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Who on earth lives well on earth? Who can live well in Rus' in our time?

18.04.2019

Prologue

In what year - calculate

In what land - guess

On the sidewalk

Seven men came together...

Seven not at all rested,

In that region of the Abandoned,

District of Long Abandoned,

Villages Nepakhano,

From adjacent villages:

Liquidovo, Banditovo,

Driven, Driven,

Kidalovo, Brosalovo,

Omitted also.

They got together, as of old, - they argued... -

From the older generation,

Also, Soviet,

Although from rural areas, -

It's read...

We also read Nekrasov

Light Nikolai Lyakseecha...

And when they agreed, they argued

At least take out the saints:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

Roman said: to the farmer,

Now he is for the landowner...

Yes to the Duma deputy, -

Demyan said without hesitation,

Luke said - to the ass,

No, to the stupid manager! -

The Gubin brothers said,

Ivan and Metrodor.

Well, Pakhom strained himself

Looking at the battered tablet:

Yes to the fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Mahmud said: to the king!

Each one in his own way

Wandering around the country roads:

He walked to the car service station

Get the piston for the tractor,

And he walked to the highway

So that his ancient Niva

Already the second day it has stalled

They took it in tow.

And the third with linden honey

To the gypsy reseller,

And the two Gubina brothers

There was a Sabbath in Kidalovo,

Groin - so homeless...

Mahmud - he is a clear matter:

Got away from my friends

Uzbek countrymen,

Found a Russian wife

And quickly became Russian

And gave birth to children...

They go to show off,

They yell and they won’t calm down,

It's like on TV

The talk show gathered...

They didn’t notice the dispute

How the dark night fell,

The dew is still flammable,

Yes, the beater struck...

But experienced men

Don't lose heart, dears -

They lit a fire, formed a formation,

Two people ran for vodka...

Without entova pokedova

It's not possible, don't ask...

We ate and ate,

They drank and argued:

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

Roman yells that the farmer -

Now he is for the landowner!

Yes to the Duma deputy, -

Demyan screams without rest,

Luka is buzzing - ass,

No, the manager is stupid! -

The Gubin brothers pressed on,

Ivan and Metrodor.

Well, Pakhom is swaggering,

No longer looking at the tablet:

Yes to the fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Mahmud shouts: to the king!

And the night, the night is terrible,

At least gouge out the last eye -

Engaged in hand-to-hand combat -

The dark forest roared!

And no, in a warm office

I would sit in front of the computer

And they quietly searched Google

And they found out everything calmly:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

But it has been verified since ancient times,

Grandfathers established -

Lots of cones! -

What a complete truth

There is no Internet!

Of course it could

Catch and farmer online

And to the Duma deputy

Write in email,

And to the fat manager

Go to the site with a question,

Pop in contact calculate,

And even in the oligarch's,

Having clever hackers,

Arrange a ministerial...

But there’s no chance here,

What can they write off!

To the king? At the press conference

Allowed for all of Rus'

Ask your questions...

And we are silent about the answer!

Having given up on a difficult matter,

To this virtual

Not at all manly

The men decided:

As was the case in the old days

Take a walk, take a walk,

Where hitchhiking, by train,

And where and on foot

According to Mother Rus'!

And the tablecloth is self-assembled...

Like in a fairy tale - we don’t need it!

What fairy tales but...

Is it time for fairy tales...

You will go from mountain to hill -

You will find both a home and a crust,

And drinks and snacks

And this - my God!:

Alcohol, solvents,

Various dyes,

rocket launchers,

Where's the cologne...

And how is it at Nekrasov’s

Everything is beautifully painted,

Painted, painted:

What, they say, is a pound of bread,

Yes, a bucket of vodka,

Yes, in the morning - cucumbers,

Yes, at noon it would be a jug

Cold kvass,

And in the evening, over the teapot,

Like Sukhov's...

You read - your mouth waters -

Pour and serve:

Oh, what a fun life it was

At ease in Rus'!

It was a collective farm life,

That was Soviet life,

Soviet "stagnant" -

With wide feasts -

Here are the self-assembled centuries!

You get a hole from the lamb -

They wound up the self-wraps,

They stole... the land was sold

And they gave it to us for hire!

They fought with the Urks,

Then the Chinese and the Turks

Not rye is sown with buckwheat

(And there’s nothing to eat here...)

And not oats with wheat,

And rice with beans and soybeans,

Or maybe hemp...

And then on arable lands

The godfathers have arrived in large numbers -

Cottage villages,

Forests, fields, lakes

They surrounded it with a fence!

And the rest of the men

Security guards hired

And the homeless brother

Driven away from the gate...

Still on arable land

Factories were built

Foreign iron

Collect for free.

Their factories are broken,

Long since razed to the ground,

And from other people's profits

Sails overseas!

But there are working places,

They are very eager

For just three pennies

There are men plowing there...

And what for the Fatherland -

Well, there really is nothing there:

Yes, only smoke and slag! -

Tajik is like a donkey there...

But this is to the south... To the north,

Where the field is full of clover,

The river of milk flowed,

Yes, it turned sour... and now

You can't hear the plowman in the field,

The fields are not plowed at all:

All the youth have left,

Yes, the men got drunk.

There are forests in the fields,

Harvesters are like lizards

Rusting to the south,

Like in ancient Jura.

So we are without self-assembly...

We're already in perestroika

We've been through so much

God forbid!

Let's fix the old Niva

And let's sit down the old fashioned way,

And all of us will fit in!

They said - they got down to business:

Jets in the carburetor

Bleed it out, fill it with oil -

In the box - vegetable oil,

And the tar goes to the salen block.

Yes, the valves have been adjusted,

You look - and it’s earned,

She grunted, she snorted,

Blowed out black smoke...

Everyone exhaled and grunted

And the whole company got in...

She's twice as big

It is known from the inside...

And we got in... and off we went

And they travel across Rus'...

Gasoline will sometimes run out -

They will get birch sap,

They'll add moonshine...

And if it’s downhill -

That’s without a petrol pump at all -

Roads are cost-free

In abundance in Rus'!

The Niva is old everywhere,

Battered and rusty

It passes - oh-oh-oh!

And if it happens somewhere

There is a Mirgorod puddle there,

which is wide

And Gogol is rare, really,

It will still fly...

In which pikes are found,

Sometimes whales will be born,

And then - enemy submarines

They emerge at night...

They'll give you the gas and you'll be off and running...

And if they sit in a puddle,

There are seven men -

Harnessed to the towline...

Or simply taken out by hand,

They will put you on the path

And... they roll again.

Chapter 1

About the peasant's share

Spoken and sung

And more is drunk...

Why should we ask the peasants:

To bewilder, to stun,

Ask questions,

Grooming, mowing...

Not yet for work

I don’t want tales,

Although in my soul I rejoice,

And yet not to him...

No days off at a construction site

Works for seven

And seven of us in the trailer

He lives in construction...

And there they chew and wash,

They wash, they pray to God,

So that they get laid off

Don't get there by accident

Because competition

A mouth hangs over them.

In our trailers like this

Twelve millionaires

(And how much for basements

The same illegals!)

They live freely and cheerfully

In Mother Rus'.

Gave them an apartment

Or even a communal apartment

Our government is Soviet...

Yes, even before the revolution

I rented a working room

In the basement, but with family!

And the population multiplied...

As it is now, things didn’t go smoothly...

And then he couldn’t -

Went with children and wives

And different icons

And the rest to the king...

And the king of that time, father,

Son-in-law to the German kings

Fired rifles, -

Thank you for that! -

So that the kids don't go

With icons to the king!

They asked for little:

Little things like this and that

And a day, no matter what,

Well, ten o'clock...

Now it’s even worse

They are working. Postmirny

They sit in trailers

And no matter where - no, no!

And so that, as in the Soviet

Epoch - seven hours...

This has been forgotten

And it's filled with cement,

There's nothing to say about this

And teeth on a hook...

Who else should we ask?

The men were daring...

Clearly, not an employee

A soldier who is not timid,

Who serves the Motherland,

And tomorrow - remember!

Politics is squalor:

There are many hot spots

And it’s good if mothers

Two hundred cargo will be delivered...

And not to the black miner

Or a mountain worker,

Or simply, brothers, to the welder -

What is it - I’m silent!

They are mired in inertia...

Yes, what’s there, even in space, -

Not for any money

I won't fly myself! -

Isn't life fun?

At ease in the sky?..

Of course, it’s not them to ask

About happiness in Rus'.

That's how they roll

They sing, sin and repent,

But in general - they philosophize,

As usual:

Our roads are true,

Our work is endless

And go astray from what is right

It's not meant to be...

Yes, here you shave with an awl,

And maybe you hope

And where will you go?

Out of this rut!

Is it uphill or downhill -

We're going in the same direction

And everyone around us...

While they were arguing like this,

They look: the car is new

Stuck in a rut...

In this guy's car

The surrounding village...

Trusting in God

Got into the Mercedes...

And here in our area

We need a UAZ, it seems...

God won't give up the UAZ

The pig won't eat the UAZ!

The cool father is sitting,

But the tractors don't seem...

Gone somewhere in the past,

Moreover, Belarus...

Here the men came -

They immediately clasped it and pulled it

And they pulled out the priest

Entirely made of dirt!

And as it should be,

Nekrasov prescribed,

It has long been planned in my soul,

Then they asked the question:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

After all, we got into a fight here,

At least take out the saints...

Roman believes: to the farmer,

He seems to be for the landowner...

Demyan, what about the deputy?

Luka again - ass,

No, to the stupid manager! -

The Gubin brothers interpret

Ivan and Metrodor.

Well, and Pakhom with the tablet, -

He and his story:

Like, fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Mahmud repeats: to the king!

Answer us with mercy,

Answer us according to your conscience

And if something happens, forgive me:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

What do you think is happiness?

Peace, wealth, honor...

At the village priest's

You can't count everything...

Although anything can happen -

Others with “chambers”

They take without “knowing honor”...

Does your soul hurt? - So we know...

Listen to confession...

Such soul-destroying -

Overseas series...

Otherwise they will come and “donate”

Damned bandits:

You wouldn’t take it, but you take it!

Until the temple is rebuilt -

What can you not rake?

And how will you build it,

That's where the translation is

In Kidalovo, Brosalovo,

Where are these people...

Where to rebuild everything again -

And so - what a year!

And with grandma's penny

There won't be any turnover...

And a man’s seasoned

Well, like you robbers,

Walks around God's temple...

So how can you be saved?

And we have to interrupt,

And rush between two

Distant shores:

Old women and thieves?..

To be saved is a sure thing, -

The Gubin brothers said,

Let's wave unseen

Here is this ancient Niva

To a new Mercedes!

She's miserable -

Ignition like this:

Will it go out, will it go out,

How long have we been riding?

How much we drag...

And your crossover

We could travel all over Rus' at once, -

Don’t slow down here, -

And instantly they recognized and recognized

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'...

What about me, dear ones,

My parish is not small,

I'm running here and there,

Otherwise they will call the ruler,

So, go to the city!

And you are on our Nivushka.

It's soul-saving

And everywhere it goes...

And the ruling priest

Will he recognize me?

The Lord will have mercy on you

The Lord recognizes the meek...

Lord is high

And the sponsoring deputies

They can't see far...

On the Niva you will approach them, -

It's such a complete turnoff

Right from the gate...

What from the crossover window,

At least turn on two axles,

You won’t recognize, you won’t look,

What is there in Rus'!

Well, in general, it didn't happen

That car, Soviet

To the new German

Guys, change...

But still they bowed

And they kissed the hand,

And everyone was blessed

Keep the path far away,

Because it's a foreign car

By Providence a gift...

After all, neither Nissan nor Lexia,

Not a complete set

Can't cancel

Holy grace...

Yarmonka

Well, how can we live without a fair?

Well, what about without partying?

In the great village of Prakhovo

Men are walking...

There are girls here with laughter,

Some with fur, some with holes,

Yes, half the world has gathered here:

Walk, just walk.

Surely we’ll find out here,

That's right, let's try

Surely, we’ll get to the bottom of it, -

Whom not to ask:

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

They go to the marketplace,

They go to the main square -

How much are they trading here?

There's nothing to trade! -

And how much they play around here,

They will ask the price and sulk...

They ride and kiss

And they dance - they can’t stop...

"Tatarga-matatarga -

Daring fair

With playful dancers,

Mostly sober..."

Yes, sober only for the time being -

Get rid of the burden

Pocket coppers...

Our Russian habit

The path is so narrow,

Yes, we’re talking about that

We won't - we'll help...

Everything is described there nicely

Our Nekrasov! -

The whole marketplace is a disgrace,

Everything is a riot...

Let's all go wild!

And the dancers with accordions -

Quite a few came in numbers,

All the way from America

Walking with harmonica:

Good-bye, my dear girl, good-bye!

I go to Alabama...

And my love story have the end -

Goodbye, darling,

I'm leaving for Alabama!

This may be the last time

There's a taram-there-there on you.

I was in Oklahoma

I stenciled the container.

Oklahoman jumped -

I didn't even notice...

I found myself a wife

On the New Flaundlen Peninsula...

This is and this is -

Glory to you, Lord!

We're New York girls

We are nayas!

We won't get lost anywhere

Not at any party!

We're Chicago boys

We are hedgehog guys!

If anyone touches the Chicago people -

The knives sparkle.

Our banjo started playing

I bet a cent for twenty-five:

Come out into the octagon, -

Ours will bear it again!

The banjo rang loudly:

I'll bet you a cent for twenty-five.

Our little gang

She hooted again.

Living in Washington is not bad,

Not living, but simply paradise!

Tired of burning kerosene, -

Get injected and tan!

Eh, my mother-in-law,

Give me a hangover!

Your plastic Kat

It doesn't move either!

Eh, you son-in-law, my son-in-law,

There's something I can't believe:

Under the Kansas man

Everything is moving!

Past mother-in-law's blog

I don't joke around:

Then I’ll drop something in an email,

I’ll show you in contact!

And the accordionists here,

And the accordionists are Russian

Of course they respond -

Try to hold it:

You are a man, man,

Rusty car...

I thought about jumping for a whole century -

The spring broke...

Perestroika has flown by

The shootout started...

I'd like to do a roll call -

Not a shisha left!

Mortgage, mortgage,

What have you done?

Impotent man

I did it instantly!

They increase the minimum wage, you bastards,

And the people are dying and dying...

Why are you raising?

But you are not allowed to eat!

Harmonist, harmonist,

The erysipelas are purple:

Oh, trouble, trouble, trouble -

Only because of this!

The ditties jingled for a long time

And with pictures and like this:

Earned half a piece

And we drank for a nickel.

So to the old beggar woman

There is nothing left to throw:

The shavings were removed from the friend's friend -

Feeling better...

How's it going with Nekrasov?

From Nikolai Lyakseich, -

We have strayed from the truth

And we lost the thread...

Writing poems is...

To plow and harrow:

“It is not the winds that blow violently,

It is not mother earth that sways -

He makes noise, sings, swears,

Swaying, lying around,

Fights and kisses

People are celebrating!

Two centuries have passed,

What has changed...

The people are noticeably declining

And he drinks to the missing...

And for a long time they called:

"Who are happy,

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!”

But everyone around laughed:

“Who, they say, have you read enough,

Damn, what have you picked up...

Who don't you ask here?

It's fun to mix without measure

At ease in Rus'!..”

Farmer

There is an old KAMAZ,

The guy is not small in the shoulders

Potatoes and beets

I thought about trading...

His trade is brisk

He himself flies in threes,

The same one that

Where are you flying, supposedly, Rus'?

They arrived - they didn’t get dusty

They came and bowed

Seven hefty men.

He knocked his knees,

He chickened out a little

And my crown itched

(Let’s write better - crown)

The farmer has...

In an apron, in a robe,

With a hidden “trauma”

You can barely snatch it -

When there are seven of them

It will come up by chance.

Ten he is not timid,

His health is not fragile,

But there was so much stuff -

Can't be described in poetry

And don't rhyme -

Because only “mother”...

But the men bowed down

And away with the hats,

And then they shared it

The story is simple:

We ourselves, - apparently he read, -

We agreed, - so God intended, -

And now we carry our cross -

Seven completely restless,

From the region of the Abandoned,

District of Long Abandoned,

Villages Nepakhano,

From adjacent villages:

Liquidovo, Banditovo,

Driven, Driven,

Kidalovo, Brosalovo,

Omitted also.

They got together, as of old, - they argued -

Well, just like Nekrasov

Light Nikolai Lyakseecha...

They got together and argued

At least take out the saints:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

Roman believes: to the farmer,

You seem to be for the landowner...

Demyan, what about the deputy?

Luka insists - ass,

No, to the stupid manager! -

The Gubin brothers interpret

Ivan and Metrodor.

Well, Pakhom is forgetful

He mumbles a little confusingly:

Like, fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Mahmud his: to the king!

Answer us according to your conscience... -

After all, there is no sadder story, -

What to ask, to inquire:

I want to tempt fate

No matter how hard you look... -

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

Let me be for the landowner,

But look at things

And judge for yourself

Am I having fun?

At ease in Rus'!

I'll start from a long time ago

And I will tell you

About the family tree -

Whatever...

My great-grandfather in the local parish

I walked regularly in the prefects...

That was under the landowners,

That was under the kings...

The master's clerk

Epic writer, storyteller

And he was registered at the parish

Psalmist, reader...

The breed is pious...

And then the king gave him his freedom, -

He's a flour miller

For eight suppliers

Started here. Nekrasov himself

Came here...

I won't lie - maybe

I copied Ermila from him,

Or maybe not from him.

And by the way, my grandfather said

(Was he just telling a fairy tale!)

What was Mazai in the family...

Like rivers flow into the sea and

Smoke rises to the sky...

Revolutions flashed

Developments, resolutions,

Citizen - God save me! -

Rus' has moved off its axis...

And then we almost lived

Free in Rus'...

The land was rich

There is no order, no matter how...

And therefore collective farms

They changed our commander...

But the enemy is his native hut

He came and robbed, burned...

“The land, apparently, is rich...” -

And a terrible “ordung” awaits!

Across all steppes and tracts

It's spread out - just like that!

Father left the tractor

And moved to the tank.

They shouted for Rus', for Stalin

Near Leningrad and Moscow

“Tanks rumbled across the field,

The soldiers went to their last battle...

The armor was hit by a blank,

Farewell dear crew..."

And what will remain of the tank -

You can't give a penny on market day!

And what will happen from the tanker...

But man is stronger than armor...

And so they converged in an open field

They and us, us and them...

Father burned four times

“It burned, it burned, but it didn’t burn!”

And death, the fascist infection,

More than once I took aim...

Changed drives and tracks

And they sang, looking at the dawn:

“Like, they say, in the next attack

I will definitely burn..."

But apparently the ancestors prayed for it -

And the flour miller and the grain grower, -

Grinded, ground

And Hitler was driven into the coffin...

What's this whole song about?

Think and ask...

We rode home in carriages

Legless cripples,

But they were breathing merrily,

Free in Rus'...

Oh, how fun it was to breathe,

At ease in Rus'!

Father of the first call

Came from the war with medals,

Medals for courage

But only without a hand...

He's coming to us in a lorry

They gave us a ride with honor...

Was elected chairman

Worked with my mother -

She was then a milkmaid,

I was a girl...

Stoves with pipes stuck out

And these pipes are rough

At night the wind sang...

They ache and hunch,

The village was raised - the city

The village is the support!

Legless - in carriages,

We fed in trains,

Whoever was robbing was from pay and...

And our dad is without a hand

Plowed for four...

But to taste something bitter -

No, no, no, no, no!

Although I walked among the bosses,

And mother is silent -

Cans for the handles and

Loaded milk...

Bottomless cans

Forty liters... tons

Milk, drain, drag,

Just don't crack!

And she gave birth to six of us -

That's it, the Motherland ordered!

But who ordered it?

The Russian soul asked,

Our plain is sad,

Where the lark sang...

I was born last...

The last one is not a freak...

That year with the Father of Nations

All the people said goodbye...

And our collective farm is under the batya,

There was an example for everyone else -

By that year he was listed:

Collective farm millionaire!

Yes, it was under the Union and

Did you plant corn?

They poisoned the pesticide...

But still, still, still

We didn't live too badly after all

Not bad in Rus',

Lord save us all!

And just in a minute, according to pre-restructuring

Thirty years have passed -

Our order is C

He sped away... and hello!

The earth seems to be the same

There is no order, no matter what!

Yes, brothers, in the nineties,

When the lads are hungry, -

Well, just like in Civil War, -

Well, almost with sawn-off shotguns,

I walked through the fields...

And that’s not how they robbed us,

How with these loans

The bankers are tearing us down...

The lads are now in collectors -

The collector is pretty cool!

That's why, and instead of Burushka, -

It's been a long time since we cut them! -

Australian horse meat

Now they are bringing it to Rus'...

Yes, here's the left sausage

From soybean, palm oil,

And also GMOs.

And there's no meat to be seen there

And unheard of there,

But here are a hundred varieties -

One hundred hungry mouths!

Why did this happen?

Since capital

An invisible poison

Permeated all souls...

And what is happening in the country -

Not what you need, not what you need

For the Russian peasant,

And what about the profit...

Let everyone die of cancer -

The bourgeoisie wouldn't even groan -

For them, Mother Russia is

Raw materials...

Population

Going to be laid off

All around is “pragmatics”

And there is no love for people...

On this one, on “pragmatics”

According to market mathematics

The village was simply abandoned

The industry has been demolished!

Illiteracy is coming again

Orphanhood, unemployment,

Just like before the revolution,

But here's the problem:

Then - the era is ancient! -

A village was needed and

The grain was exported,

And just a minute - they pump gas!

That’s why from “pragmatics”

According to market dogmatics

A man, like a worker

No one needs...

