They give us chronicles. Already the first acquaintance with Byzantine historical chronicles gave Russian scribes the idea of ​​​​creating something similar for their country. They began to collect ancient legends and keep annual records of current events. This primary material was combined and edited in general works - chronicles.

The compilation of a new chronicle was always associated with some important event political or church life - the beginning of the reign of the Grand Duke, the arrival of a new metropolitan or bishop, the construction of a temple. It is believed that the impetus for the beginning of Russian chronicle writing - the compilation of the Most Ancient Code - was the consecration of the St. Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv. The residence of the head of the Russian Federation was located near the cathedral. Orthodox Church- Metropolitan of Kyiv.

Changes in the political situation, as well as the vicissitudes of the intra-church struggle, pushed for the creation of new large chronicle monuments - the Abbot's Code Nikon(70s of the 11th century) and the Initial Code (1093-1095). Finally, the monk of the Kiev Pechersk Monastery got down to business Nestor.

The Tale of Bygone Years

Around 1113, Nestor finished his famous work, “The Tale of Bygone Years.” The name of the Nestor Chronicle comes from the first words of the text: “This is the tale of bygone years, where the Russian land came from, who began to reign first in Kyiv, and where the Russian land came from.” The words “Behold the message of bygone years...” translated from the Old Russian language mean approximately the following: “Here is the story of the past years...”

Creatively reworking the works of predecessors and supplementing them with our own materials (annual records of events recent years, information from Byzantine chronicles, treaties between Rus' and the Greeks, folk legends about the first Kyiv rulers, etc.), Nestor created a holistic and fascinating literary work. He presented a wide panorama of world (biblical) history, against the background of which the historical existence of the Eastern Slavs begins and the Kiev state is formed. Late summer scribes treated Nestor's work with great respect. They usually placed it in the initial part of their chronicle vaults.

The Tale of Bygone Years contains a detailed story about Prince Vladimir’s choice of faith. The prince’s envoys say: “And we came to the Greeks, and led us to where they serve their God, and we did not know whether we were in heaven or on earth: for there is no such spectacle and such beauty on earth, and we do not know how to tell about this."

A Word on Law and Grace

Almost all literary monuments that have survived to this day Kievan Rus imbued with a living religious feeling and filled with prayerful appeals to God and the saints. Some are distinguished by originality of thoughts and vivid artistic form. Among such works is the famous “Sermon on Law and Grace” by Metropolitan Hilarion.

“The Tale of Law and Grace” is the first author’s work of ancient Russian literature known to us. Basically, this is an Easter sermon, delivered by Hilarion, apparently in 1049. Hence the festive elation of tone, and the special, enthusiastic mood that permeates the entire work. He persistently pursues the idea of ​​the spiritual independence of Rus', “which is known and heard by all four ends of the earth.”

The desire to establish the spiritual independence of Rus', clearly noticeable in Hilarion’s “Sermon on Law and Grace,” was also manifested in the veneration of the first Russian saints - Prince Vladimir Svyatoslavich, his sons Boris and Gleb, the founders of the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery Antonia And Feodosia. According to church rules of that era, for posthumous canonization three conditions were necessary: ​​miracles at the tomb, incorruptibility of the relics and the presence of a life - a story about the life and exploits of the saint, about the miracles he performed. Material from the site

Lesson for children

The complete opposite of the loud rhetoric of “The Word of Law and Grace” was deeply personal in nature, filled with religious and philosophical reflections, “Instructions for Children” by Vladimir Monomakh. It was preserved in a single copy as part of the Laurentian Chronicle, recorded in 1096.

Literature of Kievan Rus (XI-XII centuries)

While mastering pan-Slavic intermediary literature and translating from Greek, Old Russian scribes simultaneously turned to creating original works of various genres. We cannot pinpoint exactly when the first records appeared. historical legends when they began to unite into a coherent historical narrative, but there is no doubt that already in the middle of the 11th century, if not earlier, the first Russian chronicles were compiled.

At the same time, the Kiev priest Hilarion (future metropolitan) writes “The Sermon on Law and Grace” - a theological treatise in which, however, from dogmatic reasoning about the superiority of “grace” (New Testament) over “law” (Old Testament) clearly emerges a pronounced church-political and patriotic theme: Rus', which adopted Christianity, is a country no less authoritative and worthy of respect than Byzantium itself. The Russian princes Igor and Svyatoslav became famous for their victories and “fortress”; Vladimir, who baptized Rus', is worthy of comparison with the apostles in terms of the significance of his act, and Kyiv prince Yaroslav Vladimirovich (under whom Hilarion wrote his “Tale”) does not “destroy”, but “affirms” his father’s undertakings. He created the Church of St. Sophia (St. Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv), the like of which is not found in the “surrounding” countries, decorating it with “all beauty, gold and silver and precious stones,” as Hilarion writes. D.S. Likhachev explained why it was so important to emphasize the construction of this temple: “by building the Church of Sophia in Kyiv, Yaroslav “built” the Russian metropolis, the Russian independent church. Calling the newly built temple the same name as main temple Greek Church, Yaroslav claimed equality of the Russian Church with the Greek." It was precisely this awareness of the equality of Rus' and Byzantium that was the main idea of ​​Hilarion’s “Lay”. These same patriotic ideas formed the basis of the oldest Russian chronicles.

Russian scribes also act in the hagiographic genre: in the 11th - early 12th centuries. the lives of Anthony of Pechersk (it has not survived), Theodosius of Pechersk, and two versions of the lives of Boris and Gleb were written. In these lives, Russian authors, undoubtedly familiar with the hagiographic canon and with the best examples of Byzantine hagiography, show, as we will see later, enviable independence and display high literary skill.

At the beginning of the 12th century. (apparently around 1117) the Kiev prince Vladimir Monomakh writes a “Teaching” addressed to his sons, but at the same time to those Russian princes who would like to listen to his advice. “Instruction” is surprising both in that it completely falls out of the strict system of genres, having no analogue in ancient Russian literature, and in that Monomakh reveals in it not only a state outlook and a rich life experience, but also high literary education and unconditional writing talent. Both the “Instruction” and the surviving letter from Monomakh to Oleg Svyatoslavich are not only literary monuments, but also important monuments of social thought: one of the most authoritative Kyiv princes is trying to convince his contemporaries of the harmfulness of feudal strife - Rus', weakened by strife, will not be able to actively resist external enemies. This basic idea of ​​Monomakh’s works echoes “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign.”

A decade earlier than the “Teaching” of Monomakh was written, the abbot of one of the Russian monasteries, Daniel, visited the Kingdom of Jerusalem (founded by the crusaders in Palestine conquered from the Arabs) and compiled a detailed account of his journey, which is known as “Daniel’s Walking in the Russian Land of the Abbot.” The traveler describes in detail the sights he saw, while retelling the stories associated with them biblical stories and apocryphal legends. Daniel acts as a patriot of his native land, not forgetting about its interests in distant countries, caring about its prestige.

Second half of the 12th century. marked by the rapid development of chronicle writing. The South Russian code of the early 15th century allows us to judge this. (Ipatiev Chronicle), which contains fragments from chronicles of an earlier time.

At the end of the 12th century. The bishop of the city of Turov, Kirill, one of the most brilliant ancient Russian writers, created his works. Especially significant place His work is dominated by words for church holidays, designed to be uttered in church during a solemn service. Thoughtful composition, richness of language, boldness and brightness of metaphors and comparisons, skill in constructing phrases and periods with all the tricks of rhetorical art ( syntactic parallelism, appeals, expressive antitheses, etc.) - all these advantages of Cyril’s works put him on the same level with the famous Byzantine writers.

crowns literary development this era "The Tale of Igor's Campaign".

Brief list of monuments of original Russian literature of the 11th-12th centuries. - and almost all the most significant works are named here - makes us think about how incomplete our information about the literature of Kievan Rus seems to be. We know only a small fraction of the works created then, only those that were lucky enough to survive terrible years Mongol-Tatar invasion.

This comparison involuntarily suggests itself. Artists of the era of classicism loved to depict a romantic landscape: among fields overgrown with bushes, where flocks of sheep graze and colorfully dressed shepherdesses play pipes, rise the ruins of a beautiful and majestic temple, which, it would seem, should stand not here, in the wilderness of the countryside, but in the square lively ancient city…

The literature of Kievan Rus represents something similar for us: several masterpieces that would make the glory of any literature rich in monuments - “The Tale of Bygone Years”, “The Life of Boris and Gleb”, “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”, “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign”, the works of Cyril Turovsky... But where are the links connecting them, the environment in which these masterpieces were created? It was precisely these feelings that once possessed A.S. Pushkin, who wrote bitterly: “Unfortunately, ancient literature does not exist among us. Behind us is the dark steppe - and on it rises the only monument - “Song of Igor’s Campaign.” In those years, ancient Russian literature was not yet “discovered”; Russian researchers would become more familiar with it two or three decades later. But the same feeling of “loneliness” of masterpieces does not leave us to this day. What is the reason for this strange phenomenon?

Of course, these monuments that have reached us were not alone, they simply could not be alone, since they testify to the existence literary schools, O high level and literary mastery, and the literature itself that gave birth to them.

Before approaching the answer to our puzzling question, let us give one fairly striking example. In the Ipatiev Chronicle, we read in an article from 1147 about Metropolitan Clement Smolyatich (that is, who came from the Smolensk land) - “he was a scribe and a philosopher, like no one in the Russian land.” But what do we know about the work of this “scribe and philosopher,” who, according to the chronicler, had no equal in the Russian land? We know only the beginning of his “Epistle to Thomas the Prosperer.” This is very little, but also quite a lot: the fact is that from the letter we learn about an extremely interesting and significant fact of the literary life of Kievan Rus: Clement defends to his opponent the legitimacy of the “influential” interpretation of the Holy Scriptures, that is, interpretation with the help of allegorical stories - parable So, on the one hand, both the chronicle and the reason known to us that caused the dispute between Clement and Thomas speak about the same thing - Clement Smolyatich was undoubtedly an educated and well-read writer (Thomas even reproached him for writing “from Omir [ Homer], and from Aristotle [Aristotle], and from Plato") and, probably, quite prolific if he enjoyed such fame and authority. On the other hand, if it weren’t for the chance that it survived in the only list of the 15th century. "Epistle", we would have learned absolutely nothing about Clement, except for the above description in the chronicle. Another example. In the 12th century, in Kievan Rus there were several chronicle centers; “ancestral” chroniclers were compiled at the princely courts. Both these chroniclers and local chronicles were lost, and if it were not for the South Russian code of the end of the 12th century, which included fragments from these sources, and not the Ipatiev Chronicle of the beginning of the 15th century, which preserved this code, we would not know anything about chronicle writing on Rus' XII century, nor about the events of this time themselves - in other chronicles events in Southern Rus' are mentioned extremely sparingly.

If the Laurentian Chronicle of 1377 had not been preserved, we would have moved away from the time of creation of the “Tale of Bygone Years” by three centuries, for the next oldest lists of the “Tale” date back to the 15th century.

In a word, we know very little about the literature and bookishness of Kievan Rus. The Mongol-Tatar invasion led not only to the death of tens or hundreds of thousands of people, not only to the desolation of cities, including the largest centers of writing, it most cruelly destroyed ancient Russian literature itself. Only those works whose copies managed to survive and attract the attention of scribes of the 14th or 15th centuries became known to researchers of modern times. Thus, Abbot Daniel’s journey took place at the beginning of the 12th century, at which time he wrote his “Walk,” however, the older copies of the monument date only to the 15th century.

The oldest copy of the “History of the Jewish War,” translated in the 12th century, dates back to the end of the 15th century. At the same time, as N.A. believes. Meshchersky, the copies of the ancient translation were lost in Rus'. But in 1399 in Constantinople, the Russian scribe John rewrote the Russian list that was there; From this manuscript of John, which returned again to Rus', the handwritten tradition of the monument was revived.

So, the literary monuments of the 11th-12th centuries that have survived to modern times. - these are only by a happy coincidence the surviving remnants of literature, which was in its heyday on the eve of the Mongol-Tatar invasion. The high level of this literature is evidenced, in particular, by those works to the analysis of which we now turn.

"The Tale of Bygone Years"

Every nation remembers and knows its history. In stories, legends, and songs, information and memories of the past were preserved and passed on from generation to generation. The chronicle - a systematic chronicle kept year after year - grew to a large extent on the basis of the oral historical epic.

Chronicle of how literary genre(and not historical records in general!) appears, apparently, in the middle of the 11th century. However ancient lists Chronicles date back to a later time: the 13th and 14th centuries. dates back to the Synodal list of the First Novgorod Chronicle.

The Laurentian list dates back to 1377, the Ipatiev list of the Ipatiev Chronicle - to the first quarter of the 15th century. The remaining lists of chronicles are from a later time. Therefore history ancient period Scientists have to reconstruct the development of Russian chronicles based on the texts of the lists mentioned above, separated from the time of compilation of the chronicles themselves by a significant period of time.

The study of chronicles is further complicated by the following circumstance. Almost every chronicle is a vault. This means that the chronicler, as a rule, not only recorded contemporary events, but supplemented with his notes the text of an earlier chronicle that told about the previous period. Therefore, it turns out that in almost every chronicle the history of Rus' is set out “from the very beginning” - the text of the “Tale of Bygone Years” is given in full or in an abbreviation, sometimes very significant, telling “where the Russian land came from.” When compiling a new chronicle, the chronicler did not treat his sources formally, mechanically “folding” them: he edited the text of his predecessor, shortened it or supplemented it from other sources, and sometimes, in accordance with his historiographical views, changed the assessment of events or reinterpreted individual facts. All these features of the work of ancient Russian historiographers significantly complicate the study of chronicles. However, science has developed a fairly advanced methodology for studying chronicle texts: by comparing them, similarities or differences between fragments telling about the same events are established, the sources of the corpus under study, the degree and nature of their processing in it, and the estimated time of its compilation are determined.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” which will be discussed below, was created at the beginning of the 12th century. Nestor is traditionally considered to be the compiler of its first edition, although the question of the possibility of identifying Nestor the chronicler and Nestor the hagiographer, the author of “The Life of Boris and Gleb” and “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk,” remains debatable to this day. In the rich chronicle tradition Ancient Rus'“The Tale of Bygone Years” occupies a very special place. According to D.S. Likhachev, it was “not just a collection of facts of Russian history and not just a historical and journalistic work related to the urgent but transitory tasks of Russian reality, but an integral, literary history of Rus'.

“We can safely say,” the scientist continues, “that never before or later, until the 16th century, has Russian historical thought risen to such a height of scholarly inquisitiveness and literary skill.”

The oldest edition of the “Tale of Bygone Years” has not reached us, but the second edition of the “Tale” has been preserved as part of the Laurentian and Radzivilov Chronicles, apparently only slightly changing its original text.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” like most chronicles, is a collection, a work based on previous chronicle works, which included fragments from various sources, literary, journalistic, folklore, etc. Let us abstract here from the question of the origin of the components of the Tale of Bygone Years and, in particular, its relationship with the previous chronicle of the late 11th century. (scientists call it the Initial Vault) and look at it as a solid monument.

“This is the Tale of Bygone Years, where the Russian Land came from, who began the first reign in Kyiv, and where the Russian Land began to eat from” - the chronicle begins with these words, and these first words became its traditional name - “The Tale of Bygone Years”.

