Once in Karabikha (it was the summer of 1871), after several days of hard work, Nekrasov looked into the house where Fyodor Alekseevich lived and said:
All the relatives who were in the Karabikh estate at that time went to the park, and here the poet read the entire poem aloud in his slightly muffled voice. “We listened with bated breath,” Natalya Pavlovna, Fyodor Alekseevich’s wife, recalled about this, “and could not help but cry.” When he finished and looked at his listeners, he understood from their excited faces and wet eyes what a strong impression he had made on "Everyone was his work, and was happy. He ordered champagne to be served. We clinked glasses, congratulating him on the brilliant completion of many years of work. Yes, I remember, it was a day of great uplift, triumph and satisfaction."
How did Nekrasov come to the topic of “Russian Women”, how did he work on the poem in which he wanted to reproduce one of the glorious pages of Russian history?
On January 6, 1827, P. A. Vyazemsky wrote from Moscow to A. I. Turgenev: “The other day we saw Muravyova-Chernysheva and Volkonskaya-Raevskaya passing further here. What a touching and sublime doom. Thanks to the women: they will give some beautiful lines to our stories". Thirty years later, the same Vyazemsky wrote about the Decembrists who returned to Russia: “Not one of them has even a shadow of remorse or consciousness that they started a crazy, not to mention criminal, business. As they said about the French emigration of the first revolution, and they forgot nothing and learned nothing. They were immortalized and ossified on December 14. For them, even after 30 years, December 15 has not yet come, on which they could sober up and come to their senses."
The years that lay between these letters took with them the tenderness and delight of Vyazemsky, who saw the departure of the wives of the Decembrists to distant Siberia, turned him into a reactionary, and these same years brought generations into the arena of history, awakened by the thunder of guns on Senate Square. -
On August 26, 1856, Alexander II signed a manifesto on the return of the Decembrists from Siberia. Even then, in the poem “The Unhappy,” Nekrasov spoke about those who languished in the snows of “distant Siberia” for decades. And many years later, the Decembrist theme firmly took possession of Nekrasov’s poetic consciousness. This was facilitated by his acquaintance with Mikhail Sergeevich Volkonsky, the son of the Decembrist Sergei Volkonsky, who became the prototype of Nekrasov’s “grandfather” (in the poem of the same name), and Maria Volkonskaya, the heroine of the last of Nekrasov’s Decembrist poems. The poet hunted with Mikhail Sergeevich more than once, asked him in detail about those people who were now especially interested in him, although he noticed that he bypassed the political side of the matter, and talked more about privacy Decembrists in Siberia, where he himself was born and raised. Mikhail Sergeevich showed the poet a portrait of his father, a gray-bearded old man with long white hair and an intelligent, clear look; Nekrasov said this about him: “Grandfather is old for years, but still vigorous and handsome.”
Nekrasov wrote his first poem about the Decembrists, “Grandfather,” in 1870. During his work, Nekrasov did not part with the “Notes of the Decembrist” by A. E. Rosen, published in Leipzig. Some episodes described in this book attracted his attention: for example, the history of the vast village of Tarbagatai, founded in the 18th century by exiled schismatics. The commissioner, who took them to the thicket of the forest, allowed them “to choose a place and arrange themselves as they please...” writes Rosen. “What was the surprise of this man when he visited them a year and a half later and saw a beautifully built village, vegetable gardens and arable land in such a place , where for two years there was an impenetrable forest. This magic was caused by hard work, but also by money and fugitives" ("Notes of a Decembrist". Leipzig, 1870, p. 248.).
Taking this fact, the poet gave it a different color: he considered freedom to be the main reason for “magic”:
I saw a miracle, Sasha:
A handful of Russians were exiled
Into the terrible wilderness, for the split,
They were given freedom and land;
A year has passed unnoticed...
...So gradually over half a century
A huge planting has grown -
Will and labor of man
Wonderful divas create!
The reflections of the hero of the poem "Grandfather" about the hardships of military service are also based on the material from the "Notes". Rosen talks about this case: one day a certain sapper colonel told the general that the battalion he commanded was “studying well, but when it stands still, it’s a pity that the breath of the soldiers is noticeable, it’s clear that they are breathing.” The old Decembrist Nekrasov remembers;
Hammer your soul into your heels
That was the rule then.
No matter how hard you work, there are shortcomings
The boss will always find:
"There is effort in marching,
The stand is completely fine
Only noticeable breathing..."
Do you hear?.. Why are they breathing?
Nekrasov introduced this episode into the poem, realizing that in the intervening time little had changed in the soldier’s life. Several years ago he wrote a poem on the same topic, “Orina, the soldier’s mother,” and his story about the death of a soldier returning from service was not a memory, but a fact of modern reality.
The Decembrist theme did not leave Nekrasov. Two years later he wrote “Princess Trubetskoy” - the first part of the poem “Russian Women”. These are the difficulties he had to overcome during his work: “1) the censorship scarecrow, which orders him to touch the subject only from the side, and 2) the extreme intractability of Russian aristocrats to report facts, even for such a purpose as mine, that is, for glorification.” (March 29, 1873).
There were indeed few facts, and the topic of the second poem required even greater awareness. The appearance of Trubetskoy appeared to him in many ways different, unlike the image that arose in Rosen’s Notes. Nekrasov clearly imagined Trubetskoy’s departure, accompanied by his father’s secretary, and the endlessly long winter journey through snow-covered, forgotten by God. and the people of space, and the abyss that lay between the lonely cart making this hopeless journey and the brightly lit halls of St. Petersburg living rooms...
It seemed incomprehensible how a spoiled young woman who grew up in one of the richest houses in Russia could decide to take such a step. The poet tried to find the hidden motives for this act and psychologically justify it. Rosen assigned a decisive role here to kindness, a sense of duty, and selfless love for her husband. But the more Nekrasov thought, the more obvious it became that all this would not be enough if there were not some force that subjugated all these feelings. The image of a meek, meekly sacrificing woman was replaced by another image. The woman he had been constantly thinking about was gradually taking on flesh and blood.
She was full of determination, because the ties that connected her with the exiled Decembrist were not only family ties: she was ready to share her husband’s fate, considering herself involved in his cause.
Nekrasov initially thought of calling the poem about the wives of the Decembrists “Decembrists”: the title fully expressed what he wanted to say. The women he wrote about were like-minded Decembrists. Inspired by the idea, their feat acquired a special meaning for him. The character of the heroine has been determined.
Behind Rosen's words, Nekrasov saw much more than what they expressed. A whole world appeared before him, full of colors, thoughts and feelings, and what the author of the Notes said about this world was just a dotted line denoting its boundaries.
Trubetskoy's journey to Siberia became in the poem a trip to the past - a dream about a life left behind. The past could only seem like a dream to the princess. There was no room for happy memories in her present.
Trubetskoy’s vision of an uprising on Senate Square was almost a reality. Realizing that she could not have witnessed the uprising, Nekrasov, not without hesitation, decided to introduce it into the poem. But this, he believed, was required by the logic of the conceived image. His heroine must have known about the uprising. And not only to know, but also to sympathize with the rebels. It was then that she had to understand that Nicholas I was an executioner, so that later, having heard from her husband the words: “You will not touch the executioner,” she would take them for granted.
This dream became the center of the poem. Threads stretched from him to the past and to the future. The princess's attitude towards the uprising - Nekrasov was sure of this - determined her view of the past and changed her assessments. Nicholas I, with whom Trubetskoy once danced her first quadrille, was now in her memories a murderer who commanded: “Fire!” For the princess, the past ceased to exist on its own: it was inextricably linked with the uprising:
And you be damned, gloomy house,
Where is the first quadrille
I danced... That hand
It still burns my hand...
Nekrasov's heroine left for Siberia, understanding everything: both what had happened and what awaited her ahead. She was ready for anything, hatred gave her strength. That conversation between the princess and the Irkutsk governor, which Rosen reported on, now took on a different meaning.
Nekrasov knew that people who were familiar with Trubetskoy recalled her kindness and meekness with admiration. Where does her stoicism and courage come from? Again and again he read Rosen’s words: “... the local authorities had orders to use all means to keep the wives of state criminals from following their husbands. The governor first presented her with the difficulties of life in a place where there are up to 1,5000 convicts, where she she would have to live in common barracks with them, without servants, without the slightest comfort... She was not afraid of this and declared her readiness to submit to hardships, if only she could be with her husband... Finally, he decided to use the last resort, persuaded, begged and, having seen everything arguments and convictions rejected, he announced that he could not send her to her husband otherwise than on foot with a party of exiles along a rope and in stages. She calmly agreed to this; then the governor began to cry and said: “You will go.”
Nekrasov directly used these testimonies of the former Decembrist. But the same words sounded different to him. And the woman whose resolve the governor tried to break was also different: one, without hesitation, agreed to everything, the other did not just agree - confident in the rightness of the Decembrists, she insisted, demanded, denounced the executioners, that is, Nicholas I himself.
Governor
It will be terrible, I know
My husband's life.
Let it be mine too
No happier than him!
NOTE
“Decembrists” are the texts of a short cycle of my radio programs under the heading “Soul of a Poet” on the Odessa radio “Harmony of the World”, which smoothly grew out of another radio cycle - “Pushkin’s Contemporaries”. The essay about Kuchelbecker “remained” in Pushkin.
Here:
1. Decembrists in Pushkin’s poetry
2. Wives of the Decembrists in Russian literature
3. Kondraty Ryleev. I am not a Poet, but a Citizen
4. Bestuzhev-Marlinsky, the first Russian novelist
5. Alexander Odoevsky. My heart was thrown into the sea of noisy life...
6. Enlightener Vladimir Raevsky
7. Gabriel Batenkov. Adventurer, madman, sage?
8. Fyodor Glinka. Publicist, propagandist, lyricist
9. Pavel Katenin - knight of classicism
The sequence and numbering are, of course, very arbitrary.
WIVES OF THE DECEMBRISTS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE
Reflecting on this topic, I would like to avoid both enthusiastic pathos and sentimentalism - those emotions that are simultaneously born even with the most cursory acquaintance with the history of the wives of the Decembrists, who followed their husbands into the unknown and deprivation. But, I’m afraid, I won’t be able to avoid this: the deeper you dive into the extensive material about the Decembrists and their wives, the more you are amazed at the incredible fortitude and courage of all of them, and women in particular.
In general, it seems to me that it was they, and not their husbands, who accomplished a real revolution in the consciousness of civil society. The authorities, in the person of Emperor Nicholas I, deprived the participants of the conspiracy of the noble title, property, all privileges and rights, demoted the officers to soldiers, deprived them of the right of correspondence and exiled them to the ends of the earth - to Siberia, which at the beginning of the nineteenth century was an unknown land - pursued the goal not only isolate the rebels, humiliate them, but most importantly - erase any reminder of them and their ideas in the present and future.
And what a shock it was to both the tsar and secular society when women who not only had nothing to do with their husbands’ affairs - they often did not even suspect them, women whom no one would understand and would not condemn - had they renounced their husbands -criminals, carefree, noble, rich women - on the contrary, renounce their prosperous lives and voluntarily follow their husbands - to nowhere. What drove them?
<…>Now I’ll tell you in detail, friends,
My fatal victory.
The whole family rose up together and menacingly,
When I said: “I’m going!”
I don't know how I managed to resist
What have I suffered... God!
The mother was called from near Kyiv,
And the brothers came too:
My father ordered me to “reason” with him.
They convinced, they asked,
But the Lord himself strengthened my will,
Their speeches did not break her!
<…>"Let's see!..". And suddenly the old man straightened up,
His eyes sparkled with anger.
“One thing repeats your stupid tongue:
I'll go! Isn't it time to say
Where and why? Think first!
You don't know what you're talking about!
Can your head think?
Do you consider them enemies?
Both mother and father? Or are they stupid...
Why do you argue with them as equals?
Look deeper into your heart,
Look ahead calmly,
Think about it!.. I’ll see you tomorrow...”
He left, threatening and angry,
And I, barely alive, in front of the holy icon
She fell in spiritual languor...
“Think!..” I didn't sleep the whole night,
I prayed and cried a lot.
I Mother of God called for help,
I asked God for advice,
I learned to think: my father ordered
Thinking... not an easy thing!
How long ago did he think for us - and decide?
And did our life fly peacefully?
I studied a lot; in three languages
I read it. I was noticeable
In state drawing rooms, at social balls,
Skillfully dancing, playing;
I could talk about almost everything
I knew the music, I sang,
I even rode very well,
But I couldn’t think at all.
<…>
Sorry, dear ones! My heart has long been
Mine suggested a solution.
And I firmly believe: it is from God!
And it says in you - regret.
Yes, if I have to decide
Between husband and son - no more,
I'm going where I'm needed most
I'm going to the one who is in captivity!
This is an excerpt from Nikolai Nekrasov’s poem “Russian Women” of 1871-72, from its second part “Princess M.N. Volkonskaya". Nekrasov was based on the notes of Maria Nikolaevna Volkonskaya, which she wrote for her children and grandchildren on French already after thirty years of exile: in 1856, Tsar Alexander II allowed the exiles to return, and subsequently returned ranks, titles and noble privileges to the Decembrists and their descendants.
Maria Nikolaevna did not want her memoirs to be made public, and Nekrasov became one of the few whom her son, Mikhail Sergeevich, introduced to his mother’s memoirs. The son published them in two languages, in the French original and in the Russian translation, only in 1904, and this book immediately became a bibliographic rarity.
The first part of Nekrasov’s poem “Russian Women” is dedicated to Princess Ekaterina Ivanovna Trubetskoy - after all, she was the first, literally the next day after her husband left for the prison camp, to follow him.
It's been almost two months now
Constantly day and night on the road.
A wonderfully well-coordinated cart,
But the end of the road is far away!
The princess's companion is so tired,
That he fell ill near Irkutsk,
I met her in Irkutsk myself
City Chief;
As dry as a relic, as straight as a stick,
Tall and gray...
How important it was for the authorities to stop this woman! Emperor Nicholas I tried to do this from the very beginning, and, perhaps, allowed her to follow her husband in the hope that, having failed to withstand the trials along the way, she would return, and thereby give an example of the impossibility of taking such desperate steps. When this did not happen, they tried to stop her on the road - in particular, everyone knows the story of her psychological confrontation with the Irkutsk governor, from which Ekaterina Trubetskaya emerged victorious:
PRINCESS
No! I'm not a pathetic slave
I am a woman, a wife!
Let my fate be bitter -
I will be faithful to her!
Oh, if he forgot me
For a woman, different
There would be enough strength in my soul
Don't be his slave!
But I know: love for the homeland
My rival
And if it were possible, again
I would forgive him!..
GOVERNOR
How I tormented you... My God!..
(From under the hand onto the gray mustache
A tear rolled down).
Sorry! Yes, I tortured you
But I suffered too,
But I had strict orders
Putting barriers for you!
And didn’t I install them?
I did everything I could
My soul is before the king
Clean, God knows!
Carefully hard cracker
And life locked up
Shame, horror, labor
Staged path
I tried to scare you.
You weren't scared!