And to cover up the matter -

To our Soviet system

This is pouring out like a bucket,

This is what hemorrhoids are like...

Like, half the country was sitting,

And the floor, they say, is in the watchmen...

Although, in fact

Sat even less

Under those leaders...

And what exactly, brothers -

I won't surprise you -

Swear, swear like that -

That's why I love Rus'!

Right now half the country is trading,

And half the country is stealing

And the same ones are in the guards

Under the current leaders!

Yes, let it be with the Tatars,

With a prince, with anyone,

Even under Ivan the Terrible,

Under the serf system...

What about the collective farm... The main thing is

It would be a nice job!

And then they took it and threw it away,

And the common good...

After all, not everyone has kulak

There is a gut.

And they sold our land -

Look for her, fistulas!

And here we are sitting near the Motherland,

Like fistulas on the navel!

All the youth have left

Yes, the old man got drunk -

Rus' is covered with holes

And now everything is a draw!

We need a chairman

And the Stalinist collective farm...

And Borka... he is a traitor

Threw everyone down...

And now there is trouble all around,

They steal, drink and burn...

They burned my first tractor...

What a “zer gut” this is!

...........................

And me with my sausage

Rolled to the market...

Well, well, I amused myself with a fairy tale,

Well, I served!

And then they bowed:

Have mercy and save!

We've seen it all

At ease in Rus'!

Peasant woman

But even though it was not listed -

Babieu! - in the initial list,

But as you probably remember -

After all, these are men! -

Not everything is between men... -

Roman said thoughtfully...

Find the happy one, -

Demyan continued affectionately,

And the Gubins concluded:

Let's feel the women!

As it is thought, so it is said,

As said, so done

But the question is - who?..

And really, who should I ask...

Not an old switchwoman,

The one with the wound

There's a flag at the entrance

Meets the trains...

We're rolling along like a car,

She's in a shack like that

I've lost my eyelids.

The barrier is lowered -

Walking to bargain:

The salary is not great

And the kids in the city...

Comes with radishes in spring

And with onions and salad,

Then with garden berries,

Then the mushrooms will come:

Chanterelles, milk mushrooms, mushrooms,

Boletus, boletus,

And even a boletus!

There are few buyers...

Where are the helper kids...

And my husband is nowhere to be seen...

In winter he waves a crowbar

The ice is breaking at the crossing and

With a broom, with a shovel

In your solitude

A woman's age will live...

A crazy train passed by,

And in the windows everything is like Blok... -

But this song is sung...

Let's keep quiet about this...

The barrier rises:

Goodbye, goodbye

Let's go...

Let's go, let's go -

This is the regional city

Spread over the hills,

Arched along the river

With extinct factories,

With great trumpets,

In which there is no haze!

During the time of Batu

He is glorified by glory,

In the era of John

And in the Troubled Ages.

Here our ancestors fought as partisans

And even Bonaparte

Miraculously they were not taken prisoner...

And again they were partisans

In recent times

And the iron Wehrmacht

They broke the backbone here.

Well, the factories are nice,

Built under Stalin

Known throughout Russia -

What to talk about...

Well, in general, the name of the city,

You can omit it here.

And what happened to him, the glorious one...

Again Batu walked

Il Hitler with Bonaparte

They organized a parade...

No, what is it -

They would be instantly scratched

And they would turn into smoke!

There's something harsher here -

Meteorite Tunguska Li

Or an ancient plague...

The city, famous in the chronicles

A miraculous transformation

Turned around but now

Into a complete flea market -

People are puffing themselves at each other

Last to sell...

Cheat, steal, snatch...

And yet our wanderers -

Now they are eager for women, -

The question to ask, naturally, is

Nothing more...

To recognize and find out

To reveal the truth to the world:

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

They look - a beauty is riding

And I will become steadfast and slender,

Like in a fairy tale - the chest is high,

And the hair is dyed... -

Well, I don't know what.

It's just a white swan

Millionaire's wife

Escaped from the guards

I decided to walk...

And so they dared

They dared and got excited:

Sorry, - they shout, - beauty,

Wait, wait!

We bow down to you,

And we ask: no offense

Our difficult dilemma,

The problem is unreasonable

Take it and judge! -

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

The girl stumbled

Turned on them

Confused, embarrassed

And her gaze went out...

And sat down on the steps

I sat down in front of a post...

And it’s pasted on the pole,

And on the pillar it is written:

“Lyuba, Nadya, Vera,

Cottage, sauna, love,

Twenty four hours

Natasha, Masha, Dasha

And Sonechka Marmeladova..."

All the pillars are marked,

It's screwed on all the pillars,

But, in general, there is nothing to do -

The men fell silent:

They are experienced people

But so what! - not by hand...

Well, what will I answer you?

By honor and conscience,

There is no sadder story -

So as not to deceive you, -

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'...

I also ran to school,

I haven’t known trouble yet,

I was walking with the boys

At the dance and then...

I'm addicted to smoking

And I learned to drink,

And after the first drink

They dragged me onto the mattress...

Eh, once again, once again,

Many, many more times...

Better forty times at a time,

Than once - forty times...

How did I finish school there?

I don't remember. Like a doctor

I cleaned myself for the third time

And I hear: “Never!”

And I wanted love

I wanted a baby

Without a husband, even a child -

Yes, it’s not my will...

Then I cried for a long time,

I wanted to run away to my grandmother

To the village forever.

Yes, grandma is dead

The village is deserted

And you're not going anywhere

From the word: “Never!”

My friend Lyubochka -

Such a wretched one, -

I moved to Moscow a long time ago

Dispel sadness and melancholy:

To Moscow, to Moscow, to Moscow...

And there to the provincial girls -

Natalkas and Tamarochkas:

Panel, panel. Panel...

And there she is, good job

Arranged a trip

And took out the red maiden

To a sky-high brothel...

At least I have my passport here,

“I work” in my homeland

I pay the mistress-procuress

Yes to the local cop...

And there she was caught,

Remained a slave

And the third year from Lyubochka -

At least SMS!

Am I alive now? I don’t know.

In which country - I don’t know

Or maybe Lyubochka is no longer there -

God save her!

And there was not enough vodka, -

After all, try soberly

Lie down on the mattress...

Eh, once again, once again,

Many, many more times...

Better forty times at a time,

Than once - forty times...

...................................

And I started smoking

And there is money - it tingles,

And what will they give - to sniff,

But they won’t give it - well, well...

And there was a time before

In our green city,

And they were, as in Ivanovo,

We are the city of brides!

But our plant was sold,

But it was all destroyed

Our whole life was destroyed -

What can I say...

They laughed: “Komsomol girls”!

In a short T-shirt...

Well, now they are gone...

All around according to the constitution

Freedom of prostitution,

Unemployment is everywhere

And the beggars are just darkness -

Take care of them all

Both the zone and the prison.

According to our constitution

Rowing not according to instructions:

All options and functions,

Offshores, restitution

(still the same - prostitution!)

They cause us damage.

According to our constitution

Since the bourgeois revolution...

And the tears flow like a roar and...

And the money is beyond the border!

And here it is pasted around:

Love, love, love,

Cottage, love and sauna,

And even barbecue!

But kebabs and stuff -

After all, this is not about us:

We have a strict diet:

They give us doping.

Where to go - to the marketplace?

A cashier at a supermarket?

The last cleaning lady?

So everything is already busy there

Tajik, Uzbek,

And even a man!

Where have you seen this:

The guy at the cash register clicks...

They pinned the guy down!

And I want to eat, I want to eat...

And the exit is to the panel...

I'm standing outside the restaurant:

Oh, don't sing, don't sing, don't sing!

It's too late to get married, it's too early to die,

Goodbye, dear!

But if there was a factory,

Yes, I would work there!

Winder, knitter,

Yes, even in OTK...

I would be a Komsomol member, -

What a melancholy moment! -

Yes, I would definitely get married

My man would not be from the “roof”

And let him beat and drink,

But if only there was, there was!

And the pioneers are children

We'd play with rockets,

But this fairy tale is wonderful

He can barely return... -

Listen to the poor thing

Well, give me a puff... -

And the men rummaged

And Belomorina mint

She is being pulled by ten hands...

Since the Gubin brothers,

Pomeranian consent -

They don't smoke, for the life of me!

I'll ask you boys,

Where did all this go?

Why did all this give up,

Was it successful according to Daless?..

And how do you say Dimidushka

Pig, mad Mammon

I fed it - I don’t know! -

Silly grandfather?!

Yes, I know, I know, I’m a sinner,

I should burn in the inferno, fry,

I pray to God earnestly,

When I'm not drunk!..

Yes, I know - I can’t wash myself off:

"Cottage, love and sauna" -

There are no such washcloths!

But who lives a vile life,

Where I had no choice...

Where by force, where by vodka

They dragged me onto the mattress...

Eh, once again, once again,

Many, many more times...

Better forty times at a time,

Than once - forty times...

.......................

So who is vile in life?

I built this whole thing around,

"Freedom" damned,

It's like a millstone

Tied around your neck?!

And now I'm diagnosed

Left unemployed

And at twenty-eight years old

I sit and wait for the end...

Well, why are you sad?

Well, hang your noses,

Now you see for yourself -

Lord save you all! -

How fun my life is...

And with whom life is fun

At ease in Rus'! -

Here the men looked down,

They took off their hats before her:

Sorry for the demand, my dear,

Don't blame us for being stupid! -

We typed that there are little things -

She hasn't accepted yet

I didn't take it at all...

Well, here’s another thing we started:

It's not a matter between women

Happy to look for.

Do you remember Nekrasov,

Our school program -

What did the woman answer them...

You need to know the program:

“I haven’t been trampled by my feet,

Not tied with ropes,

No needles...

What else do you need?

And I’m already trampled in every way -

Not the first night with the master,

And a thousand and one!

And knitted and crucified,

And how are the veins stabbed -

Come take a look!

........................

At least go to the farmer,

(Goddamn him for the landowner!)

Yes, to the Duma deputy,

Yes, even to the priest,

Let him go to the stupid manager

Or to the fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Or maybe to the king!

That's what you need to ask them -

Even if you bite your elbow, -

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!..

Tsar

And here is the last chapter,

The last, cherished

Now we find out

We will get to the truth...

Let's get to the bottom and find out

According to Father Nekrasov,

According to Gogol, according to Gorky,

According to Fedor Mikhailych,

Yesenin, Platonov,

According to Sholokhov...

According to Shukshin, Vampilov,

Vysotsky, Rubtsov,

Or - with your mind...

Let’s find out and calculate

And we’ll understand everything about everything,

So that they don't argue anymore,

They didn’t argue, they didn’t quarrel,

And every person

I would have learned this forever:

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

Even if you fall off the shelf at midnight,

So ask right away -

That would clearly be minted -

Don't shake your throat:

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!

So that in an alley with a knife -

Oh, God forbid! -

And we wouldn’t hesitate here,

“Who lives a happy life,

At ease in Rus'!”

And I’ll remind you of the version

Pokedova one:

Roman blathered there: to the farmer,

Like, the farmer is for the landowner...

Yes to the Duma deputy, -

Demyan said without hesitation,

Luke said - to the ass,

No, the manager is stupid! -

The Gubin brothers said,

Ivan and Metrodor.

Well, Pakhom strained himself

Poking at the tablet:

Yes to the fat oligarch,

To the lop-eared minister,

Mahmud said: to the king!

Our dear king, father,

Doesn't know the mother truth...

If only he knew, my dear,

It was as if I had fallen asleep...

And the men headed off,

Leaving the old Niva

In the bushes behind the roundabout,

So as not to get caught by traffic cops,

That is, to the perpetrators, -

We don't have insurance...

There’s also nothing on the paw

Give the kids...

They went, as usual,

On foot, I suppose,

Entered the Mother See

Towards the May chime...

And then they died...

Here their traces are lost,

Well, just like Ivanovich

Cheerful man:

"A man came out of the house

With a rope and a bag...”

And then there were seven of them

And not even on foot.

........................

To the Abandoned Province

District of Long Abandoned,

Villages Nepakhano,

To these villages:

Liquidovo, Banditovo,

Driven, Driven,

Kidalovo, Brosalovo,

The omitted one

No one will come back...

No one will catch on

He'll catch on, he'll catch on.

And it won't make a noise.

Odin Andrey Vadimovich

Didn't make it up, didn't invent it -

I looked with one eye

And I wrote it down briefly...

“What I haven’t seen, I don’t know,

I haven’t heard - I’m not typing...

What's in the line?

Don't stand it! -

That's how it was written,

It just fell from the pen

Who has fun?

At ease in Rus'!”

And I feel sorry for the men,

Remembering their works, -

Let's remember everyone well...

But what they didn’t see -

Let's keep quiet, let's not lie...

Perhaps they didn’t disappear,

The sinners are not lost...

Was it like this or not?

For the man to disappear!

Were these the kind of battles

Is this what plutocracy is?

And even - democracy -

He hiccupped everyone!

Beaten by serfs,

Peter in twisted ropes,

Not killed in Grazhdanka,

Those who passed the collective farm...

They melted the fascists,

They melted the Reichstag,

And they were sent into space:

Let's go, no question!

What will they do now?

And each of us hopes

What does this ball have?

The tail will unravel...

And what have they disappeared?..

So this is a disguise,

How scary those roads are

Which now carry...

There's a tricky muddy road out there

The enemy is always waiting...

Or maybe Putin too, -

Who knows in advance! -

Stuck in the office

And they drink some tea

And they talk about life...

Who has fun?

So get rid of him!

Epilogue

I don't judge without time

The departed Nekrasov,

He lived like Raskolnikov

On the top floor...

Loved Mother Russia

And I carried pain in my soul...

“Go out to the Volga,

Whose groan is heard

Over the great Russian river?

We call this groan a song...

The barge haulers are walking along the towline...”

To Russia unwashed

He looked like he was in prison...

“To whom, to whom?” - inquired...

He answered: “No one!”

I also came up with Grishenka,

Which new song

Composed over Russia...

He's happy in the end

Walked over the Volga...

Its central Vladimirsky

I was waiting with this song...

Let me not live as a monk,

Didn't make a single stake...

But I wouldn't write again

All that Nikolai...

What has changed...

Yes, in general - nothing!

We dreamed about the commune...

But now she's gone...

They're trading souls again

And Chichikov the scoundrel...

There are bureaucrats all around again

New growth is stifled...

What else would you add...

You have already accepted the cross - carry it:

Life is fun from then on

Free in Rus'...

Life is so fun -

We want to laugh, well, to the point of tears...

And these... if they are released -

I'll send them to Davos:

That's where they find out

Answers to the question...

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Comments 43

Comments

43. Lucia : Reply to 35., Silvio63:
2018-01-14 at 15:02

Better yet, laugh

You won't surprise anyone with madness in Russia. But if anyone can be surprised by anything in Russia, it is a new degree of madness. This in Russia never ceases to amaze.

Russian life, at least Russian life of the 20th century, was created by madmen for madmen. Created well. Built strong. Built to last. The crazy people who created it are no longer there. Neither are the crazy people for whom it was created. But the madness remains.

It seems that I have done a lot of good for Russia; I unraveled the code of madness that encoded Russian life. I'm not a populist. I will not fool the Russian people, tormented by madness, in vain. I haven't cracked the code of madness. But I found the point from where madness radiates like rays in all directions, atoms, cells and millimeters of Russian life.

This point is Russian literary criticism.

It all started with Belinsky. Belinsky is our all-Russian madness. For some reason, it is believed that our everything is Pushkin. But this is not true. This lie was invented by those who wanted to hide the truth about Belinsky and the point of madness.

Belinsky was accidentally released from a mental hospital. This happened on December 14, 1825. The guards went to protect the Winter Palace from the Decembrists. Therefore, on that day, the madhouse was guarded by random people. They didn't know who Belinsky was. That he had crazy parents. That he was crazy from birth. That the madhouse is his homeland. That he was born and raised in a madhouse. That under no circumstances should he be released from the insane asylum. Therefore, they believed Belinsky when he said that he would only leave the madhouse for half an hour. Take a walk along the Moika embankment. And then straight back to the madhouse.

He never returned back.

The Rotozeevs, who released Belinsky from the insane asylum, were beaten with spitzrutens. Then they were hanged along with the Decembrists. Then they sent me to lifelong hard labor in Siberia. And Belinsky, while he was being caught, managed to write several “Reviews of the current state of Russian literature” and become a literary critic.

Belinsky was tormented by demons all his life. They went inside Belinsky at his birth. Female demons. One demon was called Morality. Another – Spirituality. Third – Natural School. Fourth – The need to overthrow the monarchy in Russia. The demons did not give Belinsky peace either day or night. Belinsky himself was not happy with these demons and wanted to get rid of them. But there was no exorcist. Belinsky had only one way to get rid of his demons - to transfer them to someone else. For example, Russian writers.

Belinsky agreed with Pushkin to transfer his demons to him. Almost already passed it on. But Pushkin came to his senses in time, wrote the poem “God forbid me from going crazy,” and, in order not to accept his demons from Belinsky, died in a duel. Then Belinsky came to an agreement with Lermontov. But Lermontov also managed to die in a duel and escape Belinsky’s demons. Then Belinsky came to an agreement with Dostoevsky. But Dostoevsky was also afraid to take his demons from Belinsky. Therefore, Dostoevsky, in order to be as far as possible from Belinsky and his demons, went into exile as a convict in the Kazakh steppes. Only Gogol was not afraid to take demons from Belinsky. Gogol was generally the bravest man among Russian writers. But then Gogol got scared too. Belinsky could not forgive Gogol for this, he wrote the frankly unfair “Letter to Gogol” and gave himself over to be torn to pieces by his demons.

Dobrolyubov had fewer demons than Belinsky. There were only two of them. And they were masculine. One demon was called Present Day. The other is a Ray of Light. Dobrolyubov’s demons also prevented him from living. But Dobrolyubov did not give up. He wrote articles about demons: “A Ray of Light in the Dark Kingdom” and “When the real one will come day” so that the demons come out of him through the articles. The Ray of Light really came out. But the Real Day still didn't come out. The Real Day remained inside Dobrolyubov.

I don’t know what happened to Pisarev. Pisarev himself did not know this. Pisarev had no demons. But Pisarev had a voice. Apparently, Pisarev was struck by lightning at birth. Therefore, Pisarev was haunted all his life by a voice that told him that boots were higher than Pushkin. In the end, my mother revealed his secret to Pisarev. There was lightning at Pisarev's birth. But it didn’t hit Pisarev. She ended up in Pushkin's portrait. The portrait hung in the Pisarevs’ hallway just above the boots of the obstetrician who delivered Pisarev’s mother. After a lightning strike, Pushkin's portrait fell under his boots. So the boots turned out to be taller than Pushkin. But Pisarev didn’t believe his mother. It seemed to Pisarev that lightning had struck him after all.

With Chernyshevsky everything was standard for a Russian critic. No voices there. Only demons. Two, neuter. Impatience and Democracy. But Chernyshevsky defeated his demons. Demons constantly tormented Chernyshevsky with the question “What should I do? What should we do?”, and Chernyshevsky mimicked them with the question “Who is to blame? Who is to blame? The demon Impatience could not stand such mockery and left Chernyshevsky. But the demon Democracy remained in Chernyshevsky. Then Chernyshevsky imitated the preparation of the revolution. Chernyshevsky was sentenced to lifelong exile in Siberia. Chernyshevsky calculated everything correctly. In Siberia, the demon Democracy could not withstand the Siberian cold and there, inside Chernyshevsky, he froze. Then Chernyshevsky lived calmly - without demons.

Until 1917, demons remained in Russian criticism. There were sometimes more, sometimes fewer. But under Soviet rule, there were no longer demons within critics. Soviet critics only had voices. All the demons from inner world Soviet critics were driven out by the Soviet regime.

However, there was one demon. The demon's name was Between. The demon climbed inside to Tynyanov. The demon constantly whispered to Tynyanov that all modern literature is not Eternity. Not real. Not Pushkin. Not that. It's not the same. Mandelstam is not like that. Kharms is not that either. It's just an interval. And Eternity, the present, and then all existed before. When was Pushkin. But Tynyanov wanted to modern literature. But the demon Interval did not let him there.

Tynyanov's demon was the last demon in Soviet literary criticism. Then there were only voices. They were already almost affectionate. They whispered something about generations. About village prose. About searches social hero. The critics were not afraid of voices, they listened to them willingly and trusted them in everything.

The demons returned under Gorbachev. Under Yeltsin they began to flourish. Along with the voices. Under Putin they finally flourished.

There are many demons. They were all mixed up. They are now both feminine, masculine, and neuter. The main demons are called Glamor, Pasternak, Booker, Detective, Format, Circulation, Bourgeoisness, Soviet Empire, Orthodox Faith, Liberal Value. There is also the demon of Feminism. And the demon Russian Patriot. And the demon Stability. There are many others. You can't count them all. Now they not only sit inside. Now they sound like voices outside.

After the madness of Russian criticism, Russian literature could no longer come close and often to madness. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the demons sitting inside her and the voices sounding around her.

But I have shown the point from where madness comes into all aspects of Russian life. Despite the fear. Now let Russia do whatever it wants with its crazy point. Let her take a long time to heal. Let him operate quickly without anesthesia. Let him declare it a museum of Russian madness. Let him expand its boundaries. Let him leave – as Russia generally does – everything unchanged as it is.
http://www.ng.ru/sty...-30/24_insanity.html

42. Lucia : Reply to 35., Silvio63:
2018-01-14 at 15:01

But these not vile verses Lucia In a blue caftan - a venerable meadowsweet, Fat, stocky, red as copper, A contractor is riding along the line on a holiday, He is going to look at his work. The idle people part decorously... The merchant wipes the sweat from his face And speaks, with his arms akimbo. : “Okay... nothing... well done! then he shouted “hurray”. They picked it up Louder, more friendly, more drawn out... Lo and behold: the foremen were rolling the barrel with a song... Here even the lazy man could not resist! The people harnessed the horses - and the merchant raced along the road with a shout of “Hurray!”... It seems difficult to draw a more gratifying picture, general? .."