For monuments of medieval historiography dedicated to the problems general history, that is, for chronicles, it was typical to begin the presentation “from the very beginning,” with the creation of the world, and trace the genealogical lines of the ruling dynasties to mythical heroes or even gods.

“The Tale of Bygone Years” did not remain aloof from this trend - Nestor also begins his narrative from a certain starting point. According to biblical legend, God, angry at the human race, mired in all kinds of sins, decided to destroy it by sending a global flood to the earth. All “antediluvian” humanity perished, and only Noah, his wife, three sons and daughters-in-law managed to escape. From the sons of Noah - Shem, Ham and Japheth - came the people who now inhabit the earth. That's what the Bible said.

Nestor therefore begins the “Tale of Bygone Years” with a story about the division of the land between the sons of Noah, listing in detail, following the Byzantine chronicles, the lands that went to each of them. In these chronicles, Rus', of course, was not mentioned, and the chronicler skillfully introduces the Slavic peoples into the context of world history: in the said list, after mentioning Ilyuric (Illyria - the eastern coast of the Adriatic Sea or the people who lived there), he adds the word “Slavs”. Then, in the description of the lands inherited by the descendants of Japheth, references to Russian rivers appear in the chronicle - the Dnieper, Desna, Pripyat, Dvina, Volkhov, Volga. In the “part” of Japheth, the chronicler reports, “Rus, Chud and all the nations live: Merya, Muroma, all...” And then follows a list of tribes inhabiting the East European Plain.

After this, the chronicler moves on to the history of the Slavs, telling how they settled across the earth and how they were nicknamed depending on the place where they stayed to live: those who settled along the Morava River were called Maravas, those who settled on the banks of the Polot River were “nicknamed Polotsk", and the Slovenes, who settled on the shores of Lake Ilmen, "were nicknamed by their name." The chronicler tells about the founding of Novgorod and Kyiv, about the customs of the Polyans, who, unlike the Drevlyans, Vyatichi and Northerners, were “men of wisdom and understanding” and kept the custom of their fathers “meek and quiet.” This introductory historiographical part of The Tale of Bygone Years ends with a plot episode. The Khazars demanded tribute from the Polans (the tribe living in and around Kyiv), and they paid them tribute with swords. And the Khazar elders said to their ruler: “The tribute is not good, prince!...They will imati [will collect] tribute on us and in other countries.” “Now everything has come true,” the chronicler proudly concludes.

This introductory part of The Tale of Bygone Years has important historiographical significance. It stated that the Slavs, and Rus', among the Slavic peoples, as equals among equals, are mentioned among other peoples - the descendants of the most worthy of the sons of Noah - Japheth. The Slavs, as if fulfilling some destiny from above, populated the lands allotted to them, and the glades, on whose land the future capital of Rus', Kyiv, was located, have long stood out for their wisdom and high morality among other tribes. And finally, the prediction of the wise Khazar elders came true - Rus' now does not obey anyone, it itself collects tribute from the surrounding peoples. This is how Nestor defined the place of the Slavs and Rus' in world history. No less important task there was a justification for the rights of the Kyiv princes to own the entire Russian land. The legend about the calling of the Varangians appeared in the Primary Code; it received its final completion from Nestor. According to this legend, strife began among the Slavic tribes, “clan after clan arose,” and it was decided to invite foreign princes from overseas to come to establish order, to “rule and rule” over them. The chronicle tells us that three brothers came to Rus' - Rurik, Sineus and Truvor. Two of them died, and Rurik began to reign in Novgorod. After the death of Rurik, his relative Oleg became the prince, since Rurik’s son Igor was still a “child Velmi”. Oleg, together with the baby Igor, went from Novgorod to the south, by cunning (and at the same time legally, for he acted “on behalf of” the son of Rurik) captured Kyiv and began to reign there. After Oleg’s death, Igor became the prince of Kyiv, that Igor, whose descendants still (during the years of the creation of the “Tale of Bygone Years”) reign in Kyiv and in other appanages of the Russian land.

Researchers without much difficulty revealed the legendary nature of the story about the calling of the Varangians. Suffice it to mention that the most ancient Russian monuments trace the dynasty of the Kyiv princes to Igor, and not to Rurik; It is also strange that Oleg’s “regency” lasted under the “young” Igor for no less than 33 years, and that in the Initial Code Oleg is called not a prince, but a governor... But this legend was one of the cornerstones of ancient Russian historiography. It corresponded primarily to the medieval historiographical tradition, where the ruling clan was often elevated to a foreigner: this eliminated the possibility of rivalry between local clans. “They believed in the origin of French kings from the Trojans even in the 16th century. The Germans derived many of their dynasties from Rome, the Swiss from the Scandinavians, the Italians from the Germans,” D.S. illustrates this idea. Likhachev.

Secondly, the statement that the Rurik dynasty was rooted in ancient times was, in the opinion of the chronicler, to raise the prestige of the blood relationship of the Rurik princes, strengthen their consciousness of fraternal ties, and prevent civil strife. However, feudal practice turned out to be stronger than the most convincing historiographical concepts.

The introductory part of The Tale of Bygone Years has no dates. The first date in the chronicle is 6360 (852). From that time, the chronicler claims, “the nickname Ruska land began.” The basis for this was the story of the Byzantine “Chronicle of George Amartol” about the campaign of Rus' against Constantinople, which the chronicler himself identified with the campaign of the Kyiv princes Askold and Dir (who were later killed by Oleg). The same article of 852 contains the traditional calculation for Byzantine chronography of the years that have passed from one significant event world history to another. It begins, as usual, by counting the years that have passed from Adam to the flood, from the flood to Abraham, etc., but, having mentioned the Byzantine emperor Michael III (842-867), the chronicler moves on to the events of Russian history: “And from the first summer Mikhailov until the first summer of Olgov, a Russian prince, 29 years old...” And in this case, the history of Rus' under the pen of the chronicler naturally merges with world history, continuing it.

The breadth of historical horizons that distinguishes introductory part“The Tale of Bygone Years” is also inherent in its further presentation. Thus, talking about Vladimir’s “choice of faiths,” the chronicler cites a lengthy speech, as if delivered to the prince by a Greek missionary, in which the entire sacred history is briefly recounted (from the “creation of the world” to the crucifixion of Christ), and comments on the decisions of the seven ecumenical church councils, at which controversial dogmatic issues of Christian doctrine were resolved, the “Latins” were exposed, that is, supporters of the Catholic faith, who openly opposed themselves to the Greek Church after 1054. We see that the chronicle in these cases goes beyond the framework of Russian history itself, raising problems of ideological and church-dogmatic character.

But the chronicler, of course, analyzes and comprehends especially deeply the events in Rus'. He evaluates the significance of its Christianization, the activities of Russian translators and book writers under Yaroslav the Wise; talking about the emergence of the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery, he persistently emphasizes the connection between Russian monasteries and the famous monasteries of Byzantium.

Chroniclers do not simply recount events, but try, of course in the traditions of medieval Christian historiography, to comprehend and explain them. The chronicler interprets the defeat of the Russian princes in the war of 1068 with the Polovtsians as a consequence of “God’s wrath” and even finds a specific reason for the manifestation of divine retribution: in Rus', according to him, there are still many Christians who are like that only in words, they are superstitious, the devil is all sorts of he distracts them from God with temptations, “with trumpets and buffoons, guslmi and mermaids [feasts of remembrance of the dead].” At the games, the chronicler laments, “there are a lot of people,” “but the churches stand, but when there is a year of prayer [the hour of worship], few of them are found in the church.”

The chronicle returns again to the topic of “executions of God” in article 10S2, telling about the defeat of the Russian princes in the battle with the Polovtsians at Trepol (south of Kyiv). After abundantly peppered with biblical quotations, discussions about the reasons that brought about divine punishment, the chronicler paints a dramatic picture: the Polovtsians are leading away captured Russian captives, and those, hungry, thirsty, undressed and barefoot, “their feet are gored with thorns [wounded on thorny grasses], with I answered each other with tears, saying: “I am the beg of this city,” and others: “I am sowing all [villages, settlements]”; they ask [question] with tears, telling their family and lifting their eyes, lifting their eyes to heaven to the highest, who knows the secret.” It is not difficult to understand the feelings of the people of that time and the complexity of the task of scribes and church preachers: having adopted a new religion, the Russian people, it would seem, placed themselves under the protection of a powerful and just God. So why does this god grant victory to the filthy (pagan) Polovtsy and condemn his faithful Christians to suffering? This is how the constant theme of divine retribution for sins arises in medieval literature.

The chronicle also addresses this topic in an article in 1096, which tells about a new raid by the Polovtsians, during which the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery was also damaged. The chronicler has no choice but to promise that Christians suffering on earth will be rewarded with the kingdom of heaven for their torment. But the thought of the power of the “filthy” does not leave the chronicler, and he cites an extensive extract from the apocryphal word of Methodius of Patara, “explaining” the origin of various nomadic peoples and mentioning, in particular, the legendary “unclean peoples” who were driven by Alexander the Great to the north, imprisoned in the mountains, but who will “come out” from there “by the end of the century” - on the eve of the destruction of the world. Dangers came to the Russian land not only from outside: the country was tormented by internecine wars of princes. Chroniclers passionately oppose fratricidal strife. It is apparently no coincidence that the unnamed (and perhaps formulated by the chronicler himself) speech of the princes at the meeting (congress) in Lyubech is cited: “Why are we destroying the Russian land, on which we ourselves are active? And the Polovtsy carry our land differently, and for the sake of the essence, they also fight between us. Yes, from now on we are in one heart and guard the Russian lands.”

However, Lyubechsky did not put an end to “which”; on the contrary, immediately after its end, a new atrocity was committed: Prince Vasilko Terebovlsky was slandered and blinded. And the chronicler inserts into the text of the chronicle a separate detailed story about the events of this time, a passionate “story of princely crimes” (words by D.S. Likhachev), which should convince not only the mind, but also the heart of readers of the urgent need for sincere and real brotherly love among the Rurikovichs . Only their union and joint actions can protect the country from the ruinous raids of the Polovtsians and warn against internal strife.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” as a monument to historiography, is permeated with a single patriotic idea: chroniclers strive to present their people as equal among others Christian peoples, proudly remember the glorious past of their country - the valor of the pagan princes, the piety and wisdom of the Christian princes. The chroniclers speak on behalf of all of Rus', rising above petty feudal disputes, strongly condemning strife and conflicts, describing with pain and anxiety the disasters brought by the raids of nomads. In a word, “The Tale of Bygone Years” is not just a description of the first centuries of the existence of Rus', it is a story about great beginnings: the beginning of Russian statehood, the beginning of Russian culture, about the beginnings that, according to the chroniclers, promise future power and glory for their homeland.

But “The Tale of Bygone Years” is not only a monument of historiography, it is also an outstanding monument of literature. In the chronicle text one can distinguish two types of narration, which differ significantly from each other. One type is weather records, i.e. brief information about the events that took place. Thus, article 1020 consists of one message: “A son was born to Yaroslav, and his name was Volodimer.” This is a fixation historical fact, nothing more. Sometimes a chronicle article includes a number of such recordings, a list various facts, sometimes it is even reported in sufficient detail about an event that is complex in its structure: for example, it is reported who took part in any military action, where the troops gathered, where they moved, how this or that battle ended, what messages were exchanged between enemy princes or princes -allies. There are especially many such detailed (sometimes multi-page) weather records in the Kyiv Chronicle of the 12th century. But the point is not in the brevity or detail of the narrative, but in its very principle: whether the chronicler informs about the events that took place and whether he talks about them, creating a plot narrative. The Tale of Bygone Years is characterized by the presence of just such plot stories. Let us give one illustrative example of a short chronicle story.

Article 968 tells about the siege of Kyiv by the Pechenegs. Prince Svyatoslav is far from his capital: he is fighting in Bulgaria. His mother, the elderly Princess Olga, and his sons remained in besieged Kyiv. People are “exhausted... with hunger and water [from lack of water].” On the opposite bank of the Dnieper, the Russian governor Pretich is with his retinue. The chronicle tells how a message from Princess Olga from the besieged city was conveyed to the governor. Let us present this chronicle fragment translated by D.S. Likhachev: “And the people in the city began to grieve and said: “Is there anyone who could get to the other side and tell them: if you don’t approach the city in the morning, we will surrender to the Pechenegs.” And one youth said: “I will pass,” and they answered him: “Go.” He left the city, holding a bridle, and ran through the Pecheneg camp, asking them: “Has anyone seen a horse?” For he knew Pecheneg and was accepted as one of their own. And when he approached the river, he threw off his clothes, threw himself into the Dnieper and swam. Seeing this, the Pechenegs rushed after him, shot at him, but could not do anything to him. On the other side they noticed him, drove up to him in a boat, took him into the boat and brought him to the squad. And the youth said to them: “If you don’t approach the city tomorrow, the people will surrender to the Pechenegs.”

The story does not end there: it tells how Governor Pretich cunningly made peace with the Pechenegs and how Svyatoslav rid his capital of his enemies. However, let's return to the episode in question. What we have before us is not just information that a certain youth, having reached Pretich, conveyed to him the princess’s request, but an attempt to describe exactly how the youth managed to carry out his daring plan. The boy runs through the enemy’s camp with a bridle in his hand, asking in their native language about the supposedly missing horse - all these details make the story visible and convincing; This is an artistically organized plot, and not dry information about what happened. So, in addition to the actual weather records, the chronicle also knows plot stories, and it is they that place the chronicle genre among other genres of ancient Russian literature.

In The Tale of Bygone Years, a special place is occupied by stories that go back to oral historical traditions and legends. These are precisely the stories about the first Russian princes: Oleg, Igor, Princess Olga, about Svyatoslav, about the time of Vladimir. These stories especially showed the style of chronicle narration that D.S. Likhachev called it an epic style.

Here it is necessary to emphasize that style in ancient Russian literature is not a narrow linguistic phenomenon, not only syllables and linguistic means themselves. Style is a special vision of the world, a special approach to its depiction, and also, of course, the sum of techniques (including linguistic ones) with the help of which this approach is implemented.

Thus, for a narrative in an epic style, it is typical that the hero is a man of heroic feat, distinguished by some extraordinary quality - cunning, intelligence, courage, strength; such “a hero is closely connected with one or several exploits, his characteristics are single, unchangeable, attached to the hero.”

A story about such a hero is usually a story about his feat, hence the indispensable feature of such a story is the presence of a sharp, entertaining plot. Very often, the shaping force of a plot collision is the hero’s cunning. The Kiev youth, whom we discussed above, outwitted the Pechenegs. It differs in cunning in folk legends and Princess Olga: the success of all her “revenge” on the Drevlyans for the murder of her husband is determined by the insidious wisdom of the princess, cunningly deceiving the simple-minded and arrogant Drevlyans. Let's see how these chronicle stories about Olga's revenge are constructed.