And even if I can’t hold back
On the shoulders of the head,
I can't, I don't want to
To tyrannize more than you...
I’ll get you there in three days...
Hey! Harness now!..
“There were eleven of them - women who shared the Siberian exile of their Decembrist husbands. Among them are ignorant people, like Alexandra Vasilievna Yontaltseva and Alexandra Ivanovna Davydova, or Polina Gobl, who was severely poor in childhood. But the majority - princesses Maria Nikolaevna Volkonskaya and Ekaterina Ivanovna Trubetskaya, Alexandra Grigorievna Muravyova - daughter of Count Chernyshev, Elizaveta Petrovna Naryshkina, nee Countess Konovnitsyna, Baroness Anna Vasilievna Rosen, general's wives Natalya Dmitrievna Fonvizina and Maria Kazimirovna Yushnevskaya - belonged to the nobility,” - wrote historian Pavlyuchenko.
These women not only learned to survive in harsh conditions - their main mission was to maintain the spirit of the convicts, fight to improve their living conditions, and establish connections with the outside world: books and magazines that they received for the Decembrists came in the names of the women, and on behalf of the exiles they wrote letters to their relatives and friends.
The importance of the presence of faithful friends and their support was testified by the Decembrist Alexander Odoevsky in his poetic dedication to Princess Volkonskaya. She herself later noted about this poem that it was written “in memory of how we ladies came to the fence of the Chita prison and brought letters and news to the prisoners”:
There was a land dedicated to tears and sorrow,
The eastern edge, where the pink dawn
A joyful ray born in that sky,
He did not delight the suffering eyes;
Where it was stuffy and the air was eternally clear,
And the prisoners were bothered by the bright shelter,
And the whole review, vast and beautiful,
Painfully called him out.
Suddenly angels flew from the azure
With joy to the sufferers of that country,
But first you clothed your heavenly spirit
Into transparent earthly shrouds.
And the messengers of good providence
They appeared as daughters of the earth,
And to the prisoners, with a smile of consolation,
They brought love and peace of mind.
And every day they sat by the fence,
And through her heavenly lips
Drop by drop they sharpened the honey of joy...
Since then, days and summers have flown in prison;
In the hermits of sadness everyone fell asleep,
And only they were afraid of one thing,
So that angels do not fly into heaven,
They did not throw off their veil.
December 25, 1829, Chita
Later, when the convicts and their wives received permission to live in the settlement, the houses of the Decembrists in the harsh Siberian region became real cultural centers, where all the exiles aspired in their souls. Here, for example, is Volkonskaya’s dedication to another exile, Wilhelm Kuchelbecker, who in 1845, while traveling from Aksha to Kurgan, visited Krasnoyarsk in the house of Sergei and Maria Volkonsky:
But I'm a momentary guest in my friends' house,
And in the depths of my soul
One beautiful desire lives:
I want to leave a memory for my friends,
Guess it's the same me
That I am worthy of you, friends...
I swear by the angel who
Holy, guiding star
All your life: to the east, here,
I will turn my trembling gaze towards her
Among the storms of life and heart, -
And suddenly my azure will clear up,
And wondrous consolation will come to me,
And he will give me strength and proud patience.
Not all women returned from Siberia after the Decembrists were pardoned by Alexander II: three remained there forever. The first to not withstand the tests and died at the age of 28, in 1832, Alexandra Muravyova, the favorite of all exiles and friends in misfortune: “Holy woman. She died at her post,” Volkonskaya and Polina Gobl recalled her.
The story of the French milliner Polina Goble (later Praskovya Annenkova), who followed her fiancé Ivan Annenkov and married him in prison, was included in the 1840 novel about the Decembrists by Alexander Dumas the Father, “The Fencing Teacher,” which was banned in Russia by Nicholas I. Praskovya Annenkova She also left her memoirs - “Notes of the Decembrist’s Wife.”
All these and other documents became the basis for scientific research And works of art. One of my favorite books as a child was Maria Maric’s massive novel “Northern Lights,” and Arnold Gessen’s research “In the Depths of Siberian Ores” formed the basis for the 1975 film about the Decembrists, “The Star of Captivating Happiness.” Yes, even today in class, or in new form- on forums on the Internet - the fate of the wives of the Decembrists is studied and discussed.
There was no political motive or self-interest in their action - they, as truly spiritual beings, were guided by the highest values, and, having abandoned the material privileges of the vain world, they embodied these values in the most incredible living conditions. One of these unconditional values was love:
“Misfortune only strengthens, if such a thing is at all possible, all my feelings for you... I can endure everything while you are alive, and all my life I will thank heaven for linking my fate with yours. If only I could share your sorrowful shelter with you, if only I could! “You wouldn’t see a single trace of sadness on my face…” Alexandra Muravyova wrote to her husband, and all the Decembrist women instilled this in the exiles with their daily feats...
How much we can learn from them...
Victoria FROLOVA
Poem by N.A. Nekrasov "Grandfather": Nekrasov was worried about the images of the Decembrist sufferers and their selfless wives. The poem "Grandfather" is about the Decembrists. The plan was 1869-1870. events date back to 1856 (amnesty for political prisoners, Decembrists returning home). N. needs a real historical fact to proclaim his ideals. The central figure - the grandfather, the old Decembrist - is a generalized figure, but many contemporaries guessed Volkonsky. Grandfather is not a “fossil” old man, not a museum mummy, but a living and wise man who knows the sacred word, which, like a great inheritance, will be passed on to the younger generation (“When you grow up, Sasha, you will know”). At times, the grandfather resembles another Nekrasov colossal grandfather - the hero Savely. In the past, both have prison and Siberian penal servitude. The grandfather in the poem is surrounded by an aura of holiness; in his description the poet uses a high biblical style. THAT. the image of a martyr is created, and therefore there are significant parallels with the crucified Christ. The key role is played by the grandfather’s story about the Siberian village of Tarbagatai (this settlement was real, existed on the basis of self-government, cross-labor). real fact N. takes it as a basis, but supplements it with peasant legends about free lands. In the description of the village we see a utopian country of abundance, where peace, harmony, and prosperity reign on the basis of free labor - again the utopianism of Nekrasov’s consciousness. The historicism of the poem is quite conventional. N. does not set the goal of reliably reproducing history; his task is educational, educational - to morally influence the younger generation. Another task is to show the continuity of traditions, generations and ideals.
Poem "Russian Women" on the Decembrist theme, written in 1873. Consists of 2 poems: 1 – “Princess Trubetskoy” - two-part poem, 1 part. Descriptive, it gives the heroine’s memories of past life, sketchily mentions the uprising of December 14, N. seeks to dilute the excessive descriptiveness with lyricism. 2h. – N.’s achievement is dynamic. It is conflictual, based on the heroine’s clash with the Irkutsk governor.2 – “Princess Volkonskaya” is written in the form of grandmother’s notes, which allows us to trace the heroine’s maturation. If at the beginning of her journey to heroism she is called upon by a sense of duty and love, then after getting acquainted with the life of the province and communicating with men, the princess comes to an epiphany and begins to realize the holiness of the cause for which her husband suffered. The subjects of both poems are travel. Both poems are united by the theme of the road. It is important to show the maturation of the characters, the growth of the heroine’s consciousness. Historicism is associated with the reproduction of the psychology of the wives of the Decembrists. N., with great tact and sensitivity, recreated the experiences, feelings and thoughts of the Decembrists and surrounded the charming heroines of his poem with an atmosphere woven from all this. One feature of the poem is remarkable: the feat of the two heroines is essentially the same, their fate is largely similar, and yet the second part does not at all repeat the first, it sounds completely different. N., a realist artist, managed to individualize the characters of Trubetskoy and Volkonskaya. Psychologically they are very different, even in some ways opposite. Trubetskoy is proud and aristocratic, overly intelligent and cold, inaccessible. Volkonskaya is simpler and more sincere, less like a society lady, lives more with her heart than with her mind, she is a woman-mother, a woman-grandmother, telling her story to her prankish grandchildren. In accordance with this, the two parts of the poem are compositionally organized and stylistically designed differently. The rhythm is also different: a short verse, exclusively masculine rhymes, sounding like strong blows in the first part, and a wide, melodious, free-flowing verse in the second.
29. “Who lives well in Rus'” - figurative structure, composition, stylistic features.
Nekrasov conceived the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” (it took almost 20 creative years to create the work) as a folk book. He dreamed that it would be accessible to the people and understandable to them. For a long time, for many years, he saved and collected material word by word, studied the life and way of life of the common people. And the poet achieved his goal. His poem became popular. What is a folk work? A work can be called folk when it expresses the aspirations and hopes of the people themselves, when the author is a continuer of artistic traditions and features folk art. How is the poem's nationality expressed? Main role, that is, the role of the main character of a work of art, Nekrasov assigns to the people in all its diversity. Most of the chapters are devoted to the largest class in Russia of the last century - the peasantry. The poet describes peasant joy and misfortune, doubts and hopes, beauty and ugliness. In the poem we can assess the degree of the people's desire for freedom. The author introduces into the poem the image of seven wandering peasants traveling around the country in search of the lucky ones. This is a group portrait, therefore, in the image of the seven “temporarily obliged” ones, only general traits characteristic of the Russian peasant are given: poverty, curiosity, unpretentiousness. Men do not seek happiness among the working people: peasants, soldiers. Their idea of happiness is associated with the images of the clergy, merchants, nobility, and the tsar. They are deeply convinced that the working people are better, taller, and smarter than the landowner. The author shows the hatred of the peasants for those who live at their expense. Nekrasov also emphasizes the people’s love for work and their desire to help other people. Having learned that Matryona Timofeevna’s crop is dying, the men without hesitation offer her help; they also help the peasants of the Illiterate province with mowing.
The images of Yakim Nagogo, Ermila Girin, Savely, Matryona Timofeevna combine both general, typical features of the peasantry, such as, for example, hatred of all “shareholders” who extract from them vitality, as well as individual traits.
Yakim Nagoy, personifying the mass of the poorest peasantry, “works to death,” but lives as a poor man, like the majority of the peasants of the village of Bosovo. His portrait shows constant hard work:
And to Mother Earth myself
He looks like: brown neck,
Like a layer cut off by a plow,
Brick face...
Yakim understands that the peasantry is a great force; he is proud to belong to it. He knows what the strength and weakness of the “peasant soul” is:
Soul, like a black cloud -
Angry, menacing - and it should be
Thunder will roar from there...
And it all ends with wine...
Yakim refutes the opinion that the peasant is poor because he drinks. He reveals the true reason for this situation - the need to work for “interest holders”. The fate of Yakim is typical for the peasants of post-reform Rus': he “once lived in St. Petersburg,” but, having lost a lawsuit with a merchant, he ended up in prison, from where he returned, “torn like a sticker” and “took up his plow.”
Another image of the Russian peasant is Ermila Girin. The author endows him with incorruptible honesty and natural intelligence. The peasants respect him because he
In seven years the world's penny
I didn’t squeeze it under my nail,
At the age of seven I didn’t touch the right one,
Didn't let the culprit go
I didn’t bend my heart...
The episode with the purchase of the mill is important. Nekrasov shows the solidarity of the peasantry. They trust Ermila, and he takes the side of the peasants during the riot.
The author’s idea that Russian peasants are heroes is also important. For this purpose, an image is introduced Savelia, hero of the Holy Russian. He treats Matryona Timofeevna with sincere love and deeply worries about Demushka’s death. About himself he says: “Branded, but not a slave!” Savely acts as a folk philosopher. He ponders whether the people should continue to endure their lack of rights and oppressed state. Savely comes to the conclusion: it is better to “understand” than to “endure,” and he calls for protest.
Savelia's combination of sincerity, kindness, simplicity, sympathy for the oppressed and hatred of the oppressors makes this image vital and typical.
A special place in the poem, as in all of Nekrasov’s work, is occupied by the display of the “female share”. In the poem, the author reveals it using the example of an image Matryona Timofeevna. This is a strong and persistent woman, fighting for her freedom and her feminine happiness. But, despite all her efforts, the heroine says: “It’s not a matter of looking for a happy woman among women.” The fate of Matryona Timofeevna is typical for a Russian woman: after marriage, she went from “girlhood to hell”; Misfortunes fell upon her one after another... Finally, Matryona Timofeevna, just like the men, is forced to work hard at work in order to feed her family. The image of Matryona Timofeevna also contains features of the heroic character of the Russian peasantry.
In his great poem, Nekrasov looks at landowners through the eyes of peasants. This is shown, for example, Obolt-Obolduev(what is his name worth!):
Some round gentleman,
Mustachioed, pot-bellied,
With a cigar in his mouth...
The diminutive and endearing forms traditional in folk poetry here enhance the ironic sound of the story and emphasize the insignificance of the “round” person.
In the picture The Last One – Duck- Nekrasov achieves exceptional sharpness of satirical denunciation. This is a slave owner who has lost his mind, and there is nothing human even in his external appearance:
The nose is beaked like a hawk.
Mustache is gray and long
And - different eyes:
One healthy one glows,
And the left one is cloudy, cloudy,
Like a tin penny!
But the Last One is not only funny - he is also scary. This is a cruel serf-torturer. Corporal violence has become a habit for him; the sounds of beatings coming from the stables give him pleasure.
The images of other enemies of the people are also drawn with evil sarcasm: governors, police officers - “unjust judges”, merchants, contractors.
Among the people's enemies are butts. Nekrasov also creates a different image of the priest - a ruthless extortionist who does not sympathize with the people at all. This is Pop Ivan. He is indifferent to the grief of the peasant woman: even when the corpse of her son Demushka is opened, he jokes.
Grisha Dobrosklonov- a key figure in Nekrasov’s poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'.” Grisha was born into the family of a poor clerk, a lazy and untalented man. The mother was a type of the same female image, drawn by the author in the chapter “Peasant Woman”. The prototype was Dobrolyubov. Like him, Grisha, a fighter for all the humiliated and insulted, stood for peasant interests. His primary concern is not about personal well-being. Grisha reflects one of the main ideas of the poem. This is the idea: living in Rus' is good only for such fighters for the happiness of the oppressed people. Gregory is not alone in his dreams of a happy folk life. Hundreds of people like him have already taken the honest path. To all of them
Fate was preparing
The path is glorious, the name is loud
People's Defender,
Consumption and Siberia.
But our hero is not afraid of the upcoming trials, because he firmly believes in the triumph of the cause to which he devoted his whole life. He sees that the people of many millions themselves are awakening to fight. Grigory Dobrosklonov is the future leader of the peasantry, an exponent of their class anger and reason. Gregory’s path is difficult, but also glorious, only strong souls embark on it; on this path, according to Nekrasov, true happiness awaits a person, because the greatest happiness lies in the struggle for the freedom of the oppressed, in bringing people the light and joy of life. To the main question of his poem - who lives well in Rus'? - the author answers: fighters for the happiness of the people. This is the meaning of the poem.
