Nekrasov nikolai alekseevich - reflections at the front entrance - read the book for free. Reflections at the front entrance - Nekrasov poems

Here is the main entrance. On solemn days, Possessed by a servile affliction, The whole city with some kind of fright Drives up to the cherished doors; Having written down their name and title, The guests are dispersed home, So deeply pleased with themselves, What do you think - that is their calling! And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance is besieged by wretched faces: Projectors, seekers of places, And an elderly man, and a widow. From him and to him then and know in the morning All couriers with papers jump. Returning, another hums "tram-tram", And other supplicants cry. Once I saw the peasants came up here, Russian village people, Prayed at the church and stood in the distance, Hanging their blond heads to their chest; The doorman showed up. “Let it be,” they say With an expression of hope and anguish. He looked at the guests: they were ugly to look at! Tanned faces and hands, A thin little Armenian on the shoulders, On a knapsack on bent backs, Cross on the neck and blood on the legs, In homemade sandals shod (You know, they wandered for a long time From some distant provinces). Someone shouted to the doorman: "Drive away! Ours does not like the ragged rabble!" And the door slammed shut. After standing, the pilgrims untied the koshly, But the doorman did not let in, without taking a meager mite, And they went, the sun of the palima, Repeating: "God judge him!" And the owner of luxurious chambers was still deeply embraced by sleep ... You, who consider life an enviable rapture with shameless flattery, Draconianism, gluttony, play, Awake! There is also a pleasure: Turn them off! their salvation is in you! But the happy are deaf to the good ... The thunder of heaven does not frighten you, And you hold the earthly in your hands, And these unknown people carry Inescapable grief in their hearts. What is this crying grief to you, What is this poor people to you? Fast running Life does not give you an eternal holiday. And what for? You call the clickers for the good of the people; Without it you will live with glory And you will die with glory! A serene Arcadian idyll The old days will roll. Under the captivating sky of Sicily, In a fragrant tree shade, Contemplating how the purple sun Sinks into the azure sea, In stripes of its gold, - Lulled by the gentle singing of the Mediterranean wave, - like a child You will fall asleep, surrounded by the care of a dear and beloved family (Waiting for your death with impatience) ; They will bring your remains to us, To honor a funeral funeral feast, And you will go to the grave ... a hero, Secretly cursed by your fatherland, Exalted with loud praise! .. However, why are we such a person Disturbing for small people? Shouldn't we vent our anger against them? ”“ It's safer ... It's even more fun To look for consolation in something. .. It doesn't matter what the man will tolerate: So the providence leading us Has indicated ... but he's used to it! Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern Poor peasants will drink everything to a ruble And go, begging the road, And groan ... Native land! Give me such a monastery, I have never seen such a corner, Where would your sower and keeper, Where would not a Russian peasant moan? He groans in the fields, along the roads, He groans in prisons, in prison, In the mines, on an iron chain; He groans under the barn, under the haystack, Under the cart, sleeping in the steppe; Moans in his own poor house, I'm not happy with the light of the sun of God; Moans in every remote town, At the entrance of ships and chambers. Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard Above the great Russian river? We call this groan a song - That barge haulers are running along the line! .. Volga! Volga! .. In a spring full of water You do not flood the fields like that, As our land was overflowing with great grief of the people, - Where there are people, there is a groan ... Eh, heart! What does your endless groan mean? You will wake up, full of strength, Or, obeying the law of fate, You have already done everything that you could, - Created a song like a moan, And spiritually rested forever? ..

Notes: The poem, according to Panaeva's memoirs, “was written by Nekrasov when he was in a blues. He lay then all day on the sofa, ate almost nothing and did not take anyone to him. [...] The next morning I got up early and, going up to the window, became interested in the peasants sitting on the steps of the front staircase in the house where the Minister of State Property lived (M.N. Muravyov. V. Korovin). It was deep autumn, the morning was cold and rainy. In all likelihood, the peasants wanted to file some kind of petition and came to the house early in the morning. The doorman, sweeping the street, drove them away; they took refuge behind the ledge of the entrance and shifted from foot to foot, huddled against the wall and got wet in the rain. I went to Nekrasov and told him about the scene I had seen. He went to the window at the moment when the house janitors and the policeman were driving the peasants away, pushing them in the back. Nekrasov pursed his lips and nervously tweaked his mustache; then he quickly walked away from the window and lay down on the sofa again. Two hours later, he read me the poem "At the front door." Nekrasov completely reworked real life material, introducing themes of universal evil, biblical associations, motives of the highest court and retribution. All this gave the poem a generalized symbolic meaning. The idea of "salvation among the people" is combined with reflections on the tragic fate of the people. Many motives of the poem go back to the "satirical ode"

The poet describes the front porch of a house belonging to an influential and wealthy nobleman. Many people come to see him "on solemn days".

