It was on October 19, 1811 that, in the presence of His Highness Emperor Alexander I, the Lyceum at Tsarskoye Selo was inaugurated. The institution’s first years, like everything associated with the name of Alexander Pushkin, has long since become the stuff of legend within Russian culture. Schoolboys eagerly pursuing knowledge, the great poet’s awakening to his calling, the burgeoning lifelong friendships among some of the era’s most iconic figures, the broad-minded education that turned boys into remarkable men…
And, like any legend, this one is part truth and part fiction. The boys were indeed exceptional, for the most part. Among the Lyceum’s early graduates, some would turn out to be careerists or simply dull, unsociable people not worth remembering. What lives on is the memory of Pushkin and his circle.
For most of his time there, Pushkin was far from the school’s pride and joy. His academic performance was uneven. In general, it was considered sophisticated to mock those who took their studies too seriously, despite the fact that achievement was closely monitored. “This list is downright nonsense,” the schoolboys chanted about the log in which their grades were entered. “Who’s first, who’s last, they’re all zeroes, all zeroes, ay liros, liros, liros.” Furthermore, Pushkin, who had become close with many of his classmates, had a hard time getting along with his teachers. The stanza he addresses to them in his famous poem “October 19” was not included in the final version.
Куницыну дань сердца и вина! Он создал нас, он воспитал наш пламень, Поставлен им краеугольный камень, Им чистая лампада возжена... Наставникам, хранившим юность нашу, Всем честию — и мертвым и живым, К устам подняв признательную чашу, Не помня зла, за благо воздадим. To Kynitsyn we raise a glass and offer praise! He made us, and then nurtured our young flame, He laid the cornerstone of what we then became, And lit the fire pure that even now does blaze. To those who mentored us as best they could, To the living and the dead let it be told, We raise a glass in memory of the good, And for the rest, no grudges do we hold.
Куницыну дань сердца и вина!
Он создал нас, он воспитал наш пламень,
Поставлен им краеугольный камень,
Им чистая лампада возжена...
Наставникам, хранившим юность нашу,
Всем честию — и мертвым и живым,
К устам подняв признательную чашу,
Не помня зла, за благо воздадим.
To Kynitsyn we raise a glass and offer praise!
He made us, and then nurtured our young flame,
He laid the cornerstone of what we then became,
And lit the fire pure that even now does blaze.
To those who mentored us as best they could,
To the living and the dead let it be told,
We raise a glass in memory of the good,
And for the rest, no grudges do we hold.
If, eight years after graduating, the poet felt compelled to bring “grudges” into his poem, it would appear that his situation at the Lyceum was not as rosy as one might conclude, based on the standard idyllic depiction of these days in the poet’s biographies. Of course, there were problems with his own behavior. One of the ditties the students sang had a line about Pushkin (here under his nickname), “And our Frenchman/Praises his own good taste/While swearing like a sailor” (А наш Француз свой хвалит вкус, а матерщину порет). Beside his mastery of the fine Russian art of swearing (матерщина), there was also plenty of wine, chasing after the ladies-in-waiting at the nearby palace, and his careless attitude toward his studies. But there was something else. The Lyceum’s teachers were smart enough to see beyond Pushkin’s teenage pranks and appreciate the true measure of his developing talent. But Pushkin, unlike many of his classmates, appears to have had no desire to befriend them. The men he looked up to in his youth – Karamzin and Zhukovsky – were beyond the Lyceum’s walls.
Would Pushkin have been Pushkin without the Lyceum? Of course. But probably some of what made him Pushkin would have been missing – and this is the most important reason why Russian culture must be eternally grateful to the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.
Here is the most important, but not the only reason: Let us not forget that, in addition to Pushkin, who would have left his mark on Russian culture in any event, the Lyceum nurtured over the course of a century a multitude of young men destined to comprise Russia’s elite. In fact, this was the idea behind the Lyceum’s creation. Alexander I, who longed to conduct reforms but was afraid that his subjects would misunderstand and resist them, bitterly lamented “некем взять” (“there is no one to take them on”) – a phrase that has been etched into Russian history. So, in order to cultivate a new generation of like-minded men, the emperor put heart and soul into his effort to create new institutions of learning and to reform existing ones.