Composition the work is built according to the laws of classical epic: it consists of individual parts and chapters Outwardly, these parts are connected by the theme of the road: seven truth-seekers wander around Rus', trying to resolve the question that haunts them: who can live well in Rus'? First chapter“Pop” opens with the image of a “wide path.” This is one of the important poetic symbols of Russian literature, which embodies the idea of movement, striving forward. This is an image not only of life, but also spiritual path person.
In the next chapter, “Country Fair”, the main character is the crowd, wide and diverse. Nekrasov creates paintings in which the people themselves speak, talk about themselves, revealing the best and most unsightly features of their lives. But in everything: both in beauty and in ugliness, the people are not pitiful and petty, but large, significant, generous.
In the next chapter, “Drunken Night”, the festive feast reaches its climax. From the depth people's world A strong peasant character appears, Yakim Nagoy. He appears as a symbol of working peasant life.
In the chapter “Happy” the entire peasant kingdom is involved in a dialogue, in a dispute about happiness. In their miserable life, even a tiny bit of luck already seems like happiness. But at the end of the chapter there is a story about a happy man.
In the fifth chapter of the first part “Landowner”“The wanderers treat the gentlemen with obvious irony. They already understand that noble “honor” is worth little.
In the chapter “Peasant Woman” Matryona Timofeevna appears before the wanderers, embodying best qualities Russian female character. Harsh conditions honed special female character- independent, accustomed to relying on his own strength everywhere and in everything.
The theme of spiritual slavery is central in the chapter “The Last One”. A terrible “comedy” is played out by the characters in this chapter. For the sake of the half-mad Prince Utyatin, they agreed to pretend that serfdom not cancelled.
Chapter “A Feast for the Whole World” is a continuation of “The Last One”. This depicts a fundamentally different state of the world. This is already awakened and speaking at once folk Rus'. New heroes are drawn into the festive feast of spiritual awakening. The whole people sings songs of liberation, judges the past, evaluates the present, and begins to think about the future.
“Who Lives Well in Rus'” is a poem whose significance is difficult to overestimate. It unfolds a picture of folk life that is rare in Russian and world literature. And therefore the poem is considered the pinnacle of creativity, the main work of Nekrasov’s entire life.
(1826)
PART ONE
Calm, strong and light
A wonderfully well-coordinated cart;
The Count Father himself more than once, not twice
Tried it first.
Six horses were harnessed to it,
The lantern inside was lit.
The Count himself adjusted the pillows,
I laid the bear's cavity at my feet,
Making a prayer, icon
Hung it in the right corner
And - he began to sob... Princess Daughter
Going somewhere this night...
“Yes, we tear our hearts in half
To each other, but, dear,
Tell me, what else should we do?
Can you help with melancholy!
One who could help us
Now... Sorry, sorry!
Bless your own daughter
And let me go in peace!
God knows if we'll see you again
Alas! there is no hope.
Forgive and know: your love,
Your last testament
I will remember deeply
In a distant place...
I don't cry, but it's not easy
I have to break up with you!
Oh, God knows!.. But the duty is different,
And higher and more difficult,
Calling me... Sorry, dear!
Don't shed unnecessary tears!
My path is long, my path is hard,
My fate is terrible,
But I covered my chest with steel...
Be proud - I am your daughter!
Forgive me too, my native land,
Sorry, unfortunate land!
And you... oh fatal city,
Nest of kings... goodbye!
Who has seen London and Paris,
Venice and Rome
You won’t seduce him with shine,
But you were loved by me -
Happy my youth
Passed within your walls,
I loved your balls
Skiing from steep mountains,
I loved the shine of your Neva
In the evening silence,
And this square in front of her
With a hero on horseback...
I can’t forget... Then, later
They will tell our story...
And you be damned, gloomy house,
Where is the first quadrille
I danced... That hand
It still burns my hand...
Rejoice………………………
………………………….»
Calm, strong and light,
The cart is rolling through the city.
All in black, deathly pale,
The princess rides in it alone,
And my father’s secretary (in crosses,
To instill expensive fear)
Jumps ahead with the servants...
Fistula with a whip, shouting: “Get down!”
The coachman passed the capital...
The princess had a long way to go,
It was a harsh winter...
At each station itself
A traveler comes out: “Hurry
Re-harness the horses!”
And pours with a generous hand
Chervontsi of Yamskaya servants.
But the path is difficult! On the twentieth day
We barely arrived in Tyumen,
They rode for ten more days,
“We’ll see the Yenisei soon,”
The secretary said to the princess,
The Emperor doesn’t travel like that!..”
Forward! The soul is full of melancholy
The road is getting more and more difficult,
But dreams are peaceful and light -
She dreamed of her youth.
Wealth, shine! High house
On the banks of the Neva,
The staircase is covered with carpet,
There are lions in front of the entrance,
The magnificent hall is elegantly decorated,
Everything is on fire.
O joy! today is a children's ball,
Chu! the music is booming!
They wove scarlet ribbons for her
In two light brown braids,
They brought flowers and clothes
Unprecedented beauty.
Dad came - gray haired, rosy-cheeked, -
He calls her to guests.
“Well, Katya! miracle sundress!
He will drive everyone crazy!”
She loves it, loves it without boundaries.
Spinning in front of her
A flower garden of cute children's faces,
Heads and curls.
Children are dressed up like flowers,
Older people dress up:
Plumes, ribbons and crosses,
Clinking heels...
The child dances and jumps,
Without thinking about anything,
And childhood is playful and joking
It rushes by... Then
Another time, another ball
She dreams: in front of her
A handsome young man stands
He whispers something to her...
Then again balls, balls...
She is their mistress
They have dignitaries, ambassadors,
They have all the fashionable light...
“Oh dear! Why are you so gloomy?
What's on your heart?
- “Child! I'm bored of social noise
Let’s leave quickly, let’s leave!”
And so she left
With your chosen one.
Before her is a wonderful country,
Before her is eternal Rome...
Oh! How can we remember life?
If we didn't have those days
When, somehow snatching away
From his homeland
And having passed the boring north,
We'll rush south.
Needs are before us, rights are above us
No one... Sam-friend
Always only with those who are dear to us,
We live as we want;
Today we are visiting an ancient temple,
We'll visit tomorrow
Palace, ruins, museum...
How fun it is
Share your thoughts
With your favorite creature!
Under the spell of beauty
In the grip of strict thoughts,
You're wandering around the Vatican
Depressed and gloomy;
Surrounded by an obsolete world,
You don't remember anything alive.
But how terribly amazed
You, in the first moment then,
When, after leaving the Vatican,
You will return to the living world,
Where the donkey neighs, the fountain makes noise,
The artisan sings;
Trade is brisk,
They shout at the top of their voices:
“Corals! shells! snail!
Ice cream water!
The naked dances, eats, fights,
Satisfied with myself
And a pitch black braid
Young Roman woman
The old woman is scratching... It's a hot day,
The din of the mob is unbearable,
Where can we find peace and shade?
We go into the first temple.
The noise of life is not heard here,
Cool, quiet
And twilight... Stern thoughts
The soul is full again.
Saints and angels in droves
The temple is decorated at the top,
Porphyry and jasper underfoot
And marble on the walls...
How sweet it is to listen to the sound of the sea!
You sit silently for an hour,
Undepressed, cheerful mind
Meanwhile it works...
Mountain path to the sun
You'll climb high -
What a morning before you!
How easy it is to breathe!
But hotter, hotter is the southern day,
In the green valleys
There is no dewdrop... Let's go under the shadow
Umbrella-shaped pins…
The princess remembers those days
Walks and conversations
They left in my soul
An indelible mark.
But she can’t return her days of yore,
Those days of hopes and dreams,
How not to return about them later
The tears she shed!..
Rainbow dreams have disappeared,
There is a row of paintings in front of her
Downtrodden, driven country:
Stern gentleman
And a pathetic working man
With my head down...
How the first one got used to rule!
How the second one slaves!
She dreams of groups of poor people
In the fields, in the meadows,
She dreams of the groans of barge haulers
On the banks of the Volga...
Full of naive horror
She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep,
She will fall asleep to her companion
He rushes with questions:
“Tell me, is the whole region really like this?
Is there no contentment in the shadow?..”
- “You are in the kingdom of beggars and slaves!” —
The short answer was...
She woke up - sleep was in her hand!
Chu, heard ahead
A sad ringing - a shackled ringing!
“Hey, coachman, wait!”
Then the party of exiles is coming,
My chest began to ache more painfully.
The princess gives them money, -
“Thank you, bon voyage!”
For a long, long time their faces
They dream later
And she can’t drive away her thoughts,
Don't forget about sleep!
“And that party was here...
Yes... there are no other ways...
But the blizzard covered their tracks.
Hurry, coachman, hurry!..”
The frost is stronger, the path is deserted,
Than further to the east;
Some three hundred miles
Poor town
But how happy you look
On a dark row of houses,
But where are the people? Quiet everywhere
You can't even hear the dogs.
The frost drove everyone under the roof,
They drink tea out of boredom.
A soldier passed, a cart passed,
The chimes are striking somewhere.
The windows are frozen...light
One flashed a little...
Cathedral... on the outskirts of the prison...
The driver waved his whip:
"Hey you!" - and there is no longer a town,
The last house has disappeared...
To the right are mountains and a river,
To the left is a dark forest...
A sick, tired mind is seething,
Sleepless until the morning
My heart is sad. Change of mind
Painfully fast:
The princess sees her friends
That dark prison
And then she thinks -
God knows why -
That the starry sky is sand
Sprinkled leaf
And the month is in red sealing wax
An imprinted circle...
The mountains are gone; started
Plain without end.
More dead! Will not meet the eye
A living tree.
“Here comes the tundra!” - speaks
Coachman, steppe drill.
The princess looks intently
And he thinks sadly:
Here's a greedy man
He's going for the gold!
It lies along river beds,
It's at the bottom of the swamps.
Mining on the river is difficult,
The swamps are terrible in the heat,
But it's worse, worse in the mine,
Deep underground!..
There's deathly silence there,
There is dawnless darkness...
Why, damned country,
Did Ermak find you?..
The darkness of the night descended in succession,
The moon has risen again.
The princess did not sleep for a long time,
Full of heavy thoughts...
She fell asleep... She dreams of the tower...
She stands at the top;
A familiar city in front of her
Worried, noisy;
They run towards a vast square
Huge crowds:
Official people, merchant people,
Peddlers, priests;
Hats, velvet, silk are colorful,
Tulupas, Armenian jackets...
There was already some regiment standing there,
More shelves have arrived
More than a thousand soldiers
It worked out. They "hurray!" shouting
They are waiting for something...
The people were noisy, the people were yawning,
Hardly the hundredth understood
What's going on here...
But he laughed out loud,
Slyly narrowing my gaze,
A Frenchman familiar with storms,
Capital kuafer...
New shelves have arrived:
“Surrender!” they shout.
The answer to them is bullets and bayonets,
They don't want to give up.
Some brave general
Having flown into the square, he began to threaten -
They took him off his horse.
Another approached the ranks:
“The king will grant you forgiveness!”
They killed that one too.
The Metropolitan himself appeared
With banners, with a cross:
“Repent, brothers! - reads -
Fall before the king!”
The soldiers listened, crossing themselves,
But the answer was friendly:
“Go away, old man! pray for us!
You have no business here..."
Then the guns were pointed,
The king himself commanded: “Pa-li!..”
The grapeshot whistles, the cannonball roars,
People are falling in rows...
“Oh, honey! are you alive?..”
Princess, having lost her memory,
She rushed forward and headlong
Fell from a height!
Before her is long and damp
underground corridor,
There is a sentry at every door,
All doors are locked.
The splash of the waves is like a splash
She can hear it from outside;
There's a rattling sound inside, the shine of guns
By the light of the lanterns;
Yes, the distant sound of footsteps
And a long roar from them,
Yes, the clock crosses,
Yes, the screams of the sentries...
With keys, old and gray,
Mustachioed disabled person.
“Come, sad girl, follow me! —
He speaks to her quietly. —
I'll take you to him
He is alive and well..."
She trusted him
She followed him...
We walked for a long, long time... Finally
The door squealed - and suddenly
Before her he is... a living dead...
Before her is a poor friend!
Falling on his chest, she
Hastens to ask:
“Tell me what to do? I'm strong
I can take terrible revenge!
Enough courage in the chest,
Readiness is hot
Should I ask?..” - “Don’t go,
You won’t touch the executioner!”
- “Oh dear! What did you say? Words
I can't hear yours.
That terrible chime of the clock,
Those are the screams of the sentries!
Why is there a third one between us?..”
- “Your question is naive.”
“It's time! The hour has struck!” —
That “third” said...
The princess shuddered and looked
Scared all around
Horror chills her heart:
Not everything here was a dream!..
The moon floated among the skies
Without shine, without rays,
To the left was a gloomy forest,
To the right is Yenisei.
Dark! Not a soul in sight
The driver was sleeping on the box,
Hungry wolf in the wilderness
Moaned shrilly
Yes, the wind beat and roared,
Playing on the river
Yes, a foreigner was singing somewhere
In a strange language.
Sounded like harsh pathos
Unknown language
And it tore my heart even more,
Like a seagull's cry in a storm...
The princess is cold; that night
The frost was unbearable
Strength has fallen; she can't bear it
Fight him more.
Horror took over my mind,
Why can't she get there?
The coachman hasn't sung for a long time,
Didn't push the horses
You can't hear the front three.
"Hey! are you alive, coachman?
Why are you silent? Don’t you dare sleep!”
- “Don’t be afraid, I’m used to it...”
Flying... From a frozen window
Nothing is visible
She drives a dangerous dream,
But don't drive him away!
He is the will of a sick woman
Instantly captivated
And, like a wizard, to another land
She was moved.
That region - it is already familiar to her -
Full of bliss as before,
And a warm ray of sunshine
And the sweet singing of the waves
She was greeted like a friend...
Everywhere he looks:
“Yes, this is the south! yes, this is the south! —
It says everything to the eye...
Not a cloud in the blue sky,
The valley is all in flowers,
Everything is flooded with sunshine, on everything,
Below and on the mountains,
The seal of mighty beauty,
Everything around is rejoicing;
She loves the sun, sea and flowers
They sing: “Yes, this is the south!”
In a valley between a chain of mountains
And the blue sea
She's flying at full speed
With your chosen one.
Their road is a luxurious garden,
The aroma flows from the trees,
It's burning on every tree
Ruddy, lush fruit;
It shines through the dark branches
Azure of skies and waters;
Ships sail across the sea,
The sails flutter
And the mountains visible in the distance
They go to heaven.
How wonderful are their colors! In an hour
The rubies glowed there,
Now the topaz sparkles
Along their white ridges...
Here is a pack mule walking in steps,
In bells, in flowers,
Behind the mule is a woman with a wreath,
With a basket in his hands.
She shouts to them: “Bon voyage!” —
And suddenly laughing,
Throws it quickly onto her chest
Flower... yes! This is the south!
The land of ancient, dark-skinned maidens
And the land of eternal roses...
Chu! melodic tune,
Chu! music is heard!..
“Yes, this is the south! yes, this is the south!
(Sings to her good dream.)
My beloved friend is with you again,
He’s free again!..”