Writing down your name and title,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that is their calling!

They come to remind themselves of the powerful master of the house.

On ordinary, weekdays, life is also in full swing at the entrance: the common people crowd - "projectors, seekers of places, and an old man, and a widow", couriers with papers scurry about. Some petitioners leave satisfied, while others leave with tears in their eyes.

Once the poet saw how the peasants, “village Russian people,” approached the entrance and asked the doorman to let them in. After examining the guests, the doorman found them unprepossessing.

Tanned faces and hands
An Armenian girl is thin on the shoulders,
On a knapsack on bent backs,
Cross on my neck and blood on my feet
In homemade sandals shod
(You know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).

From the depths of the house, the doorman was ordered to drive the peasants - the owner "does not like the ragged rabble." The wanderers untied their purses, but the doorman did not take the "meager mite" and did not let him into the house. The peasants left, scorched by the sun, “spreading their hands hopelessly,” and walked for a long time with their heads uncovered. “And the owner of luxurious chambers” was sleeping sweetly at that time.

The poet calls on the nobleman to wake up, to abandon "red tape, gluttony, play" and shameless flattery, which he considers his life, and to accept the beggars, because only in them is his salvation. "But the happy are deaf to good" - the thunder of heaven does not frighten the rich man, but earthly power in his hands.

The rich man does not care about the common people. His life is an eternal holiday that does not allow him to wake up and see the people's poverty and grief. And the nobleman does not need it. And without concern for the welfare of the people, he will live and die "with glory."

The poet ironically describes how the nobleman lives out his days "under the captivating sky of Sicily", contemplating magnificent sunsets over Mediterranean Sea and then dies, surrounded by his family, eagerly awaiting his death.

They will bring your remains to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go down to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted with loud praise! ...

However, such a significant person should not be disturbed "for small people." On the contrary, it is better to "take out anger" on them - it is both safe and fun. And the peasant will habitually endure, as "the providence leading us" indicated to him. Having drunk the last penny "in a wretched tavern", the men with a groan will return home, "begging for the road."

The poet does not know a place where the Russian peasant, the "sower and keeper", would not groan. His groan is heard from everywhere - from fields and roads; from prisons, forts and mines; from barns and poor houses; from the "entrance of courts and chambers."

Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this groan a song -
Then the barge haulers go by the line! ...

The poet compares the people's grief with which "our land is overflowing" with the spring flood of the mighty Volga. He asks: what does this endless groan mean? Will the people "full of strength" wake up? Or has he already done everything he could - "created a song like a moan."

REFLECTIONS AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE
Here is the main entrance. On solemn days
Obsessed with a servile affliction
The whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and title,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days this lush entrance
Poor faces besieged:
Projectors, place finders
And an old man and a widow.
From him and to him that and know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another hums "tram-tram",
And some petitioners cry.
Once I saw the men came up here,
Village Russian people,
We prayed at the church and stood in the distance,
Hanging blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it be," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they were ugly to look at!
Tanned faces and hands
An Armenian girl is thin on the shoulders,
On a knapsack on bent backs,
Cross on my neck and blood on my feet
In homemade sandals shod
(You know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the doorman: "Drive!
Ours does not like the ragged rabble! "
And the door slammed shut. After standing,
The pilgrims unleashed the koshl,
But the doorman did not let him in, without taking a meager contribution,
And they went, burning the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!"
Spreading hopelessly hands
And as long as I could see them,
They walked bareheaded ...

And the owner of luxurious chambers
I was still deeply embraced by sleep ...
You, who thinks life is enviable
Delight in shameless flattery,
Red-headedness, gluttony, game,
Awake! There is still pleasure:
Throw them away! their salvation is in you!
But happy are deaf to good ...

Heavenly thunders do not scare you,
And you hold the earthly in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexperienced grief in the hearts.