An article from 945 tells that after the murder of Igor, the Drevlyans sent envoys to his widow with an offer to marry their prince Mal. The Drevlyan ambassadors, sailing on boats to Kyiv, landed near Borichev. And here is an interesting clarification: “before then the water flowed along the side [at the foot] of the Kiev mountain and on the valley not the gray people, but on the mountain,” it further explains where exactly Kyiv was then located, where the princess’s tower stood, etc. Why these details, which at first glance only slow down the flow of the story? Apparently, this is a trace of an oral narrative, when the narrator, addressing the listeners, sought to achieve their visual or, better yet, spatial empathy: now that the borders of Kyiv have become different, the listeners need to explain what the city was like then, in the distant times of the reign of Igor and Olga .

“And she told Olza that the Drevlyans had arrived...” the chronicler continues the story. What follows is Olga’s dialogue with the Drevlyan ambassadors. Lively, relaxed dialogue is an indispensable element of the story, it is often psychologically dispassionate, it is characterized by illustrative speech, what is important is not what is said, but only what is said, since this “what” is the grain of the plot. So, Olga invites the Drevlyan ambassadors to go to their boats for the night, and in the morning demand from the people of Kiev: “We are not going on horseback, nor are we going on foot, but you will carry us to the boats.” This favor of Olga towards the ambassadors of her husband’s killer is unexpected, and thanks to this the plot acquires a certain tension and entertainment. However, the author immediately ceases to intrigue the listener, reporting that Olga “ordered to dig a large and deep hole in the yard.” Here, as in other epic stories, one remains in the dark until the last moment. bad guy, and the reader guesses (or even definitely knows) about the cunning of the positive hero and anticipates victory in advance, the intrigue is ajar for “his” reader and remains a mystery for the enemy in the story.

And indeed, the Drevlyan ambassadors, not suspecting deception, demand to be carried into the boat, as the princess advised them: the chronicler emphasizes that they sit in it “proudly”; this further sharpens the denouement of the plot: the Drevlyans, intoxicated by the imaginary honors shown to them, are unexpectedly thrown into a pit, and Olga, approaching the edge of it, asks with ominous irony: “Are you honorable?” And he orders them to be buried alive.

The story about Olga’s last, fourth revenge is constructed according to the same scheme: having besieged the capital of the Drevlyans, Iskorosten, Olga suddenly declares her mercy: “And I no longer want to take revenge, but I want to take tribute little by little, and having resigned myself to you, I will go [back] again.” The tribute that Olga demands is really insignificant: three doves and three sparrows from the yard. But when the Drevlyans bring the required birds, Olga’s warriors, by order of the princess, tie to each of them “a tser [tinder], wrapping them in scarves of mali, twisting [tying] them with a thread.” In the evening, the birds are released into the wild, and they carry lighted tinder on their paws to the city: “the pigeons flew into their nests, the pigeons flew into the dovecotes, and into the eaves of the bird; and so the dovetails, the cages, the vezhes, the odrinas [barns, haylofts] began to burn, and there was no yard where there was no fire.”

So, the entertainment of the plot is based on the fact that the reader, together with the positive hero, deceives (often cruelly and insidiously in a medieval manner) the enemy, who until the last moment is unaware of his disastrous fate.

Another thing is also important: the liveliness and naturalness of the story is achieved not only by the indispensable introduction of character dialogue into it, but also by a detailed, scrupulous description of any details, which immediately evokes a unique visual image in the reader. Let us pay attention to how in detail the method by which the tinder was attached to the legs of the birds is described, how various buildings are listed that were “ignited” by the sparrows and pigeons who returned to their nests and under the eaves (again a specific detail).

We encounter all the same features of the epic legend that are already familiar to us in the story about the siege of Belgorod by the Pechenegs, read in the “Tale of Bygone Years” under 997. Famine began in the besieged city. Having gathered at the meeting, the townspeople decided to surrender to the mercy of their enemies: “We will give in to the Pechenegs, and who will we live, who will we kill? We are already dying from hunger.” But one of the elders was not present at the meeting and, having learned about the decision of the people, offered his help. By order of the old man, two wells were dug, the townspeople collected handfuls of oats, wheat and bran, got honey from the prince's medusha (pantry), and from these supplies they prepared "tsezh", from which they make jelly, and sytu - a drink made from honey diluted with water . All this was poured into tubs installed in wells. Then Pecheneg ambassadors were invited to the city. And the townspeople said to them: “Why are you ruining yourself? If [when] can you prevail over us? If you stand for 10 years, what can you do for us? We have more food from the ground. If you don’t believe, let your eyes see it.” And then - again with details - it is told how the Pechenegs were led to the wells, how they drew water from them and had enough to eat, cooked jelly and treated the ambassadors. The Pechenegs believed in a miracle and lifted the siege from the city.

We have looked at only a few stories of folklore origin. These also include the legend about the death of Oleg, which served as the basis for the plot of Pushkin’s “Song of prophetic Oleg", a story about a young man-kozhemyak who defeated the Pecheneg hero, and some others.

But in the chronicles we also find other stories, the plots of which were certain particular facts. Such, for example, is the message about the uprising in the Rostov land, led by the Magi, the story of how a certain Novgorodian told fortunes to a magician (both in article 1071), a description of the transfer of the relics of Theodosius of Pechersk (in article 1091). Details are given about some historical events, and these are stories, and not just detailed plot notes. D.S. Likhachev, for example, drew attention to the plot nature of the chronicles’ “stories about princely crimes.” In the Tale of Bygone Years, these include the story of the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky in article 1097.

What distinguishes such stories from weather records? First of all, the organization of the plot. The narrator dwells in detail on individual episodes, which acquire a special meaning for the idea of ​​the entire story. Thus, talking about the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky - an event that led to a long internecine war in which many Russian princes were drawn, the chronicler strives by all means to expose the criminals: the Kyiv prince Svyatopolk Izyaslavich and the Volyn prince David Igorevich.

This episode of Russian history is as follows. In 1097, the princes gathered in the city of Lyubech for a congress, where they decided to live in unanimity (“we have one heart”) and strictly observe the principle: “let each one keep his fatherland.” But when the princes began to leave for their destinies, a hitherto unheard-of (as the chronicler claims) “evil” happened. The boyars slandered Vasilko Rostislavich, Prince of Terebovl, before Davyd Igorevich (Prince of Vladimir-Volynsky). They convinced their overlord that Vasilke had conspired with Vladimir Monomakh to attack him, Davyd, and the Kyiv prince Svyatopolk. The chronicler, however, explains the slander by the machinations of the devil, who, saddened by the newly proclaimed friendship of the princes, “climbed” into the heart of “a certain husband,” but one way or another, Davyd believed them and convinced Svyatopolk of the same. The princes persuade Vasilko to stay and stay with them in Kyiv on the way to his native land. Vasilke at first refuses, but then gives in to their requests.

The chronicler, in deliberate detail (with the usual laconicism of chronicle narration!), describes how they developed further events. Here are three princes sitting in Svyatopolk’s hut and talking. At the same time, Davyd, who himself convinced Vasilko to be captured, cannot contain his excitement: he is “grayed as if he were dumb.” When Svyatopolk goes out, supposedly to order breakfast, and Davyd remains with Vasilko, the conversation again does not go well: “And Vasilko began to speak to Davydov, and there was no voice in Davyd, no obedience [no matter how he could not speak , nor listen]: I was horrified [horrified] and had flattery in my heart.” Davyd cannot stand it and asks the servants: “Where is the brother?” They answer: “Stand on the senekh.” And, getting up, Davyd said: “I am going along, and you, brother, turn grey.” And, getting up, go out.” As soon as Davyd came out, the hut was locked, and Vasilko was chained. The next morning, after consulting with the people of Kiev, Svyatopolk orders Vasilko to be taken to the town of Belgorod near Kiev and there, on the advice of Davyd, to blind him. It is described in full detail how the prince's servants barely overcome the powerful and desperately resisting prince...

But let us return to the above episode of the conversation between the princes. It is notable for the fact that here the chronicler skillfully conveys not only actions (there are almost none), namely state of mind conspirators, and especially Davyd Igorevich. This psychologism, which is generally very rare for Old Russian literature of the older period, speaks both of the great artistic possibilities and of the literary skill of Old Russian scribes; These possibilities and this skill made themselves felt as soon as a sufficient reason presented itself, when it was necessary to create a certain attitude of the reader to what was being described. In this case, the chronicler departed from tradition, from the canon, from the usual dispassionate, etiquette depiction of reality, which is generally inherent in chronicle narration.

It is in the Tale of Bygone Years, like in no other chronicle, that plot stories are frequent (we are not talking about inserted stories in the chronicles of the 15th-16th centuries). If we take the chronicles of the 11th-16th centuries. In general, the chronicle as a genre is characterized by a certain literary principle, developed already in the 11th-13th centuries. and received from D.S., who examined it. Likhachev's name for the “style of monumental historicism”.

Monumental historicism permeates the entire culture of Kievan Rus; its reflection in literature, and even more narrowly in chronicles, is only a particular, concrete embodiment of it.

According to the chroniclers, history is a book of human existence, largely already written in advance, destined by divine providence. The struggle between good and evil is eternal in the world, and the situation is eternal when people neglect their duties to God, violate his “covenants” and God punishes the disobedient - with pestilence, famine, “the discovery of foreigners” or even the complete destruction of the state and the “waste” of the people. Therefore, the chronicle is full of analogies, broad historical perspectives; the outline of events appears in it only as partial manifestations of the mentioned “eternal” collisions. Therefore, the chronicle talks about the main characters of this historical mystery - kings, princes, governors and the main functions corresponding to their position in society. The prince is depicted primarily at the most central moments of his activity - upon accession to the throne, during battles or diplomatic actions; the death of the prince is a kind of result of his activities, and the chronicler seeks to express this result in ceremonial posthumous obituary, which lists the virtues and glorious deeds of the prince, and precisely those of his virtues that befit him as a prince and a Christian. The ceremonial nature of the image requires adherence to etiquette of verbal expression. The picture painted here is an ideal, a kind of ideological and aesthetic credo ancient Russian authors. We saw in the analysis of the “Tale of Bygone Years” that the chronicler often (and precisely in the “Tale of Bygone Years”, in contrast to subsequent chronicle collections) transgresses this credo, either giving way to the plots of historical legends, or offering entertaining eyewitness accounts, or focusing on the image individual, most significant historical episodes. In these cases, ceremony also retreated before the pressure of reality, as we saw in the story of the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky.

But if we leave aside these violations of the rules, these examples of literary freedom that the chroniclers, the creators of The Tale of Bygone Years and the collections that preceded it, allowed themselves, then in general the chronicle is a genre in which to the greatest extent reflected the main, main provisions of the style of monumental historicism.

“The Tale of Bygone Years” did not remain only a monument of its time. Almost everything started with the Tale chronicle vaults subsequent centuries, although, of course, in abbreviated vaults of the 15th-16th centuries. or in local chroniclers the ancient history of Rus' was presented in the form of brief selections about major events. And yet, history in them began from the very beginning, historical continuity continued to be recognized by Russian scribes until the 17th century.

In the XI - early XII centuries. the first Russian lives were created: two lives of Boris and Gleb, “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”, “The Life of Anthony of Pechersk” (not preserved until modern times). Their writing was not only a literary fact, but also an important link in the ideological policy of the Russian state. At this time, the Russian princes persistently sought from the Patriarch of Constantinople the rights to canonize their own Russian saints, which would significantly increase the authority of the Russian Church. The creation of a life was an indispensable condition for the canonization of a saint.

We will look here at one of the lives of Boris and Gleb - “Reading about the life and destruction” of Boris and Gleb and “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”. Both lives were written by Nestor. Comparing them is especially interesting, since they represent two hagiographic types - the life of the martyrium (the story of the martyrdom of the saint) and the monastic life, which tells about everything life path the righteous man, his piety, asceticism, the miracles he performed, etc. Nestor, of course, took into account the requirements of the Byzantine hagiographic canon. There is no doubt that he knew translated Byzantine lives. But at the same time, he showed such artistic independence, such extraordinary talent that the creation of these two masterpieces makes him one of the outstanding ancient Russian writers, regardless of whether he was also the compiler of “The Tale of Bygone Years” (this issue remains controversial).

"Reading about Boris and Gleb"

In addition to the two lives, a short article in the Tale of Bygone Years is also devoted to the fate of the sons of the Kyiv prince Vladimir Svyatoslavich - Boris and Gleb, the analysis of which is useful to precede the analysis of Nestor's "Reading".

Article 1015 of the “Tale of Bygone Years” tells that the Kiev prince Vladimir, who was about to set out on a campaign against the Pechenegs who attacked Rus', fell ill. He sends his son Boris at the head of his squad. In Boris's absence, the old prince dies. The chronicler gives the traditional obituary praise for the deceased prince and then moves on to the story of the fate of his sons (in the Laurentian Chronicle it is highlighted with a special heading: “About the murder of Borisov”). Let us give the beginning of the chronicle story.

“Svyatopolk sat in Kiev after his father, and called the Kiyans, and began to give them property. They were Primakh, and their hearts were not with him, like their brothers were with Boris. Boris, having returned from the howl, having not found the Pechenegs, the news came to him: “Your father is dead.” And weeping for our father, Velmi, we loved our fathers more [more] than anyone else, and came to the Lite [on the Alta River, near Kiev]. The squad decided to take away from him: “Behold, [here is] your squad to fight and howl. Go and sit on the table in Kiev.” He said: “Don’t let me lay my hands on my elder brother: if [if] my father dies, then take my father’s place.” And when he heard it, a howl came from him. Boris is standing with his youths [younger squad].

It is further said that Svyatopolk, having planned to kill Boris, wants to convince him of his disposition: “I want to have love with you, and I will add to you [I will add to that inheritance, to the property that you owned during your father’s life].” Svyatopolk himself “came to Vyshegorod [a town near Kiev] at night, secretly called Putsha and the Vyshegorod boys, and said to them: “Do you accept us with all your heart?” Putsha’s speech from Vyshygorod: “We can lay down our heads for you.” He said to them: “Don’t behave like anyone else, as you go, kill my brother Boris.” They soon promised to seduce him.”

We, of course, will not be able to raise the question of how much the plot of the chronicle story corresponded to actual events, and we understand well that the dialogue of Boris with his squad or Svyatopolk with the Vyshgorod boyars is literary device, the chronicler's speculation. And yet, in comparison with the above passage, the deliberate conventionality of “Reading about Boris and Gleb” catches the eye and allows one to clearly imagine the specifics of the hagiographic presentation.

The Reading opens with a lengthy introduction that outlines the whole story human race: the creation of Adam and Eve, their fall, the “idolatry” of people is exposed, we remember how Christ, who came to save the human race, taught and was crucified, how the apostles began to preach a new teaching and a new faith triumphed. Only Rus' remained “in the first [former] idolatrous charm [remained pagan].” Vladimir baptized Rus', and this act is depicted as a general triumph and joy: people rushing to accept Christianity rejoice, and not one of them resists or even “verbs” “contrary” to the will of the prince, Vladimir himself rejoices, seeing the “warm faith” newly converted Christians. This is the background story of the villainous murder of Boris and Gleb by Svyatopolk.

