“Two Lives” by Antarova – esotericism in prose. Concordia Antarova: about the path of joy from the book “Two Lives Antarova Two Lives Description

Series "Golden Fund of Esoterics"

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Preface

In a number of works of art devoted to spiritual, psychological and philosophical themes, K. E. Antarova’s novel “Two Lives” occupies a special place.

Let's dwell a little on the life of the author of this work, Concordia Evgenievna Antarova (1886–1959). Concordia Evgenievna was born on April 13 (new style 25), 1886 in Warsaw. Life has not spoiled her since childhood: when she was 11 years old, her father died. Concordia, or Cora as she was called, lived with her mother on her small pension and the money her mother earned from teaching lessons. foreign languages. At the age of 14, the girl suffered an even greater blow of fate: her mother died, and Cora was left completely alone. Then she studied in the 6th grade of the gymnasium. She had no relatives who could help her financially, but the girl did not give up her studies - she began to earn her living on her own, giving lessons, as her mother had done before, and was able to graduate from high school in 1901. Nevertheless, a very young girl, left alone in the whole world, had the idea of entering a monastery, and Cora became a novice. In a surviving photograph from those years, we see a beautiful, amazingly spiritual young face in monastic vestments.

Apparently, the brightest event in her novice life was singing in the church choir: it was then that it became clear that fate had gifted her with an amazingly beautiful contralto of an original, unusual timbre. This gift, together with her love for music and theater, subsequently determined the path of her life. But Concordia did not immediately understand her true calling: having arrived in St. Petersburg after graduating from high school, she first entered the history and philology department of the Bestuzhev Higher Courses for Women and only then the St. Petersburg Conservatory. She completed her studies in 1904. She had the opportunity to get a job teaching the same educational institution, but it was then that the girl realized that her true calling was in art, in music. She decided to specialize in vocals and began taking singing lessons from conservatory professor I.P. Pryanishnikov. To be able to pay for these lessons, she had to work hard. Hard work undermined her strength, she was often sick, but she persistently pursued her goal, without retreating from her plans. It was during those difficult, half-starved years that she began to develop a serious illness, which later put an end to her artistic career - bronchial asthma. In 1907, Antarova auditioned at the Mariinsky Theater. Despite the huge competition, she is hired into the troupe of the famous theater. But Antarova worked at the Mariinka for no more than a year - one of the singers of the Bolshoi Theater moved to St. Petersburg for family reasons, and Antarova agreed to replace her in Moscow, becoming an artist of the Bolshoi Theater in 1908.

Her dream came true - she became an opera singer. She devoted more than 20 years of her life to the stage. Antarova's repertoire was enormous, her unique, unforgettable voice sounded in all the operas that were staged at the Bolshoi Theater during this time. Later (presumably in 1933, after leaving the stage) she was awarded the title of Honored Artist of the RSFSR.

Since 1930, changes have been taking place in Antarova’s life: it is known that from that time Concordia Evgenievna ceased her artistic activity on the stage of the Bolshoi Theater. It is difficult to say whether this was due to a progressive illness or other circumstances; There are different versions explaining this fact. It is possible that after leaving the Bolshoi Theater K.E. continued for some time concert activities, but was soon forced to finally part with the stage.

Meanwhile, the time was approaching one of the most dramatic periods in the history of Russia, the period of the Stalinist dictatorship; The tragedy of millions of people, innocently executed and exiled, did not bypass the house of Concordia Antarova. Her beloved husband was shot in the Gulag, and only God knows at what cost she survived this drama. Having completed her artistic career, the singer took up literary creativity. During her work at the Bolshoi Theater, she, along with other young artists, studied acting under the direction of K. S. Stanislavsky. For this purpose, a special Opera Studio of the Bolshoi Theater was created, the purpose of which was to develop the creative acting skills of singers. Meeting Stanislavsky brought a lot of positive things into Antarova’s life; the singer carefully took notes of the famous director’s conversations. After leaving the Bolshoi Theater, Antarova wrote the book “Conversations of K. S. Stanislavsky” based on these recordings. This work went through several reprints and was translated into foreign languages.

But, of course, the main literary work of Concordia Antarova’s entire life was the novel “Two Lives.” The novel was created by her during the difficult years of the war (she then lived in Moscow). Antarova's followers claim, citing the memoirs of her contemporaries, that the birth of this work is shrouded in mystery; multi-volume work was created exclusively short time. The reason is so quick creation They see this novel in the fact that it was not so much written as written by Concordia Evgenievna. From these statements it can be assumed that the novel was created by Antarova in the same way as H. P. Blavatsky wrote her works in her time, partly finding materials for them herself, but to a greater extent hearing the voices of her spiritual Teachers, inaudible to others, dictating the text to her, or seeing in the astral light, with the help of clairvoyance, a ready-made text that she had to transfer to paper. Be that as it may, K. E. Antarova undoubtedly had a spiritual connection with the White Brotherhood, thanks to which she wrote “Two Lives”. One of K. E. Antarova’s spiritual students, Indologist S. I. Tyulyaev, testified that, although Antarova was not a member of the Russian Theosophical Society, she communicated with some of its participants, that is, she was clearly familiar with theosophical teachings.

K. E. Antarova’s closest friend was the outstanding mathematician Olga Nikolaevna Tsuberbiller. Like Concordia Evgenievna, she was also a follower of theosophical teachings and the Teachers of the East.

Concordia Evgenievna died in 1959. Copies of the manuscript of the novel “Two Lives” were kept by a small number of her friends and followers, including S. I. Tyulyaev and E. F. Ter-Arutyunova. The novel was not intended for publication; in those years it was impossible to even think about it. But people interested in the philosophical and esoteric heritage of the East, as well as everything else that was prohibited by Soviet censorship, have always been in Russia, which is why samizdat existed in the USSR for many decades. Thanks to him, works prohibited for publication, including the works of H. P. Blavatsky, books of Agni Yoga and other literature located in special storage, were secretly reprinted, photocopied and passed from hand to hand. Thus, the esoteric novel by K. E. Antarova, from its very birth, invariably found readers and fans and was always in demand by thinking people. It was first published in 1993 and since then has become the favorite book of everyone who strives for self-improvement and comprehension of the secret wisdom of the East.