PART TWO
It's been almost two months now
Constantly day and night on the road
A wonderfully well-coordinated cart,
But the end of the road is far away!
The princess's companion is so tired,
That he fell ill near Irkutsk.
I met her in Irkutsk myself
City Chief;
As dry as a relic, as straight as a stick,
Tall and gray-haired.
His doha slid off his shoulder,
Underneath are crosses, a uniform,
There are rooster feathers on the hat.
Dear Brigadier,
Scolding the driver for something,
Hastily jumped up
And the doors of a strong cart
He opened the door for the princess...
PRINCESS
(included in the station house
To Nerchinsk! Lay it down quickly!
GOVERNOR
I came to meet you.
PRINCESS
Tell me to give you the horses!
GOVERNOR
Please pause for an hour.
Our road is so bad
You need to rest…
PRINCESS
Thank you! I'm strong...
My path is not far...
GOVERNOR
It will still be up to eight hundred miles,
And the main problem:
The road will get worse there,
Dangerous ride!..
I need to tell you two words
In service, and moreover
I had the happiness of knowing the count,
He served with him for seven years.
Your father is a rare person
According to the heart, according to the mind,
Imprinted in the soul forever
Gratitude to him
At his daughter's service
I'm ready... I'm all yours...
PRINCESS
But I don't need anything!
(Opening the door to the hallway.)
Is the crew ready?
GOVERNOR
Until I order
It won't be served...
PRINCESS
So order it! I ask…
GOVERNOR
But there is a clue here:
Sent with the last mail
Paper…
PRINCESS
What's in it:
Shouldn't I go back?
GOVERNOR
Yes, sir, that would be more correct.
PRINCESS
But who sent you and about what?
Paper? what is there
Were you joking about your father?
He arranged everything himself!
GOVERNOR
No... I don’t dare say...
But the way is still far...
PRINCESS
So why bother chatting for nothing!
Is my cart ready?
GOVERNOR
No! I haven't ordered yet...
Princess! here I am the king!
Sit down! I already said
What did I know of the Count of old?
And the Count... even though he let you go,
By your kindness,
But your departure killed him...
Come back soon!
PRINCESS
No! that once it was decided -
I will complete it to the end!
It's funny for me to tell you,
How I love my father
How he loves. But the duty is different
And higher and holy,
Calling me. My tormentor!
Let's get some horses!
GOVERNOR
Allow me, sir. I agree myself
How precious is every hour?
But do you know well
What awaits you?
Our side is barren
And she is even poorer,
In short, it’s our spring there,
Winter is even longer.
Yes, sir, eight months of winter
There - did you know?
People there are rare without a stigma,
And those are callous in soul;
In the wild they prowl around
There are only varnaki there;
The prison house there is terrible,
The mines are deep.
You don't have to be with your husband
Minutes eye to eye:
You have to live in a common barracks,
And food: bread and kvass.
Five thousand convicts there,
Embittered by fate
Fights start at night
Murder and robbery;
Their judgment is short and terrible,
There is no more terrible trial!
And you, princess, are always here
Witness... Yes!
Believe me, you will not be spared
No one will have mercy!
Let your husband be the one to blame...
And you have to endure... why?
PRINCESS
It will be terrible, I know
My husband's life.
Let it be mine too
No happier than him!
GOVERNOR
But you won't live there:
That climate will kill you!
I have to convince you
Don't drive forward!
Oh! Do you want to live in a country like this?
Where is the air for people?
Not steam - icy dust
Coming out of the nostrils?
Where there is darkness and cold all year round,
And in short heat waves -
Never-drying swamps
Malicious couples?
Yes... A terrible land! Get out of there
The forest beast also runs,
When is the hundred day night
Hangs over the country...
PRINCESS
People live in that region
I'll get used to it jokingly...
GOVERNOR
Are they alive? But my youth
Remember... child!
Here the mother is the snow water,
Having given birth, he will wash his daughter,
Little menacing storm howl
Cradles you all night
And a wild beast wakes up, growling
Near the forest hut,
Yes, it's a blizzard, knocking madly
Out the window, like a brownie.
From deep forests, from desert rivers
Collecting your tribute,
The native man grew stronger
With nature in battle,
And you?..
PRINCESS
Let death be destined for me -
I have nothing to regret!..
I'm coming! I'm going! I must
To die near my husband.
GOVERNOR
Yes, you will die, but first
Torment the one
Whose irrevocably head
Died. For him
Please don't go there!
More bearable alone
Tired of hard work,
Come to your prison
Come and lie down on the bare floor
And with stale crackers
To fall asleep... and a good dream has come -
And the prisoner became a king!
Flying with a dream to family, to friends,
Seeing yourself
He will wake up to the day's work
And cheerful, and quiet in heart,
What about you?.. I don’t know about you
Happy dreams to him,
In himself he will be aware
The reason for your tears.
PRINCESS
Ah!.. Save these speeches
You are better for others.
All your tortures cannot be extracted
Tears from my eyes!
Leaving home, friends,
Beloved father,
Taking a vow in my soul
Execute to the end
My duty - I will not bring tears
To the damned prison -
I will save the pride, the pride in him,
I will give him strength!
Contempt for our executioners,
Consciousness of Rightness
It will be a true support for us.
GOVERNOR
Beautiful dreams!
But they will last for five days.
Isn’t it time for you to be sad?
Believe my conscience
You will want to live.
Here is stale bread, prison, shame,
Need and eternal oppression,
And there are balls, a brilliant courtyard,
Freedom and honor.
Who knows? Perhaps God was judging...
Someone else will like it
The law has not deprived you of your rights...
PRINCESS
Be silent!.. My God!..
GOVERNOR
Yes, I say frankly,
Better return to the light.
PRINCESS
Thank you, thank you
For your good advice!
And before there was heaven on earth,
And now this paradise
With your caring hand
Nikolai cleared it.
There people are rotting alive -
walking coffins,
Men are a bunch of Judases,
And women are slaves.
What will I find there? Hypocrisy
Desecrated honor
Sassy trash celebration
And petty revenge.
No, to this deforested forest
I won't be lured in
Where were the oak trees up to the sky?
And now the stumps are sticking out!
Return? live among slander,
Empty and dark deeds?..
There's no place there, there's no friend there
To the one who has once received his sight!
No, no, I don't want to see
Corrupt and stupid
I won't show myself as an executioner
Free and holy.
Forgetting the one who loved us
Return - forgive everything?
GOVERNOR
But he didn’t spare you?
Think, child:
Who is the longing about? to whom is love?
PRINCESS
Shut up, general!
GOVERNOR
If not for the valiant blood
Flowed into you - I would have remained silent.
But if you rush forward,
Believing nothing
Perhaps pride will save you...
He got you
With wealth, with a name, with intelligence,
With a trusting soul,
And he, without thinking about it,
What will happen to the wife?
Carried away by an empty ghost
And - this is his fate!..
So what?.. you run after him,
What a pathetic slave!
PRINCESS
No! I'm not a pathetic slave
I am a woman, a wife!
Let my fate be bitter -
I will be faithful to her!
Oh, if only he forgot me
For a woman, different
There would be enough strength in my soul
Don't be his slave!
But I know: love for the homeland
My rival
And if necessary, again
I would forgive him!..
The princess finished... He was silent
Stubborn old man.
"Well? Tell me, general,
Prepare my cart?
Without answering the question,
He looked at the floor for a long time,
Then he said thoughtfully:
“See you tomorrow” - and left...
The next day the same conversation
I asked and convinced
But I was rebuffed again
Honorable general.
Having exhausted all my beliefs
And exhausted,
He is long, important, silent,
walked around the room
And finally he said: “Be it so!
You can’t be saved, alas!..
But know this: having taken this step,
You will lose everything!..”
- “What else do I have to lose?”
- “Having galloped after my husband,
You renunciation sign
We owe you your rights!
The old man fell silent effectively,
From these terrible words
He obviously expected some benefit
But the answer was:
"Your head is gray,
And you are still a child!
Our rights seem to you
Rights - no joke.
No! I don't value them
Take them quickly!
Where is the renunciation? I'll sign it!
And quickly - horses!..”
GOVERNOR
Sign this paper!
What are you talking about?.. My God!
After all, this means becoming a beggar
And a simple woman!
Say sorry to everyone,
What was given to you by your father?
What to inherit
Should come to you later!
Property rights, rights
Lose the nobility!
No, think about it first -
I'll come to you again!..
He left and wasn't there all day...
When darkness fell
Princess, weak as a shadow,
I went to see him myself.
The general did not accept her:
Sick seriously...
Five days while he was ill,
The painful things have passed,
And on the sixth he came himself
And he coolly said to her:
“I have no right to let you go,
Princess, horses!
They will guide you step by step
With a convoy..."
PRINCESS
My God!
But months will pass
On the road?..
GOVERNOR
Yes, in the spring
You will come to Nerchinsk if you
The road won't kill you.
Hardly four miles per hour
The Chained One is coming;
In the middle of the day there is a halt,
With the sunset of the day - overnight,
And the hurricane caught in the steppe -
Bury yourself in the snow!
Yes, sir, there is no end to the delays,
Another fell, weakened...
PRINCESS
I didn’t understand well -
What does your stage mean?
GOVERNOR
Under guard of the Cossacks
With weapons in hand,
We lead thieves on stage
And convicts in chains,
They are playing pranks on the way,
Look, they'll run away
So they will tie them with a rope
To each other - and lead
The path is difficult! Yes, here it is:
Five hundred will go,
And to the Nerchinsk mines
And a third will not reach!
They die like flies on the way,
Especially in winter…
And you, princess, should you go like this?..
Come home now!
PRINCESS
Oh no! I was waiting for this...
But you, but you... a villain!..
A whole week has passed...
People have no heart!
Why not say it all at once?..
I would have left a long time ago...
Order the batch to be assembled -
I'm coming! I don't care!..
"No! you will go!.. - cried
Suddenly the old general
Covering my eyes with my hand.-
How I tormented you... My God!..
(From under the hand onto the gray mustache
A tear rolled down.)
Sorry! yes, I tormented you,
But I suffered too,
But I had strict orders
Putting barriers for you!
And didn’t I install them?
I did everything I could
My soul is before the king
Clean, God knows!
Carefully hard cracker
And life locked up
Shame, horror, labor
Staged path
I tried to scare you.
You weren't scared!
And even if I can’t hold back
On the shoulders of the head,
I can't, I don't want to
To tyrannize more than you...
I’ll get you there in three days...
Opening the door, he screams
Hey! harness up now!..”
(grandmother's notes)
(1826-27)
Chapter 1
Prankster grandchildren! Today they
We returned from our walk again:
“We, grandma, are bored! On rainy days,
When we sat down in the portrait room
And you started telling us
It was so fun!.. Dear,
Tell me something else!..” In the corners
We sat down. But I drove them away:
“You will have time to listen; my stories
Enough for whole volumes,
But you are still stupid: you recognize them,
How familiar you will be with life!
I have told you everything that is accessible to you.
According to your childhood years:
Go for a walk through the fields, through the meadows!
Go ahead... take advantage of the summer!”
And so, not wanting to remain in debt
With my grandchildren, I write notes;
For them I save portraits of people,
who were close to me
I bequeath to them an album - and flowers
From the grave of my sister - Muravyova,
Collection of butterflies, flora of Chita
And the views of that harsh country;
I bequeath to them an iron bracelet...
Let them protect it sacredly:
Grandfather forged it as a gift for his wife
From my own chain once...
I was born, my dear grandchildren,
Near Kyiv, in a quiet village;
I was the family's favorite daughter.
Our family was rich and ancient,
But my father exalted him even more:
More tempting than the glory of a hero,
More precious than the fatherland - I didn’t know anything
A fighter who did not like peace.
Working miracles, nineteen years old
He was a regimental commander
He gained courage and laurels of victory
And honors honored by the world.
His military glory began
Persian and Swedish campaign,
But the memory of him is inseparably merged
Happy twelfth year:
Here his life was a long battle.
We shared hikes with him,
And in another month we won’t remember the date,
If only they wouldn't tremble for him.
“Defender of Smolensk” is always ahead
A dangerous business was...
Near Leipzig, wounded, with a bullet in the chest,
A day later he fought again,
So the chronicle of his life says:
Among the Russian commanders,
As long as our fatherland stands,
He will be memorable! Vitii
My father was showered with praise,
Calling him immortal;
Zhukovsky honored him with a loud stanza,
Glorifying Russian leaders:
Under Dashkova there is a heat of personal courage
And the sacrifice of the patriot father
The poet sings. Martial Gift
Showing up in countless battles,
He did not defeat his enemies by force alone
Your great-grandfather in the gigantic struggle:
They said about him that he combined
With courage, a military genius.
Preoccupied with the war, in his family
Father didn't interfere with anything
But he was cool at times; almost a deity
He seemed to our mother
And he himself was deeply attached to her.
We loved our father - in a hero,
Having finished the campaigns, in his estate
It slowly faded away into peace.
We lived in a large suburban house.
Entrusting the children to an Englishwoman,
The old man was resting. I learned everything
What does a rich noblewoman need?
And after school I ran to the garden
And she sang all day carefree,
My voice was very good, they say
His father listened to him willingly;
He brought his notes to an end,
He read newspapers, magazines,
Feasts set; visited my father
Gray-haired generals like him,
And there were endless disputes then;
Meanwhile, the youth danced.
Should I tell you the truth? I was always
At that time the queen of the ball:
My languid eyes have blue fire
And black with a blue tint
Big braid and deep blush
On a dark, beautiful face,
And my height is tall, and my figure is flexible,
And proud gait - captivated
The handsome men of that time: hussars, lancers,
That they were close to the shelves.
But I listened reluctantly to their flattery...
My father tried for me:
“Isn’t it time to get married? There is already a groom
He fought gloriously near Leipzig,
The sovereign, our father, fell in love with him,
And he gave him the rank of general.
Older than you... but good looking,
Volkonsky! You've seen him
At the royal review... and he visited us,
I kept wandering around the park with you!”
- "Yes I remember! Such a tall general..."
“He’s the one!” - the old man laughed...
“Father, he spoke to me so little!”
I noticed and blushed...
“You will be happy with him!” - cool decision
Old man, I didn’t dare object...
Two weeks have passed - and I'm down the aisle
I stood with Sergei Volkonsky,
I didn’t know him much as a fiance,
I didn’t even know much from my husband, -
We lived so little under one roof,
We saw each other so rarely!
To distant villages, for winter quarters,
His brigade was scattered
Sergei drove around her constantly.
Meanwhile, I fell ill;
In Odessa later, on the advice of doctors,
I spent the whole summer swimming;
In winter he came there for me,
I rested with him for a week
At the main apartment... and again trouble!
One day I fell fast asleep.
Suddenly I hear Sergei’s voice (in the night,
It was almost dawn:
“Get up! Find me the keys quickly!
Light the fireplace!” I jumped up...
She looked: he was alarmed and pale.
I lit the fireplace quickly.
My husband took papers from the boxes
To the fireplace - and burned hastily.
I read others quickly, in a hurry,
I threw others away without reading.
