Pushkin on Life and Death of Griboyedov

“Married the woman he loved, wrote a great play, died in battle“, – Pushkin wrote about Griboyedov’s enviable fate.

Russian writer, playwright, linguist, historian and orientalist, author of the play “Woe from Wit”, Alexander Sergeevich Griboyedov was born 230 years ago.

A vivid description of Griboyedov was given by his contemporary Alexander Pushkin. In “Journey to Arzrum”, the poet told how he met an araba (a carriage) on which the body of Griboyedov, killed during the massacre at the Russian embassy in Tehran, was being carried to Tiflis:

“I never thought I would ever meet our Griboyedov again! I parted with him last year in St. Petersburg before his departure for Persia. He was sad and had strange presentiments. I wanted to calm him down: he told me: “You don’t know these people yet: you will see that it will come to knives.”

He believed that the cause of bloodshed would be the death of the Shah and the civil strife of his seventy sons. But the aged Shah was still alive, and Griboyedov’s prophetic words came true.

He perished under the daggers of the Persians, a victim of ignorance and treachery. His mutilated corpse, which had been the plaything of the Tehran mob for three days, was recognized only by his hand, which had once been shot through with a pistol bullet.

I became acquainted with Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholy character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the very weaknesses and vices that are the inevitable companions of humanity – everything about him was unusually attractive.

Born with an ambition equal to his gifts, he had long been entangled in the nets of petty needs and obscurity. His abilities as a statesman remained unused; his talent as a poet was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained for some time under suspicion.

A few friends knew his worth and saw a smile of mistrust, that stupid, unbearable smile, when they happened to speak of him as of an extraordinary man. People believe only in fame and do not understand that among them there may be some Napoleon who never led a single company of chasseurs, or another Descartes who never published a single line in the Moscow Telegraph.

However, our respect for fame may come from vanity: our voice is part of fame. Griboyedov’s life was overshadowed by some clouds: the result of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to settle accounts once and for all with his youth and to turn his life around abruptly.

He said goodbye to Petersburg and idle absent-mindedness, went to Georgia, where he spent eight years in solitary, tireless studies. His return to Moscow in 1824 was a turning point in his life and the beginning of uninterrupted success. His handwritten comedy Woe from Wit had an indescribable effect and suddenly placed him alongside our first poets.

Some time later, his perfect knowledge of the region where the war was beginning opened up a new career for him; he was appointed envoy. Arriving in Georgia, he married the woman he loved… I know of nothing more enviable than the last years of his stormy life.

Death itself, which befell him in the midst of a bold, uneven battle, had nothing terrible or agonizing for Griboyedov. It was instantaneous and beautiful. What a pity that Griboyedov did not leave his notes! It would have been the job of his friends to write his biography; but remarkable people disappear among us, leaving no trace. We are lazy and incurious…”