What is this crying sorrow to you,
What is this poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life doesn't let you wake up.
And what for? Clickers with fun
You are calling for the people's good;
You will live without it with glory
And you will die with glory!
Serene Arcadian idyll
The old days will come.
Under the captivating skies of Sicily
In the fragrant shade of wood
Contemplating like the sun is purple
Plunging into the azure sea,
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting impatiently for your death);
They will bring your remains to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted with loud praise! ..

However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take out our grudge against them?
Safer ... even more fun
Look for consolation in something ...
It doesn't matter what the man will tolerate:
So providence guiding us
Pointed ... but he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern
The poor will drink everything to a ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan ... Native land!
Give me such a place
I have not seen such a corner
Where is your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He moans through the fields, along the roads,
He moans in prisons, in prison,
In the mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the haystack,
Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moans in his own poor house,
I'm not happy with the light of God's sun;
Moans in every remote town
At the entrance to the courts and chambers.
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
Then the barge haulers are on the line! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring full of water
You don't fill the fields like that
As the great tribulation of the people
Our land is overflowing, -
Where there are people, there is a groan ... Eh, heart!
What does your endless groan mean?
You will wake up full of strength
Or, obeying the law of destinies,
You have already done everything that you could, -
Created a song like a moan
And he rested spiritually forever? ..

1858
Nikolay Nekrasov

Reflections at the front entrance. Nekrasov's poems for children to read

Here is the main entrance. On solemn days
Obsessed with a servile affliction
The whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and title,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days this lush entrance
Poor faces besieged:
Projectors, place finders
And an old man and a widow.
From him and to him that and know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another hums "tram-tram"
And some petitioners cry.
Once I saw the men came up here,
Village Russian people,
We prayed at the church and stood in the distance,
Hanging blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it be," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they were ugly to look at!
Tanned faces and hands
The Armenian girl is thin on the shoulders.
On a knapsack on bent backs,
Cross on my neck and blood on my feet
In homemade sandals shod
(You know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the doorman: “Drive!
Ours does not like the ragged rabble! "
And the door slammed shut. After standing,
The pilgrims unleashed the koshl,
But the doorman did not let him in, without taking a meager contribution,
And they went, burning the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!"
Spreading hopelessly hands
And as long as I could see them,
They walked bareheaded ...

Heavenly thunders do not scare you,
And you hold the earthly in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexperienced grief in the hearts.

However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take out our anger against them? -
Safer ... even more fun
Look for consolation in something ...
It doesn't matter what the man will tolerate:
So providence guiding us
Pointed ... but he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern
The poor will drink everything to a ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan ... Native land!
Give me such a place
I have not seen such a corner
Where is your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He moans through the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, in prison,
In the mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the haystack,
Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moans in his own poor house,
I'm not happy with the light of God's sun;
Moans in every remote town
At the entrance to the courts and chambers.
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
Then the barge haulers are on the line! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring full of water
You don't fill the fields like that
As the great tribulation of the people
Our land is overflowing, -
Where there are people, there is a groan ... Eh, heart!
What does your endless groan mean?
You will wake up full of strength
Or, obeying the law of destinies,
You have already done everything that you could, -
Created a song like a moan
And he rested spiritually forever? ..

Krinitsyn A.B.

Nekrasov formulates his attitude towards the people most clearly and clearly in Reflections on the Main Entrance. This is a kind of creative manifesto of Nekrasov. If we try to analyze the genre of this poem, we will be forced to admit that we have never met this before. It is structured like a real accusatory speech. This is a work of oratory, and Nekrasov uses literally all the techniques of rhetoric (the art of eloquence). Its beginning is deliberately prosaic in its descriptive intonation: "Here is the main entrance ...", which rather refers to the realistic genre of the essay. Moreover, this front entrance really existed and was visible to Nekrasov from the windows of his apartment, which served at the same time as the editorial office of the Sovremennik magazine. But from the first lines it becomes clear that Nekrasov is important not so much the entrance itself, as the people who come to him, who are depicted sharply satirically:

Obsessed with a servile affliction

The whole city with some kind of fright

Drives up to the cherished doors;

Writing down your name and title,

Guests are leaving home

So deeply pleased with ourselves

What do you think - that is their calling!

Thus, Nekrasov makes a broad generalization: "the whole city" "drives up to the cherished doors." Front entrance appears before us as a symbol of the world of the rich and those in power, before whom the entire capital grovels slavishly. By the way, the house and the entrance, described by Nekrasov, belonged to Count Chernyshov, who earned notoriety in society for being the head of the Investigative Commission on the Decembrists' affairs, and handed down a strict guilty verdict to his relative, hoping to take possession of the property that remained after him. Hints that this person is odious (that is, hated by everyone) will later appear in the verse ("Secretly cursed by his fatherland, exalted with loud praise").