And I helped Sergei, trembling
And pushing them deeper into the fire...
Then he said, "We'll go now,"
Gently touching my hair.
Everything was soon packed for us,
And in the morning, without saying goodbye to anyone,
We set off. We rode for three days
Sergei was gloomy, in a hurry,
Took me to my father's estate
And he immediately said goodbye to me.
Chapter 2
“He left!.. What did his pallor mean?
And everything that happened that night?
Why didn't he tell his wife anything?
Something bad happened!”
For a long time I did not know peace and sleep,
Doubts tormented my soul:
“Gone, gone! I'm alone again!..”
My family consoled me
His father explained his haste
Some random thing:
“Somewhere the emperor himself sent
Him on a secret errand,
Do not Cry! You shared your hikes with me,
The vicissitudes of military life
You know; he'll be home soon!
There is a precious deposit under the heart
You wear it: now you must take care!
Everything will end well, dear;
Hubby's wife spent time alone,
And he will meet you, rocking the child!..”
Alas! his prediction did not come true!
See your poor wife
And with his first-born son, the father had the opportunity
Not here - not under our own roof!
How dearly my firstborn cost me!
I was ill for two months.
Exhausted in body, killed in soul,
I recognized the first nanny.
She asked about her husband. “I haven’t been there yet!”
- “Did you write?” - “And there aren’t even any letters.”
- “Where is my father?” - “He rode off to St. Petersburg.”
- “And my brother?” - “I went there.”
“My husband hasn’t arrived, there’s not even a letter,
And brother and father galloped away, -
I told my mother: “I’m going by myself!”
Enough, enough we have waited!”
And no matter how hard I tried to beg my daughter
Old lady, I have made up my mind;
I remembered that last night
And everything that happened then
And I clearly realized that with my husband
Something bad is happening...
It was spring, with river floods
I had to drag myself like a turtle.
I arrived barely alive again.
“Where is my husband?” I asked my father.
“Your husband went to fight in Moldova.”
- “He doesn’t write?..” He looked sadly
And the father came out... The brother was dissatisfied,
The servants were silent, sighing.
I noticed that they were playing tricks on me,
Carefully hiding something;
Saying that I need peace,
No one was allowed to see me
I was surrounded by some kind of wall,
They didn't even give me newspapers!
I remembered: my husband has a lot of relatives,
I am writing and begging you to answer.
Weeks pass without a word from them!
I'm crying, I'm losing strength...
There is no feeling more painful than a secret thunderstorm.
I assured my father with an oath,
That I won't shed a single tear, -
Both he and everything around him were silent!
Loving, my poor father tormented me;
Regretting, I doubled the grief...
I found out, I finally found out everything!..
I read it in the verdict itself,
That poor Sergei was a conspirator:
They stood on guard
Preparing troops to overthrow the authorities.
He was also accused of
What is he... My head is spinning...
I didn’t want to believe my eyes...
“Really?..” The words didn’t fit in my mind:
Sergei - and a dishonest thing!
I remember I read the verdict a hundred times,
Delving into the fatal words.
She ran to her father and had a conversation with her father.
Reassured me, my dears!
It was as if a heavy stone had been lifted from my soul.
I blamed Sergei for one thing:
Why didn't he tell his wife anything?
After thinking about it, I forgave even that:
“How could he talk? I was young
When did he break up with me?
I carried my son under my heart then:
He was afraid for the mother and child!
That's what I thought. - Let the misfortune be great,
I haven't lost everything in the world.
Siberia is so terrible, Siberia is far away,
But people also live in Siberia!..”
All night I was burning, dreaming of
How I will cherish Sergei.
In the morning deep, deep sleep
She fell asleep and woke up more cheerfully.
My health soon improved,
I saw my friends
I found my sister, I asked her
And I learned a lot of bitter things!
Unhappy people!.. “All the time Sergei
(said sister) contained
In prison; I didn’t see any relatives or friends...
I just saw him yesterday
Father. You can also see him:
When the verdict was read,
They dressed them in rags, took off their crosses,
But they were given the right to meet!..”
I missed a number of details here...
Leaving fatal traces,
To this day they cry out for vengeance...
Don't know them better, dear ones.
I went to the fortress to visit my husband and sister,
We first came to the “general”
Then an elderly general brought us
Into a vast, gloomy hall.
“Wait, princess! we'll be there now!"
Having bowed politely to us,
He left. I didn't take my eyes off the door.
The minutes seemed like hours.
The footsteps gradually fell silent in the distance,
My thoughts flew after them.
It seemed to me that they brought a bunch of keys,
And the rusty door creaked.
In a gloomy closet with an iron window
The exhausted prisoner languished.
“Your wife has come to see you!..” With a pale face,
He trembled all over and perked up:
“Wife!..” He quickly ran down the corridor,
Not daring to trust a rumor...
"Here he is!" - the general said loudly,
And I saw Sergei...
No wonder a thunderstorm swept over him:
Wrinkles appeared on the forehead,
The face was deathly pale, the eyes
They didn't shine so brightly anymore
But there was more in them than in the old days,
That quiet, familiar sadness;
They looked inquisitively for a minute
And suddenly they sparkled with joy,
It seemed like he looked into my soul...
I fell bitterly to his chest,
I was sobbing... He hugged me and whispered:
"There are strangers here."
Then he said it was good for him
Learn the virtue of humility,
Which, however, easily endures prison,
And a few words of approval
He added... He walked importantly around the room
Witness - we were embarrassed...
Sergei pointed at his clothes:
“Congratulate me, Masha, on the new thing,”
And he quietly added: “Understand and forgive,”
The eyes sparkled with tears,
But then the spy managed to approach,
He hung his head low.
I said loudly: “Yes, I didn’t expect
Find you in these clothes."
And she quietly whispered: “I understand everything.
I love you more than before.."
-"What to do? And I will live in hard labor
(Until I get bored with life).”
- “You’re alive, you’re healthy, so why bother?
(After all, hard labor will not separate us?)”
“So that’s what you are like!” - Sergei said,
His face was cheerful...
He took out a handkerchief and put it on the window,
And I put mine next to it,
Then, parting, Sergeev’s scarf
I took it and my husband kept it...
After a year's separation, we have an hour
The date seemed short
But what could one do? Our deadline has passed -
Others would have to wait...
The general put me in the carriage,
Happy to stay...
I found great joy in the scarf:
Kissing him, I saw him
I have a few words on one corner;
This is what I read, trembling:
“My friend, you are free. Understand - don’t blame!
I am mentally alert and - I wish
See my wife the same way. Goodbye!
I send my regards to the little one..."
There was a lot of relatives in St. Petersburg
My husband's; to know everything - yes what!
I went to them, I was worried for three days,
Begging to save Sergei.
The father said: “Why are you suffering, daughter?
I tried everything - it’s useless!
And it’s true: they were already trying to help,
Tearfully praying to the emperor,
But his requests did not reach his heart...
I also saw my husband
And the time had come: he was taken away!..
As soon as I was left alone,
I immediately heard in my heart,
Why should I hurry too?
My parents' house seemed stuffy to me,
And I began to ask my husband.
Now I’ll tell you in detail, friends,
My fatal victory.
The whole family rose up together and menacingly,
When I said: “I’m going!”
I don't know how I managed to resist
What have I suffered... God!..
The mother was called from near Kyiv,
And the brothers came too:
My father ordered me to “reason” with him.
They convinced and begged.
But the Lord himself strengthened my will,
Their speeches did not break her!
And I had to cry a lot and bitterly...
When we got ready for lunch,
My father casually asked me:
“What did you decide on?” - “I’m coming!”
The father was silent... the family was silent...
I cried bitterly in the evening,
Rocking the baby, I thought...
Suddenly my father comes in, I shuddered.
I was waiting for a thunderstorm, but, sad and quiet,
He said cordially and meekly:
“Why do you offend your blood relatives?
What will happen to the unfortunate orphan?
What will happen to you, my dove?
It's not female power that's needed there!
Your great sacrifice is in vain,
You will only find a grave there!”
And he waited for an answer, and my gaze caught,
Caressing me and kissing me...
“It’s my own fault! I ruined you! -
He suddenly exclaimed, indignantly.
Where was my sanity? Where were the eyes?
Our whole army already knew...”
And he tore out his gray hair:
"Sorry! don't execute me, Masha!
Stay!..” And again he begged fervently...
God knows how I resisted!
Leaning my head on his shoulder,
“I’ll go!” - I said quietly...
“We’ll see!..” And suddenly the old man straightened up,
His eyes sparkled with anger:
“One thing repeats your stupid tongue:
“I’ll go!” Isn't it time to say
Where and why? Think first!
You don't know what you're talking about!
Can your head think?
Do you consider them enemies?
Both mother and father? Or are they stupid...
Why do you argue with them as equals?
Look deeper into your heart,
Look ahead calmly,
Think about it!.. I’ll see you tomorrow...”
He left, threatening and angry,
And I, barely alive, in front of the holy icon
She fell in spiritual languor...
Chapter 3
“Think!..” I didn’t sleep the whole night,
I prayed and cried a lot.
I called the Mother of God for help,
I asked God for advice,
I learned to think: my father ordered
Thinking... not an easy thing!
How long ago did he think for us - and decide
And did our life fly peacefully?
I studied a lot; in three languages
I read it. I was noticeable
In state drawing rooms, at social balls,
Skillfully dancing, playing;
I could talk about almost everything
I knew the music, I sang,
I even rode very well,
But I couldn’t think at all.
I'm only in my last, twentieth year
I learned that life is not a toy,
Yes, in childhood, it happened that my heart would tremble,
How a gun suddenly bursts out.
Life was good and free; father
He didn’t speak strictly to me;
Eighteen years old I walked down the aisle
And I didn’t think much either...
IN Lately my head
She worked hard and glowed;
The unknown tormented me at first.
When did I find out about the trouble?
Sergei constantly stood before me,
Exhausted from prison, pale,
And many previously unknown passions
Sowed it in my poor soul.
I've experienced everything, but most of all
A cruel feeling of powerlessness.
I am the sky and strong people for him
I prayed - my efforts are in vain!
And anger burned my sick soul,
And I was worried out of tune,
I was torn, I cursed... but I had no strength
No time to think calmly.
Now I definitely have to think -
My father wants it that way.
May my will always be the same,
Let every thought be fruitless,
I will honestly carry out my father's orders
I have made my decision, my dears.
The old man said: “Think about us,
We are not strangers to you:
And mother, and father, and child, finally -
You are recklessly abandoning everyone,
For what?” - “I’m doing my duty, father!”
- “Why are you dooming yourself?
For flour? - “I won’t suffer there!
A terrible torment awaits me here.
Yes, if I stay, obedient to you,
I'm tormented by separation.
Knowing no peace either night or day,
Sobbing over the poor orphan,
I will always think about my husband
Yes, hear his meek reproach.
Wherever I go - on people's faces
I will read my verdict:
In their whispers is the story of my betrayal.
I can guess the reproach in the smile:
That my place is not at a magnificent ball,
And in the distant gloomy desert,
Where is the prisoner tired in the prison corner
Tormented by a fierce thought,
Alone... without support... Hurry to him!
There I will only breathe freely.
Shared joy with him, shared prison
I must... It’s heaven’s will!..
Sorry, dear ones! My heart has long been
Mine predicted the decision.
And I firmly believe: it is from God!
And it says in you - regret.
Yes, if I have to decide
Between husband and son - no more,
I'm going where I'm needed most
I'm going to the one who is in captivity!
I will leave my son with my family,
He will soon forget me.
Let grandfather be the baby's father,
His sister will be his mother.
He's still so small! And when he grows up
And he learns a terrible secret,
I believe that he will understand his mother’s feeling
And in his heart he will justify her!
But if I stay with him... and then
He finds out the secret and asks:
“Why didn’t you go after your poor father?..” -
And will he throw a word of reproach at me?
Oh, it’s better for me to lie in my grave alive,
How to deprive a husband of comfort
And in the future, bring contempt upon your son. ..
No no! I don't want contempt!..
But it could happen - I’m afraid to think! —
I'll forget my first husband
Terms new family I'll obey
And I will not be a mother to my son,
And my fierce stepmother?.. I’m burning with shame. ..
Forgive me, poor exile!
Forget you! Never! never!
You are the only chosen one of the heart. ..
Father! you don’t know how dear he is to me!
You don't know him! At first,
In a brilliant outfit, on a proud horse,
I saw him in front of the regiment;
About the exploits of his fighting life
Stories from comrades
I listened greedily - and with all my soul
I fell in love with the hero in him. ..
Later I fell in love with my father in him
The little one born to me.
The separation dragged on endlessly.
He stood firm under the storm. ..
Do you know where we met again -
Fate did its will! —
The last, best love of the heart
I gave it to him in prison!
In vain is the ink of his slander,
He was more flawless than before
And I loved him like Christ. ..
In his prison clothes
Now he constantly stands in front of me,
Shining with greatness to the meek.
A crown of thorns over his head,
Unearthly love in your gaze...
My father! I must see him...
I will die, missing my husband...
You, serving your duty, spared nothing
And you taught us the same. ..
The hero who brought out his sons
To where the battle is deadliest -
I don’t believe that my poor daughter
You yourself didn’t approve of the decision!”
That's what I thought on the long night,
And so I talked to my father...
He said quietly: “Crazy daughter! "—
And he went out: they were silent sadly
And brothers, and mother... I finally left...
Hard days dragged on:
The dissatisfied father walked like a cloud,
The other household were sulking.
Nobody wanted to help with any advice,
No matter; but I didn't sleep
I spent a sleepless night again:
Wrote a letter to the sovereign
(At that time, rumors began to spread,
It’s like returning Trubetskoy
The sovereign ordered from the road. Experience
I was afraid of such a fate,
But the rumor was wrong). I took the letter
My sister, Katya Orlova.
The king himself answered me... Thank you, I found it
I am the answer kind word!
He was elegant and sweet (Nikolai
Wrote in French). At first
The sovereign said how terrible that region is,
Where did I want to go?
How rude people are there, how hard life is,
How my age is fragile and tender;
Then he hinted (I didn’t suddenly understand)
That return is hopeless;
And then - he deigned to honor with praise
My resolve, regretting,
Which, obedient to duty, could not spare
Criminal husband... Not daring
Resist such high feelings
He gave his permission;
But I would rather wish that with my son
I stayed at home...
Excitement
I was overwhelmed. "I'm coming!" For a long time
My heart never beat so joyfully...
“I'm coming! I'm coming! Now it’s decided!..”
I cried, prayed fervently...
In three days I got ready for my long journey,
I pawned everything valuable
I stocked up on a reliable fur coat and underwear,
I bought a simple caravan.
My relatives looked at my preparations,
Sighing mysteriously;
None of the family believed in leaving...
I spent my last night
With baby. Bent over my son,
The smile of a little dear one
I tried to remember; I played with him
The seal of the fatal letter.
She played and thought: “My poor son!
You don't know what you're playing with!
This is your fate: you will wake up alone,
Unhappy! You will lose your mother!