Why did readers love him so much?

Among fans of esoteric teachings, the novel became especially famous for its philosophical aphorisms, scattered like pearls in various episodes of the story about the adventures of Levushka and his patrons. In this edition, these aphorisms of Eastern wisdom are highlighted in the margins with asterisks to make it easier for the reader to find them in the text. We also note that in its external form and plot development this work resembles ordinary fiction, an interesting adventure novel written in a somewhat old-fashioned prose style late XIX– beginning of the 20th century. The events described in the novel also take place in the 19th century. However, behind the external fascinating form of the narrative lies a presentation of the foundations of the great philosophical and esoteric knowledge brought to western world H. P. Blavatsky and the Roerich family in the teachings of Theosophy and Agni Yoga (Living Ethics). Moreover, the heroes of the novel themselves are prototypes of the spiritual Teachers of the East - Mahatmas - and their students. Mahatma Moriah is recognizable in the majestic and at the same time humane image of Ali Mohammed; his closest comrade-in-arms, Teacher Kut-Humi, in the form of Sir Ut-Uomi. Illofillion is associated with the Teacher Hilarion, the Florentine, apparently, is a prototype of the Venetian - this was the spiritual name of one of the Great Teachers. In subsequent volumes the reader will meet prototypes of other Teachers of the White Brotherhood who have become famous in the West, as well as talented creative figures from all over the world. Main character of the novel, on whose behalf the story is told, the student of the spiritual Teachers Levushka, or Lev Nikolaevich, Count T. is, of course, L. N. Tolstoy, great writer and sage. Many details of Levushka’s biography coincide with real facts from the life of Tolstoy. Why exactly he was chosen as the prototype of the main character of the novel is difficult to say, but one thing is known: all his life Tolstoy deeply appreciated Eastern wisdom, which was reflected in his works such as the collection “The Reading Circle”, the story “Karma”, and the collection of aphorisms “The Way of Life” ", and many others.

The story about the life and adventures of the main characters in this book is skillfully woven into a description of the process of spiritual, psychological and moral self-improvement that a person must go through if he decides to follow the path of accelerated spiritual self-realization taught in the teachings of the Mahatmas.

The dynamism of the narrative, the constant adventures into which the book’s heroes find themselves escaping from pursuit, contain the foundations of the philosophy and ethics of Eastern esotericism. Multidimensionality of the universe; the existence of another plane of existence; the ability of a person’s consciousness to voluntarily separate from his physical body and perceive what is happening in other parts of the world; the existence on the planet of light forces - the Teachers of the White Brotherhood - and dark forces in the form of adherents of black magic; the laws of karma and reincarnation in all their diverse manifestations; psychological difficulties and inevitable mistakes of students of spiritual knowledge, sometimes leading to real dramas in their lives, and brilliant aphorisms of wisdom in the form of instructions given by Teachers to their students - all this, set out on the pages of this book, makes it literally a storehouse of valuable information for a person interested in spiritual wisdom East and issues of self-improvement. Outwardly similar to a fascinating fairy tale, this novel contains serious psychological examples of how the practical principles of Eastern spiritual practices are refracted in the real everyday life of a person.

It is no coincidence that this novel has been read by more than one generation of readers interested in the cultivation practices set forth in the teachings of the spiritual Teachers of the East. “Two Lives” is, in fact, a teacher book necessary for everyone who has ever thought about their place in life and the meaning of their existence in general. The type of characters in the novel is varied psychological types people that each of us has met or can meet in real life. Readers of “Two Lives”, as the story progresses, “recognize” themselves in certain characters of the novel, and looking at their actions from the outside, they begin to understand both their own mistakes in relationships with people and the illusions that prevent them from realizing their best dreams and plans, and internal psychological reasons for the failures that they experienced, and much, much more. And with understanding comes awareness of how to act in a given life situation and how to respond to the challenges that life itself brings to all of us in order to be able to accept them and emerge victorious from the most difficult situations.

It is precisely for this reason, in our opinion – its practical, vital value – that K. E. Antarova’s novel has become so beloved by many readers. The new edition of this novel includes comments that explain a number of interesting details of the story from the point of view of the basic principles of Theosophy and Agni Yoga. It seems that this, on the one hand, will make reading the novel easier for readers who are not familiar with these teachings; and on the other hand, it will help in the future to perceive the books of these teachings themselves, if interest arises in them.

A. Milanova.

Chapter 1
My brother has

The events that I now remember belong to long ago, to my distant youth.

For more than two decades now they have been calling me “grandfather,” but I don’t feel old at all; my outer appearance, which forces me to give up my seat or pick up something I have dropped, is so out of harmony with my inner cheerfulness that it makes me embarrassed every time people show such respect to my gray beard.

I was about twenty years old when I came to a large Central Asian trading city to visit my brother, captain of the N regiment. Heat, clear blue sky, hitherto unprecedented; the wide streets with alleys of tall, spreading and shady trees in the middle struck me with their silence. Occasionally a merchant will leisurely ride on a donkey to the market; A group of women will pass by, wrapped in black burqas and white or dark veils, hiding the shape of their bodies like a cloak.

The street where the brother lived was not one of the main ones; it was far from the market, and the silence on it was almost absolute. My brother rented a small house with a garden; I lived in it alone with my orderly and used only two rooms, and the other three were entirely at my disposal. The windows of one of my brother's rooms faced the street; The two windows of the room that I had chosen for myself as a bedroom and which bore the loud name of the “hall” looked towards the same place.

My brother was a very educated man. The walls of the rooms were lined from top to bottom with shelves and cabinets with books. The library was beautifully selected, arranged in perfect order and, judging by the catalog compiled by my brother, promised many joys in my new, solitary life.

The first days my brother took me around the city, the bazaar, and mosques; at times I wandered alone in the huge shopping arcades with painted pillars and small oriental restaurants at the crossroads. In the bustling, talkative crowd, motley dressed in multi-colored robes, I felt as if I was in Baghdad, and I kept imagining that somewhere very close Aladdin was passing with his magic lamp or the unrecognizable Harun al-Rashid was wandering around. And the eastern people, with their majestic calm, or, conversely, increased emotionality, seemed mysterious and attractive to me.