It is no coincidence that the Lyceum was located in Tsarskoye Selo (“Tsar’s Village”) and placed in close proximity to the suburban palace where the court spent the warm months. This alone shows how strongly the tsar felt about educating the future generation. It is also no coincidence that he was there for the Lyceum’s opening ceremonies, since he is believed to have taken a personal interest in the students. Some like to say that the tsar’s idea was a failure. In a certain sense it was: the first graduating class gave Russia not only the free-thinking Pushkin and the fanciful Delvig, but also two Decembrists – Pushchin and Küchelbecker. This is what the tsar’s undertaking led to – those to whom he looked for support rose up against him.
But it should also be recalled that the first graduating class included Admiral Fyodor Matyushkin, who participated in several exploratory voyages around the globe, and the famous diplomat, Chancellor Alexander Gorchakov, as well as the short-lived composer Nikolai Korsakov… They were all overshadowed by Pushkin and any recounting of their achievements will always be preceded by the words “Pushkin’s classmate.”1
But that is not the point. Some of them are still renowned, some have faded into the shadows, but virtually all the Lyceum’s first graduates were successful and found a purpose for themselves in the Russia of their day. Not only were they successful, but they were decent. Immediately after the Decembrist uprising, Gorchakov, at the time an ambitious young diplomat just starting to establish himself, went to see his classmate Ivan Pushchin and took away a briefcase with Decembrist papers for safekeeping. In essence, he aided and abetted the conspirator Pushchin by hiding (and keeping!) many treasonous documents, despite knowing full well that he was imperiling his career, and maybe even his freedom. This impulse toward decency was a Lyceum tradition.
And this tradition seems to have persisted throughout the Lyceum’s existence. It never produced another Pushkin. (How could it?) But the huge number of graduates who went on to occupy prominent positions in the government or the army and lived in accordance with principles they acquired during their school years is a tribute to the institution. When, in the early twentieth century, the last director of the Lyceum, General Vladimir Shilder, was asked what he was raising his son to be, he replied that he was raising him to be a decent person. This may sound trite, but such was the Lyceum ethos.
One last thing that must be remembered is that the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum (later known as the Alexander Lyceum) was always an elite institution: it only accepted children from the upper echelons of society, or at least the aristocracy. Pushkin, whose lineage was not particularly exalted, got in more or less by chance. In later years, the future poet might not have been admitted.
Are there many selective aristocratic schools out there where the primary goal is to cultivate decent people? It is not surprising it was one of the first victims of the Bolshevik regime.
In May 1918, this vestigial aristocratic institution was shut down. Seven years later, legal proceedings were begun against some of its former teachers and dozens of graduates. They were charged with the heinous crime of meeting every October 19 to celebrate the anniversary of the school’s founding and arranging church services to commemorate deceased alumni, some of whom had been members of the royal family. Around this same time the school’s former director, Vladimir Shilder, was imprisoned, despite being critically ill. He did not live to see the investigation into the “Case of the Lyceists” completed or to see the young men he had taught to be decent people shot or sent off to the camps.
Today, October 19 has become something akin to a national holiday. Adjusted to reflect the current Gregorian calendar, the anniversary would actually fall on the 31st, but Pushkin gave such emblematic power to the date October 19 that this is when all gymnasiums and lyceums hold their celebrations, 99 percent of which feature recitations of Pushkin’s famous poem.
There is even something slightly silly about all this. What does the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum have to do with us? On the other hand, it is a good thing that throughout the country a place that offered an extraordinary education, where poetry was revered, and where boys learned to be “decent people” continues to be commemorated. This is how the tradition is being upheld, a tradition that continues to inspire lines like these from Yuly Kim:
Just like the Lycee students Let us gather round the flame; Amidst crimson-leafed October The 19th we still acclaim.
Just like the Lycee students
Let us gather round the flame;
Amidst crimson-leafed October
The 19th we still acclaim.
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