Their artistic value, of course, is very small. The poor guy actually went to the civic level. No poet at all.
He is partly excused by the fact that all this stupid public simply did not foresee it. what their howling can lead to. Then, after the 17th, all these smart guys like them ran around like scalded cockroaches.

41. Descendant of subjects of Emperor Nicholas II : Reply to 27., Lucia:
2018-01-14 at 13:28

So they don’t need Snow White, but Little Red.

How stale, plebeian (but natural) it turns out to be a sarcasm from a literary actress who has taken up residence at the Shelter of Graphomaniacs.
A complete lack of literary flair, not to mention basic good taste.
After all, if she would have said not “Little Red,” but “Little Red Riding Hood,” it would have been profound, elegant, and, in fact, incomparably more sarcastic, if our “noblewoman” wanted to show her Nordic wit.

And she even takes it upon herself to judge other people’s poems.

40. Abaza : Answer to 39., water:
2018-01-14 at 07:21

Have you received your thirty pieces of silver? You, Abazinsky, definitely have, since the damned USSR collapsed by you and you personally. Yes, by the way, it seems that Mr. “comrade” Sobchak was one of the first to shout in Moscow about the so-called occupation of the Baltic states, apparently they threw it off directive from the Washington regional committee - it’s time for the Baltic states, as the most “occupied by Soviet occupiers” and “the most suffering” in the USSR, to “liberate”. I remember when the Union began to collapse from the Baltic states, the Russians there stood in the same chain with the local aborigines for secession from the USSR..

Standing with the local anti-Soviet aborigines, who were not finished off in the local forests, were the same dense anti-Soviet people, supposedly Russian, like you, Abaza."

I'm hooked! So you hit the nail on the head.
I knew about the mood of Latvians and Balts back in the early 1970s. And the fact that they openly called us Russian occupiers, and the fact that every Friday they showed the “forest brothers” on TV and listed their “exploits.” I also knew the mood of the Russians living there, “almost Europe!” So don't worry. While you were playing with dolls, I was repaying my debt to the Fatherland for three years. And I didn’t run around Europe in search of a culturally good life. Like some "advisers".

39. water :
2018-01-14 at 01:51

Have you received your thirty pieces of silver?

You, Abaza, definitely got it, since the USSR, cursed by you and you personally, collapsed.

Yes, by the way, it seems Mr. “Comrade” Sobchak was one of the first to shout in Moscow about the so-called occupation of the Baltic states, apparently they sent a directive from the Washington regional committee - it’s time for the Baltic states, as the most “occupied by Soviet occupiers” and “the most suffering” in the USSR “ free yourself."

I remember when the Union began to collapse from the Baltic states, the Russians there stood in the same line with the local aborigines for secession from the USSR.

With the local anti-Soviet aborigines, who were not finished off in the local forests, stood the same dense anti-Soviet people, supposedly Russian, like you, Abaza.

I know, from the stories of my friends, among whom there are Latvians, and relatives, who were declared pro-Soviet Latvians to be traitors, and Russians, and not only Russians, to be occupiers.

I was then in Hungary, where the ashes of Nagy Imre, the chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Hungarian People's Republic, who was killed in 1958 in October 1956, were solemnly and pathetically reburied.

1956 - the year of the “great” TsERU revolution.

Imre Nogy was executed, of course, “by order of the bloodthirsty USSR,” as it “unexpectedly became clear” only in 1989.

And then B.N. came to Hungary. Yeltsin came to the Hungarian parliament and, almost on his knees, asked to forgive all... Russians for not allowing the Hungarians to “breathe the American air of freedom” in 1956.

38. Kiram : Reply to 36., Abaza:
2018-01-14 at 00:24

Absolutely right! Nowadays Russian “non-citizens” are suffering for a reason. This is retribution for the very thing you mentioned. The vast majority of Russians wished to live separately in Baltic Europe. And then they were shown the door. The same story with the independence of Ukraine. Look at the statistics of voting for independence by regions of Ukraine. 25 years later it fired.

37. Abaza : Reply to 34., Lucia:
2018-01-13 at 23:52

vile rhymes. I don't know what this post means...

Only one thing: on the eve of the elections, the muddy wave of leftist revenge is gaining strength. The poems are really... not very good, but this is the structure of this dregs.

36. Abaza : Answer to 32., water:
2018-01-13 at 23:50

Dunka, who is eager to go to “Europe” - Turkey, poses as “an angel in white felt boots.” Only Dunka the nomenklatura, who escaped to “Europe” - Hungary, has the right to pose as an “angel in white felt boots.” The Baltic states, who, because of you, the Vlasovites, ended up in Europe, and then in the European Union. In Russia, no one was waiting for us and no one is waiting for us yet.

I remember when the Union began to collapse from the Baltic states, the Russians there stood in the same line with the local aborigines for secession from the USSR. Have you received your thirty pieces of silver?

35. Silvio63 : Reply to 34., Lucia:
2018-01-13 at 23:32

vile rhymes. I don't know what this post means...

But these are not vile rhymes Lucia

In a blue caftan - a venerable meadowsweet,
Thick, squat, red as copper,
A contractor is traveling along the line on holiday,
He goes to see his work.
The idle people part decorously...
The merchant wipes the sweat from his face
And he says, putting his hands on his hips:
“Okay... nothing... well done!.. well done!..
With God, now go home - congratulations!
(Hats off - if I say!)
I expose a barrel of wine to the workers
And - I give you the arrears!..”
Someone shouted “hurray”. Picked up
Louder, friendlier, longer... Lo and behold:
The foremen rolled the barrel singing...
Even the lazy man could not resist!
The people unharnessed the horses - and the purchase price
Shouting “Hurray!” he rushed along the road...
It seems difficult to see a more gratifying picture
Shall I draw, general?..”

34. Lucia :
2018-01-13 at 20:45

vile rhymes. I don't know what this post means...

Pretend to be an “angel in white felt boots”
Only Dunka the nomenklatura, who escaped to “Europe” - Hungary, has the right.

Don't bury yourself, water.

30. M. Yablokov : Reply to 23., Alexander Vaskin, Russian priest, officer of the Soviet Army:
2018-01-13 at 16:17

I don't do charity work. Moreover, in relation to schismatics and renegades. Clear?

29. Oleg V : answer 18, Lucia:
2018-01-13 at 15:56

Don't be offended, gnome. Who else should you be if you thought I was Snow White?

What are you talking about, baby! This is not fortune telling with a daisy - offended, not offended, loves, doesn’t love,...
Whoever lives well in Rus' is a block that snow whites cannot afford. Don't even dare. Only you will be completely exhausted and, God forbid, you will leave your children, dear gnomes, orphans.
And poor, miserable Snow White will be left alone with unwashed, dirty, pro-Soviet peasant Russia. And then came the answer: “I sent you.”

Russophobia, Urengoy You are a “girl”, this is in your story about the bride’s bouquet.

Russophobia is when Dunka, who is eager to go to “Europe” - Turkey, poses as an “angel in white felt boots.”

That's right, don't write!:

In difficult times, especially hard times, you only need to write light. The rest, if you can’t write it, don’t write it. If you can’t help but write, write, but don’t show it to anyone. 'Cause when the light comes, you'll be dirty

And if you write, then don’t show it to anyone, or even better, as YabLukov advises all “aristocrats” - wipe your children’s sniffles, if you’re shouting louder than anyone else here about your large number of children.

Or is this also an ordinary lie?

"And to cover up the matter -
On our Soviet system - Do you, dwarf, also like slandering the Tsar-Martyr? Maybe you respect Matilda too? Eco, how you’re hooked, baby! Everything is as written: according to your liking. In your fairy-tale kingdom, you call your ideological comrades “gnomes,” but you and I, as we previously had nothing to share, still remain the same. It is not according to royal dignity to run away from the people, no matter how rebellious they may be. As you know, “the city takes courage.” But distributing aid to the families of the dead, which might not have existed, is a characteristic of aristocratic weakness. Who was there, right is wrong - Only God now knows. Martyrdom, before the so-called rebellion of 1905, and after the revolutions of 1917, are different things. Everything could have been different in the fate of Russia from one right decision taken. History, however, does not know the subjunctive mood, and therefore we are Russian

Don't be offended, gnome. Who else should you be if you thought I was Snow White?

15. Oleg V : answer 12, RodElena:
2018-01-13 at 00:19

Agree. This is two meters of excellent,...let's say...mischief. In general, this is the most elegant of all the elegant Russophobias I have read recently. Ridicule is not God's doing, but the opposite. The devil is a misanthrope. Sometimes he giggles behind people's backs, and sometimes he makes people laugh. Parodists know this well when they parody someone’s lines or write epigrams about people. MAIN difference The point is that PERSONAL ridicule is a small evil, but IMMpersonal, indiscriminate, is already a mockery of the people. No matter what he is, it’s a sin to laugh at people. Especially in such difficult times. When the parody is impersonal, it is bile. The author is also in big trouble. In difficult times, in especially difficult times, you need to write only light things. The rest, if you can’t write it, don’t write it. If you can’t help but write, write, but don’t show it to anyone. Because when the light comes, you will be dirty.

Lena, when you moved to Turkey, you became all so white and fluffy that it looked like oriental marshmallows in chocolate. With Russia now you are clearly not on the same path, you will only dirty your light clothes about the gloomy humor of Russians about themselves.
Write your florid “bright” things about Russia in the spirit of Eastern wise criticism for subsequent generations of Janissaries. Look, they will believe you that silent silver is more precious than speaking gold.

13. Oleg V : answer 9, Lucia:
2018-01-12 at 23:40

And you, dwarf, also love slander against the Martyr Tsar? Maybe you respect Matilda too?

Eko, how hooked you are, baby! Everything is as written: according to your liking.
In your fairy-tale kingdom, you call your ideological comrades “gnomes,” but you and I, as we previously had nothing to share, still remain the same.
It is not according to royal dignity to run away from the people, no matter how rebellious they may be. As you know, “the city takes courage.” But distributing aid to the families of the dead, which might not have existed, is a characteristic of aristocratic weakness.
Who was there, right is wrong - Only God now knows. Martyrdom, before the so-called revolt of 1905, and after the revolutions of 1917, are different things. Everything could have been different in the fate of Russia from one correctly made decision. History, however, does not know the subjunctive mood, and therefore we are Russian

12. : Reply to 7., Lucia:
2018-01-12 at 22:50

What an abomination. Either slander against the martyr Tsar, or against Father Gleb Grozovsky.

Agree. This is two meters of excellent,...let's say...mischief. In general, this is the most elegant of all the elegant Russophobias I have read recently. Ridicule is not God's doing, but the opposite. The devil is a misanthrope. Sometimes he giggles behind people's backs, and sometimes he makes people laugh. Parodists know this well when they parody someone’s lines or write epigrams about people. The MAIN difference is that PERSONAL ridicule is a small evil, and IMMPERSONAL, indiscriminate, is already a mockery of the people. No matter what he is, it’s a sin to laugh at people. Especially in such difficult times. When the parody is impersonal, it is bile. The author is also in big trouble.
In difficult times, in especially difficult times, you need to write only light things. The rest, if you can’t write it, don’t write it. If you can’t help but write, write, but don’t show it to anyone. Because when the light comes, you will be dirty.

Elena Rodchenkova

10. Kiram : Answer to 3., Leonid-K:
2018-01-12 at 21:47

There’s something I clearly don’t understand, Dear editors......I went with my children and wives and various icons and others to the Tsar...And the Tsar of that time, father, the son-in-law of the German Tsars fired his rifles, - For which I thank you! -So that children don’t go to the Tsar with icons! Apparently, you were young and at school you were given a very truncated history of Russia. Type in the Internet search (Yandex, Google) the line:

The essence of the question is not in the text of the petition, but in the fact that “the tsar fired rifles so that children with icons would not go to the tsar.”
You, child, everything that is not to your liking is an abomination. The Fathers of the Church teach: “as is the character, so is morality.” This is for you, the mother of all high morality, they say. Start with yourself, then the abomination of others will seem like holiness to you, Snow White.

6. Oleg V : answer 4, Leonid-K:
2018-01-12 at 19:03

Patriotic poets are alive and have not died out in Russia, and with them brilliant poetry, in the spirit of Nekrasov’s love for Russia and its people. Low bow and full respect to the author..

5. Oleg V : answer 3, Leonid-K:
2018-01-12 at 18:52

Dear Ksenia, you are apparently young and at school you were given a very limited history of Russia. Type in the Internet search (Yandex, Google) the line:
"Petition of workers and residents of St. Petersburg on January 9, 1905"
and you will understand what the author wrote in this poem.

Not really. It was the popodya who was offended by the editors because they have abolished censorship on all kinds of “sedition.” In the opinion of modern mothers, the editors should somehow combine the current liberal-church dissent with strict Soviet censorship, then you see, everyone in Rus' would live well and live, and first of all, the builders of developed capitalism.

4. Leonid-K : A wonderful poem, quite worthy of the memory of Nekrsasov
2018-01-12 at 18:08

This is what the men saw in their search for “Who lives well in Rus',” and Nekrasov did not see it. The author very vividly described who and how life is in Rus' today. Marvel at the author's skill. The outline of the poem is Nekrasov’s, but life is ours. Poetry is alive in Russia!

3. Leonid-K : Answer to 2., Ksenia Balakina:
2018-01-12 at 17:47

2. Ksenia Balakina : Re: Who can live well in Rus'...
2016-05-15 at 19:17

There's something I clearly don't understand, Dear Editor...

Went with children and wives
And different icons
And the rest to the king...
And the king of that time, father,
Son-in-law to the German kings
Fired rifles, -
Thank you for that! -
So that the kids don't go
With icons to the king!

Yes, and about the rural priests somehow.... mercilessly.

Current page: 1 (book has 13 pages in total)

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov
Who can live well in Rus'?

* * *

Yu. Lebedev
Russian Odyssey

In the “Diary of a Writer” for 1877, F. M. Dostoevsky noticed characteristic feature, which appeared among the Russian people of the post-reform era - “this is a multitude, an extraordinary modern multitude of new people, a new root of Russian people, who need truth, one truth without conditional lies, and who, in order to achieve this truth, will give everything decisively.” Dostoevsky saw in them “the advancing future Russia.”

At the very beginning of the 20th century, another writer, V. G. Korolenko, made a discovery that struck him from a summer trip to the Urals: “At the same time as in the centers and at the heights of our culture they were talking about Nansen, about Andre’s bold attempt to penetrate in a balloon to North Pole - in the distant Ural villages there was talk about the Belovodsk kingdom and their own religious and scientific expedition was being prepared.” Among ordinary Cossacks, the conviction spread and strengthened that “somewhere out there, “beyond the bad weather,” “beyond the valleys, beyond the mountains, beyond the wide seas,” there exists a “blessed country,” in which, by the providence of God and the accidents of history, it has been preserved and flourishes throughout integrity is the complete and complete formula of grace. This is a real fairy-tale country of all centuries and peoples, colored only by the Old Believer mood. In it, planted by the Apostle Thomas, true faith blooms, with churches, bishops, patriarchs and pious kings... This kingdom knows neither theft, nor murder, nor self-interest, since true faith gives birth there to true piety.”

It turns out that back in the late 1860s, the Don Cossacks corresponded with the Ural Cossacks, collected quite a significant amount and equipped the Cossack Varsonofy Baryshnikov and two comrades to search for this promised land. Baryshnikov set off through Constantinople to Asia Minor, then to the Malabar coast, and finally to the East Indies... The expedition returned with disappointing news: it failed to find Belovodye. Thirty years later, in 1898, the dream of the Belovodsk kingdom flares up with renewed vigor, funds are found, and a new pilgrimage is organized. On May 30, 1898, a “deputation” of Cossacks boarded a ship departing from Odessa for Constantinople.

“From this day, in fact, the foreign journey of the deputies of the Urals to the Belovodsk kingdom began, and among the international crowd of merchants, military men, scientists, tourists, diplomats traveling around the world out of curiosity or in search of money, fame and pleasure, three natives, as it were, got mixed up from another world, looking for ways to the fabulous Belovodsk kingdom.” Korolenko described in detail all the vicissitudes of this unusual journey, in which, despite all the curiosity and strangeness of the conceived enterprise, the same Russia of honest people, noted by Dostoevsky, “who need only the truth”, who have “an unshakable desire for honesty and truth”, appeared. indestructible, and for the word of truth each of them will give his life and all his advantages.”

By the end of the 19th century, not only the top of Russian society was drawn into the great spiritual pilgrimage, all of Russia, all of its people, rushed to it. “These Russian homeless wanderers,” Dostoevsky noted in a speech about Pushkin, “continue their wanderings to this day and, it seems, will not disappear for a long time.” For a long time, “for the Russian wanderer needs precisely universal happiness in order to calm down - he will not be reconciled cheaper.”

“There was approximately the following case: I knew one person who believed in a righteous land,” said another wanderer in our literature, Luke, from M. Gorky’s play “At the Depths.” - He said there should be a righteous country in the world... in that land, they say - special people inhabit... good people! They respect each other, they simply help each other... and everything is nice and good with them! And so the man kept getting ready to go... to look for this righteous land. He was poor, he lived poorly... and when things were so difficult for him that he could even lie down and die, he did not lose his spirit, and everything happened, he just grinned and said: “Nothing!” I'll be patient! A few more - I’ll wait... and then I’ll give up this whole life and - I’ll go to the righteous land...” He had only one joy - this land... And to this place - it was in Siberia - they sent an exiled scientist... with books, with plans he, a scientist, with all sorts of things... The man says to the scientist: “Show me, do me a favor, where the righteous land lies and how to get there?” Now it was the scientist who opened his books, laid out his plans... he looked and looked - no nowhere is there a righteous land! “Everything is true, all the lands are shown, but the righteous one is not!”

The man doesn’t believe... There must be, he says... look better! Otherwise, he says, your books and plans are of no use if there is no righteous land... The scientist is offended. My plans, he says, are the most faithful, but there is no righteous land at all. Well, then the man got angry - how could that be? Lived, lived, endured, endured and believed everything - there is! but according to plans it turns out - no! Robbery!.. And he says to the scientist: “Oh, you... such a bastard!” You are a scoundrel, not a scientist...” Yes, in his ear - once! Moreover!.. ( After a pause.) And after that he went home and hanged himself!”

The 1860s marked a sharp historical turning point in the destinies of Russia, which henceforth broke with the legal, “homebody” existence and the whole world, all the people went to long haul spiritual quest, marked by ups and downs, fatal temptations and deviations, but the righteous path lies precisely in passion, in the sincerity of one’s inescapable desire to find the truth. And perhaps for the first time, Nekrasov’s poetry responded to this deep process, which covered not only the “tops”, but also the very “bottoms” of society.

1

The poet began work on the grandiose plan of a “people's book” in 1863, and ended up mortally ill in 1877, with a bitter awareness of the incompleteness and incompleteness of his plan: “One thing I deeply regret is that I did not finish my poem “To whom in Rus' live well." It “should have included all the experience given to Nikolai Alekseevich by studying the people, all the information about them accumulated “by word of mouth” over twenty years,” recalled G. I. Uspensky about conversations with Nekrasov.

However, the question of the “incompleteness” of “Who Lives Well in Rus'” is very controversial and problematic. Firstly, the poet’s own confessions are subjectively exaggerated. It is known that a writer always has a feeling of dissatisfaction, and the larger the idea, the more acute it is. Dostoevsky wrote about The Brothers Karamazov: “I myself think that not even one tenth of it was possible to express what I wanted.” But on this basis, do we dare to consider Dostoevsky’s novel a fragment of an unrealized plan? It’s the same with “Who Lives Well in Rus'.”

Secondly, the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” was conceived as an epic, that is, a work of art depicting with the maximum degree of completeness and objectivity an entire era in the life of the people. Since folk life is limitless and inexhaustible in its countless manifestations, the epic in any of its varieties (poem-epic, novel-epic) is characterized by incompleteness and incompleteness. This is its specific difference from other forms of poetic art.

"This tricky song
He will sing to the end of the word,
Who is the whole earth, baptized Rus',
It will go from end to end."
Her Christ-pleaser himself
He hasn’t finished singing - he’s sleeping in eternal sleep -

This is how Nekrasov expressed his understanding of the epic plan in the poem “Peddlers.” The epic can be continued indefinitely, but it is also possible to put an end to some high segment of its path.

Until now, researchers of Nekrasov’s work are arguing about the sequence of arrangement of parts of “Who Lives Well in Rus',” since the dying poet did not have time to make final orders in this regard.

It is noteworthy that this dispute itself involuntarily confirms the epic nature of “Who Lives Well in Rus'.” The composition of this work is built according to the laws of classical epic: it consists of separate, relatively autonomous parts and chapters. Outwardly, these parts are connected by the theme of the road: seven truth-seekers wander around Rus', trying to resolve the question that haunts them: who can live well in Rus'? In the “Prologue” there seems to be a clear outline of the journey - a meeting with a landowner, an official, a merchant, a minister and a tsar. However, the epic lacks a clear and unambiguous sense of purpose. Nekrasov does not force the action and is in no hurry to bring it to an all-resolving conclusion. As an epic artist, he strives to completely recreate life, to reveal all the diversity folk characters, all the indirectness, all the winding of folk paths, paths and roads.

