-holder, then as a corrector. Materials which we read, were indescribably boring, but I became soon enough the good corrector: I was literate by nature and, besides, possessed exact sight on “other” letters.
In seventeen years I left the publishing house and already absolutely ceased to obey my parents.