One day, wandering absentmindedly from store to store, I suddenly shuddered as if struck electric current, and involuntarily looked back. The completely black eyes of a very tall, middle-aged man with a thick short black beard looked intently at me. And next to him stood a young man of extraordinary beauty, and his blue, almost violet eyes were also fixed on me. The tall brunette and the young man were both wearing white turbans and colorful silk robes. Their posture and manners were significantly different from everyone around them; many of the passers-by bowed obsequiously to them.

Both of them had long since moved towards the exit, and I still stood there spellbound, unable to overcome the impression of these wonderful eyes. Having come to my senses, I rushed after them, but ran up to the exit from the gallery at the very moment when the strangers who had so amazed me were already in the cab and driving away from the market. The young man was sitting on my side. Looking back, he smiled slightly and said something to the elder. But the thick dust kicked up by three donkeys covered everything, I could no longer see anything, and I was no longer able to stand under the sheer rays of the scorching sun.

"Who could it be?" – I thought, returning to where I met them. I walked past the shop several times and finally decided to ask the owner:

– Please tell me, who are these people who were just with you?

- People? “People came to my shop a lot today,” he said, smiling slyly. - Only yours, right, it’s not people who want to know, but one tall black people?

“Yes, yes,” I hastened to agree. “I saw a tall dark-haired man and a handsome young man with him. What are they?

- They are our big, rich landowners. Vineyards, - oh, - vineyard! Most of the trade is with England.

- But what is his name? – I continued.

“Oh-oh,” the owner laughed. – You’re burning up, do you want to meet? He is Mohammed Ali. And the young one is Mahmud Ali.

- So, are both Mohammeds?

- No, no, Mohammed is only an uncle, and his nephew is Mahmud.

- Do they live here? - I continued to ask, looking at the silks on the shelves and wondering what to buy in order to gain time and find out something more about the strangers who interested me.

- What are you watching? Do you want a robe? – Noticing my soaring gaze, the owner asked.

“Yes, yes,” I was glad for the excuse. - Show me the robe, please. I want to give a gift to my brother.

- Who is your brother? Which one does he like?

I had no idea what kind of dressing gowns my brother might like, since I had never seen him in anything other than a tunic or pajamas.

“My brother is Captain T.,” I said.

- Captain T.? – the merchant exclaimed with an oriental temperament. - I know him well. He already has seven robes. What else does he need?

I was embarrassed, but, hiding my confusion, I said bravely:

- Yes, he gave them all away, it seems.

- That's how it is! Probably sent it to friends in St. Petersburg. Ha-a-ro-shiy bought robes! Look, Mohammed Ali ordered to send it for his niece. Oops, robe!

And the merchant took out from under the counter a wonderful pink robe with grayish-lilac matte stains.

“This one won’t suit me,” I said.

The merchant laughed merrily.

- Of course, it won’t work; This is a woman's robe. I'll give it to you - blue.

And with these words, he unrolled a magnificent purple robe on the counter. The robe was somewhat colorful; but his tone, warm and soft, might have pleased his brother.

- Don't be afraid, take it. I know everyone. Your brother is a friend of Ali Mohammed. We can't sell it bad to a friend. Your brother is a great man! Ali Mohammed himself reveres him.

- Who is he, this Ali?

“I told you, she’s a big, important merchant.” Persia trades, and so does Russia,” the owner answered.

- It doesn't look like he was a merchant. “He’s probably a scientist,” I objected.

- Oh, scientist! He is such a scientist that even your brother knows all the books. Your brother is also a great scientist.

– Do you know where Ali lives?

The merchant patted me familiarly on the shoulder and said:

– You apparently don’t live here much. Ali's house is opposite your brother's house.

– Opposite my brother’s house there is a very large garden, surrounded by a high brick wall. It’s always dead silent there, and even the gates never open,” I said.

- Silence is silence. But today there will be no silence. Sister Ali Mahmoud will come. There will be an agreement, she will get married. If you said that Ali Mahmud is handsome, then sister - oh-me! - a star from the sky! Braids to the floor, and eyes - wow!

The merchant threw up his hands and even choked.

- How could you see her? After all, according to your law, the burqa cannot be removed in front of men?

- The street is not allowed. You can't even go into our house. And Ali Mohammed has all the women at home open. Mulla said it many times, but he stopped. Ali said: “I’ll leave.” Well, the mullah is silent for now.

I said goodbye to the merchant, took the purchase and went home. I walked for a long time; somewhere I turned in the wrong direction and with great difficulty finally found my street. Thoughts about the rich merchant and his nephew were confused with thoughts about the girl’s heavenly beauty, and I couldn’t decide what kind of eyes she had: black, like my uncle’s, or purple, like my brother’s?

I was walking, looking at my feet, and suddenly I heard: “Levushka, where have you been? I was about to look for you.”

The sweet voice of my brother, who replaced my mother, father, and family all my life, was full of humor, like his sparkling eyes. White teeth gleamed on his slightly tanned, clean-shaven face; he had bright, beautifully defined lips, golden curly hair, dark eyebrows... For the first time I realized how handsome he, my brother, was. I was always proud and admired him; and now, like a little boy, for no apparent reason, he threw himself on his neck, kissed him on both cheeks and thrust a robe into his hands.

- This is your robe. And your Ali became the reason that I was completely dumbfounded and lost,” I said with a laugh.

- What robe? Which Ali? – the brother asked in surprise.

– Robe No. 8, which I bought for you as a gift. And Ali No. 1, your friend,” I answered, still continuing to laugh.

“You remind me of the stubborn little Levushka, who loved to puzzle everyone.” I see that the love of riddles is still alive in you,” the brother said, smiling with his open smile, which unusually changed his face. - Well, let's go home, we can't stand here forever. Although there is no one, I cannot guarantee that somewhere secretly, from behind the edge of the curtain, a curious eye is not looking at us.

We were about to head home. But suddenly his brother’s sensitive ear discerned the clatter of horse hooves in the distance.

“Wait,” he said, “they’re on their way.”

I didn't hear anything. My brother took me by the hand and made me stop under a huge tree, just opposite the closed gate of that quiet house in which, according to the merchant from the shopping arcade, Ali Mohammed lived.