The world in the epic narrative appears as it is - disordered and unexpected, devoid of rectilinear movement. The author of the epic allows for “digressions, trips into the past, leaps somewhere sideways, to the side.” According to the definition of the modern literary theorist G.D. Gachev, “the epic is like a child walking through the cabinet of curiosities of the universe. One character, or a building, or a thought caught his attention - and the author, forgetting about everything, plunges into it; then he was distracted by another - and he gave himself up to him just as completely. But this is not just a compositional principle, not just the specificity of the plot in the epic... Anyone who, while narrating, makes “digressions”, lingers on this or that subject for an unexpectedly long time; the one who succumbs to the temptation to describe both this and that and is choked with greed, sinning against the pace of the narrative, thereby speaks of the wastefulness, the abundance of being, that he (being) has nowhere to rush. In other words: it expresses the idea that being reigns over the principle of time (while the dramatic form, on the contrary, emphasizes the power of time - it is not for nothing that a seemingly only “formal” demand for the unity of time was born there).

The fairy-tale motifs introduced into the epic “Who Lives Well in Rus'” allow Nekrasov to freely and easily deal with time and space, easily transfer the action from one end of Russia to the other, slow down or speed up time according to fairy-tale laws. What unites the epic is not the external plot, not the movement towards a clear result, but the internal plot: slowly, step by step, the contradictory but irreversible growth of national self-awareness, which has not yet come to a conclusion, is still on the difficult roads of quest, becomes clear. In this sense, the plot-compositional looseness of the poem is not accidental: it expresses through its uncollectedness the diversity and diversity folk life thinking about herself differently, assessing her place in the world and her purpose differently.

In an effort to recreate the moving panorama of people's life in its entirety, Nekrasov also uses all the wealth of oral folk art. But the folklore element in the epic also expresses the gradual growth of national self-awareness: the fairy-tale motifs of the “Prologue” are replaced by the epic epic, then by lyrical folk songs in “The Peasant Woman” and, finally, with the songs of Grisha Dobrosklonov in “A Feast for the Whole World,” striving to become popular and already partially accepted and understood by the people. The men listen to his songs, sometimes nod in agreement, but last song, “Rus,” they had not yet heard: he had not yet sung it to them. And therefore the ending of the poem is open to the future, not resolved.

If only our wanderers could be under one roof,
If only they could know what was happening to Grisha.

But the wanderers did not hear the song “Rus”, which means they did not yet understand what the “embodiment of people’s happiness” was. It turns out that Nekrasov did not finish his song not only because death got in the way. People’s life itself did not finish singing his songs in those years. More than a hundred years have passed since then, and the song begun by the great poet about the Russian peasantry is still being sung. In “The Feast,” only a glimpse of the future happiness is outlined, which the poet dreams of, realizing how many roads lie ahead before its real embodiment. The incompleteness of “Who Lives Well in Rus'” is fundamental and artistically significant as a sign of a folk epic.

“Who Lives Well in Rus'” both as a whole and in each of its parts resembles a peasant lay gathering, which is the most complete expression of democratic people's self-government. At such a gathering, residents of one village or several villages included in the “world” resolved all issues of common worldly life. The gathering had nothing in common with a modern meeting. The chairman leading the discussion was absent. Each community member, at will, entered into a conversation or skirmish, defending his point of view. Instead of voting, the principle of general consent was in effect. The dissatisfied were convinced or retreated, and during the discussion a “worldly verdict” matured. If there was no general agreement, the meeting was postponed to the next day. Gradually, during heated debates, a unanimous opinion matured, agreement was sought and found.

A contributor to Nekrasov’s “Domestic Notes”, the populist writer N. N. Zlatovratsky described the original peasant life this way: “This is the second day that we have had gathering after gathering. You look out the window, now at one end, now at the other end of the village, there are crowds of owners, old people, children: some are sitting, others are standing in front of them, with their hands behind their backs and listening attentively to someone. This someone waves his arms, bends his whole body, shouts something very convincingly, falls silent for a few minutes and then starts convincing again. But suddenly they object to him, they object somehow at once, their voices rise higher and higher, they shout at the top of their lungs, as befits such a vast hall as the surrounding meadows and fields, everyone speaks, without being embarrassed by anyone or anything, as befits a free a gathering of equal persons. Not the slightest sign of formality. Foreman Maxim Maksimych himself stands somewhere on the side, like the most invisible member of our community... Here everything goes straight, everything becomes an edge; if anyone, out of cowardice or calculation, decides to get away with silence, he will be mercilessly brought to light clean water. And there are very few of these faint-hearted people at especially important gatherings. I saw the most meek, most unrequited men who<…>at gatherings, in moments of general excitement, they were completely transformed and<…>they gained such courage that they managed to outdo the obviously brave men. At the moments of its apogee, the gathering becomes simply an open mutual confession and mutual exposure, a manifestation of the broadest publicity.”

Nekrasov’s entire epic poem is a flaring up worldly gathering that is gradually gaining strength. It reaches its peak in the final "Feast for the Whole World." However, a general “worldly verdict” is still not passed. Only the path to it is outlined, many initial obstacles have been removed, and on many points a movement towards general agreement has been identified. But there is no conclusion, life has not stopped, gatherings have not stopped, the epic is open to the future. For Nekrasov, the process itself is important here; it is important that the peasantry not only thought about the meaning of life, but also set out on a difficult, long path of truth-seeking. Let's try to take a closer look at it, moving from “Prologue. Part one" to "The Peasant Woman", "The Last One" and "A Feast for the Whole World".

2

In the "Prologue" the meeting of seven men is narrated as a great epic event.

In what year - calculate
Guess what land?
On the sidewalk
Seven men came together...

So the epics and fairy-tale heroes for a battle or a feast of honor. Time and space acquire an epic scope in the poem: the action is carried out throughout Rus'. The tightened province, Terpigorev district, Pustoporozhnaya volost, the villages of Zaplatovo, Dyryavino, Razutovo, Znobishino, Gorelovo, Neelovo, Neurozhaina can be attributed to any of the Russian provinces, districts, volosts and villages. The general sign of post-reform ruin is captured. And the question itself, which excited the men, concerns all of Russia - peasant, noble, merchant. Therefore, the quarrel that arose between them is not an ordinary event, but great debate. In the soul of every grain grower, with his own private destiny, with his own everyday interests, a question arose that concerns everyone, the entire people's world.

Each one in his own way
Left the house before noon:
That path led to the forge,
He went to the village of Ivankovo
Call Father Prokofy
Baptize the child.
Groin honeycomb
Carried to the market in Velikoye,
And the two Gubina brothers
So easy with a halter
Catch a stubborn horse
They went to their own herd.
It's high time for everyone
Return on your own way -
They're walking side by side!

Each man had his own path, and suddenly they found a common path: the question of happiness united the people. And therefore, before us are no longer ordinary men with their own individual destiny and personal interests, but guardians for the entire peasant world, truth-seekers. The number “seven” is magical in folklore. Seven Wanderers– an image of great epic proportions. The fairy-tale flavor of the “Prologue” raises the narrative above everyday life, above peasant life and gives the action an epic universality.

The fairy-tale atmosphere in the Prologue has many meanings. Giving events a national sound, it also turns into a convenient method for the poet to characterize national self-consciousness. Let us note that Nekrasov plays with the fairy tale. In general, his treatment of folklore is more free and relaxed compared to the poems “Peddlers” and “Frost, Red Nose.” Yes, and he treats the people differently, often makes fun of the peasants, provokes readers, paradoxically sharpens the people’s view of things, and laughs at the limitations of the peasant worldview. The intonation structure of the narrative in “Who Lives Well in Rus'” is very flexible and rich: here is the author’s good-natured smile, condescension, light irony, bitter joke, lyrical regret, sorrow, reflection, and appeal. The intonation and stylistic polyphony of the narrative in its own way reflects the new phase of folk life. Before us is the post-reform peasantry, which has broken with the immovable patriarchal existence, with the age-old worldly and spiritual settled life. This is already a wandering Rus' with awakened self-awareness, noisy, discordant, prickly and unyielding, prone to quarrels and disputes. And the author does not stand aside from her, but turns into an equal participant in her life. He either rises above the disputants, then becomes imbued with sympathy for one of the disputing parties, then becomes touched, then becomes indignant. Just as Rus' lives in disputes, in search of truth, so the author is in an intense dialogue with her.

In the literature about “Who Lives Well in Rus'” one can find the statement that the dispute between the seven wanderers that opens the poem corresponds to the original compositional plan, from which the poet subsequently retreated. Already in the first part there was a deviation from the planned plot, and instead of meeting with the rich and noble, truth-seekers began to interview the crowd.

But this deviation immediately occurs at the “upper” level. For some reason, instead of the landowner and the official whom the men had designated for questioning, a meeting takes place with a priest. Is this a coincidence?

Let us note first of all that the “formula” of the dispute proclaimed by the men signifies not so much the original intention as the level of national self-awareness that manifests itself in this dispute. And Nekrasov cannot help but show the reader its limitations: men understand happiness in a primitive way and reduce it to a well-fed life and material security. What is it worth, for example, such a candidate for the role of a lucky man, as the “merchant” is proclaimed, and even a “fat-bellied one”! And behind the argument between the men - who lives happily and freely in Rus'? - immediately, but still gradually, muffled, another, much more significant and important question arises, which makes up the soul of the epic poem - how to understand human happiness, where to look for it and what does it consist of?

In the final chapter, “A Feast for the Whole World,” the following assessment is given through the mouth of Grisha Dobrosklonov current state national life: “The Russian people are gathering strength and learning to be citizens.”

In fact, this formula contains the main pathos of the poem. It is important for Nekrasov to show how the forces that unite them are maturing among the people and what civic orientation they are acquiring. The intent of the poem is by no means to force the wanderers to carry out successive meetings according to the program they have planned. Much more important here is a completely different question: what is happiness in the eternal, Orthodox Christian understanding and are the Russian people capable of combining peasant “politics” with Christian morality?

That's why folklore motives in the Prologue they play a dual role. On the one hand, the poet uses them to give the beginning of the work a high epic sound, and on the other hand, to emphasize the limited consciousness of the disputants, who deviate in their idea of happiness from the righteous to the evil paths. Let us remember that Nekrasov spoke about this more than once for a long time, for example, in one of the versions of “Song to Eremushka,” created back in 1859.

Pleasures change
Living does not mean drinking and eating.
There are better aspirations in the world,
There is a nobler good.
Despise the evil ways:
There is debauchery and vanity.
Honor the covenants that are forever right
And learn them from Christ.

These same two paths, sung over Russia by the angel of mercy in “A Feast for the Whole World,” are now opening up before the Russian people, who are celebrating a funeral service and are faced with a choice.

In the middle of the world
For a free heart
There are two ways.
Weigh the proud strength,
Weigh your strong will:
Which way to go?

This song sounds over Russia, coming to life from the lips of the messenger of the Creator himself, and the fate of the people will directly depend on which path the wanderers take after long wanderings and meanderings along Russian country roads.

For now, the poet is pleased only by the very desire of the people to seek the truth. And the direction of these searches, the temptation of wealth at the very beginning of the journey, cannot but cause bitter irony. Therefore, the fairy-tale plot of the “Prologue” is also characterized by the low level of peasant consciousness, spontaneous, vague, with difficulty making its way to universal issues. The people's thought has not yet acquired clarity and clarity; it is still fused with nature and is sometimes expressed not so much in words as in action, in deed: instead of thinking, fists are used.

Men still live by the fairy-tale formula: “go there - I don’t know where, bring that - I don’t know what.”

They walk as if they are being chased
Behind them are gray wolves,
What's further is quick.
…
I would probably kiss you the night
So they walked - where, not knowing...

Is this why the disturbing, demonic element grows in the Prologue? “The woman you meet,” “the clumsy Durandiha,” turns into a laughing witch in front of the men’s eyes. And Pakhom wanders his mind for a long time, trying to understand what happened to him and his companions, until he comes to the conclusion that the “goblin played a nice joke” on them.

The poem makes a comic comparison of a men's argument with a bullfight in a peasant herd. And the cow, which had gotten lost in the evening, came to the fire, fixed its eyes on the men,

I listened to crazy speeches
And I began, my dear,
Moo, moo, moo!

Nature responds to the destructiveness of the dispute, which develops into a serious fight, and in the person of not so much good as its sinister forces, representatives of folk demonology, classified as forest evil spirits. Seven eagle owls flock to watch the arguing wanderers: from seven large trees “the midnight owls laugh.”

And the raven, a smart bird,
Arrived, sitting on a tree
Right by the fire,
Sits and prays to the devil,
To be slapped to death
Which one!

The commotion grows, spreads, covers the entire forest, and it seems that the “forest spirit” itself laughs, laughs at the men, responds to their squabble and massacre with malicious intentions.

A booming echo woke up,
Let's go for a walk,
Let's go scream and shout
As if to tease
Stubborn men.

Of course, the author's irony in the Prologue is good-natured and condescending. The poet does not want to judge men harshly for the wretchedness and extreme limitations of their ideas about happiness and a happy person. He knows that this limitation is associated with the harsh everyday life of a peasant, with such material deprivations in which suffering itself sometimes takes on unspiritual, ugly and perverted forms. This happens whenever the people are deprived of their daily bread. Let us remember the song “Hungry” heard in “The Feast”:

The man is standing -
It's swaying
A man is coming -
Can't breathe!
From its bark
It's unraveled
Melancholy-trouble
Exhausted...

3

And in order to highlight the limitations of the peasant understanding of happiness, Nekrasov brings the wanderers together in the first part of the epic poem not with a landowner or an official, but with a priest. The priest, a spiritual person, closest to the people in his way of life, and due to his duty called upon to guard a thousand-year-old national shrine, very accurately compresses the vague ideas about happiness for the wanderers themselves into a capacious formula.

– What do you think is happiness?
Peace, wealth, honor -
Isn't that right, dear friends? -
They said: “Yes”...

Of course, the priest himself ironically distances himself from this formula: “This, dear friends, is happiness according to you!” And then, with visual convincingness, he refutes with all his life experience the naivety of each hypostasis of this triune formula: neither “peace”, nor “wealth”, nor “honor” can be placed as the basis of a truly human, Christian understanding happiness.

The priest's story makes men think about a lot. The common, ironically condescending assessment of the clergy here reveals itself to be untrue. According to the laws of epic storytelling, the poet trustingly surrenders to the priest’s story, which is constructed in such a way that behind the personal life of one priest, the life of the entire clergy rises and stands tall. The poet is in no hurry, does not rush with the development of the action, giving the hero full opportunity to express everything that is on his soul. Behind the life of the priest, the life of all of Russia in its past and present, in its different classes, is revealed on the pages of the epic poem. Here are dramatic changes in the noble estates: the old patriarchal-noble Rus', which lived sedentarily and was close to the people in morals and customs, is becoming a thing of the past. The post-reform waste of life and the ruin of the nobles destroyed its centuries-old foundations and destroyed the old attachment to the family village nest. “Like the Jewish tribe,” the landowners scattered throughout the world, adopting new habits that were far from Russian moral traditions and legends.

In the priest’s story, a “great chain” unfolds before the eyes of savvy men, in which all the links are firmly connected: if you touch one, it will respond in the other. The drama of the Russian nobility brings with it drama into the life of the clergy. To the same extent, this drama is aggravated by the post-reform impoverishment of the peasant.

Our villages are poor,
And the peasants in them are sick
Yes, women are sad,
Nurses, drinkers,
Slaves, pilgrims
And eternal workers,
Lord give them strength!

The clergy cannot be at peace when the people, their drinker and breadwinner, are in poverty. And the point here is not only the material impoverishment of the peasantry and nobility, which entails the impoverishment of the clergy. The priest's main problem lies elsewhere. The man’s misfortunes bring deep moral suffering to sensitive people from the clergy: “It’s hard to live on pennies with such labor!”

It happens to the sick
You will come: not dying,
The peasant family is scary
At that hour when she has to
Lose your breadwinner!
Give a farewell message to the deceased
And support in the remaining
You try your best
The spirit is cheerful! And here to you
The old woman, the mother of the dead man,
Look, he's reaching out with the bony one,
Calloused hand.
The soul will turn over,
How they jingle in this little hand
Two copper coins!

The priest’s confession speaks not only about the suffering that is associated with social “disorders” in a country that is in a deep national crisis. These “disorders” that lie on the surface of life must be eliminated; a righteous social struggle against them is possible and even necessary. But there are also other, deeper contradictions associated with the imperfection of human nature itself. It is these contradictions that reveal the vanity and slyness of people who strive to present life as sheer pleasure, as a thoughtless intoxication with wealth, ambition, and complacency that turns into indifference to one’s neighbor. The priest in his confession deals a crushing blow to those who profess such morality. Talking about parting words to the sick and dying, the priest speaks of the impossibility peace of mind on this earth for a person who is not indifferent to his neighbor:

Go where you are called!
You go unconditionally.
And even if only the bones
Alone broke, -
No! gets wet every time,
The soul will hurt.
Don't believe it, Orthodox Christians,
There is a limit to habit:
No heart can bear
Without any trepidation
Death rattle
Funeral lament
Orphan's sadness!
Amen!.. Now think,
What's the peace like?..

It turns out that a person completely free from suffering, living “freely, happily” is a stupid, indifferent person, defective in morally. Life is not a holiday, but hard work, not only physical, but also spiritual, requiring self-denial from a person. After all, Nekrasov himself affirmed the same ideal in the poem “In Memory of Dobrolyubov,” the ideal of high citizenship, surrendering to which it is impossible not to sacrifice oneself, not to consciously reject “worldly pleasures.” Is this why the priest looked down when he heard the question of the peasants, which was far from the Christian truth of life - “is the priest’s life sweet” - and with the dignity of an Orthodox minister addressed the wanderers:

... Orthodox!
It is a sin to grumble against God,
I bear my cross with patience...

And his whole story is, in fact, an example of how every person who is ready to lay down his life “for his friends” can bear the cross.

The lesson taught to the wanderers by the priest has not yet benefited them, but nevertheless brought confusion into the peasant consciousness. The men unitedly took up arms against Luka:

- What, did you take it? stubborn head!
Country club!
That's where the argument gets into!
"Nobles of the bell -
The priests live like princes."
…
Well, here's what you've praised
A priest's life!

The author’s irony is not accidental, because with the same success it was possible to “finish” not only Luka, but also each of them separately and all of them together. The peasant scolding here is again followed by the shadow of Nekrasov, who laughs at the limitations of the people’s original ideas about happiness. And it is no coincidence that after meeting with the priest, the behavior and way of thinking of the wanderers changes significantly. They become more and more active in dialogues, and intervene more and more energetically in life. And the attention of wanderers is increasingly beginning to be captured not by the world of masters, but by the people’s environment.

Who can live well in Rus'?

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov

“Who Lives Well in Rus'” is Nekrasov’s final work, a folk epic, which includes the entire centuries-old experience of peasant life, all the information about the people collected by the poet “by word” for twenty years.

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov

Who can live well in Rus'?

PART ONE

In what year - calculate

Guess what land?

On the sidewalk

Seven men came together:

Seven temporarily obliged,

A tightened province,

Terpigoreva County,

Empty parish,

From adjacent villages:

Zaplatova, Dyryavina,

Razutova, Znobishina,

Gorelova, Neelova -

There is also a poor harvest,

They came together and argued:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

Roman said: to the landowner,

Demyan said: to the official,

Luke said: ass.

To the fat-bellied merchant! -

The Gubin brothers said,

Ivan and Metrodor.

Old man Pakhom pushed

And he said, looking at the ground:

To the noble boyar,

To the sovereign minister.

And Prov said: to the king...

The guy's a bull: he'll get in trouble

What a whim in the head -

Stake her from there

You can’t knock them out: they resist,

Everyone stands on their own!

Is this the kind of argument they started?

What do passers-by think?

You know, the kids found the treasure

And they share among themselves...

Each one in his own way

Left the house before noon:

That path led to the forge,

He went to the village of Ivankovo

Call Father Prokofy

Baptize the child.

Groin honeycomb

Carried to the market in Velikoye,

And the two Gubina brothers

So easy with a halter

Catch a stubborn horse

They went to their own herd.

It's high time for everyone

Return on your own way -

They're walking side by side!

They walk as if they are being chased

Behind them are gray wolves,

What's further is quick.

They go - they reproach!

They scream - they won’t come to their senses!

But time doesn’t wait.

They didn’t notice the dispute

As the red sun set,

How evening came.

I would probably kiss you all night

So they went - where, not knowing,

If only they met a woman,

Gnarled Durandiha,

She didn’t shout: “Reverends!

Where are you looking at night?

Have you decided to go?..”

She asked, she laughed,

Whipped, witch, gelding

And she rode off at a gallop...

“Where?..” - they looked at each other

Our men are here

They stand, silent, looking down...

The night has long since passed,

The stars lit up frequently

In the high skies

The moon has surfaced, the shadows are black

The road was cut

To zealous walkers.

Oh shadows! black shadows!

Who won't you catch up with?

Who won't you overtake?

Only you, black shadows,

You can't catch it - you can't hug it!

To the forest, to the path-path

Pakhom looked, remained silent,

I looked - my mind scattered

And finally he said:

"Well! goblin nice joke

He played a joke on us!

No way, after all, we are almost

We've gone thirty versts!

Now tossing and turning home -

We're tired - we won't get there,

Let's sit down - there's nothing to do.

Let's rest until the sun!..”

Blaming the trouble on the devil,

Under the forest along the path

The men sat down.

They lit a fire, formed a formation,

Two people ran for vodka,

And the others as long as

The glass was made

The birch bark has been touched.

The vodka arrived soon.

The snack has arrived -

The men are feasting!

They drank three kosushki,

We ate and argued

Again: who has fun living?

Free in Rus'?

Roman shouts: to the landowner,

Demyan shouts: to the official,

Luka shouts: ass;

Kupchina fat-bellied, -

The Gubin brothers are shouting,

Ivan and Mitrodor;

Pakhom shouts: to the brightest

To the noble boyar,

To the sovereign minister,

And Prov shouts: to the king!

It took more than before

Perky men,

They swear obscenely,

No wonder they grab it

In each other's hair...