Svyatopolk thinks and acts according to the machinations of the devil. The “historiographical” introduction to life corresponds to the ideas about the unity of the world historical process: the events that took place in Rus' are only a special case of the eternal struggle between God and the devil, and for every situation, for every action, Nestor looks for an analogy, a prototype in past history. Therefore, Vladimir’s decision to baptize Rus' leads to a comparison of him with Eustathius Placis (the Byzantine saint, whose life was discussed above) on the basis that Vladimir, as the “ancient Placis,” was the god “sponu (in in this case- illness) there’s no cure,” after which the prince decided to be baptized. Vladimir is also compared with Constantine the Great, whom Christian historiography revered as the emperor who proclaimed Christianity state religion Byzantium. Nestor compares Boris with the biblical Joseph, who suffered due to the envy of his brothers, etc.

The characters are also traditional. The chronicle says nothing about the childhood and youth of Boris and Gleb. Nestor, in accordance with the requirements of the hagiographical canon, narrates how, as a youth, Boris constantly read “the lives and torments of the saints” and dreamed of being awarded the same martyrdom.

The chronicle does not mention Boris's marriage. Nestor has a traditional motive - the future saint seeks to avoid marriage and marries only at the insistence of his father: “not for the sake of bodily lust,” but “for the sake of the king’s law and the obedience of his father.”

Further, the plots of the life and the chronicle coincide. But how different both monuments are in their interpretation of events! The chronicle says that Vladimir sends Boris with his warriors against the Pechenegs, the “Reading” speaks abstractly about certain “military” (that is, enemies, adversary), in the chronicle Boris returns to Kyiv, since he did not “find” (did not meet) enemy army, in “Reading” the enemies take flight, since they do not dare to “stand against the blessed one.”

Living human relationships are visible in the chronicle: Svyatopolk attracts the people of Kiev to his side by giving them gifts (“estate”), they are taken reluctantly, since in Boris’s army there are the same people of Kiev (“their brothers”) and - as is completely natural in the real conditions of that time, the people of Kiev feared a fratricidal war: Svyatopolk could rouse the people of Kiev against their relatives who had gone on a campaign with Boris. Finally, let us remember the nature of Svyatopolk’s promises (“I’ll put you to the fire”) or his negotiations with the “Vyshegorod boyars.” All these episodes in the chronicle story look very lifelike; in “Reading” they are completely absent. This reveals the tendency toward abstraction dictated by the canon of literary etiquette. The hagiographer strives to avoid specificity, lively dialogue, names (remember - the chronicle mentions the Alta River, Vyshgorod, Putsha - apparently the elder of the Vyshgorod residents, etc.) and even lively intonations in dialogues and monologues.

When the murder of Boris, and then Gleb, is described, the doomed princes only pray, and they pray ritually: either quoting psalms, or - contrary to any plausibility in life - they rush the killers to “finish their work.”

Using the example of “Reading” we can judge the characteristic features of the hagiographic canon - cold rationality, conscious detachment from specific facts, names, realities, theatricality and artificial pathos dramatic episodes, the presence (and the inevitable formal construction) of such elements of the saint’s life about which the hagiographer did not have the slightest information: an example of this is the description of the childhood years of Boris and Gleb in “Reading”.

The position of those researchers who see in the anonymous “The Tale of Boris and Gleb” a monument created after the “Reading” seems very convincing; in their opinion, the author of the “Tale” is trying to overcome the schematic and conventional nature of traditional life, to fill it with living details, drawing them, in particular, from the original hagiography version, which has come down to us as part of the chronicle. The emotionality in “The Tale” is subtler and sincere, despite the conventionality of the situation: Boris and Gleb here too resignedly surrender themselves into the hands of the killers and here they manage to pray for a long time, literally at the moment when the killer’s sword is already raised over them, etc., but at the same time, their replicas are warmed by some kind of sincere warmth and seem more natural. Analyzing the “Legend”, the famous researcher of ancient Russian literature I.P. Eremin drew attention to the following line: Gleb, in the face of the murderers, “suffering his body” (trembling, weakening), asks for mercy. He asks, as children ask: “Don’t hurt me... Don’t hurt me!” (here “actions” means touch). He doesn’t understand what and why he has to die... Gleb’s defenseless youth is, in its way, very elegant and touching. This is one of the most “watercolor” images of ancient Russian literature.” In “Reading” the same Gleb does not express his emotions in any way - he thinks (he hopes that he will be taken to his brother and that, having seen Gleb’s innocence, he will not “destroy” him), he prays, and rather dispassionately. Even when the murderer “took Saint Gleb as an honest head,” he “silently, like a lamb, kindly, with his whole mind in the name of God and looking up to the sky, praying.” However, this is by no means evidence of Nestor’s inability to convey living feelings: in the same scene he describes, for example, the experiences of Gleb’s soldiers and servants. When the prince orders him to be left in a boat in the middle of the river, the warriors “sting at the saint and often look around, wanting to see what the saint wants to be,” and the youths in his ship, at the sight of the murderers, “lay down their oars, sadly lamenting and crying for the saint.” As we see, their behavior is much more natural, and, therefore, the dispassion with which Gleb prepares to accept death is just a tribute to literary etiquette.

After “Reading about Boris and Gleb,” Nestor writes “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk,” a monk and then abbot of the famous Kiev-Pechersk Monastery. This life is very different from the one discussed above in the great psychologism of the characters, the abundance of living realistic details, the verisimilitude and naturalness of the lines and dialogues. If in the lives of Boris and Gleb (especially in the “Reading”) the canon triumphs over the vitality of the situations described, then in the “Life of Theodosius,” on the contrary, miracles and fantastic visions are described so clearly and convincingly that the reader seems to see with his own eyes what is happening and cannot don't "believe" him.

It is unlikely that these differences are only the result of Nestor’s increased literary skill or a consequence of a change in his attitude towards the hagiographic canon. The reasons here are probably different. Firstly, these are the lives different types. The Life of Boris and Gleb is a life-martyrium, that is, a story about the martyrdom of a saint; this main theme determined and artistic structure Such a life, the sharp contrast of good and evil, the martyr and his tormentors, dictated the special tension and “poster-like” directness of the climactic murder scene: it should be painfully long and moralizing to the extreme. Therefore, in martyrdoms, as a rule, the torture of the martyr is described in detail, and death occurs as if in several stages, so that the reader empathizes with the hero longer. At the same time, the hero addresses lengthy prayers to God, which reveal his steadfastness and humility and expose the full gravity of the crime of his killers.

"The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk"

“The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk” is a typical monastic life, a story about a pious, meek, hardworking righteous man, whose whole life is a continuous feat. It contains many everyday collisions: scenes of communication between the saint and monks, laymen, princes, sinners; In addition, in the lives of this type, an obligatory component is the miracles that the saint performs - and this introduces an element of plot entertainment into the life, requiring considerable skill from the author so that the miracle is described effectively and believably. Medieval hagiographers were well aware that the effect of a miracle is especially well achieved by combining purely realistic everyday details with a description of the action of otherworldly forces - the appearance of angels, dirty tricks perpetrated by demons, visions, etc.

The composition of the “Life” is traditional: there is a lengthy introduction and a story about the saint’s childhood. But already in this story about the birth, childhood and adolescence of Theodosius, an involuntary clash of traditional cliches and life’s truth occurs. Traditionally, the piety of Theodosius’ parents is mentioned; the scene of naming the baby’s name is significant: the priest names him “Theodosius” (which means “ given to god"), since he foresaw with the “eyes of his heart” that he “wants to be given to God from a young age.” It is traditional to mention how the boy Feodosia “went to the Church of God all day long” and did not approach his peers playing on the street. However, the image of Theodosius’s mother is completely unconventional, full of undeniable individuality. She was physically strong, with a rough male voice; passionately loving her son, she nevertheless cannot come to terms with the fact that he, a youth from a very wealthy family, does not think of inheriting her villages and “slaves”, that he wears shabby clothes, flatly refusing to put on “light” and clean ones, and thereby brings reproach to the family by spending time in prayer or baking prosphora. The mother stops at nothing to break her son’s exalted piety (this is the paradox - Theodosius’s parents are presented by the hagiographer as pious and God-fearing people!), she brutally beats him, puts him on a chain, and tears off the chains from the boy’s body. When Theodosius manages to go to Kyiv in the hope of taking monastic vows in one of the monasteries there, the mother announces a large reward to anyone who will show her the whereabouts of her son. She finally discovers him in a cave, where he labors together with Anthony and Nikon (from this abode of hermits the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery later grows). And here she resorts to cunning: she demands that Anthony show her his son, threatening that otherwise she will “destroy” herself “before the doors of the oven.” But, seeing Theodosius, whose face “has changed from his much work and self-restraint,” the woman can no longer be angry: she, hugging her son, “crying bitterly,” begs him to return home and do whatever he wants there (“according to her will”). . Theodosius is adamant, and at his insistence the mother takes monastic vows in one of the nunneries. However, we understand that this is not so much the result of conviction in the correctness of his chosen path to God, but rather the act of a desperate woman who realized that only by becoming a nun would she be able to see her son at least occasionally.

The character of Theodosius himself is also complex. He possesses all the traditional virtues of an ascetic: meek, hardworking, adamant in the mortification of the flesh, full of mercy, but when a princely feud occurs in Kyiv (Svyatoslav expels his brother Izyaslav Yaroslavich from the grand-ducal throne), Feodosia is actively involved in a purely worldly political struggle and boldly denounces Svyatoslav.

But the most remarkable thing in the “Life” is the description of monastic life and especially the miracles performed by Theodosius. It was here that the “charm of simplicity and fiction” of the legends about the Kyiv miracle workers, which A.S. admired so much, manifested itself. Pushkin.

Here is one of these miracles performed by Theodosius. The elder of the bakers comes to him, then already the abbot of the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery, and reports that there is no flour left and there is nothing to bake bread for the brothers. Theodosius sends the baker: “Go, look in the bottom, how little flour you will find in it...” But the baker remembers that he swept the bottom and swept into the corner a small pile of bran - about three or four handfuls, and therefore confidently answers Theodosius: “The truth I tell you, father, that I am the very dung of the bitch, and there is nothing in it, unless there is only a small cut in the coal.” But Theodosius, recalling the omnipotence of God and citing a similar example from the Bible, sends the baker again to see if there is flour in the bottom. He goes to the pantry, approaches the bottom and sees that the bottom, previously empty, is full of flour.

Everything in this episode is artistically convincing: both the liveliness of the dialogue and the effect of a miracle, enhanced precisely thanks to skillfully found details: the baker remembers that there are three or four handfuls of bran left - this is a concrete visible image and an equally visible image of a bottom filled with flour: there is so much of it that it even spills over the wall onto the ground.

The next episode is very picturesque. Feodosia was delayed on some business with the prince and must return to the monastery. The prince orders that Theodosius be given a lift by a certain youth in a cart. The same, seeing the monk in “wretched clothes” (Feodosia, and being the abbot, dressed so modestly that those who did not know him took him for a monastery cook), boldly addresses him: “Chrnorizche! Because you are apart all day, and I am hard [you are idle all the days, and I am working]. I can't ride a horse. But we’ve done this [let’s do this]: yes, I will lie down on a cart, but you can ride a horse.” Feodosia agrees. But as you get closer to the monastery, you meet more and more people who know Theodosius. They respectfully bow to him, and the boy gradually begins to worry: who is this well-known monk, albeit in shabby clothes? He is completely horrified when he sees with what honor Theodosius is greeted by the monastery brethren. However, the abbot does not reproach the driver and even orders him to be fed and paid.

Let us not guess whether such a case happened with Theodosius himself. Undoubtedly, another thing is that Nestor could and was able to describe such collisions, he was a writer of great talent, and the convention that we encounter in the works of ancient Russian literature is not a consequence of inability or special medieval thinking. When we talk about the very understanding of the phenomena of reality, we should only talk about special artistic thinking, that is, about ideas about how this reality should be depicted in monuments of certain literary genres.

Over the next centuries, many dozens of different lives will be written - eloquent and simply primitive and formal or, on the contrary, vital and sincere. We will have to talk about some of them later. Nestor was one of the first Russian hagiographers, and the traditions of his work will be continued and developed in the works of his followers.

Since the 16th century. An important period begins in the gradual formation of the national characteristics of the three future East Slavic nations: Great Russian, Ukrainian and Belarusian.

The formation of a special literary tradition each of the three fraternal East Slavic peoples, but only from the 16th century. we can talk about ancient Great Russian, ancient Ukrainian and ancient Belarusian literature. By the 17th century their national characteristics are finalized.

If we call ancient Great Russian literature of the 14th–17th centuries. is still ancient Russian, then this is nothing more than a tribute to a long-established tradition. It is now difficult to establish new terminology, change language habits and give “unsettled” words (like the word “Old Great Russian”) a stable meaning.

It goes without saying that it is neither necessary nor possible to speak in the history of literature about all the monuments that existed in Ancient Rus'.

Naturally it turns out that we are talking mainly about those works that continue to interest us today, about those that are part of our great literary heritage, about those that are better known and more understandable and accessible to us. In this case, some distortion of perspective occurs - a distortion that is acceptable and inevitable.

Large compilation monuments of Ancient Rus' have not yet been sufficiently studied: various types of Palea (“Explanatory”, “Chronographic”, “Historical”, etc.), “Great Four Menaions”, Prologues, collections of stable content (such as, for example, “Chrysostom ", "Izmaragd", etc.) have been studied so little that it is difficult to talk about them in the history of literature. Meanwhile, many of them were read more often and have come down to us in a larger number of copies than the monuments we are familiar with, without which the history of literature cannot do if it claims to have general educational significance for the modern reader. So, for example, “Izmaragd” was undoubtedly read more and had higher value in the 16th–17th centuries, than more famous in the 19th and 20th centuries. Domostroy, which, by the way, itself depended on Izmaragd. And yet, we include “Domostroy” in the history of Russian literature, and omit “Izmaragd”. And we do this quite consciously: “Domostroy” is not only better known in the history of Russian culture, but it is also more indicative of the historical and literary process. It bears the characteristic imprint of the 16th century. – “Izmaragd” does not or almost does not possess this imprint of its time (XIV century). In any case, traces of its era (the era of the Russian Pre-Renaissance) have yet to be identified in it by researchers.

In general, the reader should be warned about one important circumstance: despite the fact that the Russians literary works XI–XVII centuries major representatives of academic science were engaged - V. N. Tatishchev, N. I. Novikov, Evgeniy Bolkhovitinov, K. F. Kalaidovich, F. I. Buslaev, N. S. Tikhonravov, A. N. Pypin, A. N. Veselovsky , A. A. Shakhmatov, V. N. Peretz, V. M. Istrin, N. K. Nikolsky, A. S. Orlov, V. P. Adrianova-Peretz and many, many others - ancient Russian literature in its entirety still very poorly researched.

Many monuments have not only not been studied, but also not published: the publication of the “Great Four Menaions” has not been completed, the “Elinsky and Roman Chronicler” has not been published, the “Prologue” has not been scientifically published, many collections of stable composition, some chronicles have not been published. The greatest writer of the 16th century has not been published scientifically. Maxim the Greek, many works of Simeon of Polotsk remain unpublished; there are no scientific publications of many famous monuments ancient Russian literature.

Many of the manuscript collections ancient Russian monuments are not described or described in insufficient detail regarding their composition.

Ancient Russian literature, like the ancient Russian art, in many ways is still “behind seven locks.”