“It’s possible that now you will see something amazing,” my brother told me. “Just stand so that we can’t be seen either from the house or from the road.”

We stood behind a huge tree, where two or three more people could have taken cover. Now I could already hear the tramp of several horses and the noise of wheels on the soft unpaved road.

A few minutes later, the gates of Ali’s house swung wide open, and the janitor came out onto the road. Looking around, he waved someone into the garden and stood waiting.

The first to go was a simple cart. In it sat two female figures wrapped in blankets and three children. They were all buried in a mass of bundles and cardboard boxes, and a small chest was tied behind them.

Following them, in some old chaise, was an old man with two elegant suitcases.

And finally, at a fairly large distance, apparently protecting themselves from road dust, a carriage was moving, which could not yet be seen. Meanwhile, the cart and chaise drove through the gate and disappeared into the garden.

“Look carefully, but be silent and don’t move so that we don’t get noticed,” my brother whispered to me.

The crew was approaching. It was an elegant carriage drawn by a beautiful black horse, and two women with their faces covered with black burqas sat in it.

Ali Mohammed came out of the gate of the house, dressed in white, followed by Ali Mahmud, in the same long white robe. It seemed to me that Ali Sr.’s eyes seemed to pierce right through the tree behind which we were hiding, and it even seemed to me that a subtle smile slipped across his lips. I even felt feverish; I touched my brother, wanting to say: “We have been discovered,” but he put his finger to his lips and continued to stare intently at the approaching and stopping carriage.

A moment later, Ali Sr. approached the carriage... a small, white, charming female hand lifted the veil from her face. I have seen women, recognized beauties, on stage and in life, but now for the first time I understood what female beauty is.

Another figure was shrilly saying something to Ali in an senile voice, and the girl smiled embarrassedly and was ready to lower the veil over her face again. But Ali himself casually threw it onto her shoulders, and, to the great indignation of the old woman, dark rings of unruly hair appeared in the light. Ignoring the shrill reprimands, Ali picked up the girl who had thrown herself on his neck and, like a child, carried her into the house.

Meanwhile, Ali the young respectfully dropped off the still grumbling old woman.

The girl's silvery laughter came from the open gate.

The old woman and young Ali had already disappeared, and the carriage drove through the gate, and the gate closed... And we still stood, forgetting the place and time, forgetting that we were hungry, the heat and all decency.

I couldn't come to my senses; I kept looking at this stranger, unknown to me.

- Well, did you like my niece Nal? – I suddenly heard an unfamiliar metallic voice above me.

I shuddered - from surprise I did not even understand the question - and saw in front of me the tall figure of Ali Sr., who, laughing, extended his hand to me. Mechanically, I took this hand and felt some kind of relief; a sigh even escaped from my chest, and a warm stream of energy ran down my arm.

I was silent. It seemed to me that I had never held such a palm in my hand. With an effort, my eyes tore away from the searing eyes of Ali Mohammed, and I looked at his hands.

They were white and tender, as if tan could not stick to them. Long, thin fingers ended in oval, convex, pink nails. The whole arm, narrow and thin, artistically beautiful, still spoke of enormous physical strength. It seemed as if the eyes, throwing sparks of iron will, were in complete harmony with these hands. One could easily imagine that at any moment, as soon as Ali Mohammed threw off his soft white clothes, take the sword in your hand, and you will see a warrior striking to death.

I forgot where we were, why we were standing in the middle of the street, and I can’t say now how long Ali held my hand. I definitely fell asleep standing up.

- Well, let's go home, Levushka. Why don't you thank Ali Mohammed for the invitation? – I heard my brother’s voice.

I again did not understand what kind of invitation my brother was talking about, and mumbled some kind of indistinct farewell greeting to the tall and slender Ali who was smiling at me.

My brother took my arm, and I involuntarily moved in step with him. Timidly looking at him, I again saw the dear, close, familiar face of my beloved brother Nikolai from childhood, and not that stranger under the tree, the sight of whom had so struck me and deeply upset me.

The habit that had developed since childhood of seeing support, help and protection in my brother, the habit that was created in those days when I grew up only in his company, to address all complaints, grief and misunderstandings to my brother-father, somehow suddenly jumped out from the depths of my heart , and I said in a plaintive tone:

- How I want to sleep; I’m so tired, it’s like I’ve walked twenty miles!

“Very good, now we’ll have lunch and you can lie down for two hours.” And then we’ll go to visit Ali Mohammed. He is almost the only one here who leads a European lifestyle. His house is beautifully and tastefully furnished. A very elegant mixture of Asia and Europe. The women of his family are educated and go home without burqas, and this is a whole revolution for these places. Many times he was threatened with all kinds of persecution by mullahs and other high-ranking religious fanatics for violating local customs. But he still leads his line. Every last servant in his house is literate. Servants are given hours of complete rest and freedom during the day. This is also a revolution here. And I heard that they are now planning to organize a religious campaign against him. And in these wild lands this is a terrible thing.

While talking, we came to our place, washed ourselves in the bathroom, built right in the garden from mats and tarpaulins, and sat down at the table that had been set for a long time to have lunch.

A good refreshing shower and a delicious lunch restored my energy.

My brother laughed merrily, scolded me for my absent-mindedness and told me all sorts of comic scenes that he had to observe in everyday life here; admired the Russian soldier’s intelligence and his wit. Rarely when Eastern cunning triumphed over Russian insight, the Eastern merchant who deceived the Russian soldier often paid for his dishonesty. The soldiers came up with such tricks to punish the deceiver, such a funny farce was played out over the merchant, completely confident in his impunity, that any director could envy their imagination.

It must be said that the soldiers never played cruel jokes, but the comical situations in which the deceiver found himself weaned him for a long time from the habit of deception.

So quietly we finished dinner, and my desire to sleep disappeared. I decided to ask my brother to try on the robe I gave him.

Throwing off his jacket, the brother put on a robe. The deep purple tone suited his golden hair and tanned face perfectly. I involuntarily fell in love with them. Somewhere in the depths an envious thought flashed - “I will never be handsome.”