Look - they've already grabbed it!

Roman is pushing Pakhomushka,

Demyan pushes Luka.

And the two Gubina brothers

They iron the hefty Provo, -

And everyone shouts his own!

A booming echo woke up,

Let's go for a walk,

Let's go scream and shout

As if to tease

Stubborn men.

To the king! - can be heard to the right,

To the left responds:

Ass! ass! ass!

The whole forest was in commotion

With flying birds

Swift-footed beasts

And creeping reptiles, -

And a groan, and a roar, and a roar!

First of all, little gray bunny

From a nearby bush

Suddenly he jumped out, as if disheveled,

And he ran away!

Small jackdaws are behind him

Birch trees were raised at the top

A nasty, sharp squeak.

And then there’s the warbler

Tiny chick with fright

Fell from the nest;

The warbler chirps and cries,

Where is the chick? – he won’t find it!

Then the old cuckoo

I woke up and thought

Someone to cuckoo;

Accepted ten times

Yes, I got lost every time

And started again...

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

The bread will begin to spike,

You'll choke on an ear of corn -

You won't cuckoo!

Seven eagle owls flew together,

Admiring the carnage

From seven big trees,

They're laughing, night owls!

And their eyes are yellow

They burn like burning wax

Fourteen candles!

And the raven, a smart bird,

Arrived, sitting on a tree

Right by the fire.

Sits and prays to the devil,

To be slapped to death

Which one!

Cow with a bell

That I've been off since the evening

She came to the fire and stared

Eyes on the men

I listened to crazy speeches

And I began, my dear,

Moo, moo, moo!

The stupid cow moos

Small jackdaws squeak.

The boys are screaming,

And the echo echoes everyone.

He has only one concern -

Teasing honest people

Scare the boys and women!

Nobody saw him

And everyone has heard,

Without a body - but it lives,

Without a tongue - screams!

Owl - Zamoskvoretskaya

The princess is immediately mooing,

Flies over the peasants

Crashing on the ground,

It’s about the bushes with the wing...

The fox herself is cunning,

Out of womanish curiosity,

Snuck up on the men

I listened, I listened

And she walked away, thinking:

“And the devil won’t understand them!”

Indeed: the debaters themselves

They hardly knew, they remembered -

What are they making noise about...

Having bruised my sides quite a bit

To each other, we came to our senses

Finally, the peasants

They drank from a puddle,

Washed, freshened up,

Sleep began to tilt them...

Meanwhile, the tiny chick,

Little by little, half a seedling,

Flying low,

I got close to the fire.

Pakhomushka caught him,

He brought it to the fire and looked at it

And he said: “Little bird,

And the marigold is awesome!

I breathe and you'll roll off your palm,

If I sneeze, you'll roll into the fire,

If I click, you'll roll around dead

But you, little bird,

Stronger than a man!

The wings will soon get stronger,

Bye bye! wherever you want

That's where you'll fly!

Oh, you little birdie!

Give us your wings

We'll fly around the whole kingdom,

Let's see, let's explore,

Let's ask around and find out:

Who lives happily?

Is it at ease in Rus'?

“You wouldn’t even need wings,

If only we had some bread

Half a pound a day, -

And so we would Mother Rus'

They tried it on with their feet!” -

Said the gloomy Prov.

“Yes, a bucket of vodka,” -

They added eagerly

Before vodka, the Gubin brothers,

Ivan and Metrodor.

“Yes, in the morning there would be cucumbers

Ten of salty ones,” -

The men were joking.

“And at noon I would like a jug

Cold kvass."

“And in the evening, have a cup of tea

Have some hot tea..."

While they were talking,

The warbler whirled and whirled

Above them: listened to everything

And she sat down by the fire.

Chiviknula, jumped up

Pahomu says:

“Let the chick go free!

For a chick for a small one

I will give a large ransom."

- What will you give? -

“I’ll give you some bread

Half a pound a day

I'll give you a bucket of vodka,

I'll give you some cucumbers in the morning,

And at noon, sour kvass,

And in the evening, tea!”

- And where?

Page 2 of 11

small bird, -

The Gubin brothers asked,

You will find wine and bread

Are you like seven men? -

“If you find it, you will find it yourself.

And I, little birdie,

I'll tell you how to find it."

- Tell! -

"Walk through the forest,

Against pillar thirty

Just a mile away:

Come to the clearing,

They are standing in that clearing

Two old pine trees

Under these pine trees

The box is buried.

Get her, -

That magic box:

It contains a self-assembled tablecloth,

Whenever you wish,

He will feed you and give you something to drink!

Just say quietly:

"Hey! self-assembled tablecloth!

Treat the men!”

According to your wishes,

At my command,

Everything will appear immediately.

Now let the chick go!”

- Wait! we are poor people

We are going on a long journey, -

Pakhom answered her. -

I see you are a wise bird,

Respect old clothes

Bewitch us!

- So that the peasant Armenians

Worn, not torn down! -

Roman demanded.

- So that fake bast shoes

They served, they didn’t crash, -

Demyan demanded.

- Damn the louse, vile flea

She didn’t breed in shirts, -

Luka demanded.

- If only he could spoil... -

The Gubins demanded...

And the bird answered them:

“The tablecloth is all self-assembled

Repair, wash, dry

You will... Well, let me go!..”

Opening your palm wide,

He released the chick with his groin.

He let it in - and the tiny chick,

Little by little, half a seedling,

Flying low,

Headed towards the hollow.

A warbler flew behind him

And on the fly she added:

“Look, mind you, one thing!

How much food can he bear?

Womb - then ask,

And you can ask for vodka

Exactly a bucket a day.

If you ask more,

And once and twice - it will be fulfilled

At your request,

And the third time there will be trouble!

And the warbler flew away

With your birth chick,

And the men in single file

We reached for the road

Look for pillar thirty.

Found! - They walk silently

Straightforward, straight forward

Through the dense forest,

Every step counts.

And how they measured the mile,

We saw a clearing -

They are standing in that clearing

Two old pine trees...

The peasants dug around

Got that box

Opened and found

That tablecloth is self-assembled!

They found it and cried out at once:

“Hey, self-assembled tablecloth!

Treat the men!”

Lo and behold, the tablecloth unfolded,

Where did they come from?

Two hefty arms

They put a bucket of wine,

They piled up a mountain of bread

And they hid again.

“Why are there no cucumbers?”

“Why is there no hot tea?”

“Why is there no cold kvass?”

Everything appeared suddenly...

The peasants got loose

They sat down by the tablecloth.

There's a feast here!

Kissing for joy

They promise each other

Don't fight in vain,

But the matter is really controversial

According to reason, according to God,

On the honor of the story -

Don't toss and turn in the houses,

Don't see your wives

Not with the little guys

Not with old people,

As long as the matter is moot

No solution will be found

Until they find out

No matter what for certain:

Who lives happily?

Free in Rus'?

Having made such a vow,

In the morning like dead

The men fell asleep...

Chapter I. POP

Wide path

Furnished with birch trees,

Stretches far

Sandy and deaf.

On the sides of the path

There are gentle hills

With fields, with hayfields,

And more often with an inconvenient

Abandoned land;

There are old villages,

There are new villages,

By the rivers, by the ponds...

Forests, floodplain meadows,

Russian streams and rivers

Good in spring.

But you, spring fields!

On your shoots the poor

Not fun to watch!

“It’s not for nothing that in the long winter

(Our wanderers interpret)

It snowed every day.

Spring has come - the snow has had its effect!

He is humble for the time being:

It flies - is silent, lies - is silent,

When he dies, then he roars.

Water – everywhere you look!

The fields are completely flooded

Carrying manure - there is no road,

And the time is not too early -

The month of May is coming!”

I don’t like the old ones either,

It’s even more painful for new ones

They should look at the villages.

Oh huts, new huts!

You are smart, let him build you up

Not an extra penny,

And blood trouble!..

In the morning we met wanderers

More and more small people:

Your brother, a peasant-basket worker,

Craftsmen, beggars,

Soldiers, coachmen.

From the beggars, from the soldiers

The strangers did not ask

How is it for them - is it easy or difficult?

Lives in Rus'?

Soldiers shave with an awl,

Soldiers warm themselves with smoke -

What happiness is there?..

The day was already approaching evening,

They go along the road,

A priest is coming towards me.

The peasants took off their caps.

bowed low,

Lined up in a row

And the gelding Savras

They blocked the way.

The priest raised his head

He looked and asked with his eyes:

What do they want?

“I suppose! We are not robbers! -

Luke said to the priest.

(Luka is a squat guy,

With a wide beard.

Stubborn, vocal and stupid.

Luke looks like a mill:

One is not a bird mill,

That, no matter how it flaps its wings,

Probably won't fly.)

“We are sedate men,

Of those temporarily obliged,

A tightened province,

Terpigoreva County,

Empty parish,

Nearby villages:

Zaplatova, Dyryavina,

Razutova, Znobishina,

Gorelova, Neelova -

Bad harvest too.

Let's go on something important:

We have concerns

Is it such a concern?

Which of the houses did she survive?

She made us friends with work,

I stopped eating.

Give us the right word

To our peasant speech

Without laughter and without cunning,

According to conscience, according to reason,

To answer truthfully

Not so with your care

We'll go to someone else..."

– I give you my true word:

If you ask the matter,

Without laughter and without cunning,

In truth and in reason,

How should one answer?

"Thank you. Listen!

Walking the path,

We came together by chance

They came together and argued:

Who has fun?

Free in Rus'?

Roman said: to the landowner,

Demyan said: to the official,

And I said: ass.

Kupchina fat-bellied, -

The Gubin brothers said,

Ivan and Metrodor.

Pakhom said: to the brightest

To the noble boyar,

To the sovereign minister.

And Prov said: to the king...

The guy's a bull: he'll get in trouble

What a whim in the head -

Stake her from there

You can’t knock it out: no matter how much they argue,

We did not agree!

Having argued, we quarreled,

Having quarreled, they fought,

Having caught up, they changed their minds:

Don't go apart

Don't toss and turn in the houses,

Don't see your wives

Not with the little guys

Not with old people,

As long as our dispute

We won't find a solution

Until we find out

Whatever it is - for certain:

Who likes to live happily,

Free in Rus'?

Tell us in a divine way:

Is the priest's life sweet?

How are you - at ease, happily

Are you living, honest father?..”

I looked down and thought,

Sitting in a cart, pop

And he said: “Orthodox!”

It is a sin to grumble against God,

I bear my cross with patience,

I’m living... but how? Listen!

I'll tell you the truth, the truth,

And you have a peasant mind

Be smart! -

“Begin!”

-What do you think is happiness?

Peace, wealth, honor -

Isn't that right, dear friends?

They said: “Yes”...

- Now let's see, brothers,

What is butt peace like?

I have to admit, I should start

Almost from birth itself,

How to get a diploma

the priest's son,

At what cost to Popovich

The priesthood is bought

Let's better keep quiet!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Page 3 of 11

. . . . . . . . . .

Our roads are difficult.

Our parish is large.

Sick, dying,

Born into the world

They don’t choose time:

In reaping and haymaking,

In the dead of autumn night,

In winter, in severe frosts,

And in the spring flood -

Go wherever you are called!

You go unconditionally.

And even if only the bones

Alone broke, -

No! gets wet every time,

The soul will hurt.

Don't believe it, Orthodox Christians,

There is a limit to habit:

No heart can bear

Without any trepidation

Death rattle

Funeral lament

Orphan's sadness!

Amen!.. Now think.

What's the peace like?..

The peasants thought little

Letting the priest rest,

They said with a bow:

“What else can you tell us?”

- Now let's see, brothers,

What honor is there for the priest?

The task is delicate

I wouldn't anger you...

Tell me, Orthodox,

Who do you call

Foal breed?

Chur! respond to demand!

The peasants hesitated.

They are silent - and the priest is silent...

-Who are you afraid of meeting?

Walking the path?

Chur! respond to demand!

They groan, shift,

- Who are you writing about?

You are joker fairy tales,

And the songs are obscene

And all sorts of blasphemy?..

Mother-priest, sedate,

Popov's innocent daughter,

Every seminarian -

How do you honor?

To catch whom, like a gelding,

Shout: ho-ho-ho?..

The boys looked down

They are silent - and the priest is silent...

The peasants thought

And pop with a wide hat

I waved it in my face

Yes, I looked at the sky.

In the spring, when the grandchildren are small,

With the ruddy sun-grandfather

The clouds are playing:

Here's the right side

One continuous cloud

Covered - clouded,

It got dark and cried:

Rows of gray threads

They hung to the ground.

And closer, above the peasants,

From small, torn,

Happy clouds

The red sun laughs

Like a girl from the sheaves.

But the cloud has moved,

Pop covers himself with a hat -

Be in heavy rain.

And the right side

Already bright and joyful,

There the rain stops.

It's not rain, it's a miracle of God:

There with golden threads

Hanging skeins...

“Not ourselves... by parents

That’s how we…” – Gubin brothers

They finally said.

And others echoed:

“Not on your own, but on your parents!”

And the priest said: “Amen!”

Sorry, Orthodox!

Not in judging your neighbor,

And at your request

I told you the truth.

Such is the honor of a priest

In the peasantry. And the landowners...

“You are past them, landowners!

We know them!

- Now let's see, brothers,

Where does the wealth come from?

Is Popovskoye coming?..

At a time not far away

Russian Empire

Noble estates

It was full.

And the landowners lived there,

Famous owners

There are none now!

Been fruitful and multiply

And they let us live.

What weddings were played there,

That children were born

On free bread!

Although often tough,

However, willing

Those were the gentlemen

They did not shy away from the arrival:

They got married here

Our children were baptized

They came to us to repent,

We sang their funeral service

And if it did happen,

That a landowner lived in the city,

That's probably how I'll die

Came to the village.

If he dies accidentally,

And then he will punish you firmly

Bury him in the parish.

Look, to the village temple

On a mourning chariot

Six horse heirs

The dead man is being transported -

Good correction for the butt,

For the laity, a holiday is a holiday...

But now it’s not the same!

Like the tribe of Judah,

The landowners dispersed

Across distant foreign lands

And native to Rus'.

Now there's no time for pride

Lie in native possession

Next to fathers, grandfathers,

And there are many properties

Let's go to the profiteers.

Oh sleek bones

Russian, noble!

Where are you not buried?

In what land are you not?

Then, the article... schismatics...

I'm not a sinner, I haven't lived

Nothing from the schismatics.

Fortunately, there was no need:

In my parish there are

Living in Orthodoxy

Two thirds of the parishioners.

And there are such volosts,

Where there are almost all schismatics,

So what about the butt?

Everything in the world is changeable,

The world itself will pass away...

Laws formerly strict

To the schismatics, they softened,

And with them the priest

The income has come.

The landowners moved away

They don't live in estates

And die in old age

They don't come to us anymore.

Rich landowners

Pious old ladies,

Which died out

Who have settled down

Near monasteries,

Nobody wears a cassock now

He won’t give you your butt!

No one will embroider the air...

Live with only peasants,

Collect worldly hryvnias,

Yes, pies on holidays,

Yes, holy eggs.

The peasant himself needs

And I would be glad to give, but there’s nothing...

And then not everyone

And the peasant's penny is sweet.

Our benefits are meager,

Sands, swamps, mosses,

The little beast goes from hand to mouth,

Bread will be born on its own,

And if it gets better

The damp earth is the nurse,

So a new problem:

There is nowhere to go with the bread!

There's a need, you'll sell it

For sheer trifle,

And then there’s a crop failure!

Then pay through the nose,

Sell the cattle.

Pray, Orthodox Christians!

Great trouble threatens

And this year:

The winter was fierce

Spring is rainy

It should have been sowing long ago,

And there is water in the fields!

Have mercy, Lord!

Send a cool rainbow

To our heavens!

(Taking off his hat, the shepherd crosses himself,

And the listeners too.)

Our villages are poor,

And the peasants in them are sick

Yes, women are sad,

Nurses, drinkers,

Slaves, pilgrims

And eternal workers,

Lord give them strength!

With so much work for pennies

Life is hard!

It happens to the sick

You will come: not dying,

The peasant family is scary

At that hour when she has to

Lose your breadwinner!

Give a farewell message to the deceased

And support in the remaining

You try your best

The spirit is cheerful! And here to you

The old woman, the mother of the dead man,

Look, he's reaching out with the bony one,

Calloused hand.

The soul will turn over,

How they jingle in this little hand

Two copper coins!

Of course, it's a clean thing -

I demand retribution

If you don’t take it, you have nothing to live with.

Yes a word of comfort

Freezes on the tongue

And as if offended

You will go home... Amen...

Finished the speech - and the gelding

Pop lightly whipped.

The peasants parted

They bowed low.

The horse trudged slowly.

And six comrades,

It's like we agreed

They attacked with reproaches,

With selected large swearing

To poor Luka:

- What, did you take it? stubborn head!

Country club!

That's where the argument gets into! -

"Nobles of the bell -

The priests live like princes.

They're going under the sky

Popov's tower,

The priest's fiefdom is buzzing -

Loud bells -

For the whole God's world.

For three years I, little ones,

He lived with the priest as a worker,

Raspberries are not life!

Popova porridge - with butter.

Popov pie - with filling,

Popov's cabbage soup - with smelt!

Popov's wife is fat,

The priest's daughter is white,

Popov's horse is fat,

The priest's bee is well-fed,

How the bell rings!”

Page 4 of 11

here's your praise

A priest's life!

Why were you yelling and showing off?

Getting into a fight, anathema?

Wasn't that what I was thinking of taking?

What's a beard like a shovel?

Like a goat with a beard

I walked around the world before,

Than the forefather Adam,

And he is considered a fool

And now he’s a goat!..

Luke stood, kept silent,

I was afraid they wouldn't hit me

Comrades, stand by.

It came to be so,

Yes, to the happiness of the peasant

The road is bent -

The face is priestly stern

Appeared on the hill...

CHAPTER II. RURAL FAIR

No wonder our wanderers

They scolded the wet one,

Cold spring.

The peasant needs spring

And early and friendly,

And here - even a wolf howl!

The sun does not warm the earth,

And the rainy clouds

Like milk cows

They're walking across the sky.

The snow has gone and the greenery

Not a grass, not a leaf!

The water is not removed

The earth doesn't dress

Green bright velvet

And like a dead man without a shroud,

Lies under a cloudy sky

Sad and naked.

I feel sorry for the poor peasant

And I’m even more sorry for the cattle;

Having fed meager supplies,

The owner of the twig

He drove her into the meadows,

What should I take there? Chernekhonko!

Only on Nikola Veshny

The weather has cleared up

Green fresh grass

The cattle feasted.

It's a hot day. Under the birch trees

The peasants are making their way

They chatter among themselves:

“We’re going through one village,

Let's go another - empty!

And today is a holiday,

Where have the people gone?..”

Walking through the village - on the street

Some guys are small,

There are old women in the houses,

Or even completely locked

Lockable gates.

Castle - a faithful dog:

Doesn't bark, doesn't bite,

But he doesn’t let me into the house!

We passed the village and saw

Mirror in green frame:

The edges are full of ponds.

Swallows are flying over the pond;

Some mosquitoes

Agile and skinny

Leaping, as if on dry land,

They walk on the water.

Along the banks, in the broom,

The corncrakes are creaking.

On a long, shaky raft

Thick blanket with roller

Stands like a plucked haystack,

Tucking the hem.

On the same raft

A duck sleeps with her ducklings...

Chu! horse snoring!

The peasants looked at once

And we saw over the water

Two heads: a man's.

Curly and dark,

With an earring (the sun was blinking

On that white earring),

The other is horse

With a rope, five fathoms.

The man takes the rope in his mouth,

The man swims - and the horse swims,

The man neighed - and the horse neighed.

They're swimming and screaming! Under the woman

Under the small ducklings

The raft moves freely.

I caught up with the horse - grab it by the withers!

He jumped up and rode out into the meadow

Baby: white body,

And the neck is like tar;

Water flows in streams

From the horse and from the rider.

“What do you have in your village?

Neither old nor small,

How did all the people die out?”

- We went to the village of Kuzminskoye,

Today there is a fair

And the temple holiday. -

“How far is Kuzminskoye?”

- Yes, it will be about three miles.

“Let's go to the village of Kuzminskoye,

Let's watch the fair!" -

The men decided

And you thought to yourself:

"Isn't that where he's hiding?

Who lives happily?..”

Kuzminskoe rich,

And what’s more, it’s dirty

Trading village.

It stretches along the slope,

Then it descends into the ravine.

And there again on the hill -

How can there not be dirt here?

There are two ancient churches in it,

One Old Believer,

Another Orthodox

House with the inscription: school,

Empty, packed tightly,

A hut with one window,

With the image of a paramedic,

Drawing blood.

There is a dirty hotel

Decorated with a sign

(With a big nosed teapot

Tray in the hands of the bearer,

And small cups

Like a goose with goslings,

That kettle is surrounded)

There are permanent shops

Like a district

Gostiny Dvor…

Strangers came to the square:

There are a lot of different goods

And apparently-invisibly

To the people! Isn't it fun?

It seems there is no godfather,

And, as if in front of icons,

Men without hats.

Such a side thing!

Look where they go

Peasant shliks:

In addition to the wine warehouse,

Taverns, restaurants,

A dozen damask shops,

Three inns,

Yes, “Rensky cellar”,

Yes, a couple of taverns.

Eleven zucchinis

Set for the holiday

Tents in the village.

Each has five carriers;

The carriers are good guys

Trained, mature,

And they can’t keep up with everything,

Can't cope with change!

Look what? stretched out

Peasant hands with hats,

With scarves, with mittens.

Oh Orthodox thirst,

How great are you!

Just to shower my darling,

And there they will get the hats,

When the market leaves.

Over the drunken heads

The spring sun is shining...

Intoxicatingly, vociferously, festively,

Colorful, red all around!

