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Lecture notes, cheat sheets
Brief summary of works of Russian literature of the 1814th century. Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov 1841-XNUMX
Directory / Lecture notes, cheat sheets Table of contents (expand) Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov 1814 - 1841 A song about Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich, a young oprichnik and the daring merchant Kalashnikov. Poem (1838) Moscow. Kremlin. Already white. Royal refectory. At a meal, Ivan IV the Terrible. Behind, behind the king, the stewards. Opposite - princes and boyars. On the sides - protection, guardsmen. Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich is in the most excellent mood. Well, what’s not a reason to turn an everyday meal into a small holiday for your own people? Opening the feast “for his pleasure and joy,” Ivan the Terrible orders the steward to draw overseas, sweet wine from the Tsar’s reserves for the oprichnina. He himself vigilantly watches how his faithful servants drink, because drinking wine is also a test of loyalty. However, even the brave fighters are not born with bast: they drink as expected, they drink - they glorify the king, sweet wine flows over their lips. Ivan is pleased, but suddenly notices that one of them, one of the guardsmen, does not touch the golden ladle with golden wine. Recognizing his favorite Kiribeevich as a violator of palace etiquette, he menacingly reprimands him: “It’s indecent for you, Kiribeevich, // to disdain the royal joy; // But you are from the Skuratov family, // And you were raised by Malutina’s family!..” Kiribeevich, crafty and as clever as a demon, he plays out a heartbreaking scene in front of the king, for him personally. Because, they say, I don’t drink - I don’t wet my mustache in a gilded ladle - because I fell passionately in love with a beauty, and she turns away from me, unworthy, like an infidel, and covers herself with a striped veil. Having learned that the sweetheart of his nominee is just a merchant’s daughter, Ivan Vasilyevich laughs: they say, take my yacht ring, buy a pearl necklace and send precious gifts to your Alena Dmitrievna. If you get it right, invite you to the wedding, but first, bow to the matchmaker... Malyutin outwitted the fosterling of Ivan the Fourth himself! And he didn’t seem to lie to him, he told him everything as it was, in spirit, but he kept the last truth to himself: he didn’t tell him that the beauty “was married in the Church of God, // married to a young merchant // according to our Christian law.” Bow to the matchmaker? We'll get by without a hitch! The main thing is that the king is on his side. Yes, and it’s not for nothing that he himself is in the oprichnina, there is nothing for the lawyers to do here! Gostiny yard. Silk shop of the merchant Kalashnikov. Behind the counter is the owner. Counts the money, smooths out the goods. Stepan Paramonovich's business is going well. And the fact that today the rich in the bar do not look into his institution, they do not ask the price of delicate goods, because it doesn’t happen day after day. But now the evening, winter, is getting dark early, the guest yard has long been empty, it's time for him to go home, to his young wife, to his dear children. The Kalashnikovs have a good house - high, well-built, to match the owner. Yes, if you are not lucky in the morning, then it is necessary until the night. I thought: the children are resting, and they are crying crying! He thought: his beloved wife would meet him with dinner on a white tablecloth, but she wasn’t even at home! Stepan Paramonovich is very worried, he is a calm man, seasoned, but he is worried: snow, snowstorm, frost, darkness - has something happened to Alena Dmitrievna? Oh, it happened, it happened, and terrible! Kiribeevich disgraced her! And not somewhere, in the middle of the street, like a thief, like a beast, pounced, kissed, pardoned, persuaded! He robbed in front of the neighbors. They laughed and pointed with a finger: they say, what is going on, well, shameless! Believing, although not immediately, that his wife is telling him the truth, Stepan Paramonovich decides not to shelve the case, since the circumstances are going well. Tomorrow there will be fisticuffs on the Moscow River, and on the occasion of the holiday, in the presence of the tsar himself. And where the king is, there is the oprichnina kennel. So he will then go out to the guardsman. Will fight to the death - to the last strength. He won’t master it, so maybe, brothers, maybe God will have mercy on the youngest ones, he will help to overcome the damned one. And they, the youngest, do not let their "second father" down. At first, slightly, in a worldly way, not too pleased with the fact that Stepan pulled them out of their dead beds, after learning what happened to their dear daughter-in-law, they give an honest merchant's word: "We will not betray you, dear." Bank of the Moscow River. Early morning. The spectators are still pulling up, but the tsar with his retinue (boyars, retinue, oprichnina) is already here. The first, as Kalashnikov foresaw, was Kiribeevich to enter the ring. Excited by yesterday's "victory", he is so aggressive and so confident in himself that none of his usual opponents budge. It is here that, having parted the