Does this mean it's time to write? scientific history Is ancient Russian literature not yet ripe? Many of the greatest Russian philologists of the past thought so. Other Russian philologists created not histories of ancient Russian literature, but reviews of monuments, arranging them by genres, themes, or grouping them by historical periods, but without trying to determine the features of the era in them, to discern significant historical and literary changes and development.

Proposed history of Russian literature of the 11th–17th centuries. takes into account the experience of the first two volumes of the ten-volume “History of Russian Literature,” published by the Institute of Russian Literature of the USSR Academy of Sciences in the 40s, and the first part of the first volume of the three-volume “History of Russian Literature,” edited by D. D. Blagoy. But the main factual and theoretical foundation of this part was numerous studies on the history of Russian literature of the Sector of Old Russian Literature of the Institute of Literature of the USSR Academy of Sciences.

1. Introduction

Turning to the literature of distant eras - be it ancient literature, medieval literature of European or Asian countries, or the literature of Ancient Rus', we must digress somewhat from the usual assessments and ideas with which we approach literary phenomena modern times, and try to imagine, as fully as possible, the specific conditions in which literature developed in a particular country in the era we are studying.

Writing and literature came to Rus' with the adoption of Christianity. At first, the scribes - both Byzantine and Bulgarian missionaries and their Russian students and associates - considered their main task to be the propaganda of the new religion and the provision of the churches being built in Rus' with the books necessary for worship. In addition, the Christianization of Rus' entailed a radical restructuring of the worldview. Previous pagan ideas about the origin and structure of the universe or about the history of mankind were rejected, and Rus' was in dire need of literature that would present the Christian concept of world history, explain cosmogonic problems, give a different, Christian explanation of natural phenomena, etc.

So, the need for books in the young Christian state was extremely great, but at the same time the possibilities for satisfying this need were very limited: in Rus' there were still few skilled scribes, corporations of scribes (scriptoria) were just beginning to be created, the writing process itself was very long Finally, the material on which books were written - parchment - was expensive. There was a strict choice that fettered individual initiative: a scribe could undertake the copying of a manuscript only if he worked in a monastery or knew that his work would be paid for by the customer. And the customers could be either rich and famous people, or the church.

“The Tale of Bygone Years” has preserved for us an important testimony: the Kiev prince Yaroslav the Wise (died in 1054), who, according to the chronicler, loved “church statutes” and “diligence in books, and reading them [them] often at night and in day,” gathered scribes who “translated” Greek books. “And having copied many books, through them people who learn to be faithful enjoy the teachings of the Divine.” The predominance of “divine” books among the copied and translated books - that is, books of sacred scripture or liturgical books - is beyond doubt. Another thing is surprising: despite the primary need for texts of sacred scripture or liturgical texts, Kyiv scribes still found the opportunity to bring from Bulgaria, translate or rewrite works of other genres: chronicles, historical stories, collections of sayings, natural science works. The fact that among more than 130 handwritten books of the 11th–12th centuries that have survived to this day, about 80 are liturgical books, is explained not only in the trends of early book literature discussed above, but also in the fact that these books, stored in stone churches were more likely to survive and not perish in the fires of the fires that devastated the predominantly wooden ancient Russian cities. Therefore, the repertoire of books from the 11th–12th centuries. to a large extent can only be reconstructed from indirect data, since the manuscripts that have reached us are an insignificant part of the book wealth.

While mastering pan-Slavic intermediary literature and translating from Greek, Old Russian scribes simultaneously turned to creating original works of various genres. We cannot indicate with precision when the first records of historical legends appeared, when they began to be united into a coherent historical narrative, but there is no doubt that already in the middle of the 11th century, if not earlier, the first Russian chronicles were compiled.

At the same time, the Kiev priest Hilarion (future metropolitan) writes “The Sermon on Law and Grace” - a theological treatise in which, however, from dogmatic reasoning about the superiority of “grace” (New Testament) over “law” (Old Testament) clearly emerges a pronounced church-political and patriotic theme: Rus', which adopted Christianity, is a country no less authoritative and worthy of respect than Byzantium itself. The Russian princes Igor and Svyatoslav became famous for their victories and “fortress”; Vladimir, who baptized Rus', in terms of the significance of his act, is worthy of comparison with the apostles, and the Kiev prince Yaroslav Vladimirovich (under whom Hilarion wrote his “Tale”) does not “destroy”, but “affirms” his father’s undertakings. He created the Church of St. Sophia (St. Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv), the like of which is not found in the “surrounding” countries, decorating it with “all beauty, gold and silver and precious stones,” as Hilarion writes. D. S. Likhachev explained why it was so important to emphasize the construction of this temple: “by building the Church of Sophia in Kyiv, Yaroslav “built” the Russian metropolis, the Russian independent church. By calling the newly built temple by the same name as the main temple of the Greek Church, Yaroslav claimed equality of the Russian Church with the Greek.” It was precisely this awareness of the equality of Rus' and Byzantium that was the main idea of ​​Hilarion’s “Lay”. These same patriotic ideas formed the basis of the oldest Russian chronicles.

Russian scribes also act in the hagiographic genre: in the 11th - early 12th centuries. the lives of Anthony of Pechersk (it has not survived), Theodosius of Pechersk, and two versions of the lives of Boris and Gleb were written. In these lives, Russian authors, undoubtedly familiar with the hagiographic canon and with the best examples of Byzantine hagiography, show, as we will see later, enviable independence and display high literary skill.

At the beginning of the 12th century. (apparently around 1117) the Kiev prince Vladimir Monomakh writes a “Teaching” addressed to his sons, but at the same time to those Russian princes who would like to listen to his advice. “Instruction” is surprising both because it completely falls out of the strict system of genres, having no analogue in ancient Russian literature, and because Monomakh reveals in it not only a political outlook and rich life experience, but also high literary education and unconditional writing talent. Both the “Instruction” and the surviving letter from Monomakh to Oleg Svyatoslavich are not only literary monuments, but also important monuments of social thought: one of the most authoritative Kyiv princes is trying to convince his contemporaries of the harmfulness of feudal strife - Rus', weakened by strife, will not be able to actively resist external enemies. This basic idea of ​​Monomakh’s works echoes “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign.”

A decade earlier than the “Teaching” of Monomakh was written, the abbot of one of the Russian monasteries, Daniel, visited the Kingdom of Jerusalem (founded by the crusaders in Palestine conquered from the Arabs) and compiled a detailed account of his journey, which is known as “Daniel’s Walking in the Russian Land of the Abbot.” The traveler describes in detail the sights he saw, while retelling the biblical stories and apocryphal legends associated with them. Daniel acts as a patriot of his native land, not forgetting about its interests in distant countries, caring about its prestige.

Second half of the 12th century. marked by the rapid development of chronicle writing. The South Russian code of the early 15th century allows us to judge this. (Ipatiev Chronicle), which contains fragments from chronicles of an earlier time.

At the end of the 12th century. The bishop of the city of Turov, Kirill, one of the most brilliant ancient Russian writers, created his works. A particularly significant place in his work is occupied by words for church holidays, designed to be pronounced in church during a solemn service. The thoughtfulness of the composition, the richness of the language, the courage and brightness of metaphors and comparisons, the skill in constructing phrases and periods with all the tricks of rhetorical art (syntactic parallelism, appeals, expressive antitheses, etc.) - all these advantages of Kirill’s works put him on the same level with famous Byzantine writers.

The literary development of this era is crowned by “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign.”

Brief list of monuments of original Russian literature of the 11th-12th centuries. - and almost all the most significant works are named here - makes us think about how incomplete our information about the literature of Kievan Rus seems to be. We know only a small fraction of the works created then, only those of them that were lucky enough to survive the terrible years of the Mongol-Tatar invasion.

This comparison involuntarily suggests itself. Artists of the era of classicism loved to depict a romantic landscape: among fields overgrown with bushes, where flocks of sheep graze and colorfully dressed shepherdesses play pipes, rise the ruins of a beautiful and majestic temple, which, it would seem, should stand not here, in the wilderness of the countryside, but in the square lively ancient city...

The literature of Kievan Rus represents something similar for us: several masterpieces that would make the glory of any literature rich in monuments - “The Tale of Bygone Years”, “The Life of Boris and Gleb”, “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”, “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign”, the works of Cyril Turovsky... But where are the links connecting them, the environment in which these masterpieces were created? It was precisely these feelings that once possessed A.S. Pushkin, who wrote with bitterness: “Unfortunately, ancient literature does not exist among us. Behind us is the dark steppe - and on it rises the only monument - “Song of Igor’s Campaign.” In those years, ancient Russian literature was not yet “discovered”; Russian researchers would become more familiar with it two or three decades later. But the same feeling of “loneliness” of masterpieces does not leave us to this day. What is the reason for this strange phenomenon?

Of course, these monuments that have come down to us were not alone, they simply could not be alone, since they testify to the existence of literary schools, to the high level of both literary skill and the literature itself that gave birth to them.

Before approaching the answer to our puzzling question, let us give one fairly striking example. In the Ipatiev Chronicle, we read in an article from 1147 about Metropolitan Clement Smolyatich (that is, who came from the Smolensk land) - “he was a scribe and a philosopher, like no one in the Russian land.” But what do we know about the work of this “scribe and philosopher,” who, according to the chronicler, had no equal in the Russian land? We know only the beginning of his “Epistle to Thomas the Prosperer.” This is very little, but also quite a lot: the fact is that from the letter we learn about an extremely interesting and significant fact of the literary life of Kievan Rus: Clement defends to his opponent the legitimacy of the “influential” interpretation of the Holy Scriptures, that is, interpretation with the help of allegorical stories - parable So, on the one hand, both the chronicle and the reason known to us that caused the dispute between Clement and Thomas speak about the same thing - Clement Smolyatich was undoubtedly an educated and well-read writer (Thomas even reproached him for writing “from Omir [ Homer], and from Aristotle [Aristotle], and from Plato") and, probably, quite prolific if he enjoyed such fame and authority. On the other hand, if it weren’t for the chance that it survived in the only list of the 15th century. "Epistle", we would have learned absolutely nothing about Clement, except for the above description in the chronicle. Another example. In the 12th century, in Kievan Rus there were several chronicle centers; “ancestral” chroniclers were compiled at the princely courts. Both these chroniclers and local chronicles were lost, and if it were not for the South Russian code of the end of the 12th century, which included fragments from these sources, and not the Ipatiev Chronicle of the beginning of the 15th century, which preserved this code, we would not know anything about chronicle writing in Rus' of the 12th century, nor about the events of this time themselves - in other chronicles events in Southern Rus' are mentioned extremely sparingly.

If the Laurentian Chronicle of 1377 had not been preserved, we would have moved away from the time of creation of the “Tale of Bygone Years” by three centuries, for the next oldest lists of the “Tale” date back to the 15th century.

In a word, we know very little about the literature and bookishness of Kievan Rus. The Mongol-Tatar invasion led not only to the death of tens or hundreds of thousands of people, not only to the desolation of cities, including the largest centers of writing, it most cruelly destroyed ancient Russian literature itself. Only those works whose copies managed to survive and attract the attention of scribes of the 14th or 15th centuries became known to researchers of modern times. Thus, Abbot Daniel’s journey took place at the beginning of the 12th century, at which time he wrote his “Walk,” however, the older copies of the monument date only to the 15th century.

The oldest copy of the “History of the Jewish War,” translated in the 12th century, dates back to the end of the 15th century. At the same time, as N.A. Meshchersky believes, the copies of the ancient translation were lost in Rus'. But in 1399 in Constantinople, the Russian scribe John rewrote the Russian list that was there; From this manuscript of John, which returned again to Rus', the handwritten tradition of the monument was revived.

So, the literary monuments of the 11th-12th centuries that have survived to modern times. - these are only by a happy coincidence the surviving remnants of literature, which was in its heyday on the eve of the Mongol-Tatar invasion. The high level of this literature is evidenced, in particular, by those works to the analysis of which we now turn.

"The Tale of Bygone Years"
Every nation remembers and knows its history. In stories, legends, and songs, information and memories of the past were preserved and passed on from generation to generation. The chronicle - a systematic chronicle kept year after year - grew to a large extent on the basis of the oral historical epic.

The chronicle as a literary genre (and not historical records in general!) appears, apparently, in the middle of the 11th century. However, the oldest lists of chronicles date back to a later time: the 13th and 14th centuries. dates back to the Synodal list of the First Novgorod Chronicle.

The Laurentian list dates back to 1377, the Ipatiev list of the Ipatiev Chronicle - to the first quarter of the 15th century. The remaining lists of chronicles are from a later time. Therefore, scientists have to reconstruct the history of the most ancient period of the development of Russian chronicles, relying on the texts of the lists mentioned above, separated from the time of compilation of the chronicles themselves by a significant period of time.

The study of chronicles is further complicated by the following circumstance. Almost every chronicle is a vault. This means that the chronicler, as a rule, not only recorded contemporary events, but supplemented with his notes the text of an earlier chronicle that told about the previous period. Therefore, it turns out that in almost every chronicle the history of Rus' is set out “from the very beginning” - the text of the “Tale of Bygone Years” is given in full or in an abbreviation, sometimes very significant, telling “where the Russian land came from.” When compiling a new chronicle, the chronicler did not treat his sources formally, mechanically “folding” them: he edited the text of his predecessor, shortened it or supplemented it from other sources, and sometimes, in accordance with his historiographical views, changed the assessment of events or reinterpreted individual facts. All these features of the work of ancient Russian historiographers significantly complicate the study of chronicles. However, science has developed a fairly advanced methodology for studying chronicle texts: by comparing them, similarities or differences between fragments telling about the same events are established, the sources of the corpus under study, the degree and nature of their processing in it, and the estimated time of its compilation are determined.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” which will be discussed below, was created at the beginning of the 12th century. Nestor is traditionally considered to be the compiler of its first edition, although the question of the possibility of identifying Nestor the chronicler and Nestor the hagiographer, the author of “The Life of Boris and Gleb” and “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk,” remains debatable to this day. In the rich chronicle tradition of Ancient Rus', “The Tale of Bygone Years” occupies a very special place. According to D.S. Likhachev, it was “not just a collection of facts of Russian history and not just a historical and journalistic work related to the urgent but transitory tasks of Russian reality, but an integral, literary history of Rus'.

“We can safely say,” the scientist continues, “that never before or later, until the 16th century, has Russian historical thought risen to such a height of scholarly inquisitiveness and literary skill.”

The oldest edition of the “Tale of Bygone Years” has not reached us, but the second edition of the “Tale” has been preserved as part of the Laurentian and Radzivilov Chronicles, apparently only slightly changing its original text.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” like most chronicles, is a collection, a work based on previous chronicle works, which included fragments from various sources, literary, journalistic, folklore, etc. Let us abstract here from the question of the origin of the components of the “Tale” temporary years" and, in particular, about its relationship with the previous chronicle of the end of the 11th century. (scientists call it the Initial Vault) and look at it as a solid monument.

“This is the Tale of Bygone Years, where the Russian Land came from, who began the first reign in Kyiv, and where the Russian Land began to eat from” - the chronicle begins with these words, and these first words became its traditional name - “The Tale of Bygone Years”.

For monuments of medieval historiography devoted to the problems of general history, that is, for chronicles, it was typical to begin the presentation “from the very beginning,” with the creation of the world, and trace the genealogical lines of the ruling dynasties to mythical heroes or even gods.