And in grief, falling on his little arms
With my face, I whispered, sobbing:
“Forgive me for your father,
My poor thing, I must leave..."
And he smiled: he didn’t think about sleeping,
Admiring the beautiful package;
This seal is big and red
He was amused...
With the dawn
The child fell asleep calmly and soundly,
And his cheeks turned red.
Without taking my eyes off my beloved face,
Praying at his cradle,
I greeted the morning...
I immediately got ready.
I conjured my sister again
To be a mother to her son... The sister vowed...
The tent was already ready.
My relatives were sternly silent,
The farewell was silent.
I thought: “I died for my family,
Everything is cute, everything is expensive
I’m losing... there’s no count of sad losses!..”
The mother somehow sat calmly,
It seemed, still not believing,
So that my daughter dares to leave,
And everyone looked at their father with a question.
He sat at a distance, dejectedly,
Didn't say a word, didn't raise his face, -
It was pale and gloomy.
The last things were taken to the tent,
I cried, losing my courage,
The minutes passed painfully slowly...
I finally hugged my sister
And the mother hugged. “Well, God bless you!” -
I said, kissing my brothers.
Imitating their father, they remained silent...
The old man stood up indignantly,
By pursed lips, by wrinkles of brow
Ominous shadows walked...
I silently gave him the icon
And she knelt before him:
“I'm coming! at least a word, at least a word, father!
Forgive your daughter, for God’s sake!..”
The old man finally looked at me
Thoughtfully, intently, strictly
And, raising his hands threateningly above me,
He said barely audibly (I was trembling):
“Look, come home in a year,
Otherwise, I’ll curse you!..”
I fell...
Chapter 4
“Enough, enough hugs and tears!”
I sat down and the troika rushed off.
“Farewell, dear ones!” In the December frost
I parted with my father's house
And she rushed without rest for more than three days;
I was fascinated by the speed
She was the best doctor for me...
I soon galloped to Moscow,
To sister Zinaida. Sweet and smart
There was a young princess
How I knew music! How she sang!
Art was sacred to her.
She left us a book of short stories,
Filled with tender grace,
The poet Venevitinov sang stanzas to her,
Hopelessly in love with her;
Zinaida lived in Italy for a year
And to us - according to the poet's words -
“Brought the color of the southern sky in my eyes.”
Queen of Moscow light,
She did not shy away from artists - life
They were in Zina’s living room;
They respected and loved her
And Severnaya's name was Corinna...
We cried. She liked it
My fatal decision:
“Be strong, my poor one! be cheerful!
You've become so gloomy.
How can I drive away these dark clouds?
How will we say goodbye to you?
Here's what! go to bed until evening,
And in the evening I will arrange a feast.
Don't be afraid! everything will be to your taste,
My friends are not rakes,
We will sing your favorite songs,
Let's play our favorite pieces..."
And in the evening the news that I arrived,
Many people in Moscow already knew.
At that time our husbands were unhappy
Moscow's attention was occupied by:
As soon as the court decision was announced,
Everyone was awkward and scared
In the salons of Moscow it was repeated then
One Rostopchin joke:
“In Europe, a shoemaker, in order to become a master,
He rebels, of course!
Our revolution was made by the nobility:
Did you want to become a shoemaker or something?..”
And I became the “heroine of the day.”
Not only artists, poets -
All our noble relatives moved;
Front doors, carriages in a train
They thundered; powdering your wigs,
Potemkin is equal in years,
The old aces have appeared
With extremely polite greetings;
Old ladies, state ladies of the former court,
They embraced me:
“What heroism!.. What a time!..” -
And they shook their heads to the beat.
Well, in a word, what was better in Moscow,
What visited her in passing,
Everyone came to my Zina in the evening:
There were a lot of artists here,
I heard Italian singers here,
What were famous then?
My father's colleagues, friends
They were here, killed by sadness.
There were relatives of those who went there,
Where was I in a hurry?
A group of writers who were loved then.
She said goodbye to me in a friendly manner:
There were Odoevsky, Vyazemsky; was
The poet is inspired and sweet,
The admirer of the cousin who died early,
Taken by an untimely grave.
And Pushkin was here... I recognized him...
He was a friend of our childhood,
In Yurzuf he lived with my father,
At that time of mischief and coquetry
We laughed, we chatted, we ran with him,
They threw flowers at each other.
Our whole family went to Crimea,
And Pushkin went with us.
We rode happily. Here it is finally
And the mountains and the Black Sea!
Father ordered the crews to stand,
We were walking here in the open space.
I was already sixteen years old then.
Flexible, tall beyond her years,
Having left my family, I move forward
She rushed off with the curly-haired poet;
Without a hat, with a loose long braid;
The midday sun burns,
I flew to the sea - and there was in front of me
View of the southern coast of Crimea!
I looked around with joyful eyes,
I jumped and played with the sea;
When the tide receded, I ran
I ran right up to the water,
When did the tide return again?
And the waves came rolling in,
I was in a hurry to run away from them,
And the waves overtook me!..
And Pushkin looked... and laughed that I
My shoes got wet.
“Be quiet! my governess is coming! —
I said sternly. (I hid
That my feet were wet)… Then I read
There are wonderful lines in Onegin.
I flushed all over - I was happy...
Now I'm old, so far away
Those red days! I won't hide
What Pushkin seemed like at that time
In love with me... but to tell the truth,
Who didn't he fall in love with then!
But I don't think he loved anyone
Then, except for the muse: hardly
No more love occupied him
Her worries and sorrows...
Yurzuf is picturesque: in luxurious gardens
Its valleys are drowned,
At his feet is the sea, in the distance is Ayudag...
Tartar huts clung
To the foot of the cliffs; grapes ran out
On the steep slope with a vine weighed down,
And the poplar stood motionless in places
A green and slender column.
We occupied a house under an overhanging rock,
The poet took refuge upstairs,
He told us that he was happy with his fate,
That I fell in love with the sea and mountains.
His walks continued day by day
And we were always alone
He often wandered by the sea at night.
He took lessons in English
From Lena, my sister: Byron then
He was extremely interested.
Sometimes it happened to my sister to translate
Anything from Byron - secretly;
She read me her attempts,
And then she tore it up and threw it away,
But someone from the family told Pushkin,
That Lena wrote poetry:
The poet picked up the scraps under the window
And he brought the whole thing to the stage.
Praising the translations, he spent a long time afterwards
Confused unfortunate Lena...
Having finished his studies, he went downstairs
And he shared his leisure time with us;
There was a cypress tree right next to the terrace,
The poet called him a friend,
The dawn often found him beneath him,
When he left, he said goodbye to him...
And they told me that Pushkin’s trace
In the native legend remained:
“A nightingale flew to the poet at night,
As the moon floated into the sky,
And together with the poet he sang - and, to the singers
Listening, nature fell silent!
Then the nightingale - the people narrate -
I flew here every summer:
And it whistles, and cries, and seems to be calling
To the poet's forgotten friend!
But the poet died and stopped flying
Feathered singer... Full of grief,
Since then the cypress stood as an orphan,
Listening only to the murmur of the sea...”
But Pushkin glorified him for a long time:
Tourists visit him
They sit under it and remember from it
Fragrant branches are plucked...
Our meeting was sad. Poet
I was overwhelmed by true grief.
He remembered the games of his childhood
In distant Yurzuf, above the sea.
Leaving the usual mocking tone,
With love, with endless longing,
With the participation of his brother, he advised
A friend of that carefree life!
He walked around the room with me for a long time,
Concerned about my fate
I remember, dear ones, what he said,
I can’t convey it like this:
“Go, go! You are strong at heart
You are rich in courageous patience,
May your fateful journey be completed peacefully,
Don't let losses bother you!
Believe me, such spiritual purity
This hateful world is not worth it!
Blessed is he who changes his vanities
To the feat of selfless love!
What's the light? the disgusting masquerade!
In him the heart grows hard and sleeps,
An eternal, calculated cold reigns in it
And the ardent truth embraces...
The enmity will be pacified by the influence of the years,
Before time the barrier will collapse,
And the penates of your fathers will be returned to you
And the canopy of the home garden!
It will flow healingly into a tired chest
Valleys of hereditary sweetness,
You will proudly look back on the path you have traveled
And you will know joy again.
Yes I believe you! You won’t have to endure grief for long,
The royal wrath will not last forever...
But if you have to die in the steppe,
They will remember you with a heartfelt word:
The image of a brave wife is captivating,
Showing spiritual strength
And in the snowy deserts of a harsh country
Hiding early in the grave!
You will die, but your suffering is a story
Will be understood by living hearts,
And midnight your great-grandchildren about you
Conversations will not end with friends.
They will show them, sighing from the heart,
Your unforgettable features,
And in memory of the great-grandmother who died in the wilderness,
Full cups will be drained!..
May the marble of graves last longer,
Like a wooden cross in the desert,
But the world has not yet forgotten Dolgorukaya,
But there is no trace of Biron.
But what am I?.. May God give you health and strength!
And you can see each other there:
Tsar Pugachev instructed me to write,
The scarecrow tortures me shamelessly,
I want to deal with him to glory,
I will have to be in the Urals.
I'll go in the spring, I'll grab it as soon as possible,
What good things will happen there?
Yes, I’ll wave to you, having crossed the Urals ... "
The poet wrote "Pugachev"
But it didn’t get into our distant snows.
How could he keep this word?
I listened to music, full of sadness,
I listened eagerly to the singing;
I didn’t sing myself, I was sick,
I just begged others:
“Think: I’m leaving at dawn...
Oh, sing, sing! play!…
I won't hear any music like this,
Not a song... Let me hear enough!..."
And wonderful sounds flowed endlessly!
Solemn song of farewell
The evening is over, I don’t remember the face
Without sadness, without sad thoughts!
Features of motionless, stern old women
Lost the arrogant cold,
And the gaze that seemed to go out forever,
Glow with a touching tear...
The artists tried to surpass themselves,
I don't know a more beautiful song
That song-prayer for a good journey,
That theological song...
Oh, how inspired they played!
How they sang!.. and cried themselves...
And everyone said to me: “God bless you!” —
Saying goodbye to me with tears...
Chapter 5
It's frosty. The road is white and smooth,
Not a cloud in the entire sky...
The driver's mustache and beard are frozen,
He is trembling in his robe.
His back, shoulders and hat are covered in snow,
He wheezes, urging the horses,
And his horses cough as they run,
Sighing deeply and difficultly...
Common views: former glory
Desert Russian land,
The scaffolding rustles gloomily,
Casting giant shadows;
The plains are covered with a diamond carpet,
Villages drowned in snow
A landowner's house flashed on a hill,
Church chapters flashed...
Ordinary meetings: a convoy without end,
A crowd of praying old women,
Thundering mail, figure of a merchant
On a pile of feather beds and pillows;
State truck! about a dozen carts:
Guns and backpacks are piled up.
Toy soldiers! Thin, mustacheless people,
They must still be new recruits;
Sons are seen off by male fathers
Yes mothers, sisters and wives.
“They are taking away, they are taking away the dear ones to the regiments!” -
Bitter moans are heard...
Raising his fists over the driver's back,
The courier is rushing furiously.
On the road itself, having caught up with the hare,
Mustachioed landowner huntsman
Swung across the ditch on a nimble horse,
He takes the prey from the dogs.
Stands aside with all his retinue
The landowner calls the greyhounds...
Ordinary scenes: hell at the stations -
They swear, argue, jostle.
“Well, touch it!” The guys are looking out of the windows,
The priests are fighting at the tavern;
At the forge a horse beats in the lathe,
It turns out covered in soot
Blacksmith with a red-hot horseshoe in his hand:
“Hey, guy, hold her hooves!..”
I made my first stop in Kazan,
She fell asleep on the hard sofa;
From the hotel windows I saw a ball
And, I confess, I took a deep breath!
I remembered: a little over an hour or two
It remains until the New Year.
"Happy people! how fun they are!
They have peace and freedom,
They dance, they laugh!... but I don’t know
Have fun... I'm going to suffer!.."
There is no need to allow such thoughts,
Yes, youth, youth, grandchildren!
Here again they scared me with Trubetskoy,
It was as if she had been turned back:
“But I’m not afraid - permission is with me!”
The clock has already struck ten.
It's time! I dressed up. “Is the coachman ready?”
- “Princess, you better wait
“Dawn,” noted the old caretaker.
The snowstorm has begun to rise!”
- “Oh, I’ll have to try it again!
I'll go. Hurry, for God's sake!..”
The bell is ringing, you can't see anything,
What's next is a worse road,
Started to push hard in the sides,
Somehow we're going in ridges,
I don’t even see the coachman’s back:
A hillock appeared between us.
My wagon almost fell,
The troika jumped back and stood.
My coachman groaned: “I reported:
Wait! the road is gone!..."
She sent the road to look for the coachman,
Covered the wagon with matting,
I thought: right, midnight is close,
I suppressed the clock spring:
Twelve struck! The year has ended
And a new one was born!
Throwing back the mat, I look forward -
The blizzard is still spinning.
What does she care about our sorrows?
Until our new year?
And I'm indifferent to your anxiety
And to your groans, bad weather!
I have my own fatal melancholy,
And I fight with her alone...
I congratulated my driver.
“There is a winter quarters nearby,”
He said, “We’ll wait for dawn in it!”
We arrived and woke up
Some wretched forest guards,
Their smoky stove was flooded.
A forest dweller told horror stories,
Yes, I forgot his stories...
We warmed ourselves up with tea. It's time to retire!
The blizzard howled more and more horribly.
The forester crossed himself, the night light went out
And with the help of stepson Fedya
He rolled two huge stones against the doors.
"For what?" - “The bears prevailed!”
Then he lay down on the bare floor,
Everything soon fell asleep in the guardhouse,
I thought and thought... lying in the corner
On frozen and hard matting...
At first the dreams were funny:
I remembered our holidays,
Lights burning hall, flowers,
Gifts, congratulatory bowls,
And noisy speeches, and caresses... all around
Everything is cute, everything is expensive -
But where is Sergei?.. And thinking about him,
I forgot everything else!
I jumped up quickly as soon as the coachman
The chilled man knocked on the window.
As soon as it was light the forester led us out onto the road,
But he refused to accept the money.
“No need, dear! God protect you
The roads further on are dangerous!”
The frosts got stronger along the way
And they soon became terrible.
I completely closed my tent -
And dark, and terrible boredom!
What to do? I remember poems, I sing,
Someday the torment will end!
Let the heart weep, let the wind roar
And my path is covered by snowstorms,
But still I move forward!
I drove like this for three weeks...
One day, hearing some kind of soda,
I opened my mat,
She looked: we were driving through a vast village,
It immediately blinded my eyes:
Fires burned along my road...
There were peasants, peasant women,
Soldiers and a whole herd of horses...
“Here is the station: silver coins are waiting,”
My driver said, “We will see her,”
She, tea, is walking nearby..."
Siberia sent its wealth,
I was glad to have this meeting:
“I’ll wait for the silver coin! Maybe something
I’ll find out about my husband and ours.
There’s an officer with her, they’re on their way from Nerchinsk...”