As an antithesis, the poor part of the city is immediately drawn:

And on ordinary days this lush entrance

Poor faces besieged:

Projectors, place finders

And an old man and a widow.

Then Nekrasov proceeds to present a specific episode: "Once I saw, men came here, village Russian people ...". The last two epithets seem superfluous at first glance: and it is so clear that since they are men, it means they are from the Russian countryside. But in this way Nekrasov expands his generalization: it turns out that in the person of these peasants, all peasant Russia approaches the entrance with a prayer for help and justice. In the appearance of the men and their behavior, Christian features are emphasized: poverty, gentleness, humility, gentleness. They are called "pilgrims", like wanderers to holy places, "sunburnt faces and hands" make you remember the hot sun of Jerusalem and the deserts, where the holy hermits retired ("And they went, the sun of a palima"). “The cross on the neck and blood on the feet” speaks of their martyrdom. Before approaching the entrance, they "prayed for the church." They pray to let them in "with an expression of hope and anguish," and when they are refused, they leave "with their heads uncovered," "repeating:" God judge him! " In the Christian understanding, under the guise of every beggar, Christ himself comes to a person and knocks at the door: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me” (Rev. 3.20). In this way, Nekrasov wants to appeal to the Christian feelings of readers and awaken in their hearts pity for the unfortunate peasants.

In the second part, the poet abruptly changes his tone and turns with angry accusations to the "owner of luxurious chambers":

You, who thinks life is enviable

Delight in shameless flattery,

Red-headedness, gluttony, game,

Awake! There is still pleasure:

Throw them away! their salvation is in you!

But happy are deaf to good ...

To further shame the dignitary, the accusatory poet paints the pleasures and luxuries of his life, painting pictures of Sicily, the favorite medical resort in Europe at that time, where his "fast-running" life will come to an end:

Serene Arcadian idyll

The old days will come:

Under the captivating skies of Sicily

In the fragrant shade of wood

Contemplating like the sun is purple

Plunging into the azure sea,

Stripes of his gold, -

Lulled by gentle singing

Mediterranean waves - like a child

You will fall asleep ...

So Nekrasov unexpectedly resorts to the genre of idyll, which nothing foreshadowed in this poem, painting a beautiful Mediterranean landscape. Romantic epithets appear: "captivating", "affectionate", "fragrant", "purple", "azure". The content also corresponds to a special rhythm: Nekrasov combines masculine and dactylic rhymes [v], and sometimes additionally uses intonation hyphens, dividing one sentence between two lines: “Stripes of his gold, - Lulled by gentle singing - of the Mediterranean wave, - like a child - You will fall asleep ... ", Rocking us on the waves of poetic melody, as if on the waves of a warm sea. However, this beauty is deadly for a rich man - in the literal sense of the word, for it comes about his death against the backdrop of such a beautiful scenery:

You will fall asleep ... surrounded by care

Dear and beloved family

(Waiting impatiently for your death);

And you will go to the grave ... hero,

Secretly cursed by the fatherland,

Exalted with loud praise! ..

Finally, the poet leaves the attention of the rich man and no longer turns to him, but to the readers, as if making sure that his heart still cannot be reached: "However, why are we Bothering such a person for small people?" and adopts the tone of a corrupt journalist, accustomed to hiding the problems and ulcers of society and writing about them condescendingly-derogatory:

... even more fun

Look for consolation in something ...

It doesn't matter what the man will tolerate:

So providence guiding us

Pointed ... but he's used to it!

Speaking on his own behalf, Nekrasov, in a mournful and sympathetic tone, draws the prospect of the genuine hardships and grievances of men who have left with nothing, which unfolds into an epic picture of people's suffering. The verse takes on a measured, stately movement of a drawn-out folk song. The former melodious alternation of dactyl and masculine rhymes is replaced by an alternation of masculine and feminine, which makes the verse firm and, as it were, "filled with strength." But this “strength” is inseparable from unbearable suffering: a groan becomes the key motive and general intonation of the song:

… Native land!

Give me such a place

I have not seen such a corner

Where is your sower and keeper,

Where would a Russian peasant not moan?