“The Tale of Bygone Years” did not remain aloof from this trend; Nestor also begins his narrative from a certain starting point. According to biblical legend, God, angry at the human race, mired in all kinds of sins, decided to destroy it by sending a global flood to the earth. All “antediluvian” humanity perished, and only Noah, his wife, three sons and daughters-in-law managed to escape. From the sons of Noah - Shem, Ham and Japheth - came the people who now inhabit the earth. That's what the Bible said.

Nestor therefore begins the “Tale of Bygone Years” with a story about the division of the land between the sons of Noah, listing in detail, following the Byzantine chronicles, the lands that went to each of them. In these chronicles, Rus', of course, was not mentioned, and the chronicler skillfully introduces the Slavic peoples into the context of world history: in the said list, after mentioning Ilyuric (Illyria - the eastern coast of the Adriatic Sea or the people who lived there), he adds the word “Slavs”. Then, in the description of the lands inherited by the descendants of Japheth, references to Russian rivers appear in the chronicle - the Dnieper, Desna, Pripyat, Dvina, Volkhov, Volga. In the “part” of Japheth, the chronicler reports, “Rus, Chud and all the nations live: Merya, Muroma, all...” And then follows a list of tribes inhabiting the East European Plain.

After this, the chronicler moves on to the history of the Slavs, telling how they settled across the earth and how they were nicknamed depending on the place where they stayed to live: those who settled along the Morava River were called Maravas, those who settled on the banks of the Polot River were “nicknamed Polotsk", and the Slovenes, who settled on the shores of Lake Ilmen, "were nicknamed by their name." The chronicler tells about the founding of Novgorod and Kyiv, about the customs of the Polyans, who, unlike the Drevlyans, Vyatichi and Northerners, were “men of wisdom and understanding” and kept the custom of their fathers “meek and quiet.” This introductory historiographical part of The Tale of Bygone Years ends with a plot episode. The Khazars demanded tribute from the Polans (the tribe living in and around Kyiv), and they paid them tribute with swords. And the Khazar elders said to their ruler: “This is not a good tribute, prince! ...They will imati [will collect] tribute on us and in other countries.” “Now everything has come true,” the chronicler proudly concludes.

This introductory part of The Tale of Bygone Years has important historiographical significance. It stated that the Slavs, and Rus', among the Slavic peoples, as equals among equals, are mentioned among other peoples - the descendants of the most worthy of the sons of Noah - Japheth. The Slavs, as if fulfilling some destiny from above, populated the lands allotted to them, and the glades, on whose land the future capital of Rus', Kyiv, was located, have long stood out for their wisdom and high morality among other tribes. And finally, the prediction of the wise Khazar elders came true - Rus' now does not obey anyone, it itself collects tribute from the surrounding peoples. This is how Nestor defined the place of the Slavs and Rus' in world history. An equally important task was to justify the rights of the Kyiv princes to own the entire Russian land. The legend about the calling of the Varangians appeared in the Primary Code; it received its final completion from Nestor. According to this legend, strife began among the Slavic tribes, “clan after clan arose,” and it was decided to invite foreign princes from overseas to come to establish order, to “rule and rule” over them. The chronicle tells us that three brothers came to Rus' - Rurik, Sineus and Truvor. Two of them died, and Rurik began to reign in Novgorod. After the death of Rurik, his relative Oleg became the prince, since Rurik’s son Igor was still a “child Velmi”. Oleg, together with the baby Igor, went from Novgorod to the south, by cunning (and at the same time legally, for he acted “on behalf of” the son of Rurik) captured Kyiv and began to reign there. After Oleg’s death, Igor became the prince of Kyiv, that Igor, whose descendants still (during the years of the creation of the “Tale of Bygone Years”) reign in Kyiv and in other appanages of the Russian land.

Researchers without much difficulty revealed the legendary nature of the story about the calling of the Varangians. Suffice it to mention that the most ancient Russian monuments trace the dynasty of the Kyiv princes to Igor, and not to Rurik; It is also strange that Oleg’s “regency” lasted under the “young” Igor for no less than 33 years, and that in the Initial Code Oleg is called not a prince, but a governor... But this legend was one of the cornerstones of ancient Russian historiography. It corresponded primarily to the medieval historiographical tradition, where the ruling clan was often elevated to a foreigner: this eliminated the possibility of rivalry between local clans. “They believed in the origin of French kings from the Trojans even in the 16th century. The Germans derived many of their dynasties from Rome, the Swiss from the Scandinavians, the Italians from the Germans,” D. S. Likhachev illustrates this idea.

Secondly, the statement that the Rurik dynasty was rooted in ancient times was, in the opinion of the chronicler, to raise the prestige of the blood relationship of the Rurik princes, strengthen their consciousness of fraternal ties, and prevent civil strife. However, feudal practice turned out to be stronger than the most convincing historiographical concepts.

The introductory part of The Tale of Bygone Years has no dates. The first date in the chronicle is 6360 (852). From that time, the chronicler claims, “the nickname Ruska land began.” The basis for this was the story of the Byzantine “Chronicle of George Amartol” about the campaign of Rus' against Constantinople, which the chronicler himself identified with the campaign of the Kyiv princes Askold and Dir (who were later killed by Oleg). The same article of 852 contains the calculation of the years that passed from one significant event in world history to another, traditional for Byzantine chronography. It begins, as usual, by counting the years that have passed from Adam to the flood, from the flood to Abraham, etc., but, having mentioned the Byzantine emperor Michael III (842-867), the chronicler moves on to the events of Russian history: “And from the first summer Mikhailov until the first summer of Olgov, a Russian prince, 29 years old...” And in this case, the history of Rus' under the pen of the chronicler naturally merges with world history, continuing it.

The breadth of historical horizons that characterizes the introductory part of The Tale of Bygone Years is also inherent in its further presentation. Thus, talking about Vladimir’s “choice of faiths,” the chronicler cites a lengthy speech, as if delivered to the prince by a Greek missionary, in which the entire sacred history is briefly recounted (from the “creation of the world” to the crucifixion of Christ), and comments on the decisions of the seven ecumenical church councils, at which controversial dogmatic issues of Christian doctrine were resolved, the “Latins” were exposed, that is, supporters of the Catholic faith, who openly opposed themselves to the Greek Church after 1054. We see that the chronicle in these cases goes beyond the framework of Russian history itself, raising problems of ideological and church-dogmatic character.

But the chronicler, of course, analyzes and comprehends especially deeply the events in Rus'. He evaluates the significance of its Christianization, the activities of Russian translators and book writers under Yaroslav the Wise; talking about the emergence of the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery, he persistently emphasizes the connection between Russian monasteries and the famous monasteries of Byzantium.

Chroniclers do not simply recount events, but try, of course in the traditions of medieval Christian historiography, to comprehend and explain them. The chronicler interprets the defeat of the Russian princes in the war of 1068 with the Polovtsians as a consequence of “God’s wrath” and even finds a specific reason for the manifestation of divine retribution: in Rus', according to him, there are still many Christians who are like that only in words, they are superstitious, the devil is all sorts of he distracts them from God with temptations, “with trumpets and buffoons, guslmi and mermaids [feasts of remembrance of the dead].” At the games, the chronicler laments, “there are a lot of people,” “but the churches stand, but when there is a year of prayer [the hour of worship], few of them are found in the church.”

The chronicle returns again to the topic of “executions of God” in article 10S2, telling about the defeat of the Russian princes in the battle with the Polovtsians at Trepol (south of Kyiv). After abundantly peppered with biblical quotations, discussions about the reasons that brought about divine punishment, the chronicler paints a dramatic picture: the Polovtsians are leading away captured Russian captives, and those, hungry, thirsty, undressed and barefoot, “their feet are gored with thorns [wounded on thorny grasses], with I answered each other with tears, saying: “I am the beg of this city,” and others: “I am sowing all [villages, settlements]”; they ask [question] with tears, telling their family and lifting their eyes, lifting their eyes to heaven to the highest, who knows the secret.” It is not difficult to understand the feelings of the people of that time and the complexity of the task of scribes and church preachers: having adopted a new religion, the Russian people, it would seem, placed themselves under the protection of a powerful and just God. So why does this god grant victory to the filthy (pagan) Polovtsy and condemn his faithful Christians to suffering? This is how the constant theme of divine retribution for sins arises in medieval literature.

The chronicle also addresses this topic in an article in 1096, which tells about a new raid by the Polovtsians, during which the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery was also damaged. The chronicler has no choice but to promise that Christians suffering on earth will be rewarded with the kingdom of heaven for their torment. But the thought of the power of the “filthy” does not leave the chronicler, and he cites an extensive extract from the apocryphal word of Methodius of Patara, “explaining” the origin of various nomadic peoples and mentioning, in particular, the legendary “unclean peoples” who were driven by Alexander the Great to the north, imprisoned in the mountains, but who will “come out” from there “by the end of the century” - on the eve of the destruction of the world. Dangers came to the Russian land not only from outside: the country was tormented by internecine wars of princes. Chroniclers passionately oppose fratricidal strife. It is apparently no coincidence that the unnamed (and perhaps formulated by the chronicler himself) speech of the princes at the meeting (congress) in Lyubech is cited: “Why are we destroying the Russian land, on which we ourselves are active? And the Polovtsy carry our land differently, and for the sake of the essence, they also fight between us. Yes, from now on we are in one heart and guard the Russian lands.”

However, Lyubechsky did not put an end to “which”; on the contrary, immediately after its end, a new atrocity was committed: Prince Vasilko Terebovlsky was slandered and blinded. And the chronicler inserts into the text of the chronicle a separate detailed story about the events of this time, a passionate “story of princely crimes” (words by D. S. Likhachev), which should convince not only the mind, but also the heart of readers of the urgent need for sincere and real brotherly love among the Rurikovichs . Only their union and joint actions can protect the country from the ruinous raids of the Polovtsians and warn against internal strife.

“The Tale of Bygone Years,” as a monument to historiography, is permeated with a single patriotic idea: the chroniclers strive to present their people as equal among other Christian nations, and proudly recall the glorious past of their country - the valor of the pagan princes, the piety and wisdom of the Christian princes. The chroniclers speak on behalf of all of Rus', rising above petty feudal disputes, strongly condemning strife and conflicts, describing with pain and anxiety the disasters brought by the raids of nomads. In a word, “The Tale of Bygone Years” is not just a description of the first centuries of the existence of Rus', it is a story about great beginnings: the beginning of Russian statehood, the beginning of Russian culture, about the beginnings that, according to the chroniclers, promise future power and glory for their homeland.

But “The Tale of Bygone Years” is not only a monument of historiography, it is also an outstanding monument of literature. In the chronicle text one can distinguish two types of narration, which differ significantly from each other. One type is weather records, that is, brief information about events that occurred. Thus, article 1020 consists of one message: “A son was born to Yaroslav, and his name was Volodimer.” This is a recording of a historical fact, nothing more. Sometimes a chronicle article includes a number of such recordings, a list of various facts, sometimes it even reports in sufficient detail about an event that is complex in its structure: for example, it reports who took part in a military action, where the troops gathered, where they moved, how it ended or another battle, what messages were exchanged between enemy princes or allied princes. There are especially many such detailed (sometimes multi-page) weather records in the Kyiv Chronicle of the 12th century. But the point is not in the brevity or detail of the narrative, but in its very principle: whether the chronicler informs about the events that took place and whether he talks about them, creating a plot narrative. The Tale of Bygone Years is characterized by the presence of just such plot stories. Let us give one illustrative example of a short chronicle story.

Article 968 tells about the siege of Kyiv by the Pechenegs. Prince Svyatoslav is far from his capital: he is fighting in Bulgaria. His mother, the elderly Princess Olga, and his sons remained in besieged Kyiv. People are “exhausted... with hunger and water [from lack of water].” On the opposite bank of the Dnieper, the Russian governor Pretich is with his retinue. The chronicle tells how a message from Princess Olga from the besieged city was conveyed to the governor. Let us quote this chronicle fragment translated by D.S. Likhachev: “And people in the city began to grieve and said: “Is there anyone who could get to the other side and tell them: if you don’t approach the city in the morning, we will surrender to the Pechenegs.” And one youth said: “I will pass,” and they answered him: “Go.” He left the city, holding a bridle, and ran through the Pecheneg camp, asking them: “Has anyone seen a horse?” For he knew Pecheneg and was accepted as one of their own. And when he approached the river, he threw off his clothes, threw himself into the Dnieper and swam. Seeing this, the Pechenegs rushed after him, shot at him, but could not do anything to him. On the other side they noticed him, drove up to him in a boat, took him into the boat and brought him to the squad. And the youth said to them: “If you don’t approach the city tomorrow, the people will surrender to the Pechenegs.”

The story does not end there: it tells how Governor Pretich cunningly made peace with the Pechenegs and how Svyatoslav rid his capital of his enemies. However, let's return to the episode in question. What we have before us is not just information that a certain youth, having reached Pretich, conveyed to him the princess’s request, but an attempt to describe exactly how the youth managed to carry out his daring plan. The boy runs through the enemy’s camp with a bridle in his hand, asking in their native language about the supposedly missing horse - all these details make the story visible and convincing; This is an artistically organized plot, and not dry information about what happened. So, in addition to the actual weather records, the chronicle also knows plot stories, and it is they that place the chronicle genre among other genres of ancient Russian literature.

In The Tale of Bygone Years, a special place is occupied by stories that go back to oral historical traditions and legends. These are precisely the stories about the first Russian princes: Oleg, Igor, Princess Olga, about Svyatoslav, about the time of Vladimir. In these stories, the style of chronicle narration, which D. S. Likhachev called the epic style, was especially evident.

Here it is necessary to emphasize that style in ancient Russian literature is not a narrow linguistic phenomenon, not only syllables and linguistic means themselves. Style is a special vision of the world, a special approach to its depiction, and also, of course, the sum of techniques (including linguistic ones) with the help of which this approach is implemented.

Thus, for a narrative in an epic style, it is typical that the hero is a man of heroic feat, distinguished by some extraordinary quality - cunning, intelligence, courage, strength; such “a hero is closely connected with one or several exploits, his characteristics are single, unchangeable, attached to the hero.”

A story about such a hero is usually a story about his feat, hence the indispensable feature of such a story is the presence of a sharp, entertaining plot. Very often, the shaping force of a plot collision is the hero’s cunning. The Kiev youth, whom we discussed above, outwitted the Pechenegs. Princess Olga is also distinguished by cunning in folk legends: the success of all her “revenge” on the Drevlyans for the murder of her husband is determined by the insidious wisdom of the princess, cunningly deceiving the simple-minded and arrogant Drevlyans. Let's see how these chronicle stories about Olga's revenge are constructed.

An article from 945 tells that after the murder of Igor, the Drevlyans sent envoys to his widow with an offer to marry their prince Mal. The Drevlyan ambassadors, sailing on boats to Kyiv, landed near Borichev. And here is an interesting clarification: “before then the water flowed along the side [at the foot] of the Kiev mountain and on the side of the mountain, not gray people, but on the mountain,” it further explains where exactly Kyiv was then located, where the princess’s tower stood, etc. Why these details that at first glance only slow down the flow of the story? Apparently, this is a trace of an oral narrative, when the narrator, addressing the listeners, sought to achieve their visual or, better yet, spatial empathy: now that the borders of Kyiv have become different, the listeners need to explain what the city was like then, in the distant times of the reign of Igor and Olga .