“How lucky you were to buy this,” said the brother. – True, I have a lot of dressing gowns, but I’ve already worn them, and I especially like this one. I haven't seen anything like this on anyone. I will definitely wear it in the evening when we go to visit a neighbor. By the way, let’s look into the “dressing room,” as the batman so importantly calls the dressing room, and we’ll choose a robe for you.

“How,” I exclaimed in surprise, “will we go there as mummers?”

- Well, why “mummers”? We'll just dress the way everyone else will, so as not to be conspicuous. Today Ali will have not only friends, but also a considerable number of enemies. We won’t tease them with European clothes.

However, when the brother opened the large closet, it turned out not eight, but two dozen of all kinds of robes from different materials. I even screamed in surprise.

– Are you amazed by this number? But here they wear seven robes at once, starting with chintz and ending with silk. Those who are richer wear three or four silk ones; those who are poorer wear only calico, but they certainly put several on top of each other at once.

“My God,” I said, “but in this heat, if you put on a few robes, you can feel like you’re in the mouth of Vesuvius.”

- It only seems so. Thin matter is not heavy, and when placed one on top of the other, it does not allow the sun's rays to burn the body. Try putting on these two robes. You will see that they are weightless and even cold,” said my brother, handing me two white, very thin silk robes. “We won’t dress very carefully, as is customary here.” But you will have to wear four robes. I beg you, put it on and go; get used to it. Otherwise, perhaps in the evening, due to your absent-mindedness, you will really seem like a “mummer” and will embarrass us both,” my brother continued, seeing that I was still hesitantly holding the dressing gowns handed to me in my hands.

Not particularly eager to dress in oriental attire, but not wanting to upset my beloved brother, I quickly undressed and began to pull on my robes.

- But they are narrow, what kind of robes are they? These are some ridiculous gloves,” I shouted, starting to get irritated.

1. (Part 1, volume 1)

An occult novel, very popular among people interested in the ideas of Theosophy and the Teachings of Living Ethics. The heroes of the novel are great souls who completed their spiritual evolution on Earth, but remained here to help people in their spiritual ascent. According to the author - a famous opera singer, student of K. S. Stanislavsky, soloist of the Bolshoi Theater K. E. Antarova (1886-1959) - the book was written by her under dictation and was begun during the Second World War.

The book “Two Lives” was recorded by Concordia Evgenievna Antarova through communication with the real Author through clairaudience - the way in which the books of “Living Ethics” by H.I. Roerich and N.K. Roerich, “The Secret Doctrine” by H.P. Blavatsky were recorded. The unity of the Source of these books is quite obvious to those who read them. The teaching set forth in the books of “Living Ethics” is, as it were, illustrated by the destinies of the heroes of the book “Two Lives”. This is the same Source of the One Truth from which the Teachings of Gautama Buddha, Jesus Christ and other Great Teachers emerged.

For the first time in a book intended for a wide range of readers, bright and deep Images of the Great Teachers are given, written with great love, Their selfless work to reveal the Human Spirit is shown.

A book originally intended for a very narrow circle of students who received the guidance of the Great Teachers through K.E. Antarova

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Before you, reader, is an occult novel that is being published for the first time almost 35 years after the death of the author. It belongs to the pen of K.E. Antarova, one of those selfless Russian women whose life was a service to beauty and knowledge.

Cora (Concordia) Evgenievna Antarova was born on April 13, 1886, at that happy time for creative people when he was engaged in silver Age Russian culture. And nature generously endowed her with talents - including a beautiful voice, a contralto of rare charm. Therefore, simultaneously with classes at the historical and philological faculty of the Higher Women's Courses (the famous Bestuzhev Courses), she graduates from the St. Petersburg Conservatory, takes singing lessons from I. P. Pryanishnikov, the organizer and director of the first opera society in Russia; in 1908 he was accepted into the Bolshoi Theater troupe. On this world-famous stage K.E. Antarova worked for almost thirty years.

We can only guess how important a role the meeting with K. S. Stanislavsky played in his life: for several years he taught acting in the music studio of the Bolshoi Theater, not for a moment forgetting about his main goal - to expand the consciousness of his students , awakening spirituality in them. Direct evidence of this is the book “Conversations of K. S. Stanislavsky at the Bolshoi Theater Studio in 1918-1922.” Recorded by Honored Artist of the RSFSR K.E. Antarova.” Of course, when the young student of the brilliant director painstakingly and reverently kept a shorthand record of her classes from time to time, and then prepared a book on their basis, which first saw the light in 1939 and went through several editions, K.E. Antarova did not yet have no artistic titles. But she possessed true culture of spirit, she had a pure and inspired heart, thanks to which only she could become a student in the true sense of the word.

Main characters novel “Two Lives” - great souls who completed their spiritual evolution on Earth, but remained here to help people in their spiritual ascent - came to K.E. Antarova when the second was raging World War, and this contact continued for many years.

K.E. Antarova died in 1959, then the manuscript was kept by Elena Fedorovna Ter-Arutyunova (Moscow), who considered her to be her spiritual mentor. The keeper of the manuscript never lost hope of seeing the novel published, and until then she introduced it to everyone she found possible. And therefore we can say that this novel has been read by more than one generation of readers.

We sincerely thank E.F. Ter-Arutyunova, who provided the manuscript of the novel at the disposal of the Latvian Roerich Society, for her kind words of encouragement to the book, which is beginning its new life.

CHAPTER I AT MY BROTHER'S The events that I am now recalling belong to long-ago days, to my distant youth.

For more than two decades now they have been calling me “grandfather,” but I don’t feel old at all; my external appearance, which forces me to give way to my place, to pick up the thing I dropped, is so out of harmony with my inner cheerfulness that I am embarrassed every time people show such respect to my gray beard.

I was about twenty years old when I came to a large Central Asian trading city to visit my brother, captain of the M regiment. The heat, the clear blue sky, something I had never seen before; the wide streets with shady alleys of tall, spreading trees in the middle struck me with their silence. Occasionally a merchant will ride on a donkey to the market. A group of women will pass, wrapped in black nets and white or dark veils, hiding the shape of their bodies like a cloak.

The street where the brother lived was not one of the main ones; It was far from the market, and the silence there was almost absolute. My brother rented a small house with a garden; He lived there alone with his orderly and used only two rooms, while the other three were entirely at his disposal.