He moans through the fields, along the roads,

He moans in prisons, in prison,

In the mines, on an iron chain;

He groans under the barn, under the haystack,

Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe;

Moans in his own poor house,

I'm not happy with the light of God's sun;

Moans in every remote town

At the entrance to the courts and chambers.

The verb “groans” again and again sounds at the beginning of several lines (that is, it acts as an anaphora), moreover, its constituent sounds are repeated, “echoed” in neighboring words (“he groans ... in prison ... under a haystack). One gets the feeling that the same mournful cry is incessantly heard in all corners of the country. A peasant, so humiliated and powerless, appears as a "sower and keeper", the creative basis of life for the entire Russian land. It is spoken of in the singular, conventionally denoting a plurality - the entire Russian people (such a technique - singular instead of plural - is also rhetorical and is called synecdoche). Finally, in the Nekrasovskaya lyrics, the barge haulers, whose groan spreads over the entire Russian land, spreading "the great grief of the people", become a living embodiment of the people's suffering. Nekrasov turns to the Volga, making it at the same time a symbol of the land of the Russian, Russian folk element and at the same time of people's suffering:

Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard

Over the great Russian river?

Volga! Volga! .. In the spring full of water

You don't fill the fields like that

As the great tribulation of the people

Our land is overflowing ...

The word "groan" is repeated many times, to the point of exaggeration, and grows into an all-encompassing concept: a groan is heard throughout the Volga - "the great Russian river", characterizes the entire life of the Russian people. And the poet asks the last question, which hangs in the air, about the meaning of this groan, about the fate of the Russian people, and, accordingly, all of Russia.

Where there are people, there is a groan ... Eh, heart!

What does your endless groan mean?

You will wake up full of strength

Or, obeying the law of destinies,

All that you could, you have already done, -

Created a song like a moan

And he rested spiritually forever? ..

This question may seem rhetorical, it may seem overly politicized (like a call for an immediate uprising), but from our time perspective, we can only state that it really always remains relevant, that amazing humility by the "patience of an amazing people", the ability to endure unthinkable suffering in the very deed is its essential feature, which more than once turns out to be both saving and inhibiting the development of society and condemning it to apathy, decay and anarchy.

So, from the image of a certain front entrance, the poem grows to the breadth of the Volga expanses, all of Russia and its eternal questions. We can now define the genre of this poem as a pamphlet. This is a journalistic genre, a political article genre - a vivid, figurative presentation of one's political position, distinguished by its propaganda character and passionate rhetoric.

Another programmatic poem for Nekrasov was “ Railway". Many researchers regard it as a poem. If "Reflections at the front entrance" we compared with the genre of a pamphlet, then the designation of another journal genre - feuilleton - is just as applicable to "Railroad".

It would seem that the insignificant conversation on the train between the boy and his father-general leads the poet to "think" about the role of the people in Russia and about the attitude of the upper strata of society towards them.

It was not by chance that Nekrasov chose the railroad as a pretext for polemics. It was about one of the first railway lines - Nikolaevskaya, which connected Moscow and St. Petersburg. She became a real event in the life of Russia at that time. Nekrasov was not alone in devoting poetry to her. It was also sung in verse by Fet, Polonsky, Shevyrev. For example, Fet's poem "On the Railway" was widely known at that time, where the poeticized image of the road was organically and originally combined with a love theme. Riding fast has been compared to a magical flight that endures lyric hero into the atmosphere of a fairy tale.

Frost and night over the snowy distance,

And here it is cozy and warm

And before me, your face is tender

And a childishly clean brow.

Full of embarrassment and courage

With you, meek seraphim,

We are through wilds and ravines

We fly on a fiery serpent.

He sprinkles sparks of gold

On the illuminated snow

And we dream of different places,

Others dream of the shores.

And, doused with silver moon,

The mimovas trees are flying

Below us with a cast-iron roar

Instant bridges thunder.

The general public perceived the railway as a symbol of progress and Russia's entry into a new century, into the European space. Therefore, the boy's question about who created it became a matter of principle and was perceived as a dispute about which social class in Russia is the leading engine of progress. The general names Count Kleinmichel, the general manager of the railways, as the road builder. In the poet's opinion, the road owes its existence primarily not to ministers, not to German designers, who did not hire workers to merchant-contractors, but to hired laborers from the peasants who performed the most difficult and laborious task - they laid an embankment in the swampy swamps. Although the well-to-do family of the general plays in the nationality (the boy Vanya is dressed in a coachman's army jacket), he has no idea about the people and their life.