I’m sitting in the tavern, waiting...
A young officer entered; he smoked
He didn't nod his head to me,
He looked and walked somehow arrogantly,
And so I said with sadness:
“You saw, right... do you know
Those... victims of the December case...
Are they healthy? What is it like for them there?
I would like to know about my husband..."
He turned his face towards me impudently -
The features were angry and harsh -
And, releasing a ring of smoke from his mouth,
Said: “They are undoubtedly healthy,
But I don’t know them - and I don’t want to know,
I never saw many convicts!..”
How painful it was for me, my dears! I'm silent...
Unhappy! You offended me!
I only cast a contemptuous glance,
The young man walked out with dignity...
Some soldier was warming himself at the stove here,
Damn it, he heard
And a kind word is not barbaric laughter -
Found in my soldier's heart:
“Healthy! - he said, - I saw them all,
They live in the Blagodatskoye mine!..”
But then the arrogant hero returned,
I hastily went into the wagon.
“Thank you, soldier! thank you dear!
No wonder I endured torture!”
In the morning I look at the white steppes,
A bell was heard ringing,
I quietly enter the wretched church,
Mixed with the crowd of pilgrims.
After listening to mass, she approached the priest,
I asked to serve a prayer service...
Everything was calm - the crowd did not leave...
I was completely overwhelmed by grief!
Why are we offended so much, Christ?
Why are you covered in reproach?
And rivers of long-accumulated tears
Fell on hard slabs!
It seemed that the people shared my sadness,
Praying silently and strictly,
And the priest’s voice sounded sorrowful,
Asking for God's exiles...
Poor, lost temple in the desert!
I wasn’t ashamed to cry in it,
The participation of the sufferers praying there
It doesn’t hurt a murdered soul...
(Father John, who served the prayer service
And he prayed so earnestly,
Then I was a priest in the dungeon
And he became related to us in soul.)
And at night the coachman did not hold back his horses,
The mountain was terribly steep
And I flew with my kibitka
From the high peak of Altai!
In Irkutsk they did the same to me,
How did they torment Trubetskaya...
Baikal. Crossing - and it’s so cold,
That the tears in my eyes froze.
Then I parted with my wagon
(The toboggan run has disappeared).
I felt sorry for her: I cried in her
And I thought, I thought a lot!
A road without snow - in a cart! First
The cart kept me busy
But soon afterwards, neither alive nor dead,
I learned the beauty of the cart.
I also learned about hunger along the way.
Unfortunately, they didn't tell me
That nothing can be found here,
This is where the Buryats kept the post office.
They dry the beef in the sun
Let them warm themselves with brick tea,
And the one with lard! Lord save
Give it a try, you unaccustomed ones!
But near Nerchinsk they gave me a ball:
Some smart merchant
In Irkutsk he noticed me and overtook me
And in honor of my rich holiday
Arranged... Thank you! I was glad
And delicious dumplings, and a bath...
And I slept through the whole holiday like someone dead
In the living room he is on the sofa...
I didn’t know what awaited me ahead!
I rode to Nerchinsk this morning,
I can’t believe my eyes - Trubetskoy is coming!
“I caught up with you, I caught up with you!”
- “They are in Blagodatsk!” - I rushed to her,
Shedding happy tears...
Only twelve miles away is my Sergei,
And Katya Trubetskoy is with me!
Chapter 6
Who knew loneliness on a long journey,
Whose companions are grief and blizzard,
Who is given by providence to find
An unexpected friend in the desert,
He will understand our mutual joy...
“I’m tired, I’m tired, Masha!”
- “Don’t cry, my poor Katya! Will save
Our friendship and our youth!
We are inextricably linked by one lot,
Fate deceived us just the same
And the same stream of your happiness rushed away,
In which mine was drowned.
Let's go hand in hand the hard way,
As we walked through the green meadow,
And we will both bear our cross with dignity,
And we will be strong with each other.
What have we lost? think about it, sister!
Vanity toys... Not many!
Now the road of goodness lies before us,
The road of God's chosen ones!
We will find humiliated, sorrowful husbands,
But we will be their consolation,
We will soften the executioners with our meekness,
We will overcome suffering with patience.
Support for the dying, the weak, the sick
We'll be in prison, hated
And we won’t give up until we accomplish it
A vow of selfless love!..
Our sacrifice is pure - we give everything
To our chosen ones and to God.
And I believe: we will pass unharmed
All our difficult journey..."
Nature is tired of fighting with itself -
The day is clear, frosty and quiet.
The snows near Nerchinsk appeared again,
We rode dashingly in the sleigh...
A Russian coachman spoke about the exiles
(He even knew by last name):
“I carried them to the mine on these horses,
Yes, only in a different crew.
The road must have been easy for them:
They joked and made each other laugh;
My mother baked me cheesecake for breakfast,
So I gave them a cheesecake,
They gave me two kopecks, but I didn’t want to take it:
- “Take it, boy, it will come in handy...”
Chatting, he quickly flew to the village.
“Well, ladies, where should we stay?”
- “Take us to the chief straight to the prison.”
- “Hey, friends, don’t let me offend you!”
The boss was obese and, it seems, strict,
He asked what species we were?
“In Irkutsk they read instructions to us
And they promised to send me to Nerchinsk..."
- “Stuck, stuck, my dear, there!”
“Here is a copy, they gave it to us...”
- “What’s a copy? You’ll get into trouble with her!”
- “Here is your royal permission!”
The stubborn eccentric didn’t know French,
He didn’t believe us - laughter and torment!
“Do you see the Tsar’s signature: Nicholas?”
He doesn't care about the signature
Give him the paper from Nerchinsk!
I wanted to go after her
But he announced that he would go himself
And by morning he will get the paper.
“Is it really true?..” - “Honestly! And you
It will be more beneficial to get some sleep!..”
And we got to some kind of hut,
Dreaming about tomorrow morning;
With a mica window, low, without a pipe,
Our house was like this
That my head was touching the wall,
And she pressed her feet against the door;
But these little things were funny to us,
That's not what happened to us.
We are together! now it would be easy for me to take it down
And the most difficult torments...
I woke up early, and Katya was sleeping,
I walked around the village out of boredom:
The huts are the same as ours, in number
Up to a hundred were stuck in the ravine,
And here is a brick house with bars!
There were guards with him.
“Are there criminals here?” - “Here and gone.”
- "Where?" - “Get to work, of course!”
Some children took me...
We all ran - unbearably
I wanted to see my husband soon;
He's close! He walked here recently!
"Do you see them?" - I asked the children.
“Yes, we see! They sing nicely!
There's the door... Look! Let's go now
Farewell!..” The guys ran away...
And like a door leading underground
I saw a soldier too.
The sentry looked sternly, - bald
The saber sparkled in his hand.
Not gold, grandchildren, it helped here too,
At least I offered gold!
Perhaps you would like to read further,
Yes, the word is begging from the chest!
Let's slow down a bit. I want to say
Thank you, Russian people!
On the road, in exile, wherever I was,
All the difficult hard labor time,
People! I was more cheerful with you
My unbearable burden.
May many sorrows befall you,
You share other people's sorrows
And where my tears are ready to fall,
Yours fell there a long time ago!..
You love the unfortunate Russian people!
Suffering has brought us closer together...
“The law itself will not save you in hard labor!”
At home they told me;
But good people I met there too
At the extreme stage of the fall,
They were able to express to us in their own way
Criminals pay tribute;
Me and my inseparable Katya
We were greeted with a satisfied smile:
“You are our angels!” For our husbands
They did their homework.
More than once he secretly gave it to me from the floor
Branded potatoes:
“Eat! hot, out of the ash now!”
The baked potatoes were good
But my chest still aches with melancholy,
When I remember him...
Accept my deepest bow, poor people!
I send thanks to you all!
Thank you!.. They considered their work worthless
For us these people are simple,
But no one added bitterness to the cup,
No one - from the people, dear ones!..
The sentry gave in to my sobs,
I asked him like God!
He lit the lamp (a type of torch),
I entered some kind of basement
And for a long time they descended lower and lower; Then
I walked down a deserted corridor,
He walked along ledges; it was dark in there
And stuffy; where is the mold pattern
Lying down; where the water flowed quietly
And it flowed down in puddles.
I heard a rustling sound; earth sometimes
It fell from the walls in clumps;
I saw terrible holes in the walls;
It seemed like the same roads
It started from them. I forgot my fear
My feet carried me quickly!
And suddenly I heard shouts: “Where,
Where are you going? Do you want to kill yourself?
Ladies are not allowed to go there!
Come back soon! Wait!”
My trouble! apparently the duty officer has arrived
(His sentry was so afraid)
He shouted so menacingly, his voice was so angry,
The sound of quick footsteps was approaching...
What to do? I blew out the torch. Forward
I ran at random in the dark...
The Lord, if He wants, will guide you everywhere!
I don't know how I didn't fall
Why didn't I leave my head there?
Fate was watching over me. Past
Terrible crevices, failures and holes
God brought me out unharmed:
I soon saw the light ahead,
There seemed to be a star shining...
And a joyful cry flew from my chest:
"Fire!" I was crossed...
I threw off my fur coat... I'm running into the fire,
How God saved my soul!
A frightened horse caught in a quagmire
So eager when he sees land...
And it became, dear ones, brighter and brighter!
I saw a hill:
Some square... and shadows on it...
Chu... hammer! work, movement...
There are people there! Will only they see?
The figures became clearer...
The lights began to flash closer and closer.
They must have seen me...
And someone standing on the very edge
He exclaimed: “Isn’t this an angel of God?
Look, look!” - “After all, we are not in heaven:
Damn mine similar
To hell! - said others, laughing.
And they quickly ran out to the edge,
And I approached quickly. Marveling
Motionless they waited.
"Volkonskaya!" - Trubetskoy suddenly shouted
(I recognized the voice). Lowered
I need the stairs; I rose like an arrow!
All the people I knew were:
Sergei Trubetskoy, Artamon Muravyov,
Borisov, Prince Obolensky...
A stream of heartfelt, enthusiastic words,
Praise for my feminine audacity
I was showered; tears flowed
By their faces, full of participation...
But where is my Sergei? “Let’s go get him,
I wouldn't die just from happiness!
Finishes the lesson: three pounds of ore each
We get it for Russia a day,
As you can see, our work didn’t kill us!”
They were so funny
They were joking, but I was under their gaiety
I read a sad story
(The shackles on them were news to me
I didn’t know that they would be shackled)…
News about Katya, about my dear wife,
I consoled Trubetskoy;
Luckily, all the letters were with me,
With greetings from our native land
I hastened to hand them over. Meanwhile,
Below, the officer got excited:
“Who took the ladder? Where and why
Is the work supervisor absent?
Madam! Remember my word,
You'll kill yourself!.. Hey, stairs, devils!
Live!..” (But no one set her up...)
“You will kill yourself, you will kill yourself to death!
Please come down! what about you?..” But we
Everything went into the depths... From everywhere
The gloomy children of the prison ran towards us,
Marveling at an unprecedented miracle.
They paved the way for me ahead
They offered their stretchers...
Guns underground works on a way,
We encountered dips and mounds.
Work was in full swing to the sound of shackles,
To the songs - work on the abyss!
Knocked on the elastic chest of the mines
Both the spade and the hammer are iron.
There, with a burden, a prisoner walked along a log,
I involuntarily shouted: “Quiet!”
There a new mine was led into the depths,
There people climbed higher
On shaky supports... What labor!
What courage!... They sparkled
Locally mined lumps of ore
And they promised a generous tribute...
Suddenly someone exclaimed: “He’s coming!” coming!
Looking around the space with my eyes,
I almost fell, rushing forward, -
The ditch was in front of us.
“Quiet up, quiet down! Is it possible then
You have flown thousands of miles, -
Trubetskoy said, “May we all be sad”
Is dying in a ditch near the goal?”
And he held my hand tightly:
“What would happen if you fell?”
Sergei was in a hurry, but walked quietly.
The shackles sounded sad.
Yes, chains! The executioner did not forget anyone
(Oh, vengeful coward and tormentor!), -
But he was meek, like the one who chose him
The redeemer is his instrument.
They made way for him, keeping silence,
Working people and guards...
And then he saw, he saw me!
And he extended his arms towards me: “Masha!”
And he stood, exhausted, far away...
Two exiles supported him.
Tears flowed down his pale cheeks,
The outstretched hands trembled...
The sound of my sweet voice
Instantly sent an update,
Joy, hope, oblivion of torment,
The paternal threat is oblivion!
And shouting “I’m coming!” I was running
Suddenly jerking his hand,
Along a narrow plank above a gaping ditch
Towards the calling sound...
“I’m coming!..” Sent me her affection
A smile-filled face...
And I ran... And my soul
Filled with a holy feeling.
Only now, in the fatal mine,
Hearing terrible sounds,
Seeing the chains on my husband,
I fully understood his torment,
And his strength... and willingness to suffer!
Involuntarily I bowed before him
Knees, - and before you hug your husband,
She put shackles to her lips!..
And God sent down a quiet angel
To the underground mines - in an instant
And the talking and the roar of work fell silent,
And the movement froze,
Strangers, our own - with tears in their eyes,
Excited, pale, stern,
They stood around. On motionless legs
The shackles did not make a sound,
And the raised hammer froze in the air...
Everything is quiet - no song, no speech...
It seemed that everyone here shared with us
Both the bitterness and happiness of the meeting!
Holy, holy there was silence!
Some kind of high sadness,
Full of some kind of solemn thought.
“Where have you all gone?” —
Suddenly a frantic scream came from below.
The work supervisor appeared.
“Go away! - said the old man with tears. —
I hid on purpose, lady,
Now leave. It's time! They'll take you away!
The bosses are cool people..."
And it was as if I had descended from heaven to hell...
And only... and only, dear ones!
The officer cursed me in Russian
Below, waiting in alarm,
And from above my husband said to me in French:
“See you, Masha, in prison!..”
Most of Nekrasov’s work is dedicated to the ordinary Russian people. But the main thing for the poet was not the description of incredible suffering, but the desire for justice. Nekrasov was convinced that every person must be, first of all, a citizen of his country. This title does not depend on social or property status; it equalizes representatives of various social groups and classes. Nekrasov highly appreciated the feat of the Decembrists, who for the first time managed to pose an unequal challenge to the tsarist power. He treated the wives of the rebels with even greater respect, who did not leave their husbands and followed them into Siberian exile. Thus, they rejected all the advantages of noble origin and voluntarily agreed to accept all the hardships of exile life. Nekrasov dedicated the poem “Russian Women” (1871-1872) to the feat of the wives of the Decembrists. Initially he planned to call the work “Decembrist Women”. The final version emphasizes the common destinies of all Russian women, regardless of their situation.
The poem consists of two parts dedicated to the princesses Trubetskoy and Volkonskaya. Nekrasov did not use reliable historical evidence describing their fate. He considered the most important thing to be the very idea of voluntarily following her husband into exile.
Now it is difficult to imagine what not only exile meant, but also a simple trip to Siberia. In people's minds it was a semi-fantastic land from which it was almost impossible to return. Only the journey by horse transport took so much time that one could die without reaching the final destination. There was nowhere to run from the place of exile, since there was no human habitation for hundreds of kilometers around.