The windows of one of my brother's rooms faced the street; The two windows of the room that I had chosen for myself as a bedroom and which bore the loud name of the “hall” looked towards the same place.

The first days my brother took me around the city, the bazaar, and mosques; at times I wandered alone in huge shopping galleries with painted pillars and small oriental restaurants and kitchens at crossroads; in the bustling, talkative crowd, sharply dressed in multi-colored robes, I seemed to be in Baghdad and kept imagining that somewhere very close Aladdin was passing by with his magic lamp or the unrecognizable Harun al-Rashid was wandering around. And the eastern people, with their majestic calm, or, conversely, increased exaltation, seemed mysterious and alluring to me.

One day, wandering absentmindedly from shop to shop, I shuddered as if from an electric shock and involuntarily looked back. The completely black eyes of a very tall, middle-aged man with a thick, short black beard looked intently at me. And next to him stood a young man of extraordinary beauty, and his blue, almost violet eyes also looked at me intently.

The tall brunette and the young man were both wearing white turbans and sharp silk robes. Their posture and manners were sharply different from everything around them; many of the passers-by bowed obsequiously to them.

Both of them had long since moved towards the exit, but I still stood as if spellbound, unable to overcome the impression of these wonderful eyes.

Having come to my senses, I rushed after them, but ran up to the exit from the gallery at the very moment when the strangers who had so amazed me were already in the car and driving away from the market. The young man was sitting on my side. Looking back, he smiled slightly and said something to the elder. But the thick dust kicked up by three donkeys covered everything, I could no longer see anything, and I was no longer able to stand under the sheer rays of the scorching sun.

"Who could it be?" – I thought, returning to where I met them. I walked past the shop several times and finally decided to ask the owner:

– Please tell me, who are these people who were just with you?

- People? “People came to my shop a lot today,” he said, smiling slyly.

- Only yours, right, it’s not people who want to know, but one tall black person?

“Yes, yes,” I hastened to agree. – I saw a tall dark-haired man and a handsome young man with him: Who are they? - They are our big, rich landowners. Vineyards, - oh, - vineyard! The biggest trade is with England.

- But what is his name? – I continued. “Oh-oh,” the owner laughed. – You’re burning up, do you want to meet? He is Mohammed Ali. And the young one is Mahmud Ali. - So, are both Mohammeds?

- No, no, Mohammed is only an uncle, and his nephew is Mahmud. - Do they live here? - I continued to ask, looking at the silks on the shelves and wondering what to buy, just to gain time and find out something more about the strangers who amazed me.

- What are you watching? Do you want a robe? – Noticing my soaring gaze, the owner asked.

“Yes, yes,” I was glad for the excuse. - Show me your robe, please. I want to give a gift to my brother. - Who is your brother? What does it taste like?

I had no idea what kind of dressing gowns my brother might like, since I had not yet seen him in anything other than a tunic or pajamas.

“My brother is Captain T.,” I said. - Captain T.? – the merchant cried with oriental excitement. - I know him well. He already has seven robes. What else does he need?

I was embarrassed, but, hiding my confusion, I bravely said: “He gave them all away.”

- That's how it is! Probably sent it to friends in St. Petersburg. Ha-a-roshy bought robes! Look, Mohammed Ali ordered to send it for his niece. Oops, robe!

And the merchant took out from under the counter a wonderful pink robe with grayish-lilac matte stains. “This one won’t suit me,” I said. The merchant laughed merrily.

– Of course, it won’t do; This is a woman's robe. I'll give it to you - blue.

And with these words, he unrolled a magnificent purple robe on the counter. The robe was somewhat colorful; but his tone, warm and soft, might have pleased his brother.

- Don't be afraid, take it. I know everyone, your brother is a friend of Ali Mohammed. We can't sell it bad to a friend. Your brother is a great man! Ali Mohammed himself reveres him.

- Who is he, this Ali?

“I told you, she’s a big, important merchant.” Persia trades, and so does Russia,” the owner answered.

- It doesn't look like he was a merchant. “He’s probably a scientist,” I objected.

- Oh, I'm a scientist! He is such a scholar that even your brother knows all the books. Your brother is also a great scientist. – Do you know where Ali lives? The merchant unceremoniously hit me on the shoulder and said: “You see, you don’t live here much.” Ali's house is opposite your brother's house.

“Opposite my brother’s house there is a very large garden, surrounded by a high brick wall. It’s always dead quiet there, and even the gates never open,” I said.

- Silence is silence. But today there will be no silence. Sister Ali Mahmoud will come. There will be an agreement, they will get married. If you said, Ali Mahmud is handsome, oh-me! Sister is a star from the sky! The braids are down to the floor, and the eyes are wow. The merchant spread his arms and even choked. - How could you see her? After all, according to your law, veils cannot be removed in front of men?

I said goodbye to the merchant, took the purchase and went home. I walked for a long time; somewhere I turned in the wrong direction and with great difficulty finally found my street.

Thoughts about the rich merchant and his nephew were confused with thoughts about the heavenly beauty of the girl, and I couldn’t decide what kind of eyes she had: black, like my uncle’s, or purple, like my brother’s?

I was walking, looking at my feet, and suddenly I heard: “Levushka, where have you been? I was about to look for you.”

The sweet voice of my brother, who replaced my mother, father, and family all my life, was full of humor, like his sparkling eyes. On his slightly tanned, smoothly shaven face, white teeth shone, as well as bright, beautifully defined lips, golden curly hair, dark eyebrows... For the first time I saw how handsome he, my brother, was. I was always proud and admired him; and now, like a little boy, for no apparent reason, he threw himself on his neck, kissed him on both cheeks and thrust a robe into his hands.

- This is your robe. And your Ali is the reason that I was completely dumbfounded and lost,” I said with a laugh. - What robe? Which Ali? – the brother asked in surprise. – Robe number 8, which I bought for you as a gift. And Ali number 1, your friend,” I answered, still continuing to laugh.