The guys' pants are corduroy,

Striped vests,

Shirts of all colors;

The women are wearing red dresses,

The girls have braids with ribbons,

The winches are floating!

And there are still some tricks,

Dressed like a metropolitan -

And it expands and sulks

Hoop hem!

If you step in, they will dress up!

At ease, newfangled women,

Fishing gear for you

Wear under skirts!

Looking at the smart women,

The Old Believers are furious

Tovarke says:

“Be hungry! be hungry!

Marvel at how the seedlings are soaked,

That the spring flood is worse

It's up to Petrov!

Since women began

Dress up in red calico, -

The forests don't rise

At least not this bread!”

- Why are the calicoes red?

Have you done something wrong here, mother?

I can't imagine! -

“And those French calicoes -

Painted with dog blood!

Well... do you understand now?..”

They were jostling around the horse,

Along the hill where they are piled up

Roe deer, rakes, harrows,

Hooks, trolley machines,

Rims, axes.

Trade was brisk there,

With God, with jokes,

With a healthy, loud laugh.

And how can you not laugh?

The guy is kind of tiny

I went and tried the rims:

I bent one - I don’t like it,

He bent the other one and pushed.

How will the rim straighten out?

Click on the guy's forehead!

A man roars over the rim,

"Elm club"

Scolds the fighter.

Another came with different

Wooden crafts -

And he dumped the whole cart!

Drunk! The axle broke

And he began to do it -

The ax broke! Changed my mind

Man over an ax

Scolds him, reproaches him,

As if it does the job:

“You scoundrel, not an axe!

Empty service, nothing

And he didn’t serve that one.

All your life you bowed,

But I was never affectionate!”

The wanderers went to the shops:

They admire handkerchiefs,

Ivanovo chintz,

Harnesses, new shoes,

A product of the Kimryaks.

At that shoe shop

The strangers laugh again:

There are goat shoes here

Grandfather traded with granddaughter

Five times about the price

Page 5 of 11

asked

He turned it over in his hands and looked around:

The product is first class!

“Well, uncle! two two hryvnia

Pay up or get lost!” -

The merchant told him.

- Wait a minute! - Admires

An old man with a tiny shoe,

This is what he says:

- I don’t care about my son-in-law, and my daughter will remain silent,

I feel sorry for my granddaughter! Hanged herself

On the neck, fidget:

“Buy a hotel, grandpa.

Buy it!” – Silk head

The face is tickled, caressed,

Kisses the old man.

Wait, barefoot crawler!

Wait, spinning top! Goats

I'll buy some boots...

Vavilushka boasted,

Both old and young

He promised me gifts,

And he drank himself to a penny!

How my eyes are shameless

Will I show it to my family?..

I don’t care about my son-in-law, and my daughter will remain silent,

The wife doesn’t care, let her grumble!

And I feel sorry for my granddaughter!.. - I went again

About my granddaughter! Killing himself!..

The people have gathered, listening,

Don't laugh, feel sorry;

Happen, work, bread

They would help him

And take out two two-kopeck pieces -

So you will be left with nothing.

Yes, there was a man here

Pavlusha Veretennikov

(What kind, rank,

The men didn't know

However, they called him “master”.

He was very good at making jokes,

He wore a red shirt,

Cloth girl,

Grease Boots;

Sang Russian songs smoothly

And he loved listening to them.

Many have seen him

In the inn courtyards,

In taverns, in taverns.)

So he helped Vavila -

I bought him boots.

Vavilo grabbed them

And so he was! - For joy

Thanks even to the master

Old man forgot to say

But other peasants

So they were consoled

So happy, as if everyone

He gave it in rubles!

There was also a bench here

With paintings and books,

Ofeni were stocking up

Your goods in it.

“Do you need generals?” -

The burning merchant asked them.

“And give me generals!

Yes, only you, according to your conscience,

To be real -

Thicker, more menacing."

“Wonderful! the way you look! -

The merchant said with a grin, -

It's not a matter of complexion..."

- What is it? You're kidding, friend!

Rubbish, perhaps, is it desirable to sell?

Where are we going to go with her?

You're being naughty! Before the peasant

All generals are equal

Like cones on a spruce tree:

To sell the ugly one,

You need to get to the dock,

And fat and menacing

I'll give it to everyone...

Come on big, dignified ones,

Chest as high as a mountain, eyes bulging,

Yes, for more stars!

“Don’t you want civilians?”

- Well, here we go again with the civilians! -

(However, they took it - cheaply! -

Some dignitary

For a belly the size of a wine barrel

And for seventeen stars.)

Merchant - with all respect,

Whatever he likes, he treats him to it

(From Lubyanka - the first thief!) -

I sent down a hundred Bluchers,

Archimandrite Photius,

Robber Sipko,

Sold the book: “The Jester Balakirev”

And "English my lord" ...

The books went into the box,

Let's go for a walk portraits

According to the All-Russian kingdom,

Until they settle down

In a peasant's summer cottage,

On a low wall...

God knows why!

Eh! eh! will the time come,

When (come, desired one!..)

They will let the peasant understand

What a rose is a portrait of a portrait,

What is the book of the book of roses?

When a man is not Blucher

And not my foolish lord -

Belinsky and Gogol

Will it come from the market?

Oh people, Russian people!

Orthodox peasants!

Have you ever heard

Are you these names?

Those are great names,

Wore them, glorified them

People's intercessors!

Here's some portraits of them for you

Hang in your gorenki,

“And I would be glad to go to heaven, but the door

This kind of speech breaks in

To the shop unexpectedly.

- Which door do you want? -

“Yes, to the booth. Chu! music!.."

- Let's go, I'll show you! -

Having heard about the farce,

Our wanderers have also gone

Listen, look.

Comedy with Petrushka,

With a goat and a drummer

And not with a simple barrel organ,

And with real music

They looked here.

Comedy is not wise

However, not stupid either

Resident, quarterly

Not in the eyebrow, but straight in the eye!

The hut is completely empty.

People are cracking nuts

Or two or three peasants

Let's exchange a word -

Look, vodka has appeared:

They'll watch and drink!

They laugh, they are consoled

And often in Petrushkin’s speech

Insert an apt word,

Which one you can't think of

At least swallow a feather!

There are such lovers -

How will the comedy end?

They'll go behind the screens,

Kissing, fraternizing,

Chatting with musicians:

“Where from, good fellows?”

- And we were masters,

They played for the landowner.

Now we are free people,

Who will bring it, treat it,

He is our master!

“And that’s it, dear friends,

Quite a bar you entertained,

Amuse the men!

Hey! small! sweet vodka!

Liqueurs! some tea! half a beer!

Tsimlyansky - come alive!..”

And the flooded sea

It will do, more generous than the lord's

The kids will be treated to a treat.

It is not the winds that blow violently,

It is not mother earth that sways -

He makes noise, sings, swears,

Swaying, lying around,

Fights and kisses

People are celebrating!

It seemed to the peasants

How we reached the hillock,

That the whole village is shaking,

That even the church is old

With a high bell tower

It shook once or twice! -

Here, sober and naked,

Awkward... Our wanderers

We walked around the square again

And by evening they left

Stormy village...

CHAPTER III. DRUNKEN NIGHT

Not a barn, not a barn,

Not a tavern, not a mill,

How often in Rus',

The village ended low

Log building

With iron bars

In small windows.

Behind that milestone building

Wide path

Furnished with birch trees,

It opened right there.

Not crowded on weekdays,

Sad and quiet

She's not the same now!

All along that path

And along the roundabout paths,

As far as the eye could see,

They crawled, they lay, they drove.

Drunk people were floundering

And there was a groan!

Heavy carts hide,

And like calfs' heads,

Swinging, dangling

Victory heads

Asleep men!

People walk and fall,

As if because of the rollers

Enemies with grapeshot

They're shooting at the men!

Silent night is falling

Already out into the dark sky

Moon, really

Page 6 of 11

writes a letter

Lord is red gold

On blue on velvet,

That tricky letter,

Which neither wise men

It's buzzing! That the sea is blue

Silences, rises

Popular rumor.

“And we give fifty dollars to the clerk:

The request has been made

To the head of the province..."

"Hey! The sack fell from the cart!”

“Where are you going, Olenushka?

Wait! I'll also give you some gingerbread,

You are as agile as a flea,

She ate her fill and jumped away.

I couldn’t stroke it!”

“You are good, royal letter,

Yes, you’re not writing about us...”

“Move aside, people!”

(Excise officials

With bells, with plaques

They rushed from the market.)

“And I mean this now:

And the broom is rubbish, Ivan Ilyich,

And he will walk on the floor,

It will spray wherever!

“God forbid, Parashenka,

Don't go to St. Petersburg!

There are such officials

You are their cook for a day,

And their night is crazy -

So I don’t care!”

“Where are you going, Savvushka?”

(The priest shouts to the sotsky

On horseback, with a government badge.)

- I’m galloping to Kuzminskoye

Behind the stanov. Occasion:

There's a peasant ahead

Killed... - “Eh!.. sins!..”

“You’ve become thinner, Daryushka!”

- Not a spindle, friend!

That's what the more it spins,

It's getting bigger

And I’m like every day...

"Hey guy, stupid guy,

Ragged, lousy,

Hey, love me!

Me, bareheaded,

Drunk old woman,

Zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally!

Our peasants are sober,

Looking, listening,

They go their own way.

In the middle of the road

Some guy is quiet

I dug a big hole.

“What are you doing here?”

- And I’m burying my mother! -

"Fool! what a mother!

Look: a new undershirt

You buried it in the ground!

Go quickly and grunt

Lie down in the ditch and drink some water!

Maybe the crap will come off!”

“Come on, let’s stretch!”

Two peasants sit down

They rest their feet,

And they live, and they push,

They groan and stretch on a rolling pin,

Joints are cracking!

Didn't like it on the rolling pin:

"Let's try now

Stretch your beard!”

When the beard is in order

They reduced each other,

Grabbing your cheekbones!

They puff, blush, writhe,

They moo, squeal, and stretch!

“Let it be to you, damned ones!

You won’t spill water!”

Women are quarreling in the ditch,

One shouts: “Go home

More sick than hard labor!”

Another: - You're lying, in my house

Worse than yours!

My eldest brother-in-law broke my rib,

The middle son-in-law stole the ball,

A ball of spit, but the thing is -

Fifty dollars was wrapped in it,

And the younger son-in-law keeps taking the knife,

He's about to kill him, he's going to kill him!..

“Well, that’s enough, that’s enough, dear!

Well, don't be angry! - behind the roller

It can be heard nearby. -

I’m okay... let’s go!”

Such a bad night!

Is it right or left?

From the road you can see:

Couples are walking together

Isn't it the right grove that they're heading towards?

The nightingales are singing...

The road is crowded

What later is uglier:

More and more often they come across

Beaten, crawling,

Lying in a layer.

Without swearing, as usual,

Not a word will be uttered,

Crazy, obscene,

She is the loudest!

The taverns are in turmoil,

The leads are mixed up

Scared horses

They run without riders;

Little children are crying here.

Wives and mothers grieve:

Is it easy from drinking

Should I call the men?..

Our wanderers are approaching

And they see: Veretennikov

(What goatskin shoes

Gave it to Vavila)

Talks with peasants.

The peasants are opening up

The gentleman likes:

Pavel will praise the song -

They will sing it five times, write it down!

Like the proverb -

Write a proverb!

Having written down enough,

Veretennikov told them:

“Russian peasants are smart,

One thing is bad

That they drink until they are stupefied,

They fall into ditches, into ditches -

It’s a shame to see!”

The peasants listened to that speech,

They agreed with the master.

Pavlusha has something in a book

I wanted to write already.

Yes, he turned up drunk

Man, he is against the master

Lying on his stomach

I looked into his eyes,

I kept silent - but suddenly

How he will jump up! Straight to the master -

Grab the pencil from your hands!

- Wait, empty head!

Crazy news, shameless

Don't talk about us!

What were you jealous of!

Why is the poor thing having fun?

Peasant soul?

We drink a lot from time to time,

And we work more.

You see a lot of us drunk,

And there are more of us sober.

Have you walked around the villages?

Let's take a bucket of vodka,

Let's go through the huts:

In one, in the other they will pile up,

And in the third they won’t touch -

We have a drinking family

Non-drinking family!

They don’t drink, and they also toil,

It would be better if they drank, stupid ones,

Yes, conscience is like that...

It’s wonderful to watch how he bursts in

In such a sober hut

A man's trouble -

And I wouldn’t even look!.. I saw it

Are Russian villages in the midst of suffering?

In a drinking establishment, what, people?

We have vast fields,

And not much generous,

Tell me, by whose hand

In the spring they will dress,

Will they undress in the fall?

Have you met a guy

After work in the evening?

To reap a good mountain

I set it down and ate a pea-sized piece:

"Hey! hero! straw

I’ll knock you over, move aside!”

Peasant food is sweet,

The whole century saw an iron saw

He chews but doesn't eat!

Yes, the belly is not a mirror,

We don’t cry for food...

You work alone

And the work is almost over,

Look, there are three shareholders standing:

God, king and lord!

And there is also a destroyer

Fourth, be meaner than the Tatar,

So he won’t share

He'll gobble it all up alone!

The third year is upon us

The same inferior gentleman,

Like you, from near Moscow.

Records songs

Tell him the proverb

Leave the riddle behind.

And there was another one - he was interrogating,

How many hours will you work per day?

Little by little, by a lot

Do you shove pieces into your mouth?

Another one measures the land,

Another in the village of inhabitants

He can count it on his fingers,

But they didn’t count it,

How much each summer

The fire is blowing into the wind

Peasant labor?..

There is no measure for Russian hops.

Have they measured our grief?

Is there a limit to the work?

Wine brings down the peasant,

Doesn't grief overwhelm him?

Work isn't going well?

A man does not measure troubles

Copes with everything

No matter what, come.

A man, working, does not think,

Which will strain your strength.

So really over a glass

Think about what's too much

Will you end up in a ditch?

Why is it shameful for you to look,

Like drunk people lying around

So look,

Like being dragged out of a swamp

Peasants have wet hay,

Having mowed down, they drag:

Where horses can't get through

Where and without a burden on foot

It's dangerous to cross

There's a peasant horde there

According to the Kochs, according to the Zhorins

Crawling with whips -

The peasant's navel is cracking!

Under the sun without hats,

In sweat, in mud up to the top of my head,

Cut up by sedge,

Swamp reptile-midge

Eaten into blood, -

Are we prettier here?

To regret - regret skillfully,

To the master's measure

Don't kill the peasant!

Not gentle white-handed ones,

And we are great people

At work and at play!..

Every peasant

The soul is like a black cloud -

Angry, menacing - and it would be necessary

Thunder will roar from there,

Bloody rains,

And it all ends with wine.

A little charm went through my veins -

And the kind one laughed

Peasant soul!

There is no need to grieve here,

Look around - rejoice!

Hey guys, hey

Page 7 of 11

young ladies,

They know how to take a walk!

The bones waved

They reeled my darling out,

And the bravery is brave

Saved for the occasion!..

The man stood on the bolster

He stamped his little shoes

And, after being silent for a moment,

Admiring the cheerful

Roaring crowd:

- Hey! you are a peasant kingdom,

Hatless, drunk,

Make noise – make more noise!.. -

“What’s your name, old lady?”

- And what? will you write it down in a book?

Perhaps there is no need!

Write: “In the village of Basovo

Yakim Nagoy lives,

He works himself to death

He drinks until he’s half dead!..”

The peasants laughed

And they told the master,

What a man Yakim is.

Yakim, wretched old man,

Once lived in St. Petersburg,

Yes, he ended up in jail:

I decided to compete with the merchant!

Like a piece of velcro,

He returned to his homeland

And he took up the plow.

It's been roasting for thirty years since then

On the strip under the sun,

He escapes under the harrow

From frequent rain,

He lives and tinkers with the plow,

And death will come to Yakimushka -

As soon as a lump of earth falls off,

What's stuck on the plow...

There was an incident with him: pictures

He bought it for his son

Hung them on the walls

And he himself is no less than a boy

I loved looking at them.

God's disfavor has come

The village caught fire -

And it was at Yakimushka’s

accumulated over a century

Thirty-five rubles.

I’d rather take the rubles,

And first he showed pictures

He began to tear it off the wall;

Meanwhile his wife

I was fiddling with icons,

And then the hut collapsed -

Yakim made such a mistake!

The virgins merged into a lump,

For that lump they give him

Eleven rubles...

“Oh brother Yakim! not cheap

The pictures worked!

But to a new hut

I suppose you hung them?”

- I hung it up - there are new ones, -

Yakim said and fell silent.

The master looked at the plowman:

The chest is sunken; as if pressed in

Stomach; at the eyes, at the mouth

Bends like cracks

On dry ground;

And to Mother Earth myself

He looks like: brown neck,

Like a layer cut off by a plow,

Brick face

Hand - tree bark,

And the hair is sand.

The peasants, as they noted,

Why are you not offended by the master?

Yakimov's words,

And they themselves agreed

With Yakim: – The word is true:

We should drink!

If we drink, it means we feel strong!

Great sadness will come,

How can we stop drinking!..

Work wouldn't stop me

Trouble would not prevail

Hops will not overcome us!

Isn't it?

“Yes, God is merciful!”

- Well, have a glass with us!

We got some vodka and drank it.

Yakim Veretennikov

He brought two scales.

- Hey master! didn't get angry

Smart little head!

(Yakim told him.)

Smart little head

How can one not understand a peasant?

Do pigs walk around? zemi -

They can't see the sky for ages!..

Suddenly the song rang out in chorus

Daring, consonant:

Ten three young men,

They're tipsy and don't lie down,

They walk side by side, sing,

They sing about Mother Volga,

About brave daring,

About girlish beauty.

The whole road became silent,

That one song is funny

Rolls wide and freely

Like rye spreading in the wind,

According to the peasant's heart

It goes with fire and melancholy!..

I'll go away to that song

I lost my mind and cried

Young girl alone:

“My age is like a day without the sun,

My age is like a night without a month,

And I, young and young,

Like a greyhound horse on a leash,

What is a swallow without wings!

My old husband, jealous husband,

He's drunk and drunk, he's snoring,

Me, when I was very young,

And the sleepy one is on guard!”

That's how the young girl cried

Yes, she suddenly jumped off the cart!

"Where?" - the jealous husband shouts,

He stood up and grabbed the woman by the braid,

Like a radish for a cowlick!

Oh! night, drunken night!

Not light, but starry,

Not hot, but with affectionate

Spring breeze!

And to our good fellows

You weren't in vain!

They felt sad for their wives,

It's true: with my wife

Now it would be more fun!

Ivan shouts: “I want to sleep,”

And Maryushka: “And I’m with you!” -

Ivan shouts: “The bed is narrow,”

And Maryushka: “Let’s settle down!” -

Ivan shouts: “Oh, it’s cold,”

And Maryushka: - Let's get warm! -

How do you remember that song?

Without a word - we agreed

Try your casket.

One, why God knows,

Between the field and the road

A thick linden tree has grown.

Strangers crouched under it

And they said carefully:

"Hey! self-assembled tablecloth,

Treat the men!”

And the tablecloth unrolled,

Where did they come from?

Two hefty arms:

They put a bucket of wine,

They piled up a mountain of bread

And they hid again.

The peasants refreshed themselves.

Roman for the guard

Stayed by the bucket

And others intervened

In the crowd - look for the happy one:

They really wanted

Get home soon...

CHAPTER IV. HAPPY

In a loud, festive crowd

The wanderers walked

They shouted the cry:

"Hey! Is there a happy one somewhere?

Show up! If it turns out

That you live happily

We have a ready-made bucket:

Drink for free as much as you like -

We'll give you a great treat!..”

Such unheard of speeches

Sober people laughed

And drunk people are smart

Almost spat in my beard

Zealous screamers.

However, hunters

Take a sip of free wine

Enough was found.

When the wanderers returned

Under the linden tree, calling out a cry,

People surrounded them.

The dismissed sexton came,

Skinny as a sulfur match,

And he let go of his laces,

That happiness is not in pastures,

Not in sables, not in gold,

Not in expensive stones.

“And what?”

- In good humor!

There are limits to possessions

Lords, nobles, kings of the earth,

And the wise's possession -

The entire city of Christ!

If the sun warms you up

Yes, I’ll miss the braid,

So I'm happy! -

“Where will you get the braid?”

- Yes, you promised to give...

“Get lost!” You’re being naughty!..”

An old woman came

Pockmarked, one-eyed,

And she announced, bowing,

How happy she is:

What's in store for her in the fall?

Rap was born to a thousand

On a small ridge.

- Such a large turnip,

These turnips are delicious

And the whole ridge is three fathoms,

And across - arshin! -

They laughed at the woman

But they didn’t give me a drop of vodka:

“Drink at home, old man,

Eat that turnip!”

A soldier came with medals,

I'm barely alive, but I want a drink:

- I'm happy! - speaks.

“Well, open up, old lady,

What is a soldier's happiness?

Don’t hide, look!”

- And that, firstly, is happiness,

What's in twenty battles

I was, not killed!

And secondly, more importantly,

Me even in times of peace

I walked neither full nor hungry,

But he didn’t give in to death!

And thirdly - for offenses,

Great and small

I was beaten mercilessly with sticks,

Just feel it and it’s alive!

“Here! drink, servant!

There's no point in arguing with you:

You are happy - there is no word!

Came with a heavy hammer

Olonchan stonemason,

Broad-shouldered, young:

- And I live - I don’t complain, -

He said, “with his wife, with his mother.”

We don't know the needs!

“What is your happiness?”

- But look (and with a hammer,

He waved it like a feather):

When I wake up before the sun

Let me wake up at midnight,

So I will crush the mountain!

It happened, I can’t boast

Chopping crushed stones

Five silver a day!