To a pampered noblewoman, a trip to Siberia, without exaggeration, seemed like a plunge into hell. Therefore, the wives of the Decembrists really had extraordinary courage. Nekrasov shows the unbending will of women in the persuasion of Governor Trubetskoy and Volkonskaya’s father and relatives.
The poet emphasizes that the feat of women is based not only on love and fidelity to their husbands. They are also aware of their civic duty and understand all the injustice that reigns in Russia. This is most vividly described in the angry monologue of Princess Trubetskoy (“people are rotting alive,” “a gathering of Judas,” “a triumph of impudent rubbish”).
In general, in the poem “Russian Women” Nekrasov masterfully described the female national character. The dedication of the Decembrists is the highest indicator of the spiritual strength of the people, which neither despotism nor harsh punishments can break.
Introduction Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov - poet, prose writer, critic, publisher was born in 1821. Nekrasov's childhood years were spent on the Volga in the village. Greshnevo, Yaroslavl province.
Nekrasov’s father was one of those landowners, of which there were many at that time: ignorant, rude and violent. He oppressed his family and beat the peasants mercilessly. The poet's mother, loving, kind woman, fearlessly stood up for the peasants. She also protected the children from her husband’s beatings. It seems that there was no other poet who so often, with such reverent love, would resurrect the image of his mother in his poems. According to Nekrasov, it was under the influence of memories of his mother that he wrote so many works protesting against the oppression of women (“Troika”, “Frost, Red Nose”, “In in full swing village suffering..." and others.
). It was from Greshnev that Nekrasov the poet learned exceptional sensitivity to the suffering of others. When Nekrasov was 10 years old, he was sent to the Yaroslavl gymnasium, from which he left after the fifth grade, since his father refused to pay for his education. During these years, Nekrasov fell in love with books and read a lot. At the age of 17 he went to the capital, to St. Petersburg, but life there was very difficult for him. The father wanted a military career for his son, and he decided to go to university. For his self-will, his father deprived him of all material support, and the young man was left without a livelihood. In order not to die of hunger, the talented young man began to compose poems and stories commissioned by the capital's booksellers.
Nekrasov wrote day and night, but received pennies for it. At this time, he met and became close friends with the great Russian critic V. G. Belinsky, who had a huge influence on Nekrasov - moral, literary, ideological, and then his fresh, multifaceted talent shone especially brightly. In 1847, the writer I. I. Panaev, together with Nekrasov, acquired the Sovremennik magazine, founded by A.
S. Pushkin. The editorial talent of Nekrasov flourished in Sovremennik, who rallied the best literary forces of the 40-60s around the magazine.
I. S. Turgenev publishes here “Notes of a Hunter”, I. A. Goncharov - the novel “An Ordinary History”, V. G. Belinsky - late critical articles, A.
I. Herzen - stories “The Thieving Magpie” and “Doctor Krupov”. Nekrasov also placed his poems here. After Belinsky’s death, Nekrasov recruited the successors of Belinsky’s work, Chernyshevsky and Dobrolyubov, to work in the magazine.
The influence of Sovremennik grew every year, but soon disaster struck. In 1861, Dobrolyubov died, then Chernyshevsky was arrested and exiled to Siberia. In 1862, the government suspended publication for eight months, and in 1866 banned it completely. A year and a half later, Nekrasov rented Otechestvennye zapiski and from 1868 until his death remained the editor of this magazine, which united progressive forces. Otechestvennye zapiski enjoyed the same success as Sovremennik. The highest flowering of Nekrasov’s creativity began in 1855. He finished the poem “Sasha”, in which he wanted to show how “new people” are born and how they differ from the previous “heroes of the time”, “ extra people"from among the cultural nobility.
Then he wrote the poem “ Forgotten Village", "Schoolboy", "Unhappy", "Poet and Citizen". These works revealed the powerful powers of the folk singer. Nekrasov's first collection of poems (1856) brought fame to the poet. “Peasant Children” (1856), created simultaneously with “Peddlers,” continues the poet’s success.
The poem “Frost, Red Nose” (1863-1864) is filled with bright faith and good hope. The poem “Orina, the soldier’s mother” (1863) glorifies maternal and filial love, which triumphs not only over the horrors of soldiering, but also over death itself.
The Decembrist theme is revealed in the poems “Grandfather” and “Russian Women”. In “Princess Trubetskoy” (1871) and “Princess Volkonskaya” (1872) Nekrasov opens in best women noble circle the same qualities of national character that he found in the peasant women of the poems “Peddlers” and “Frost, Red Nose”. That is why works about the Decembrists became facts not only of literary, but also of social life. They inspired young people to fight for people's freedom. Closely studying peasant life, the poet was preparing for a great literary feat - to create a great poem glorifying the generosity, heroism, and powerful spiritual forces of the Russian people. The hero of the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” (1865-1877) is the entire multimillion-dollar “peasant kingdom”.
Such poetry has never happened in Russia before. The consciousness of the moral “power of the people,” which foreshadowed the certain victory of the people in the struggle for a happy future, was the source of the optimism that is felt in Nekrasov’s great poem (see.
“Who lives well in Rus'”). In 1876, after a break, Nekrasov returned to the poem again, but he no longer had the strength to finish it, because at the beginning of 1875 he became seriously ill. Neither the famous surgeon nor the operation could stop the deadly cancer.
The time has come to sum up the results, and the poet creates “Last Songs.” Nekrasov understands that with his creativity he is paving new paths in the art of poetry. He decided on a bold combination: the end of the form, the beginning of the form of elegiac, lyrical and satirical motifs within one poem, which had previously been completely unacceptable. Nekrasov significantly expanded the range of Russian poetry, using colloquial speech, folk phraseology, boldly including various speech styles- from everyday life to journalistic, from popular vernacular to poetic vocabulary, from oratorical to parody-satirical style.
“Russian Women” is a poem written based on the history of the Decembrists. First published in “Notes of the Fatherland” - the first part - “Princess Trubetskaya” - in 1872 (No. 4) the second - “Princess M.N.
Volkonskaya. - in 1873 (No. 1). The idea for the cycle of poems about the Decembrists arose in the late 1860s - early 1870s during the period of widespread growth of the revolutionary movement in the ranks of the Russian democratic intelligentsia.. Then Nekrasov began studying a relatively distant era - based on historical works (published both in Russia and abroad) and documentary sources, primarily memoirs: “Notes of a Decembrist” by Baron Rosen and others. The poet focused his creative attention on those character traits of the Decembrists that he guessed (through generations) in the revolutionaries of the seventies, the recipients of his fiery appeals. “In order to avoid false notes in this call, Nekrasov had to give images of his heroes and heroines that were not at all distorted, from the point of view of historical accuracy, and at the same time emphasize in their appearance such features that related them to revolutionary modernity” (Evgeniev- Maksimov). While preparing the poem for publication, Nekrasov was forced to adapt it to censorship requirements; make a number of exceptions in it, replacing missing words and lines with ellipses; make a number of changes to it.
Having sent the poem to Otechestvennye Zapiski, the poet wrote to A.A. Kraevsky in mid-March 1872: “I think that in the dirty state in which you (the poem) had it, the censorship could not find fault with it.” A.
A. Kraevsky, in all likelihood also having censorship in mind, expressed several more wishes. In a letter dating before April 1872.
Nekrasov informed him: “I’ll use the notes. “The main reason for Nekrasov’s turn to history was the desire to find answers in the past to questions posed by the present. The legacy of the Decembrists, as well as the feat of their wives, who shared the fate of political exiles and supported their faith in the rightness of the cause they began, were close to the selfless revolutionaries and revolutionaries of the 1860-1870s. The poet sets himself the task of creating historically truthful images of the Decembrists and Decembrists and at the same time emphasizing in them the qualities that continue to live in the second generation of revolutionaries. In the critical literature about Nekrasov, voices were heard about the need to restore the original title of “Decembrists”. So, in 1931 K.
I. Chukovsky, introducing this title into the main text of the collected works of Nekrasov, which he edited, wrote that, firstly, the title “Decembrists” is “much more accurate than “Russian Women,” since among the Decembrists there were three French women and one Polish woman ”, and secondly, that “Russian Women” is a chauvinistic and patriotic title, “so to speak, a bribe to censorship” (PST 1931, p. 558). In 1936 S.A.
Racer, in the article “Nekrasov in his work on “Russian Women” (“Decembrist Women”)” convincingly refuted these arguments of Chukovsky. First of all, he clarifies, we are talking about seven Russians and two foreigners, and besides, the title “Russian Women” does not contain a chauvinistic and patriotic meaning, being a formula “filled with very real and great content” (see. : Links VI.
M.-L., 1936, p. 732). In the PSS (vol. III) the title “Russian Women” was restored, and in the comments to the poem Chukovsky abandoned his old argumentation. Nekrasov began collecting material for the poem in earnest in the late 1860s and early 1870s.
The works of Herzen (articles “On the Development of Revolutionary Ideas in Russia”, “Russian Conspiracy of 1825”, etc.) and Ogarev (prefaces to the “Dumas” of K.F.) could serve as a common ideological source for the poet.
Ryleev and to the collection “Russian Secret literature XIX century", article "Caucasian Waters", etc.), which gave a multifaceted assessment of the Decembrist uprising from the point of view of revolutionary democracy, corresponding to the views of Nekrasov. From the works of art and memoirs of the Decembrists themselves, Nekrasov received specific ideas about their life and worldview. The poet had access to the works of the Decembrists, published by the Free Russian Printing House in London, as well as archival materials published in the magazines “Russian Antiquity” and “Russian Archive”. Nekrasov was also aware of official materials: government reports of 1825-1826.
Published in the “Russian Invalid” and “St. Petersburg Gazette”, the book of Baron M. A. Korf “The Accession to the Throne of Emperor Nicholas I” (3rd ed. St. Petersburg.
1857), as well as, in all likelihood, an unspoken order from the Siberian Governor-General Lavinsky to the Irkutsk Governor Zeidler. Nekrasov used the factual basis of these documents. Working on “Princess Trubetskoy” in the summer of 1871 in Karabakh (as is known, by July 1, 1871
Nekrasov finished the poem “Recent Time” and immediately began to intensely and intensively write “Princess Trubetskoy”), the poet summarized data from many sources, including such as “Notes of the Decembrist” by Baron A.E.
Rosen (Leipzig, 1870) and the work of S.V.
Maksimov “Siberia and hard labor”, first published in 1889 in “Notes of the Fatherland” (No. 1-5, 8-10).
Both Rosen's memoirs and the journal set for this year were kept in the Nekrasov library in Karabikha. Nekrasov continued collecting materials for the poem during the period of direct work on it.
Friends and acquaintances sent him to Karabikha newly published materials about the Decembrists, Decembrists and, in particular, about Princess Trubetskoy. Thus, in the archives of the village of Karabikha, a letter from an unknown person was found, which contains a review of one of the French historians about the Decembrists and biographical information about Princess Trubetskoy. The author of the letter promises: “Whatever interesting things come across, I will tell you in the village” (Archive of the village of Karabikhi. M., 1916, p. 235). O E.
I. Trubetskoy (nee Countess Laval, born in 1801, died in 1854 in Siberia), who followed her husband, Prince S.
P. Trubetskoy (1790-1860), colonel of the Life Guards Preobrazhensky Regiment, sentenced to indefinite hard labor for participating in a conspiracy, Nekrasov could read in the memoirs of her husband as a courageous and strong-willed woman.
“I thanked God from the depths of my soul for the fact that with his mercy he supported her so much both in her internal and external feelings. There was nothing desperate or murderous in his face or clothes; decent dignity was observed in everything,” wrote S. P. Trubetskoy, recalling his meeting with his wife in prison (Notes of the Decembrists, issues 2 and 3. London, 1863, p. 50).
(Some information about Trubetskoy could have been reported to Nekrasov by her son I. S. Trubetskoy (their acquaintance is evidenced by Nekrasov’s letter to Trubetskoy dated March 16, 1873 - see this below, p. 578).) To the greatest extent for “Princess Trubetskoy “Nekrasov used “Notes of the Decembrist” by Baron Rosen.
On the factual basis of these notes, he paints a picture of the uprising on Senate Square in the first part of the poem and the clash between Princess Trubetskoy and the Irkutsk governor in the second part. This source gave the poet general idea about the characters of Princess Trubetskoy and Governor Zeidler. Artistically transforming events, he makes them dramatically tense and dynamic, enriches Trubetskoy’s speech with passionate civic pathos, and introduces ideological adjustments that are consistent with his revolutionary-democratic worldview and at the same time historically justified. For example, he emphasizes the active role of the tsar in the execution of the rebels (“The tsar himself commanded: Pali”).
In “Princess Trubetskoy,” the author conveyed civic pathos by introducing various elements of the romantic style into the text (a portrait of the heroine, a Siberian landscape, a description of a prison). The dramatic flavor is given to the first part and correctly found by Nekrasov compositional technique: interweaving of dreams and reality, alternation of light and dark pictures.
The romantic nature of this artistic solution, emphasizing the lyricism of the narrative, the “music of feelings,” and the spirituality of the heroine, does not contradict the realistic method that dominates Nekrasov’s Decembrist cycle. The second part of “Princess Trubetskoy” is solved in a dramatic manner; it is distinguished by ideological integrity and stylistic consistency; in it Nekrasov revealed himself not only as a poet, but also as a first-class playwright. The plot of “Princess M.N. Volkonskaya,” as Nekrasov wrote, “still revolves in the same place - near Siberia.” The content of this part of the poem “Russian Women” was largely determined by the most valuable documentary source - the memoirs of M.
N. Volkonskaya (few people knew about their existence, and Nekrasov was introduced to them by the son of the Decembrist, M. S. Volkonsky). The poet’s task as the author of the Decembrist cycle remained the same: to create a lyric-epic poem in which the continuity between history and modernity would be clearly visible. The poem “Russian Women” was received differently by critics and readers. Regarding the second part, Nekrasov informed his brother: “My poem “Princess Volkonskaya,” which I wrote in the summer in Karabikha, has such a success that none of my previous writings had...
The literary mongrels pinch me, and the public reads and buys them up.” Critical reviews were immediately published by the magazine “Russian Thought” and the newspaper “St. Petersburg Vedomosti” (Burenin), who noted that “the civic motives that once lit the hearts of fans of this most St. Petersburg of all St. Petersburg poets have faded and no longer make an impression.” F. M. Dostoevsky (“Citizen”, 1873), to whom revolutionary pathos and “uniformity of thought” were alien, joined the reproaches expressed for “melodrama” and “false civic effect.”
Suvorin (New Time, 1873) spoke in defense of Nekrasov’s new poem, noting that for the lines about the people “the poet will be absolved of all mistakes and misconceptions - whoever knows how to feel so deeply will never die in the grateful memory of posterity.”
A deep, detailed analysis of the poem “Russian Women” was given in an article by Skabichevsky (“Notes of the Fatherland,” 1877).