“You remind me of the stubborn little Levushka, who loved to puzzle everyone.” I see that the love of riddles is still alive in you,” the brother said, smiling with his wide smile, which unusually changed his face. - Well, let's go home, we can't stand here forever. Although there is no one, I cannot guarantee that somewhere secretly, from behind the edge of the curtain,

Several people recommended reading the book Two Lives of Concordia Antarova. However, as happens, things didn’t work out. Even after reading the first few pages, things didn't go any further. But then circumstances developed, and the book appeared before my eyes. And now, after hours and days of reading, when hundreds of pages are behind us, you realize that this book is really worth it.

Conventionally, the book Two Lives can be called a mixture of adventure and philosophy. This is history young man, Levushki T., who comes to visit his older brother. He serves in the East somewhere at the beginning of the 20th century (there is electricity and trains, but there are still no cars or telephones around).

Initially, the florid language and excessive colorfulness, typical of some Russian writers, can be slightly straining. But then the action begins, events unfold quickly and rapidly, making it difficult to tear yourself away from what is happening.

This applies to adventures that take the character on trains and chases, on ships and terrible storms, in Constantinople and Indian villages. In parallel, the story of brother Lyovushka and the environment that lives and is preparing for a greater journey from London will go on. The book consists of 4 volumes, of which 1 and 3 are the story of Leo himself, while 2 and 4 are the story of his brother and those around him.

However, there is one small problem: the fourth volume consists of one chapter. That's all. And the story clearly ends. The fact is that the book, in fact, is far from just an adventure. This is philosophy and esoteric teaching, enclosed in an attractive and interesting package. And initially it was just a manuscript that was created by the author during the World War. And for many years it wandered only as paper with notes for the initiates.

I don’t know why there is no story in the 4th volume - the inspiration ran out and the voice left; there is an ending, but it is inaccessible to mere mortals; something else - but it's disappointing. I really wanted to know how it would all end. Although perhaps the entire esoteric part was outlined, and there was no need to write further...

If you noticed, for now I write mainly about technical issues. This will last a little longer and only then will I express my own impression.

As I said above, the language can be richly descriptive and pretentious. But it goes away quickly in the beginning and then becomes habitual. In some places you can really feel when it was written under inspiration, and when principles and concepts were carefully incorporated into the text. And yet, due to the fact that the book was not planned for publishing and was edited relatively little, there are moments when “layers” are clearly visible: new facts that unexpectedly entered the story, or new readings, or the revelation of characters.

But all this is a certain tediousness that does not reveal the essence. What is the book about? What does it give? I was hooked at the time when my friends and colleagues threw quotes from it in droves. I won't say I had the same desire, but a couple of quotes were saved in Evernote as very deep thoughts.

As a writer, this phrase caught my attention:

There are no words that a person can throw into the world with impunity. All life is eternal movement; and this movement is created by human thoughts. A word is not a simple combination of letters. Even if a person does not know anything about the forces that he carries within himself, and does not think what volcanoes of passion and evil can be created and awakened by a carelessly thrown word, even then there are no words thrown into the world with impunity. Beware of gossip not only in words; but even in your thoughts, always try to find an excuse for people and shed peace into their souls, at least for that one minute when you are with them.

And as a person who has been watching how a departed person is mourned for more than 20 years, I appreciated this:

Our responsibilities to them do not end with the death of our loved ones. And the first of them: forget about yourself and think about them. Think about their path to perfection and liberation. To think and remember that if we cry and moan, we load their new, still fragile form with an unbearable weight, under which they bend and may even die. We are inclined to attribute their diligent mourning to the number of our virtues. Whereas true love What helps them is courage, the creative power of the heart, living in two worlds. By working on self-control, on self-discipline, we help not only the living, but also those whom we call the dead and who are actually much more alive than we are, enclosed in our dense and rough bodily coverings.

Otherwise, “Two Lives” itself is about being human. How to turn from a simple greedy and narcissistic half-animal into a true person. How love and self-control help you move to the next stages of development.

You can argue with the form and the path, but the book makes you think about your own behavior, your own train of thought and life in general. Pay attention to the people around you and the circumstances around you. And think seriously about who created these circumstances for you.

Two Lives is a long book, even despite the missing part of the plot. But it’s quite difficult to tear yourself away from it. It's interesting to read. It’s difficult to convey the impression of her—at least for now. I think there can be two main reactions to it: either rejection, stopping reading and abandoning the book and the information presented, or curiosity, which ends with the book itself.

I belong to the second group. Which one are you?

Nal hastily left the garden near the house of her uncle Ali Mohammed, and, accompanied by two servants, one of whom was her cousin dressed as a servant, as well as cousin Ali Mahmud and Captain T., hid in the captain’s house, where she had never been before and even I couldn’t imagine that this would ever happen. She grew up in a difficult environment; on the one hand, she was suppressed by the harem traditions, and on the other, she had the opportunity to join European education and the life of a civilized and cultured society, which Ali Mohammed opened to her, who fought against the seclusion of women wherever he could.

Nal always had European clothes and shoes, to which Uncle Ali, as if playfully, taught her, thereby causing the indignation of her old aunt and the synclite of the mullah and his fanatical believers. Therefore, at the captain’s house, the girl easily changed into the suit prepared for her by her uncle. Laughing, she wrapped young Ali Mahmoud in her pink wedding robe and precious bedspreads. She did not cry when parting with her brother, she only hugged him, although tears shone in the eyes of both.

- Take courage, Nal. Everything didn’t happen as I expected, but... be happy, remember me sometimes and believe: if Uncle Ali said so, it should be so. If he gave you as a wife to Captain T., then this is your path. And happiness depends on you. Don't be afraid of anything. Go through life joyfully and try to fully understand why your uncle is creating a different life for you. Just remember one thing: you and I have been given a single covenant - fidelity to the end. Be loyal to the captain just as you are loyal to Uncle Ali. And you will win everywhere.

- Time. Goodbye, sister. I will always be for you true friend, and there is no distance or separation between us.

Taking a pair of Nal's tiny shoes in his hands, wrapped in her blanket, Ali slipped out of the house and disappeared into the darkness.

As easy as it was for Nal to change into European clothes, it was just as difficult for her to overcome the habit of wearing a burqa and remaining among men with an open face. When Captain T. knocked on her door and asked if she could come in, she was afraid to say yes. Seeing her in a simple blue English suit and with her braids entwined with pearls flowing down to the floor, he was horrified.