Groin raised "happiness"

And, having grunted quite a bit,

Presented to the employee:

“Well, that’s important! won't it be

Running around with this happiness

Is it hard in old age?..”

- Look, don’t boast about your strength, -

The man said with shortness of breath,

Relaxed, thin

(The nose is sharp, like a dead one,

Skinny hands like a rake,

The legs are long like knitting needles,

Not a person - a mosquito). -

I was no worse than a mason

Yes, he also boasted of his strength,

So God punished!

Got it

Page 8 of 11

contractor, beast,

What a simple child,

Taught me to praise

And I’m stupidly happy,

I work for four!

One day I wear a good one

I laid bricks.

And here he is, damned,

And apply it hard:

"What is this? - speaks. -

I don’t recognize Tryphon!

Walk with such a burden

Aren’t you ashamed of the fellow?”

- And if it seems a little,

Add with your master's hand! -

I said, getting angry.

Well, about half an hour, I think

I waited, and he planted,

And he planted it, you scoundrel!

I hear it myself - the craving is terrible,

I didn’t want to back away.

And I brought that damn burden

I'm on the second floor!

The contractor looks and wonders

Shouts, scoundrel, from there:

“Oh well done, Trofim!

You don't know what you did:

You took one down at the very least

Fourteen pounds!

Oh, I know! heart with a hammer

Beating in the chest, bloody

There are circles in the eyes,

My back feels like it's cracked...

They are shaking, their legs are weak.

I've been wasting away since then!..

Pour half a glass, brother!

“Pour? Where is the happiness here?

We treat the happy

What did you say!”

- Listen to the end! there will be happiness!

“Why, speak up!”

- Here's what. In my homeland

Like every peasant,

I wanted to die.

From St. Petersburg, relaxed,

Crazy, almost without memory,

I got into the car.

Well, here we go.

In the carriage - feverish,

Hot workers

There are a lot of us

Everyone wanted the same thing

How do I get to my homeland?

To die at home.

However, you need happiness

And here: we were traveling in the summer,

In the heat, in the stuffiness

Many people are confused

Completely sick heads,

Hell broke out in the carriage:

He moans, he rolls,

Like a catechumen, across the floor,

He raves about his wife, mother.

Well, at the nearest station

Down with this!

I looked at my comrades

I was burning all over, thinking -

Bad luck for me too.

There are purple circles in the eyes,

And everything seems to me, brother,

Why am I cutting up peuns!

(We are also bastards,

It happened to fatten up a year

Up to a thousand goiters.)

Where did you remember, damned ones!

I already tried to pray,

No! everyone is going crazy!

Will you believe it? the whole party

He's in awe of me!

The larynxes are cut,

Blood is gushing, but they are singing!

And I with a knife: “Fuck you!”

How the Lord has had mercy,

Why didn't I scream?

I’m sitting, strengthening myself... fortunately,

The day is over, and by evening

It got cold - he took pity

God is above the orphans!

Well, that's how we got there,

And I made my way home,

And here, by God's grace,

And it became easier for me...

-What are you bragging about here?

With your peasant happiness? -

Screams broken to his feet

Yard man. -

And you treat me:

I'm happy, God knows!

From the first boyar,

At Prince Peremetyev's,

I was a beloved slave.

The wife is a beloved slave,

And the daughter is with the young lady

I also studied French

And to all kinds of languages,

She was allowed to sit down

In the presence of the princess...

Oh! how it stung!.. fathers!.. -

(And started the right leg

Rub with your palms.)

The peasants laughed.

“Why are you laughing, you fools?”

Unexpectedly angry

The yard man screamed. -

I'm sick, should I tell you?

What do I pray to the Lord for?

Getting up and going to bed?

I pray: “Leave me, Lord,

My illness is honorable,

According to her, I am a nobleman!

Not your vile sickness,

Not hoarse, not hernia -

A noble disease

What kind of thing is there?

Among the top officials in the empire,

I'm sick, man!

It's called a game!

To get it -

Champagne, Bourgogne,

Tokaji, Hungarian

You need to drink for thirty years...

Behind the chair of His Serene Highness

At Prince Peremetyev's

I stood for forty years

With the best French truffle

I licked the plates

Foreign drinks

I drank from the glasses...

Well, pour it! -

“Get lost!”

We have peasant wine,

Simple, not overseas -

Not on your lips!

Yellow-haired, hunched over,

He crept timidly up to the wanderers

Belarusian peasant

This is where he reaches for vodka:

- Pour me some manenichko too,

I'm happy! - speaks.

“Don’t bother with your hands!

Report, prove

First, what makes you happy?”

– And our happiness is in the bread:

I'm at home in Belarus

With chaff, with bonfire

He chewed barley bread;

You writhe like a woman in labor,

How it grabs your stomach.

And now, the mercy of God! -

Gubonin has his fill

They give you rye bread,

I'm chewing - I won't get chewed! -

It's kind of cloudy

A man with a curled cheekbone,

Everything looks to the right:

- I follow the bears.

And I feel great happiness:

Three of my comrades

The teddy bears were broken,

And I live, God is merciful!

“Well, look to the left?”

I didn’t look, no matter how hard I tried,

What scary faces

Neither did the man make a face:

- The bear turned me over

Manenichko cheekbone! -

“And you compare yourself with the other one,

Give her your right cheek -

He’ll fix it...” – They laughed,

However, they brought it.

Ragged beggars

Hearing the smell of foam,

And they came to prove

How happy they are:

– There’s a shopkeeper at our doorstep

Greeted with alms

And we’ll enter the house, just like that from the house

They escort you to the gate...

Let's sing a little song,

The hostess runs to the window

With an edge, with a knife,

And we are filled with:

“Come on, come on - the whole loaf,

Doesn't wrinkle or crumble,

Hurry up for you, hurry up for us..."

Our wanderers realized

Why was vodka wasted for nothing?

By the way, and a bucket

End. “Well, that will be yours!

Hey, man's happiness!

Leaky with patches,

Humpbacked with calluses,

Go home!”

- And you, dear friends,

Ask Ermila Girin, -

He said, sitting down with the wanderers,

Villages of Dymoglotova

Peasant Fedosey. -

If Yermil doesn’t help,

Will not be declared lucky

So there’s no point in wandering around...

“Who is Yermil?

Is it the prince, the illustrious count?”

- Not a prince, not an illustrious count,

But he’s just a man!

“You speak more intelligently,

Sit down and we'll listen,

What kind of person is Yermil?”

- And here’s what: an orphan’s

Yermilo kept the mill

On Unzha. By court

Decided to sell the mill:

Yermilo came with the others

To the auction room.

Empty buyers

They quickly fell off.

One merchant Altynnikov

He entered into battle with Yermil,

Keeps up, bargains,

It costs a pretty penny.

How angry Yermilo will be -

Grab five rubles at once!

The merchant again a pretty penny,

They started a battle;

The merchant gives him a penny,

And he gave him a ruble!

Altynnikov could not resist!

Yes, there was an opportunity here:

They immediately began to demand

Deposits third part,

And the third part is up to a thousand.

There was no money with Yermil,

Did he really mess up?

Did the clerks cheat?

But it turned out to be rubbish!

Altynnikov cheered up:

“It turns out it’s my mill!”

"No! - says Ermil,

Approaches the chairman. -

Is it possible for your honor

Wait for half an hour?

- What will you do in half an hour?

“I’ll bring the money!”

-Where can you find it? Are you sane?

Thirty-five versts to the mill,

And an hour later I'm present

The end, my dear!

“So, will you allow me half an hour?”

- We’ll probably wait an hour! -

Yermil went; clerks

The merchant and I exchanged glances,

Laugh, scoundrels!

To the square to the shopping area

Yermilo came (in the city

It was a market day)

He stood on the cart and saw: he was baptized,

On all four sides

Shouts: “Hey, good people!

Shut up, listen,

I’ll tell you my word!”

The crowded square became silent,

And then Yermil talks about the mill

He told the people:

“Long ago the merchant Altynnikov

Went to the mill,

Yes, I didn’t make a mistake either,

I checked in the city five times,

They said: s

Page 9 of 11

rebidding

Bidding has been scheduled.

Idle, you know

Transport the treasury to the peasant

A side road is not a hand:

I arrived penniless

And lo and behold, they got it wrong

No rebidding!

Vile souls have cheated,

And the infidels laugh:

“What in the world are you going to do?

Where will you find money?

Maybe I’ll find it, God is merciful!

Cunning, strong clerks,

And their world is stronger,

The merchant Altynnikov is rich,

And everything cannot resist him

Against the worldly treasury -

She's like a fish from the sea

For centuries to catch - not to catch.

Well, brothers! God sees

I'll get rid of it that Friday!

The mill is not dear to me,

The offense is great!

If you know Ermila,

If you believe Yermil,

So help me out, or something!..”

And a miracle happened:

Throughout the market square

Every peasant has

Like the wind, half left

Suddenly it turned upside down!

The peasantry forked out

They bring money to Yermil,

They give to those who are rich in what.

Yermilo is a literate guy,

Put your hat full

Tselkovikov, foreheads,

Burnt, beaten, tattered

Peasant bank notes.

Yermilo took it - he didn’t disdain

And a copper penny.

Still he would become disdainful,

When did I come across here

Another copper hryvnia

More than a hundred rubles!

The entire amount has already been fulfilled,

And people's generosity

Grew: - Take it, Ermil Ilyich,

If you give it away, it won’t go to waste! -

Yermil bowed to the people

On all four sides

He walked into the ward with a hat,

Clutching the treasury in it.

The clerks were surprised

Altynnikov turned green,

How he completely the whole thousand

He laid it out on the table for them!..

Not a wolf's tooth, but a fox's tail, -

Let's go play around with the clerks,

Congratulations on your purchase!

Yes, Yermil Ilyich is not like that,

Didn't say too much.

I didn’t give them a penny!

The whole city came to watch,

Like on market day, Friday,

In a week's time

Ermil on the same square

People were counting.

Remember where everyone is?

At that time things were done

In a fever, in a hurry!

However, there were no disputes

And give out a penny too much

Yermil didn’t have to.

Also - he himself said -

An extra ruble, God knows whose!

Stayed with him.

All day with my money open

Yermil walked around and asked:

Whose ruble? I didn’t find it.

The sun has already set,

When from the market square

Yermil was the last to move,

Having given that ruble to the blind...

So this is what Ermil Ilyich is like. -

“Wonderful! - said the wanderers. -

However, it is advisable to know -

What kind of witchcraft

A man above the whole neighborhood

Did you take that kind of power?”

- Not by witchcraft, but by truth.

Have you heard about Hellishness?

Yurlov's prince's patrimony?

“You heard, so what?”

- It is the chief manager

There was a gendarmerie corps

Colonel with a star

He has five or six assistants with him,

And our Yermilo is a clerk

Was in the office.

The little one was twenty years old,

What will the clerk do?

However, for the peasant

And the clerk is a man.

You approach him first,

And he will advise

And he will make inquiries;

Where there is enough strength, it will help out,

Doesn't ask for gratitude

And if you give it, he won’t take it!

You need a bad conscience -

To the peasant from the peasant

Extort a penny.

In this way the whole patrimony

At five years old Yermil Girina

I found out well

And then he was kicked out...

They deeply pitied Girin,

It was hard to get used to something new,

Grabber, get used to it,

However, there is nothing to do

We got along in time

And to the new scribe.

He doesn't say a word without a thrasher,

Not a word without the seventh student,

Burnt, from the funhouses -

God told him to!

However, by the will of God,

He did not reign for long, -

The old prince died

The prince arrived when he was young,

I drove that colonel away.

I sent his assistant away

I drove the whole office away,

And he told us from the estate

Elect a mayor.

Well, we didn't think long

Six thousand souls, the whole estate

We shout: “Ermila Girina!” -

How one man is!

They call Ermila to the master.

After talking with the peasant,

From the balcony the prince shouts:

“Well, brothers! have it your way.

With my princely seal

Your choice is confirmed:

The guy is agile, competent,

I’ll say one thing: isn’t he young?..”

And we: - There is no need, father,

And young, and smart! -

Yermilo went to reign

Over the entire princely estate,

And he reigned!

In seven years the world's penny

I didn’t squeeze it under my nail,

At the age of seven I didn’t touch the right one,

He did not allow the guilty one to do so.

I didn’t bend my heart...

“Stop! - shouted reproachfully

Some gray-haired priest

To the storyteller. - You're sinning!

The harrow walked straight ahead,

Yes, suddenly she waved to the side -

The tooth hit the stone!

When I started to tell,

So don't throw out words

From the song: or to wanderers

Are you telling a fairy tale?..

I knew Ermila Girin..."

- I suppose I didn’t know?

We were one fiefdom,

The same parish

Yes, we were transferred...

“And if you knew Girin,

So I knew my brother Mitri,

Think about it, my friend."

The narrator became thoughtful

And, after a pause, he said:

– I lied: the word is superfluous

It went wrong!

There was a case, and Yermil the man

Going crazy: from recruiting

Little brother Mitri

He defended it.

We remain silent: there is nothing to argue here,

The master of the headman's brother himself

I wouldn't tell you to shave

One Nenila Vlaseva

I cry bitterly for my son,

Shouts: not our turn!

It is known that I would shout

Yes, I would have left with that.

So what? Ermil himself,

Having finished recruiting,

I began to feel sad, sad,

Doesn’t drink, doesn’t eat: that’s the end of it,

What's in the stall with the rope

His father found him.

Here the son repented to his father:

“Ever since Vlasyevna’s son

I didn't put it in the queue

I hate the white light!

And he himself reaches for the rope.

They tried to persuade

His father and brother

He’s all the same: “I’m a criminal!

Villain! tie my hands

Take me to court!”

So that worse doesn't happen,

The father tied the hearty one,

He posted a guard.

The world has come together, it is noisy, noisy,

Such a wonderful thing

Never had to

Neither see nor decide.

Ermilov family

That's not what we tried,

So that we can make peace for them,

And judge more strictly -

Return the boy to Vlasyevna,

Otherwise Yermil will hang himself,

You won't be able to spot him!

Yermil Ilyich himself came,

Barefoot, thin, with pads,

With a rope in my hands,

He came and said: “It was time,

I judged you according to my conscience,

Now I myself am more sinful than you:

Judge me!

And he bowed to our feet.

Neither give nor take the holy fool,

Stands, sighs, crosses himself,

It was a pity for us to see

Like him in front of the old woman,

In front of Nenila Vlaseva,

Suddenly he fell to his knees!

Well, everything worked out fine

Mister strong

There is a hand everywhere; Vlasyevna's son

He returned, they handed over Mitri,

Yes, they say, and Mitriya

It's not hard to serve

The prince himself takes care of him.

And for the offense with Girin

We put a fine:

Fine money for a recruit,

A small part of Vlasyevna,

Part of the world for wine...

However, after this

Yermil did not cope soon,

I walked around like crazy for about a year.

No matter how the patrimony asked,

Resigned from his position

I rented that mill

And he became thicker than before

Love to all the people:

He took it for the grind according to his conscience.

Didn't stop people

Clerk, manager,

Rich landowners

And the men are the poorest -

All lines were obeyed,

The order was strict!

I myself am already in that province

Haven't been in a while

And I heard about Ermila,

People don't brag about them,

You go to him.

“You’re passing through in vain,”

The one who argued has already said it

Gray-haired pop. -

I knew Ermila, Girin,

I ended up in that province

Five years ago

(I've traveled a lot in my life,

Our Eminence

Translate priests

Loved)… With Ermila Girin

We were neighbors.

Yes! there was only one man!

He had everything he needed

For happiness: and peace of mind,

And money and honor,

An enviable, true honor,

Not purchased either

Page 10 of 11

money,

Not with fear: with strict truth,

With intelligence and kindness!

Yes, just, I repeat to you,

You are passing in vain

He sits in prison...

“How so?”

- And the will of God!

Have any of you heard,

How the estate rebelled

Landowner Obrubkov,

Frightened province,

Nedykhanev County,

Village Tetanus?..

How to write about fires

In the newspapers (I read them):

"Remained unknown

Reason” – so here:

Until now it is unknown

Not to the zemstvo police officer,

Not to the highest government

Neither the tetanus themselves,

Why did the opportunity arise?

But it turned out to be rubbish.

It took an army.

The Sovereign himself sent

He spoke to the people

Then he’ll try to curse

And shoulders with epaulets

Will lift you high

Then he will try with affection

And chests with royal crosses

In all four directions

It will start turning.

Yes, the abuse was unnecessary here,

And the caress is incomprehensible:

“Orthodox peasantry!

Mother Rus'! Father Tsar!

And nothing more!

Having been beaten enough

They wanted it for the soldiers

Command: fall!

Yes to the volost clerk

A happy thought came here,

It's about Ermila Girin

He said to the boss:

- The people will believe Girin,

The people will listen to him... -

“Call him quickly!”

…………………………….

Suddenly a cry: “Ay, ah! have mercy!"

Suddenly sounding out,

Disturbed the priest's speech,

Everyone rushed to look:

At the road roller

Flog a drunken footman -

Caught stealing!

Where he is caught, here is his judgment:

About three dozen judges came together,

We decided to give a spoonful,

And everyone gave a vine!

The footman jumped up and, spanking

Skinny shoemakers

Without a word, he gave me the traction.

“Look, he ran like he was disheveled! -

Our wanderers joked

Recognizing him as a baluster,

That he was bragging about something

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Notes

Kosushka – ancient measure liquid, approximately 0.31 liters.

The cuckoo stops cuckooing when the bread begins to spike (“choking on the ear,” people say).

Floodplain meadows are located in the floodplain of a river. When the river that flooded them during the flood subsided, a layer of natural fertilizer remained on the soil, which is why tall grasses grew here. Such meadows were especially valued.

This refers to the fact that until 1869, a seminary graduate could receive a parish only if he married the daughter of a priest who left his parish. It was believed that in this way the “purity of the class” was maintained.

A parish is an association of believers.

Raskolniks are opponents of the reforms of Patriarch Nikon (XVII century).

Parishioners are regular visitors to the church parish.

Mat - building: end. Checkmate is the end of the game in chess.

Airs are embroidered bedspreads made of velvet, brocade or silk, used during church ceremonies.

Sam is the first part of unchangeable compound adjectives with ordinal or cardinal numerals, with the meaning “so many times more.” Bread itself is a harvest that is twice as large as the amount of grain sown.

Cool rainbow - to the bucket; flat - for rain.

Pyatak – copper coin in denomination of 5 kopecks.

Treba - “the performance of a sacrament or sacred rite” (V.I. Dal).

Smelt is a cheap small fish, lake smelt.

Anathema is a church curse.

Yarmonka – i.e. fair.

St. Nicholas of the Spring is a religious holiday celebrated on May 9 according to the old style (May 22 according to the new style).

A religious procession is a solemn procession of believers with crosses, icons, and banners.

Shlyk - “hat, cap, cap, cap” (V.I. Dal).

Kabak is “a drinking house, a place for selling vodka, sometimes also beer and honey” (V.I. Dal).

A tent is a temporary space for trade, usually a light frame covered with canvas, and later with tarpaulin.

French chintz is a crimson-colored chintz usually dyed using madder, a dye made from the roots of a herbaceous perennial plant.

Equestrian – part of the fair where horses were traded.

Roe deer is a type of heavy plow or light plow with one ploughshare, which rolled the earth in only one direction. In Russia, roe deer was usually used in the northeastern regions.

A cart machine is the main part of a four-wheeled vehicle or cart. It holds the body, wheels and axles.

A harness is a part of the harness that fits the sides and croup of a horse, usually made of leather.

Kimryaks are residents of the city of Kimry. At the time of Nekrasov, it was a large village, 55% of whose residents were shoemakers.

Ofenya is a peddler, “a petty trader peddling and delivering to small towns, villages, villages, with books, paper, silk, needles, with cheese and sausage, with earrings and rings” (V.I. Dal).

Doka is a “master of his craft” (V.I. Dal).

Those. more orders.

Those. not military, but civilians (then civilians).

A dignitary is a high-level official.

Lubyanka - street and square in Moscow, in the 19th century. center wholesale trade popular prints and books.

Blucher Gebhard Leberecht - Prussian general, commander-in-chief of the Prussian-Saxon army, which decided the outcome of the Battle of Waterloo and defeated Napoleon. Military successes made the name of Blucher very popular in Russia.

Archimandrite Photius - in the world Peter Nikitich Spassky, a leader of the Russian church of the 20s. XIX century, was repeatedly joked about in the epigrams of A.S. Pushkin, for example, “Conversation between Photius and gr. Orlova", "On Photius".

Robber Sipko is an adventurer who pretended to be different people, incl. for retired captain I.A. Sipko. In 1860, his trial attracted frenzied public attention.

“Jester Balakirev” is a popular collection of jokes: “Balakirev full meeting anecdotes of a jester who was at the court of Peter the Great."

“The English My Lord” is the most popular work of the 18th century writer Matvey Komarov at that time, “The Tale of the Adventures of the English My Lord George and his Brandenburg Countess Friederike Louise.”

Goat - so in folk theater-booth called an actor on whose head a goat's head made of burlap was mounted.

Drummer - drumming attracted the audience to performances.

Riga - a barn for drying sheaves and threshing (with a roof, but almost without walls).

Fifty kopecks is a coin worth 50 kopecks.

The Tsar's Charter is the Tsar's letter.

Excise tax is a type of tax on consumer goods.

Sudarka is a lover.

Sotsky was an elected representative of the peasants who performed police functions.

A spindle is a hand-held tool for spinning yarn.

Tat – “thief, predator, kidnapper” (V.I. Dal).

Kocha is a form of the word “humock” in the Yaroslavl-Kostroma dialect.

Zazhorina - snow water in a hole along the road.

Pletyukha - in northern dialects - a large, tall basket.