The poet enters into the conversation, inviting the general to tell Vanya the “truth” about the construction of the road and its builders, “in the moonlight”. He knows with what labors and sacrifices each mile of the embankment was given. He begins his story solemnly and enticingly, like a fairy tale:

There is a king in the world: this king is merciless,

Hunger is his name.

But then the tale turns into a terrible reality. Tsar-Hunger, setting the whole world in motion, drove countless "crowds of the people" to build the road. Disenfranchised peasants, forced to pay tribute to the landowner and feed their families, hired for a pittance, strained themselves to overwork, without any conditions for it, and died in thousands. Dobrolyubov, in one article by Sovremennik, pointed out that such orders were universal at that time, that both the new Volga-Don road and the roads built simultaneously with it were strewn with the bones of peasants who died at the construction site. He cited a confession from one of the contractors:

“Yes, I had such an unfortunate place on the Borisov road ... that half of the 700 workers died. No, there's nothing you can do about it if they start dying. As we went on the road from St. Petersburg to Moscow, more than six thousand tea was buried. " Nekrasov artistically processes this plot.

Straight path: narrow embankments,

Posts, rails, bridges.

And on the sides, all the bones are Russian ...

The soft melodiousness of the verse and the gentleness of the tone makes the story, oddly enough, even more eerie. The folklore lexicon shows that the poet is describing as if on behalf of the peasants themselves. Taking care of the “entertaining” of the story for the child, Nekrasov continues to preserve the fairy-tale flavor, unexpectedly resorting to the romantic genre of ballads.

Chu! menacing exclamations were heard!

Stomp and gnashing of teeth;

A shadow ran across the frosty glass ...

What is there? Dead crowd!

Exclamation-interjection "Chu!" - a direct reference to Zhukovsky's ballads, where it was his favorite means of awakening the reader's attention and imagination. As we remember, the appearance of the dead at midnight was one of the most common plot elements of the ballad. The ghosts of the murdered flew to the scene of the crime or visited the murderer in his home, punishing him with eternal fear and pangs of conscience, as retribution from above for his atrocity. Nekrasov uses the romantic genre for new purposes, investing in it a social meaning. The death of the peasants appears as a real murder, which is much more terrible than any crime in the ballad, since we are talking not about one, but about as many as thousands of those killed. The shadows of dead peasants appear in the romantic moonlight, throwing a terrible accusation with their appearance on the unwitting culprit of their death - upper class society, serenely enjoying the fruits of their labors and rolling in comfort on the rails, under which lie the bones of many builders. However, the ghosts of the peasants who have appeared are devoid of any magic-demonic flavor. Their singing immediately dispels the ballad nightmare: a folk labor song of the most prosaic content sounds:

... "On this moonlit night

Love us to see our work!

We struggled in the heat, in the cold,

With your back always bent

We lived in dugouts, fought hunger,

Freeze and wet, sick with scurvy.

It is through the lips of the workers that the truth that the narrator decided to tell Vanya is pronounced. They did not come to take revenge, not to curse the offenders, not to fill their hearts with horror (they are meek and almost holy in their gentleness), but only to remind of themselves:

Brothers! You are reaping our fruits!

We are destined to rot in the ground ...

Do you all remember us poor

Or forgotten for a long time? .. "

Such an appeal to travelers as “brothers” is tantamount to a request to remember them in prayer, which is the duty of every Christian to deceased ancestors and benefactors, so that they can receive the forgiveness of past sins and be reborn for eternal life. This parallel is also confirmed by the fact that the deceased men are further recognized as righteous - "God's warriors", "peaceful children of labor." From them, the poet calls on the youth to take an example and cultivate one of the main Christian virtues - work.

This work habit is noble

It would not be bad for us to adopt ...

Bless the work of the people

And learn to respect the man.

The railway is conceptualized as a symbol way of the cross of the Russian people (“The Russian people have endured enough, / Brought out this railroad too - / Whatever the Lord sends!”) and at the same time as a symbol of the historical path of Russia (comparable to the symbolic meaning with the motive of the road and the image of Russia-Troika in “The Dead souls "of Gogol):" It will carry everything - and a wide, clear / Breast will make a way for itself. " However, the tragedy of reality does not allow Nekrasov to be a naive optimist. Renouncing the lofty pathos, he concludes with sober bitterness:

It's a pity - to live in this beautiful time

You won't have to - neither for me, nor for you.