Realizing how ridiculous she looked and how her braids gave her away, Nal did not allow the astonished captain to come to his senses and snatched off her braids down to the waist with scissors. She arranged them around her head and pulled her hat down low on her forehead.

Wrapping her in a light silk cloak on top, the captain said:

“Taking away the wondrous image of Ali from here, we are before him husband and wife, Nal.” We both obey him, and we will both be faithful to him until the end of our days. We are leaving without him, but he is with us. If you walk without fear, we will win and complete the task assigned to us.

– I have no fear, Captain T. I never knew him. I am your wife before your uncle and God. And my loyalty to God is loyalty to my uncle and you,” Nal calmly answered.

The servants carried out their small suitcases and put them in the carriage. The horses immediately began to trot quickly, and Nal began to get used to the darkness.

“I’ve never been outside at night, not even outside the garden gate,” Nal whispered to the captain sitting next to her, whom she barely recognized in unusual civilian clothes.

- Let's move on to English language, Nal. Now you are the wife of Lord T. Try to be arrogant to the point of stupidity, as you read in English books. Here’s a thick veil for you,” and the captain helped Nal tie a rather thick blue veil around her hat and lower it over her face.

“How nice it is,” Nal laughed. “By acting like a proud lady, I will get rid of annoying conversations.”

“Don’t forget to lean on my hand and, until the train leaves, pretend to be a great lady-icon, for whom there are three kinds of slaves of different social levels in the world: I, the husband and the first slave, am honored with a conversation.” Your uncle is something like a secretary—a second slave who is condescended to be recognized as a human being. And the servant is the third slave, to whom they only nod or indicate with gestures. This is how noble ladies live their whole lives. So try to live for one or two weeks until we get out into the fresh air and the most boring part of our life ends.

Nal did not have time to answer, the carriage drove up to the illuminated station. Lord T. came out first, offered his hand to his bundled wife, and sent his secretary to take the pre-ordered tickets. A few minutes later the train arrived, the secretary and the servant arranged their masters in different compartments and went into another carriage, where they themselves rode.

When the train started, the lord personally came to see how his wife was feeling, kindly wished her good night and said that he would come to see her in the morning. Everything was so alien to Nal, so unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Her face was so confused that the lord husband asked, already going out into the corridor, whether his wife needed a secretary. Delighted at the opportunity to be with her uncle, Nal asked to send him immediately. The lord sent a guide for him and remained in the corridor, exchanging insignificant phrases with his wife until the secretary appeared.

“The Countess wants to write a few letters, she has insomnia,” the lord said to the secretary, who bowed low and entered the Countess’s compartment. Having kissed his wife’s hand, the lord, closing the doors, whispered to the imaginary secretary: “Stay until six o’clock.” I will take your place in the morning, and you will rest in my compartment. Let Nal sleep, watch yourself.

Returning to his room, Captain T. lay down on the sofa and, ordering himself - as he had done for many years - to wake up at six o'clock, instantly fell asleep.

Nal couldn't sleep. Everything amazed her. Uncle had to explain to her the whole structure of the carriage. He also told her about their entire journey to St. Petersburg and described what the hotel in Moscow looked like.

– I don’t know if we will stay there. “I think we need to rush at full speed to be in London as soon as possible,” said the uncle-servant.

- How will we get there?

- Let's board a ship on the Neva. Direct water communication has now been established. In seven days we will be in London.

- How? Will we travel by sea for seven days? – Nal said in surprise.

- Yes, by sea. Unfortunately, I don't tolerate travel by sea very well. Captain T. will have to watch his noble wife on the ship himself,” the uncle laughed. “But you and I are moving beyond the roles of lady and servant.” In order for you to get used to your role, important lady, start dressing for the night. In the suitcase you will find a light dress. I'll sit by the window, you change clothes and go to bed.

- No, uncle, sleeping is unthinkable. I can lie down if you want. But my head will explode from thoughts if I don’t think through even half of them to the end.

When an hour later the uncle called out to his niece, he received no answer. The old man smiled and began to read. There was not the slightest excitement visible on his serenely calm face of the old philosopher. Nothing seemed to upset his balance. He was as calm and efficient now as he was in the usual peaceful surroundings of his home surrounded by a vineyard, where he left a large family. The book and the notes he took in the shaky candlelight helped him not to notice the stations flashing past. He greeted the captain with surprise as he quietly entered the compartment.

“She said she wouldn’t be able to sleep,” the secretary said to Lord T., smiling slyly and whispering. “But there’s the unusual shaking and the sound of the wheels—all of which the young people don’t care about.”

The secretary went to his master's compartment, and the latter settled down on the sofa next to Nal.

Nal was still asleep, childishly placing her hand under her cheek. The captain carefully closed the crack in the window curtain, through which a ray of sunlight was already approaching the wavy head, and sat down in his place again. It was the first time he saw Nal with her eyes closed. Long black eyelashes cast a shadow on rosy cheeks, and lovely lips smiled. This almost childish life belonged to him. Just yesterday he considered it impossible not only to be united by marriage with Nal, but even to go through life close to her. And today he goes with her, having received her from Ali’s hands. He goes to live and work, loving her freely in front of the whole world.

1. (Part 1, volume 1)

A book originally intended for a very narrow circle of students who received the guidance of the Great Teachers through K.E. Antarova

Cora (Concordia) Evgenievna Antarova was born on April 13, 1886, at that happy time for creative people, when the Silver Age of Russian culture was underway. And nature generously endowed her with talents - including a beautiful voice, a contralto of rare charm. Therefore, simultaneously with classes at the historical and philological faculty of the Higher Women's Courses (the famous Bestuzhev Courses), she graduates from the St. Petersburg Conservatory, takes singing lessons from I. P. Pryanishnikov, the organizer and director of the first opera society in Russia; in 1908 he was accepted into the Bolshoi Theater troupe. On this world-famous stage K.E. Antarova worked for almost thirty years.

The main characters of the novel “Two Lives” - great souls who completed their spiritual evolution on Earth, but remained here to help people in their spiritual ascent - came to K.E. Antarova when the Second World War was raging, and this contact continued many years.

* * *

Preface

Chapter 1 My brother has

Chapter 1
My brother has