“And she told Olza that the Drevlyans had arrived...” the chronicler continues the story. What follows is Olga’s dialogue with the Drevlyan ambassadors. Lively, relaxed dialogue is an indispensable element of the story, it is often psychologically dispassionate, it is characterized by illustrative speech, what is important is not what is said, but only what is said, since this “what” is the grain of the plot. So, Olga invites the Drevlyan ambassadors to go to their boats for the night, and in the morning demand from the people of Kiev: “We are not going on horseback, nor are we going on foot, but you will carry us to the boats.” This favor of Olga towards the ambassadors of her husband’s killer is unexpected, and thanks to this the plot acquires a certain tension and entertainment. However, the author immediately ceases to intrigue the listener, reporting that Olga “ordered to dig a large and deep hole in the yard.” Here, as in other epic stories, the negative hero remains in the dark until the last moment, and the reader guesses (or even definitely knows) about the cunning of the positive hero and anticipates victory in advance; the intrigue is ajar for “his” reader and remains a mystery for the enemy in the story .

And indeed, the Drevlyan ambassadors, not suspecting deception, demand to be carried into the boat, as the princess advised them: the chronicler emphasizes that they sit in it “proudly”; this further sharpens the denouement of the plot: the Drevlyans, intoxicated by the imaginary honors shown to them, are unexpectedly thrown into a pit, and Olga, approaching the edge of it, asks with ominous irony: “Are you honorable?” And he orders them to be buried alive.

The story about Olga’s last, fourth revenge is constructed according to the same scheme: having besieged the capital of the Drevlyans, Iskorosten, Olga suddenly declares her mercy: “And I no longer want to take revenge, but I want to take tribute little by little, and having resigned myself to you, I will go [back] again.” The tribute that Olga demands is really insignificant: three doves and three sparrows from the yard. But when the Drevlyans bring the required birds, Olga’s warriors, by order of the princess, tie to each of them “a tser [tinder], wrapping them in scarves of mali, twisting [tying] them with a thread.” In the evening, the birds are released into the wild, and they carry lighted tinder on their paws to the city: “the pigeons flew into their nests, the pigeons flew into the dovecotes, and into the eaves of the bird; and so the dovetails, the cages, the vezhes, the odrinas [barns, haylofts] began to burn, and there was no yard where there was no fire.”

So, the entertainment of the plot is based on the fact that the reader, together with the positive hero, deceives (often cruelly and insidiously in a medieval manner) the enemy, who until the last moment is unaware of his disastrous fate.

Another thing is also important: the liveliness and naturalness of the story is achieved not only by the indispensable introduction of character dialogue into it, but also by a detailed, scrupulous description of any details, which immediately evokes a unique visual image in the reader. Let us pay attention to how in detail the method by which the tinder was attached to the legs of the birds is described, how various buildings are listed that were “ignited” by the sparrows and pigeons who returned to their nests and under the eaves (again a specific detail).

We encounter all the same features of the epic legend that are already familiar to us in the story about the siege of Belgorod by the Pechenegs, read in the “Tale of Bygone Years” under 997. Famine began in the besieged city. Having gathered at the meeting, the townspeople decided to surrender to the mercy of their enemies: “We will give in to the Pechenegs, and who will we live, who will we kill? We are already dying from hunger.” But one of the elders was not present at the meeting and, having learned about the decision of the people, offered his help. By order of the old man, two wells were dug, the townspeople collected handfuls of oats, wheat and bran, got honey from the prince's medusha (pantry), and from these supplies they prepared "tsezh", from which they make jelly, and sytu - a drink made from honey diluted with water . All this was poured into tubs installed in wells. Then Pecheneg ambassadors were invited to the city. And the townspeople said to them: “Why are you ruining yourself? If [when] can you prevail over us? If you stand for 10 years, what can you do for us? We have more food from the ground. If you don’t believe, let your eyes see it.” And then - again with details - it is told how the Pechenegs were led to the wells, how they drew water from them and had enough to eat, cooked jelly and treated the ambassadors. The Pechenegs believed in a miracle and lifted the siege from the city.

We have looked at only a few stories of folklore origin. These also include the legend about the death of Oleg, which served as the basis for the plot for Pushkin’s “Song of the Prophetic Oleg”, the story of the young Kozhemyak who defeated the Pecheneg hero, and some others.

But in the chronicles we also find other stories, the plots of which were certain particular facts. Such, for example, is the message about the uprising in the Rostov land, led by the Magi, the story of how a certain Novgorodian told fortunes to a magician (both in article 1071), a description of the transfer of the relics of Theodosius of Pechersk (in article 1091). Some historical events are narrated in detail, and these are stories, and not just detailed plot notes. D. S. Likhachev, for example, drew attention to the plot nature of the chronicle “stories about princely crimes.” In the Tale of Bygone Years, these include the story of the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky in article 1097.

What distinguishes such stories from weather records? First of all, the organization of the plot. The narrator dwells in detail on individual episodes, which acquire a special meaning for the idea of ​​the entire story. Thus, talking about the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky - an event that led to a long internecine war in which many Russian princes were drawn, the chronicler strives by all means to expose the criminals: the Kyiv prince Svyatopolk Izyaslavich and the Volyn prince David Igorevich.

This episode of Russian history is as follows. In 1097, the princes gathered in the city of Lyubech for a congress, where they decided to live in unanimity (“we have one heart”) and strictly observe the principle: “let each one keep his fatherland.” But when the princes began to leave for their destinies, a hitherto unheard-of (as the chronicler claims) “evil” happened. The boyars slandered Vasilko Rostislavich, Prince of Terebovl, before Davyd Igorevich (Prince of Vladimir-Volynsky). They convinced their overlord that Vasilke had conspired with Vladimir Monomakh to attack him, Davyd, and the Kyiv prince Svyatopolk. The chronicler, however, explains the slander by the machinations of the devil, who, saddened by the newly proclaimed friendship of the princes, “climbed” into the heart of “a certain husband,” but one way or another, Davyd believed them and convinced Svyatopolk of the same. The princes persuade Vasilko to stay and stay with them in Kyiv on the way to his native land. Vasilke at first refuses, but then gives in to their requests.

The chronicler, in deliberate detail (with the usual laconicism of chronicle narration!), describes how further events developed. Here are three princes sitting in Svyatopolk’s hut and talking. At the same time, Davyd, who himself convinced Vasilko to be captured, cannot contain his excitement: he is “grayed as if he were dumb.” When Svyatopolk goes out, supposedly to order breakfast, and Davyd remains with Vasilko, the conversation again does not go well: “And Vasilko began to speak to Davydov, and there was no voice in Davyd, no obedience [no matter how he could not speak , nor listen]: I was horrified [horrified] and had flattery in my heart.” Davyd cannot stand it and asks the servants: “Where is the brother?” They answer: “Stand on the senekh.” And, getting up, Davyd said: “I am going along, and you, brother, turn grey.” And, getting up, go out.” As soon as Davyd came out, the hut was locked, and Vasilko was chained. The next morning, after consulting with the people of Kiev, Svyatopolk orders Vasilko to be taken to the town of Belgorod near Kiev and there, on the advice of Davyd, to blind him. It describes in full detail how the prince's servants barely overcome the powerful and desperately resisting prince...

But let us return to the above episode of the conversation between the princes. It is notable for the fact that here the chronicler skillfully conveys not only the actions (there are almost none), but precisely the mental state of the conspirators, and especially Davyd Igorevich. This psychologism, which is generally very rare for Old Russian literature of the older period, speaks both of the great artistic possibilities and of the literary skill of Old Russian scribes; These possibilities and this skill made themselves felt as soon as a sufficient reason presented itself, when it was necessary to create a certain attitude of the reader to what was being described. In this case, the chronicler departed from tradition, from the canon, from the usual dispassionate, etiquette depiction of reality, which is generally inherent in chronicle narration.

It is in the Tale of Bygone Years, like in no other chronicle, that plot stories are frequent (we are not talking about inserted stories in the chronicles of the 15th-16th centuries). If we take the chronicles of the 11th-16th centuries. In general, the chronicle as a genre is characterized by a certain literary principle, developed already in the 11th-13th centuries. and received the name “style of monumental historicism” from D.S. Likhachev, who studied it.

Monumental historicism permeates the entire culture of Kievan Rus; its reflection in literature, and even more narrowly in chronicles, is only a particular, concrete embodiment of it.

According to the chroniclers, history is a book of human existence, largely already written in advance, destined by divine providence. The struggle between good and evil is eternal in the world, and the situation is eternal when people neglect their duties to God, violate his “covenants” and God punishes the disobedient - with pestilence, famine, “the discovery of foreigners” or even the complete destruction of the state and the “waste” of the people. Therefore, the chronicle is full of analogies, broad historical perspectives; the outline of events appears in it only as partial manifestations of the mentioned “eternal” collisions. Therefore, the chronicle talks about the main characters of this historical mystery - kings, princes, governors and the main functions corresponding to their position in society. The prince is depicted primarily at the most central moments of his activity - upon accession to the throne, during battles or diplomatic actions; the death of the prince is a kind of result of his activity, and the chronicler seeks to express this result in a ceremonial posthumous obituary, which lists the valor and glorious deeds of the prince, and precisely those virtues that befit him as a prince and a Christian. The ceremonial nature of the image requires adherence to etiquette of verbal expression. The picture painted here is an ideal, a kind of ideological and aesthetic credo of ancient Russian authors. We saw in the analysis of the “Tale of Bygone Years” that the chronicler often (and precisely in the “Tale of Bygone Years”, in contrast to subsequent chronicle collections) transgresses this credo, either giving way to the plots of historical legends, or offering entertaining eyewitness accounts, or focusing on the image individual, most significant historical episodes. In these cases, ceremony also retreated before the pressure of reality, as we saw in the story of the blinding of Vasilko Terebovlsky.

But if we leave aside these violations of the rules, these examples of literary freedom that the chroniclers, the creators of “The Tale of Bygone Years” and the collections that preceded it, allowed themselves, then in general the chronicle is a genre in which the main, main principles of the style of monumental historicism.

“The Tale of Bygone Years” did not remain only a monument of its time. Almost all chronicle collections of subsequent centuries began with the “Tale”, although, of course, in abbreviated collections of the 15th-16th centuries. or in local chroniclers, the ancient history of Rus' was presented in the form of brief selections about the most important events. And yet, history in them began from the very beginning, historical continuity continued to be recognized by Russian scribes until the 17th century.

In the XI - early XII centuries. the first Russian lives were created: two lives of Boris and Gleb, “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”, “The Life of Anthony of Pechersk” (not preserved until modern times). Their writing was not only a literary fact, but also an important link in the ideological policy of the Russian state. At this time, the Russian princes persistently sought from the Patriarch of Constantinople the rights to canonize their own Russian saints, which would significantly increase the authority of the Russian Church. The creation of a life was an indispensable condition for the canonization of a saint.

We will look here at one of the lives of Boris and Gleb - “Reading about the life and destruction” of Boris and Gleb and “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk”. Both lives were written by Nestor. A comparison of them is especially interesting, since they represent two hagiographic types - the life-martyria (the story of the martyrdom of the saint) and the monastic life, which tells about the entire life path of the righteous man, his piety, asceticism, the miracles he performed, etc. Nestor, Of course, he took into account the requirements of the Byzantine hagiographic canon. There is no doubt that he knew translated Byzantine lives. But at the same time, he showed such artistic independence, such extraordinary talent that the creation of these two masterpieces makes him one of the outstanding ancient Russian writers, regardless of whether he was also the compiler of “The Tale of Bygone Years” (this issue remains controversial).

"Reading about Boris and Gleb"
In addition to the two lives, a short article in the Tale of Bygone Years is also devoted to the fate of the sons of the Kyiv prince Vladimir Svyatoslavich - Boris and Gleb, the analysis of which is useful to precede the analysis of Nestor's "Reading".

Article 1015 of the “Tale of Bygone Years” tells that the Kiev prince Vladimir, who was about to set out on a campaign against the Pechenegs who attacked Rus', fell ill. He sends his son Boris at the head of his squad. In Boris's absence, the old prince dies. The chronicler gives the traditional obituary praise for the deceased prince and then moves on to the story of the fate of his sons (in the Laurentian Chronicle it is highlighted with a special heading: “About the murder of Borisov”). Let us give the beginning of the chronicle story.

“Svyatopolk sat in Kiev after his father, and called the Kiyans, and began to give them property. They were Primakh, and their hearts were not with him, like their brothers were with Boris. Boris, having returned from the howl, having not found the Pechenegs, the news came to him: “Your father is dead.” And weeping for our father, Velmi, we loved our fathers more [more] than anyone else, and came to the Lite [on the Alta River, near Kiev]. The squad decided to take away from him: “Behold, [here is] your squad to fight and howl. Go and sit on the table in Kiev.” He said: “Don’t let me lay my hands on my elder brother: if [if] my father dies, then take my father’s place.” And when he heard it, a howl came from him. Boris is standing with his youths [younger squad].

It is further said that Svyatopolk, having planned to kill Boris, wants to convince him of his disposition: “I want to have love with you, and I will add to you [I will add to that inheritance, to the property that you owned during your father’s life].” Svyatopolk himself “came to Vyshegorod [a town near Kiev] at night, secretly called Putsha and the Vyshegorod boys, and said to them: “Do you accept us with all your heart?” Putsha’s speech from Vyshygorod: “We can lay down our heads for you.” He said to them: “Don’t behave like anyone else, as you go, kill my brother Boris.” They soon promised to seduce him.”

We, of course, will not be able to raise the question of how much the plot of the chronicle story corresponded to actual events, and we understand well that the dialogue between Boris and his squad or Svyatopolk with the Vyshny Novgorod boyars is a literary device, the conjecture of the chronicler. And yet, in comparison with the above passage, the deliberate conventionality of “Reading about Boris and Gleb” catches the eye and allows one to clearly imagine the specifics of the hagiographic presentation.

The “reading” opens with a lengthy introduction, which sets out the entire history of the human race: the creation of Adam and Eve, their fall, the “idolatry” of people is exposed, we remember how Christ, who came to save the human race, taught and was crucified, how the apostles and a new faith triumphed. Only Rus' remained “in the first [former] idolatrous charm [remained pagan].” Vladimir baptized Rus', and this act is depicted as a general triumph and joy: people rushing to accept Christianity rejoice, and not one of them resists or even “verbs” “contrary” to the will of the prince, Vladimir himself rejoices, seeing the “warm faith” newly converted Christians. This is the background story of the villainous murder of Boris and Gleb by Svyatopolk.

Svyatopolk thinks and acts according to the machinations of the devil. The “historiographical” introduction to life corresponds to the ideas about the unity of the world historical process: the events that took place in Rus' are only a special case of the eternal struggle between God and the devil, and for every situation, for every action, Nestor looks for an analogy, a prototype in past history. Therefore, Vladimir’s decision to baptize Rus' leads to a comparison of him with Eustathius Placis (the Byzantine saint, whose life was discussed above) on the basis that Vladimir, as the “ancient Placis,” God “had no way of inducing spon (in this case, illness),” after which the prince decided to be baptized. Vladimir is also compared with Constantine the Great, whom Christian historiography revered as the emperor who proclaimed Christianity the state religion of Byzantium. Nestor compares Boris with the biblical Joseph, who suffered because of the envy of his brothers, etc.