Pastures - in Tambov-Ryazan dialects - meadows, pastures; in Arkhangelsk - belongings,

Page 11 of 11

property.

Compassion - state of mind, conducive to mercy, goodness, goodness.

Vertograd of Christ is synonymous with paradise.

Arshin is an ancient Russian measure of length equal to 0.71 m.

Olonchanin is a resident of Olonets province.

Peun is a rooster.

A cockerel is a person who fattens roosters for sale.

Truffle is a round-shaped mushroom growing underground. The French black truffle was especially highly prized.

Bonfire - woody parts of flax, hemp, etc. stems.

End of introductory fragment.

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Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov’s poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” has its own unique feature. All the names of the villages and the names of the heroes clearly reflect the essence of what is happening. In the first chapter, the reader can meet seven men from the villages of “Zaplatovo”, “Dyryaevo”, “Razutovo”, “Znobishino”, “Gorelovo”, “Neelovo”, “Neurozhaiko”, who argue about who has a good life in Rus', and in no way cannot come to an agreement. No one is even going to give in to another... This is how the work begins in an unusual way, which Nikolai Nekrasov conceived in order, as he writes, “to present in a coherent story everything that he knows about the people, everything that happened to be heard from their lips...”

The history of the poem

Nikolai Nekrasov began working on his work in the early 1860s and completed the first part five years later. The prologue was published in the January issue of Sovremennik magazine for 1866. Then painstaking work began on the second part, which was called “The Last One” and was published in 1972. The third part, entitled “Peasant Woman,” was published in 1973, and the fourth, “A Feast for the Whole World,” was published in the fall of 1976, that is, three years later. It’s a pity that the author of the legendary epic was never able to fully complete his plans - the writing of the poem was interrupted by his untimely death in 1877. However, even after 140 years, this work remains important for people; it is read and studied by both children and adults. The poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” is included in the compulsory school curriculum.

Part 1. Prologue: who is the happiest in Rus'

So, the prologue tells how seven men meet on a highway and then go on a journey to find a happy man. Who can live freely, happily and cheerfully in Rus' - this is the main question of curious travelers. Everyone, arguing with another, believes that he is right. Roman shouts that the landowner has the best life, Demyan claims that the life of an official is wonderful, Luka proves that it’s still a priest, the others also express their opinions: “to the noble boyar”, “to the fat-bellied merchant”, “to the sovereign’s minister” or to the tsar .

Such a disagreement leads to an absurd fight, which is observed by birds and animals. It is interesting to read how the author reflects their surprise at what is happening. Even the cow “came to the fire, fixed her eyes on the men, listened to the crazy speeches and began, dear heart, to moo, moo, moo!..”

Finally, having kneaded each other's sides, the men came to their senses. They saw a tiny chick of a warbler fly up to the fire, and Pakhom took it in his hands. The travelers began to envy the little birdie, who could fly wherever she wanted. They were talking about what everyone wanted, when suddenly... the bird spoke in a human voice, asking to release the chick and promising a large ransom for it.

The bird showed the men the way to where the real self-assembled tablecloth was buried. Wow! Now you can definitely live without having to worry. But the smart wanderers also asked that their clothes not wear out. “And this will be done by a self-assembled tablecloth,” said the warbler. And she kept her promise.

The men began to live a well-fed and cheerful life. But they haven’t yet resolved the main question: who lives well in Rus' after all? And the friends decided not to return to their families until they found the answer to it.

Chapter 1. Pop

On the way, the men met a priest and, bowing low, asked him to answer “in good conscience, without laughter and without cunning,” whether life was really good for him in Rus'. What the priest said dispelled the ideas of seven curious people about him. happy life. No matter how harsh the circumstances may be - a dead autumn night, or a severe frost, or a spring flood - the priest has to go where he is called, without arguing or contradicting. The work is not easy, and besides, the groans of people leaving for another world, the cries of orphans and the sobs of widows completely upset the peace of the priest’s soul. And only outwardly it seems that the priest is held in high esteem. In fact, he is often the target of ridicule. common people.

Chapter 2. Rural fair

Further, the road leads purposeful wanderers to other villages, which for some reason turn out to be empty. The reason is that all the people are at the fair in the village of Kuzminskoye. And it was decided to go there to ask people about happiness.

The life of the village gave the men some not very pleasant feelings: there were a lot of drunks around, everything was dirty, dull, and uncomfortable. They also sell books at the fair, but they are of low quality; Belinsky and Gogol cannot be found here.

By evening everyone becomes so drunk that even the church with its bell tower seems to be shaking.

Chapter 3. Drunken night

At night the men are on the road again. They hear drunk people talking. Suddenly attention is drawn to Pavlusha Veretennikov, who is making notes in a notebook. He collects peasant songs and sayings, as well as their stories. After everything that has been said is captured on paper, Veretennikov begins to reproach the assembled people for drunkenness, to which he hears objections: “the peasant drinks mainly because he is in grief, and therefore it is impossible, even a sin, to reproach him for this.

Chapter 4. Happy

The men do not deviate from their goal - to find a happy person at any cost. They promise to reward with a bucket of vodka the one who tells that he is the one who lives freely and cheerfully in Rus'. Drinkers fall for such a “tempting” offer. But no matter how hard they try to colorfully describe the gloomy everyday life of those who want to get drunk for nothing, nothing comes of it. The stories of an old woman who had up to a thousand turnips, a sexton who rejoices when someone pours a drink for him; the paralyzed former servant, who for forty years licked the master's plates with the best French truffle, does not at all impress the stubborn seekers of happiness on Russian soil.

Chapter 5. Landowner.

Maybe luck will smile on them here - the seekers of the happy Russian man assumed when they met the landowner Gavrila Afanasyich Obolt-Obolduev on the road. At first he was frightened, thinking that he saw robbers, but when he learned about unusual desire seven men who blocked his way, calmed down, laughed and told his story.

Maybe before the landowner considered himself happy, but not now. Indeed, in the old days, Gabriel Afanasyevich was the owner of the entire district, a whole regiment of servants, and organized holidays with theatrical performances and dancing. He didn’t even hesitate to invite peasants to the manor’s house to pray on holidays. Now everything has changed: the Obolta-Obolduev family estate was sold for debts, because, left without peasants who knew how to cultivate the land, the landowner, who was not used to working, suffered heavy losses, which led to a disastrous outcome.

Part 2. The Last One

The next day, the travelers went to the banks of the Volga, where they saw a large hay meadow. Before they had time to talk to local residents, as we noticed three boats at the pier. It turns out that this is a noble family: two gentlemen with their wives, their children, servants and a gray-haired old gentleman named Utyatin. Everything in this family, to the surprise of the travelers, happens according to such a scenario, as if the abolition of serfdom had never happened. It turns out that Utyatin became very angry when he learned that the peasants had been given free rein and fell ill with a blow, threatening to deprive his sons of their inheritance. To prevent this from happening, they came up with a cunning plan: they persuaded the peasants to play along with the landowner, posing as serfs. They promised the best meadows as a reward after the master’s death.

Utyatin, hearing that the peasants were staying with him, perked up, and the comedy began. Some even liked the role of serfs, but Agap Petrov could not come to terms with his shameful fate and expressed everything to the landowner’s face. For this the prince sentenced him to flogging. The peasants played a role here too: they took the “rebellious” one to the stable, put wine in front of him and asked him to shout louder, for visibility. Alas, Agap could not bear such humiliation, got very drunk and died that same night.

Next, the Last One (Prince Utyatin) arranges a feast, where, barely moving his tongue, he makes a speech about the advantages and benefits of serfdom. After this, he lies down in the boat and gives up the ghost. Everyone is glad that they finally got rid of the old tyrant, however, the heirs are not even going to fulfill their promise to those who played the role of serfs. The hopes of the peasants were not justified: no one gave them any meadows.

Part 3. Peasant woman.

No longer hoping to find a happy person among men, the wanderers decided to ask women. And from the lips of a peasant woman named Matryona Timofeevna Korchagina they hear a very sad and, one might say, scary story. Only in her parents' house was she happy, and then, when she married Philip, rosy-cheeked and strong guy, a hard life began. The love did not last long, because the husband left to work, leaving his young wife with his family. Matryona works tirelessly and sees no support from anyone except the old man Savely, who lives a century after hard labor that lasted twenty years. Only one joy appears in her difficult fate - her son Demushka. But suddenly a terrible misfortune befell the woman: it is impossible to even imagine what happened to the child due to the fact that the mother-in-law did not allow her daughter-in-law to take him with her to the field. Due to an oversight by his grandfather, the boy is eaten by pigs. What a mother's grief! She mourns Demushka all the time, although other children were born in the family. For their sake, a woman sacrifices herself, for example, she takes punishment when they want to flog her son Fedot for a sheep that was carried away by wolves. When Matryona was pregnant with another son, Lidor, her husband was unjustly taken into the army, and his wife had to go to the city to seek the truth. It’s good that the governor’s wife, Elena Alexandrovna, helped her then. By the way, Matryona gave birth to a son in the waiting room.

Yes, life was not easy for the one who was nicknamed “lucky” in the village: she constantly had to fight for herself, and for her children, and for her husband.

Part 4. A feast for the whole world.

At the end of the village of Valakhchina there was a feast, where everyone was gathered: the wandering men, Vlas the elder, and Klim Yakovlevich. Among those celebrating are two seminarians, simple, kind guys - Savvushka and Grisha Dobrosklonov. They sing funny songs and tell different stories. They do this because ordinary people ask for it. From the age of fifteen, Grisha firmly knows that he will devote his life to the happiness of the Russian people. He sings a song about a great and powerful country called Rus'. Is this not the lucky one whom the travelers were so persistently looking for? After all, he clearly sees the purpose of his life - in serving the disadvantaged people. Unfortunately, Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov died untimely, without having time to finish the poem (according to the author’s plan, the men were supposed to go to St. Petersburg). But the thoughts of the seven wanderers coincide with the thoughts of Dobrosklonov, who thinks that every peasant should live freely and cheerfully in Rus'. This was the main intention of the author.

The poem by Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov became legendary, a symbol of the struggle for the happy everyday life of ordinary people, as well as the result of the author’s thoughts about the fate of the peasantry.

“Who lives well in Rus'” - summary poems by N.A. Nekrasova

4.7 (93.33%) 3 votes

The work of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is dedicated to the deep problems of the Russian people. The heroes of his story, ordinary peasants, go on a journey in search of a person to whom life does not bring happiness. So who can live well in Rus'? A summary of the chapters and an annotation to the poem will help you understand the main idea of the work.

The idea and history of the creation of the poem

Nekrasov’s main idea was to create a poem for the people, in which they could recognize themselves not only in the general idea, but also in the little things, everyday life, behavior, see their strengths and weaknesses, and find their place in life.

The author succeeded in his idea. Nekrasov spent years collecting the necessary material, planning his work entitled “Who Lives Well in Rus'?” much more voluminous than the one that came out at the end. As many as eight full-fledged chapters were planned, each of which was supposed to be a separate work with a complete structure and idea. The only thing unifying link- seven ordinary Russian peasants, men who travel around the country in search of the truth.

In the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'?” four parts, the order and completeness of which is a source of controversy for many scholars. Nevertheless, the work looks holistic and leads to a logical end - one of the characters finds the very recipe for Russian happiness. It is believed that Nekrasov completed the ending of the poem, already knowing about his imminent death. Wanting to bring the poem to completion, he moved the end of the second part to the end of the work.

It is believed that the author began to write “Who can live well in Rus'?” around 1863 - shortly after. Two years later, Nekrasov completed the first part and marked the manuscript with this date. The subsequent ones were ready by 72, 73, 76 years of the 19th century, respectively.

Important! The work began to be published in 1866. This process turned out to be long and lasted four years. The poem was difficult to accept by critics, the highest authorities of that time brought down a lot of criticism on it, the author, along with his work, was persecuted. Despite this, “Who can live well in Rus'?” was published and well received by ordinary people.

Annotation to the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'?”: it consists of the first part, which contains a prologue introducing the reader to the main characters, five chapters and excerpts from the second (“The Last One” of 3 chapters) and the third part (“Peasant Woman”) "of 7 chapters). The poem ends with the chapter “A Feast for the Whole World” and an epilogue.

Prologue

“Who can live well in Rus'?” begins with a prologue, the summary of which is as follows: meet seven main characters- ordinary Russian men from the people who came from the Terpigorev district.

Each one comes from their own village, the name of which, for example, was Dyryaevo or Neelovo. Having met, the men begin to actively argue with each other about who will truly live well in Rus'. This phrase will be the leitmotif of the work, its main plot.

Each offers a variant of the class that is now thriving. These were:

butts;
landowners;
officials;
merchants;
boyars and ministers;
tsar.

Guys argue so much it's getting out of control a fight starts- the peasants forget what they were going to do and go in an unknown direction. In the end, they wander into the wilderness, decide not to go anywhere else until the morning and wait out the night in a clearing.

Because of the noise, the chick falls out of the nest, one of the wanderers catches it and dreams that if it had wings, it would fly all over Rus'. Others add that you can do without wings, if only you had something to drink and a good snack, then you can travel until you are old.

Attention! The bird - the mother of the chick, in exchange for her child, tells the men where it is possible find the treasure- a self-assembled tablecloth, but warns that you cannot ask for more than a bucket of alcohol per day - otherwise there will be trouble. The men actually find the treasure, after which they promise each other not to part until they find the answer to the question of who should live well in this state.

First part. Chapter 1

The first chapter tells about the meeting of the men with the priest. They walked for a long time, and they met ordinary people - beggars, peasants, soldiers. The disputants did not even try to talk to those, because they knew from themselves that the common people had no happiness. Having met the priest's cart, the wanderers block the path and talk about the dispute, asking the main question, who lives well in Rus', asking, Are the priests happy?.

Pop responds as follows:

A person has happiness only if his life combines three features - peace, honor and wealth.
He explains that priests have no peace, starting from how troublesome it is for them to get the rank and ending with the fact that every day they listen to the cries of dozens of people, which does not add peace to life.
Lots of money now It's hard for priests to make money, since the nobles, who previously performed rituals in their native villages, now do it in the capital, and the clergy have to live off the peasants alone, from whom there is a meager income.
People don’t indulge priests with respect either, they make fun of them, avoid them, there is no way from anyone good words hear.

After the priest’s speech, the men shyly hide their eyes and understand that life for priests in the world is not at all sweet. When the clergyman leaves, the debaters attack the one who suggested that the priests have a good life. Things would have come to a fight, but the priest appeared on the road again.

Chapter 2

The men walk along the roads for a long time, and almost no one meets them; they can ask who can live well in Rus'. In the end they find out that in the village of Kuzminskoye rich fair, since the village is not poor. There are two churches, a closed school and even a not very clean hotel where you can stay. It's no joke, there is a paramedic in the village.

The most important thing is that there are as many as 11 taverns here who do not have time to pour drinks for the merry people. All peasants drink a lot. There is an upset grandfather standing at the shoe shop, who promised to bring boots to his granddaughter, but drank the money away. The master Pavlusha Veretennikov appears and pays for the purchase.

Books are also sold at the fair, but people are interested in the most mediocre books; neither Gogol nor Belinsky are in demand or interesting to the common people, despite the fact that these writers defend interests ordinary people . At the end, the heroes get so drunk that they fall to the ground, watching as the church “shakes.”

Chapter 3

In this chapter, the debaters again find Pavel Veretennikov, who actually collects folklore, stories and expressions of the Russian people. Pavel tells the peasants around him that they drink too much alcohol, and for them a drunken night is happiness.

Yakim Golyy objects to this, arguing that a simple the peasant drinks a lot not from own desire, and because he works hard, he is constantly haunted by grief. Yakim tells his story to those around him - having bought his son pictures, Yakim loved them no less, so when the fire happened, he was the first to take these pictures out of the hut. In the end, the money he had saved throughout his life was gone.

After listening to this, the men sit down to eat. Afterwards, one of them remains to watch the bucket of vodka, and the rest again head into the crowd to find a person who considers himself happy in this world.

Chapter 4

Men walk the streets and promise to treat the happiest person among the people with vodka in order to find out who lives well in Rus', but only deeply unhappy people who want to drink to console themselves. Those who want to brag about something good find that their petty happiness does not answer the main question. For example, a Belarusian is happy that they make rye bread here, which doesn’t give him stomach cramps, so he’s happy.

As a result, the bucket of vodka runs out, and the debaters understand that they will not find the truth this way, but one of those who came says to look for Ermila Girin. We respect Ermil very much In the village, the peasants say that he is a very good man. They even tell the story that when Girin wanted to buy a mill, but there was no money for a deposit, he raised a whole thousand in loans from the common people and managed to deposit the money.

A week later, Yermil gave away everything he had borrowed, and until the evening he asked those around him who else to approach and give the last remaining ruble.

Girin earned such trust by the fact that, while serving as a clerk for the prince, he did not take money from anyone, but on the contrary, he helped ordinary people, therefore, when they were going to elect a burgomaster, they chose him, Yermil justified the appointment. At the same time, the priest says that he is unhappy, since he is already in prison, and he does not have time to tell why, since a thief is discovered in the company.

Chapter 5

Next, the travelers meet a landowner, who, in response to the question of who can live well in Rus', tells them about his noble roots - the founder of his family, the Tatar Oboldui, was skinned by a bear for the laughter of the empress, who in return presented many expensive gifts.

The landowner complains that the peasants were taken away, so no more than the law on its lands, forests are cut down, drinking establishments are multiplying - the people do what they want, and it makes them poor. He goes on to say that he was not used to working since childhood, but here he has to do it because the serfs were taken away.

Contritely, the landowner leaves, and the men feel sorry for him, thinking that on the one hand, after the abolition of serfdom, the peasants suffered, and on the other, the landowners, that this whip lashed all classes.

Part 2. The last one - summary

This part of the poem talks about the extravagant Prince Utyatin, who, having learned that serfdom canceled, fell ill with a heart attack and promised to disinherit his sons. Those, frightened by such a fate, persuaded the men to play along with the old father, bribing them with a promise to donate the meadows to the village.

Important! Characteristics of Prince Utyatin: a selfish person who loves to feel power, therefore he is ready to force others to do completely meaningless things. He feels complete impunity and thinks that this is where the future of Russia lies.

Some peasants willingly played along with the lord’s request, while others, for example Agap Petrov, could not come to terms with the fact that in the wild they had to bow before someone. Finding yourself in a situation in which it is impossible to achieve the truth, Agap Petrov dies from pangs of conscience and mental anguish.

At the end of the chapter, Prince Utyatin rejoices at the return of serfdom, speaks of its correctness at his own feast, which is attended by seven travelers, and at the end calmly dies in the boat. At the same time, no one is giving the meadows to the peasants, and the trial on this issue is not over to this day, as the men found out.

Part 3. Peasant woman

This part of the poem is dedicated to the search for female happiness, but ends with the fact that there is no happiness and such happiness will never be found. The wanderers meet the peasant woman Matryona - a beautiful, stately woman of 38 years old. At the same time Matryona is deeply unhappy, considers himself an old woman. She has a difficult fate; she had joy only in childhood. After the girl got married, her husband left to work, leaving his pregnant wife in her husband’s large family.

The peasant woman had to feed her husband's parents, who only mocked her and did not help her. Even after giving birth, they were not allowed to take the child with them, since the woman did not work enough with him. The baby was looked after by an elderly grandfather, the only one who treated Matryona normally, but due to his age, he did not look after the baby; he was eaten by pigs.

Matryona also gave birth to children afterwards, but she could not forget her first son. The peasant woman forgave the old man who had gone to the monastery out of grief and took him home, where he soon died. She herself, pregnant, came to the governor’s wife, asked to return my husband due to the difficult situation. Since Matryona gave birth right in the waiting room, the governor’s wife helped the woman, which is why people began to call her happy, which in fact was far from the case.

In the end, the wanderers, having not found female happiness and having not received an answer to their question - who can live well in Rus', moved on.

Part 4. A feast for the whole world - the conclusion of the poem

It happens in the same village. The main characters have gathered at a feast and are having fun, telling different stories to find out which of the people in Rus' will live well. The conversation turned to Yakov, a peasant who revered the master very much, but did not forgive him when he gave his nephew as a soldier. As a result, Yakov took his owner into the forest and hanged himself, but he could not get out because his legs did not work. What follows is a long debate about who is more sinful in this situation.

Men share different stories about the sins of peasants and landowners, deciding who is more honest and righteous. The crowd as a whole is quite unhappy, including the men - the main characters, only the young seminarian Grisha wants to devote himself to serving the people and their well-being. He loves his mother very much and is ready to pour it out on the village.

Grisha walks and sings that a glorious path awaits ahead, a resounding name in history, he is inspired by this, and is not even afraid of the expected outcome - Siberia and death from consumption. The debaters do not notice Grisha, but in vain, because this the only happy person in the poem, having understood this, they could find the answer to their question - who can live well in Russia.

When finishing the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'?”, the author wanted to finish his work differently, but approaching death forced add optimism and hope at the end of the poem, to give “light at the end of the road” to the Russian people.

N.A. Nekrasov, “Who Lives Well in Rus'” - summary

Who on earth lives well on earth? Who can live well in Rus' in our time?

Comments

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov Who can live well in Rus'?

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Yu. LebedevRussian Odyssey

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End of introductory fragment.

The history of the poem

Part 1. Prologue: who is the happiest in Rus'

Chapter 1. Pop

Chapter 2. Rural fair

Chapter 3. Drunken night

Chapter 4. Happy

Chapter 5. Landowner.

Part 2. The Last One

Part 3. Peasant woman.

Part 4. A feast for the whole world.

The idea and history of the creation of the poem

Prologue

First part. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part 2. The last one - summary

Part 3. Peasant woman

Part 4. A feast for the whole world - the conclusion of the poem

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov
Who can live well in Rus'?

Yu. Lebedev
Russian Odyssey