For Vanya, like the heroine of Zhukovsky's ballad “Svetlana,” everything he heard seems to be an “amazing dream,” into which he imperceptibly plunges into the story. According to Nikolai Skatov, a well-known expert on Nekrasov's work, “the picture of an amazing dream that Vanya saw is, first of all, a poetic picture. Liberating convention is a dream that makes it possible to see much that you will not see in ordinary life, is a motive widely used in literature. For Nekrasov, sleep ceases to be just a conventional motive. The dream in Nekrasov's poem is an amazing phenomenon, in which realistic images are boldly and unusually combined with a kind of poetic impressionism, what happens is precisely in a dream, or rather, not even in a dream, but in an atmosphere of a strange half-drowsiness. Something is always narrated by the narrator, something is seeing the disturbed children's imagination, and what Vanya saw is much more than what he was told. "

However, the second part of the poem brings us back to harsh reality. The mocking general, who recently returned from Europe, perceives the people as a "wild bunch of drunks", "barbarians" who "do not create, destroy the master", like the tribes of barbarians who destroyed the cultural wealth of the Roman Empire. At the same time, he quotes Pushkin's famous poem "The Poet and the Crowd", although he distorts the meaning of the quote: "Or is Apollo Belvedere for you Worse than a stove pot?" Here is your people - these baths and baths, a miracle of art - he has taken away everything! "The general replaces the concept of the people, thus, with the concept of the crowd, borrowed from Pushkin's poem" The Poet and the Crowd "(although Pushkin meant by the crowd not a people who cannot read, but just a wide layer of educated reading public, not versed in true art, like the general depicted.) He thus finds himself in the camp of supporters of "pure art", which included Druzhinin, Polonsky, Tyutchev and Fet. This is a deadly polemic device: Nekrasov depicts his eternal opponents in a satirical form, without directly opposing anything to them: they would hardly want to hear their position distorted by a half-educated general. of the creative mind. Speaking of creation, Nekrasov means the production of material goods, the general - scientific and artistic creativity state, creation of cultural values.

If we abandon the rude tone of the general, then we can recognize in his words a grain of truth: the destructive element also lurks in the people and comes out if he falls into anarchy. And Pushkin, to whom the general refers, was horrified by the "Russian revolt, senseless and merciless." Let's remember how many cultural values were destroyed in Russia during the 1917 revolution and the one that followed. civil war... Nekrasov, on the contrary, called on the people to revolt against their oppressors (although not as explicitly as they tried to present in Soviet years rather, he is talking about the ability of the people to defend their rights and not allow themselves to be exploited for free), did not know what terrible "genie" he wanted to "let out of the bottle."

The last part of the poem is frankly satirical, sharply different in tone from the previous ones. In response to the general's request to show the child the "bright side" of the road construction, the poet paints a picture of the completion of the people's works in the sunlight, which in this case sets a completely different genre for the story. If with the magical "moonlight" the higher, ideal essence of the people was revealed to us as an engine of progress and a moral standard for all other Russian estates, then in the sunlight we see by no means the "bright sides" folk life... The workers turned out to be deceived: not only were they not paid anything for their truly hard labor, but they were also cheated in a cruel way, so that "Every contractor has to stay, It’s a penny to take days off!" Illiterate peasants cannot verify a false calculation and look helpless like children. Nekrasov bitterly conveys their uneducated, almost meaningless speech: "" Maybe there is now a surplus here, here you go! .. "- they waved their hand ...". A fraudulent contractor arrives, "thick, squishy, red as copper." The poet tried to give him repulsive features: “Sweat wipes the merchant's face from his face And says, akimbo, picturesquely:“ Okay ... well done! .. well done! .. ”He behaves like a tsar and a universal benefactor: , now to their homes, - congratulations! (Hats down - if I say!) I expose a barrel of wine to the workers And - I give arrears ... "And the people naively rejoice at the forgiveness of invented debts, are not indignant at the impudent robbery and buy out of their weakness for wine on “A generous gift”: “The people unharnessed their horses - and the merchant, With a cry of“ hurray ”rushed along the road ...” Such - stupidly gullible and naive, who does not know the price of himself and his work, who cannot stand up for himself - the people appear in the epilogue This is his real state. It calls for correction. According to the poet, the people need to be helped, if he cannot do it himself.