The characters are also traditional. The chronicle says nothing about the childhood and youth of Boris and Gleb. Nestor, in accordance with the requirements of the hagiographical canon, narrates how, as a youth, Boris constantly read “the lives and torments of the saints” and dreamed of being awarded the same martyrdom.

The chronicle does not mention Boris's marriage. Nestor has a traditional motive - the future saint seeks to avoid marriage and marries only at the insistence of his father: “not for the sake of bodily lust,” but “for the sake of the king’s law and the obedience of his father.”

Further, the plots of the life and the chronicle coincide. But how different both monuments are in their interpretation of events! The chronicle says that Vladimir sends Boris with his warriors against the Pechenegs, the “Reading” speaks abstractly about certain “military” (that is, enemies, adversary), in the chronicle Boris returns to Kyiv, since he did not “find” (did not meet) enemy army, in “Reading” the enemies take flight, since they do not dare to “stand against the blessed one.”

Living human relationships are visible in the chronicle: Svyatopolk attracts the people of Kiev to his side by giving them gifts (“estate”), they are taken reluctantly, since in Boris’s army there are the same people of Kiev (“their brothers”) and - as is completely natural in the real conditions of that time, the people of Kiev feared a fratricidal war: Svyatopolk could rouse the people of Kiev against their relatives who had gone on a campaign with Boris. Finally, let us remember the nature of Svyatopolk’s promises (“I’ll put you to the fire”) or his negotiations with the “Vyshegorod boyars.” All these episodes in the chronicle story look very lifelike; in “Reading” they are completely absent. This reveals the tendency toward abstraction dictated by the canon of literary etiquette. The hagiographer strives to avoid specificity, lively dialogue, names (remember - the chronicle mentions the Alta River, Vyshgorod, Putsha - apparently the elder of the Vyshgorod residents, etc.) and even lively intonations in dialogues and monologues.

When the murder of Boris, and then Gleb, is described, the doomed princes only pray, and they pray ritually: either quoting psalms, or - contrary to any plausibility in life - they rush the killers to “finish their work.”

Using the example of "Reading" we can judge the characteristic features of the hagiographic canon - this is cold rationality, conscious detachment from specific facts, names, realities, theatricality and artificial pathos of dramatic episodes, the presence (and inevitable formal construction) of such elements of the life of the saint, about which the hagiographer did not have the slightest information: an example of this is the description of the childhood years of Boris and Gleb in “Reading”.

The position of those researchers who see in the anonymous “The Tale of Boris and Gleb” a monument created after the “Reading” seems very convincing; in their opinion, the author of the “Tale” is trying to overcome the schematic and conventional nature of traditional life, to fill it with living details, drawing them, in particular, from the original hagiography version, which has come down to us as part of the chronicle. The emotionality in “The Tale” is subtler and sincere, despite the conventionality of the situation: Boris and Gleb here too resignedly surrender themselves into the hands of the killers and here they manage to pray for a long time, literally at the moment when the killer’s sword is already raised over them, etc., but at the same time, their replicas are warmed by some kind of sincere warmth and seem more natural. Analyzing the “Tale,” the famous researcher of ancient Russian literature I. P. Eremin drew attention to the following line: Gleb, in the face of the murderers, “suffering his body” (trembling, weakening), asks for mercy. He asks, as children ask: “Don’t let me... Don’t let me!” (here “actions” means touch). He does not understand what and why he must die... Gleb's defenseless youth is, in its way, very elegant and touching. This is one of the most “watercolor” images of ancient Russian literature.” In “Reading” the same Gleb does not express his emotions in any way - he thinks (he hopes that he will be taken to his brother and that, having seen Gleb’s innocence, he will not “destroy” him), he prays, and rather dispassionately. Even when the murderer “took Saint Gleb as an honest head,” he “silently, like a lamb, kindly, with his whole mind in the name of God and looking up to the sky, praying.” However, this is by no means evidence of Nestor’s inability to convey living feelings: in the same scene he describes, for example, the experiences of Gleb’s soldiers and servants. When the prince orders him to be left in a boat in the middle of the river, the warriors “sting at the saint and often look around, wanting to see what the saint wants to be,” and the youths in his ship, at the sight of the murderers, “lay down their oars, sadly lamenting and crying for the saint.” As we see, their behavior is much more natural, and, therefore, the dispassion with which Gleb prepares to accept death is just a tribute to literary etiquette.

After “Reading about Boris and Gleb,” Nestor writes “The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk,” a monk and then abbot of the famous Kiev-Pechersk Monastery. This life is very different from the one discussed above in the great psychologism of the characters, the abundance of living realistic details, the verisimilitude and naturalness of the lines and dialogues. If in the lives of Boris and Gleb (especially in the “Reading”) the canon triumphs over the vitality of the situations described, then in the “Life of Theodosius,” on the contrary, miracles and fantastic visions are described so clearly and convincingly that the reader seems to see with his own eyes what is happening and cannot don't "believe" him.

It is unlikely that these differences are only the result of Nestor’s increased literary skill or a consequence of a change in his attitude towards the hagiographic canon. The reasons here are probably different. Firstly, these are different types of lives. The Life of Boris and Gleb is a life-martyrium, that is, a story about the martyrdom of a saint; This main theme also determined the artistic structure of such a life, the sharp contrast of good and evil, the martyr and his tormentors, dictated the special tension and “poster-like” directness of the climactic murder scene: it should be painfully long and moralizing to the extreme. Therefore, in martyrdoms, as a rule, the torture of the martyr is described in detail, and death occurs as if in several stages, so that the reader empathizes with the hero longer. At the same time, the hero addresses lengthy prayers to God, which reveal his steadfastness and humility and expose the full gravity of the crime of his killers.

"The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk"
“The Life of Theodosius of Pechersk” is a typical monastic life, a story about a pious, meek, hardworking righteous man, whose whole life is a continuous feat. It contains many everyday collisions: scenes of communication between the saint and monks, laymen, princes, sinners; In addition, in the lives of this type, an obligatory component is the miracles that the saint performs - and this introduces an element of plot entertainment into the life, requiring considerable skill from the author so that the miracle is described effectively and believably. Medieval hagiographers were well aware that the effect of a miracle is especially well achieved by combining purely realistic everyday details with a description of the action of otherworldly forces - the appearance of angels, dirty tricks perpetrated by demons, visions, etc.

The composition of the “Life” is traditional: there is a lengthy introduction and a story about the saint’s childhood. But already in this story about the birth, childhood and adolescence of Theodosius, an involuntary clash of traditional cliches and life’s truth occurs. Traditionally, the piety of Theodosius’s parents is mentioned; the scene of naming the baby is significant: the priest names him “Theodosius” (which means “given to God”), since he foresaw with the “eyes of his heart” that he “wants to be given to God from childhood.” It is traditional to mention how the boy Feodosia “went to the Church of God all day long” and did not approach his peers playing on the street. However, the image of Theodosius’s mother is completely unconventional, full of undeniable individuality. She was physically strong, with a rough, masculine voice; passionately loving her son, she nevertheless cannot come to terms with the fact that he, a youth from a very wealthy family, does not think of inheriting her villages and “slaves”, that he wears shabby clothes, flatly refusing to put on “light” and clean ones, and thereby brings reproach to the family by spending time in prayer or baking prosphora. The mother stops at nothing to break her son’s exalted piety (this is the paradox - Theodosius’s parents are presented by the hagiographer as pious and God-fearing people!), she brutally beats him, puts him on a chain, and tears off the chains from the boy’s body. When Theodosius manages to go to Kyiv in the hope of taking monastic vows in one of the monasteries there, the mother announces a large reward to anyone who will show her the whereabouts of her son. She finally discovers him in a cave, where he labors together with Anthony and Nikon (from this abode of hermits the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery later grows). And here she resorts to cunning: she demands that Anthony show her his son, threatening that otherwise she will “destroy” herself “before the doors of the oven.” But, seeing Theodosius, whose face “has changed from his much work and self-restraint,” the woman can no longer be angry: she, hugging her son, “crying bitterly,” begs him to return home and do whatever he wants there (“according to her will”). . Theodosius is adamant, and at his insistence the mother takes monastic vows in one of the nunneries. However, we understand that this is not so much the result of conviction in the correctness of his chosen path to God, but rather the act of a desperate woman who realized that only by becoming a nun would she be able to see her son at least occasionally.

The character of Theodosius himself is also complex. He possesses all the traditional virtues of an ascetic: meek, hardworking, adamant in the mortification of the flesh, full of mercy, but when a princely feud occurs in Kyiv (Svyatoslav expels his brother Izyaslav Yaroslavich from the grand-ducal throne), Feodosia is actively involved in a purely worldly political struggle and boldly denounces Svyatoslav.

But the most remarkable thing in the “Life” is the description of monastic life and especially the miracles performed by Theodosius. It was here that the “charm of simplicity and fiction” of the legends about the Kyiv miracle workers, which A. S. Pushkin so admired, manifested itself.

Here is one of these miracles performed by Theodosius. The elder of the bakers comes to him, then already the abbot of the Kiev-Pechersk Monastery, and reports that there is no flour left and there is nothing to bake bread for the brothers. Theodosius sends the baker: “Go, look in the bottom, how little flour you will find in it...” But the baker remembers that he swept the bottom and swept into the corner a small pile of bran - about three or four handfuls, and therefore confidently answers Theodosius: “I tell you the truth, father, for I have cut down that dung, and there is nothing in it, except a small cut in one coal.” But Theodosius, recalling the omnipotence of God and citing a similar example from the Bible, sends the baker again to see if there is flour in the bottom. He goes to the pantry, approaches the bottom and sees that the bottom, previously empty, is full of flour.

Everything in this episode is artistically convincing: both the liveliness of the dialogue and the effect of a miracle, enhanced precisely thanks to skillfully found details: the baker remembers that there are three or four handfuls of bran left - this is a concrete visible image and an equally visible image of a bottom filled with flour: there is so much of it that it even spills over the wall onto the ground.

The next episode is very picturesque. Feodosia was delayed on some business with the prince and must return to the monastery. The prince orders that Theodosius be given a lift by a certain youth in a cart. The same, seeing the monk in “wretched clothes” (Feodosia, and being the abbot, dressed so modestly that those who did not know him took him for a monastery cook), boldly addresses him: “Chrnorizche! Because you are apart all day, and I am hard [you are idle all the days, and I am working]. I can't ride a horse. But we’ve done this [let’s do this]: yes, I will lie down on a cart, but you can ride a horse.” Feodosia agrees. But as you get closer to the monastery, you meet more and more people who know Theodosius. They respectfully bow to him, and the boy gradually begins to worry: who is this well-known monk, albeit in shabby clothes? He is completely horrified when he sees with what honor Theodosius is greeted by the monastery brethren. However, the abbot does not reproach the driver and even orders him to be fed and paid.

Let us not guess whether such a case happened with Theodosius himself. Undoubtedly, another thing is that Nestor could and was able to describe such collisions, he was a writer of great talent, and the convention that we encounter in the works of ancient Russian literature is not a consequence of inability or special medieval thinking. When we talk about the very understanding of the phenomena of reality, we should only talk about special artistic thinking, that is, about ideas about how this reality should be depicted in monuments of certain literary genres.

Over the next centuries, many dozens of different lives will be written - eloquent and simply primitive and formal or, on the contrary, vital and sincere. We will have to talk about some of them later. Nestor was one of the first Russian hagiographers, and the traditions of his work will be continued and developed in the works of his followers.

Literature occupied the most important place in the culture of Kievan Rus. The development of literature and bookishness was closely related to the adoption of Orthodoxy. Byzantine and later Russian priests, first of all, translated and copied the books necessary for church services. More than 130 books have reached us, of which about 80 are liturgical. Handwritten books were created on parchment, this is the name of specially dressed calfskin (otherwise it was called charter). In literary monuments, the statutory letter prevailed - geometric writing of letters not related to each other. Many manuscripts were richly illustrated. This gave the books an elegant look, so ancient charters are externally perceived as beautiful works applied arts(9). The main literary sources of Christian doctrine are the Old and New Testaments Bible (Holy Scripture). The entire Bible was translated into Russian only in the 15th century, but certain parts of Scripture were already translated in ancient Kyiv. The most widespread were the Gospel and the Psalter, but along with religious books there were also secular ones. Old Russian literature knew a variety of genres<-ры. Мы можем назвать: агиографии - литература, посвященная житию святых (древнейшим памятником этого жанра является: «Житие Антония Печерского», повествующее о жизни монаха, основавшего первый скит на территории будущего Киево-Печер-ского монастыря, а из сохранившихся сочинений следует назвать «Житие Бориса и Глеба» Нестора, которое посвящено первым русским, канонизированным святым); апокрифы - предания о ге­роях библейских историй, которые не входили в канонические книги; хроники, или хронографы, повествующие об истории мира. Большинство книг были переводные - это сочинения римских и византийских богословов, так, например, одним из великолепных переводов был перевод знаменитой книги Иосифа Флавия «История Иудейской войны». По свидетельству летописи, великий князь Ярослав Мудрый приказал собрать писцов для перевода и перепи­сывания множества книг. (Известно, что при нем в Киеве уже был введен алфавит - кириллица, который создали великие болгарские просветители - монахи Кирилл и Мефодий.) (19) Самым значительным жанром молодой русской словесности, безусловно, следует считать летопись, которая рождалась под вли­янием традиций народного славянского эпоса и богатого устного народного творчества. Именно благодаря летописям развивалась самобытность и неповторимость русского языка. В истории лето­писей Киевской Руси можно отметить определенные этапы. Первый приходится на годы княжения Ярослава Мудрого (1019-1054), второй этап - на 60-е - 70-е гг. XI в., он связан с деятельностью монаха Киево-Печерского монастыря Никона. Около 1095 г. созда­ется новый летописный свод, так называемый «Начальный свод». В начале XII в. можно отметить самое значительное событие для развития русской летописи древнекиевского периода, появление «Повести временных лет», написанной монахом Киево-Печерского монастыря - Нестором. Около 1113 г. Нестор закончил сочинение, дав ему пространное название: «Се повести времянных (прошедших) лет, откуда есть пошла Русская земля, кто в Киеве нача первое княжити, и откуду Руская земля стала есть» (10; 36). Нестор поставил задачу - ввести историю Руси во всемирно-исторический процесс. Он начинает свое произведение библейским рассказом о Ное, от одного из сыновей которого ведет начало славянский род. Нестор повествует о возникновении династии Рюриковичей, о крещении Руси, о военных походах киевских князей, о междоусобицах. Для «Повести», как и других русских летописей, характерно свободное сочетание элементов жития, поучения, повести, похвального слова. Сочинение Нестора имеет огромную историческую ценность, имен­но благодаря ему мы имеем сегодня бесценные сведения о глубоком прошлом нашей Родины (10). Наряду с летописью, в древнерусской литературе развивался жанр «слова», отразивший пафос торжественного и поучающего красноречия. Известным сочинением этого жанра являет