crowd, Stepan Paramonovich appears. Kiribeevich, slightly surprised (he immediately realized that in front of him was a newcomer), invites the simpleton to introduce himself in order to know for whom to serve a memorial service. Of course, this is a joke: he clearly has no intention of fighting to the death. Not the case. And the Tsar-Sovereign does not approve of deaths on the fist lists. And only realizing that the enemy is Alena Dmitrievna’s legal husband, he loses his composure. There are no traces left of the recent courage. And yet, he, the first fist of the tsar’s oprichnina team, who almost killed Stepan Paramonovich, delivered the blow between the ribs, treacherously vile, between the ribs. Having risen with difficulty, but instantly collected himself (a minute ago - a venerable merchant, and at the moment of the blow a daring fighter), Kalashnikov knocks down his enemy dead. Grozny, as an experienced fan, sees that both fighters are not working according to the rules of a good game: according to the rules, neither the underbody nor the temple is supposed to be aimed (specifically), and as a judge he asks the killer: unwillingly or willingly, he killed his faithful servant, and if by will, then for what and about what. Naturally, Stepan Paramonovich Kalashnikov cannot answer the second question, but he answers the first immediately: “I killed him of my own free will.” Struck by his sincerity (he could refer to inexperience, everyone can see that he is a novice), Ivan Vasilyevich, playing the best of his roles - Tsar Terrible but Fair, although he sends Kalashnikov to the chopping block, promises to fulfill his dying request: not to leave what was orphaned by the royal mercy family. And, oddly enough, it keeps its promise! Alena Dmitrievna and the orphans are given government support, and the Kalashnikov brothers are given an unprecedented right: “to trade freely, duty-free” “throughout the wide Russian kingdom.” Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko Tambov treasurer. Poem (1838) It was under Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich that tramps and counterfeiters were exiled to these steppe lands, and when Gavrila Derzhavin became governor of the disgraced Tambov region, semi-disgraced at that time, Tambov became dignified, was marked with a circle on many imperial maps and acquired pavements. Half a century has passed, and the three main streets, straightened by the singer Felitsa, have not been curved, and the guards, as in his time, stick out in their booths, and the taverns, with numbers, are thriving: one is “Moscow”, and the other is “Berlin”. The only problem is boredom: there are too many brides and not enough grooms. And if someone gets married, like the beautiful Avdotya Nikolaevna - to Mr. Bobkovsky, the treasurer - is that really luck? The faithful man is bald, old and gloomy, and he is also a devil: a gambler - and successful. He plays - and on a grand scale - in his own house, the decks, according to rumors, are marked, punters from all over the district flock to the Bobkovskys, others look at the hostess: “a tasty morsel”! The treasurer does not interfere with flirting “closely”, he watches his wife both, jealously, and he himself teaches her “how to cast a sigh or a languid glance”; The more firmly, they say, the “amorous punter” falls in love, the sooner he will lose. Meanwhile, the stinginess is intolerable! From a young age he has been with the treasury, and he supports his wife “quite simply”: no caps from Moscow, no hats from St. Petersburg. But the treasurer, darling, is a miracle in Tambov’s self-string, and doesn’t seem to complain about fate: she walks smoothly, holds herself proudly and looks calmly. Even extraordinary news that alarmed the entire “circle of the nobility” - “the Uhlan regiment will spend the winter in Tambov” - does not disturb the peace of mind of the “beauty at eighteen years old.” Even the entry into the glorious town of the long-awaited lancers will not lift the sloth from the hot feather beds. Throughout Tambov, regimental music is thundering, black horses are neighing, provincial maidens are stuck to the dusty windows, and Avdotya Nikolaeva has “the best hour of morning sleep.” Madame Bobkovskaya’s cousin, also, we note, married, is burning and burning with an unearthly passion for the handsome uhlan; As soon as it’s light, the magpie crackles: and his horse is like a picture!.. It’s a pity that it’s just a cornet... The treasurer quietly sympathizes with her sister’s secret, without lifting her forget-me-not eyes from the eternal outline... However, Dunechka, not Diana, strengthened herself and strengthened herself, but could not resist. The husband, as they had tea, came to the presence, and the wife with her handicrafts went to the window, and just to the one that overlooks the Moskovsky tavern. He looks and - oh, Lord! - “window to window” with her bedchamber - a lancer, a man and without... No, no, the lancer, that is, the headquarters captain Garin, is fully dressed. And he’s even dressed up: a Persian arkhaluk, a skull cap the color of ripe cherry “with a border and a gold tassel,” and a special chibouk - patterned, beaded. At least pose for a painter. But - alas! Tambov women, and especially the pretty ones, have their own Tambov concepts of decency. A man in numbers - and without a uniform?! What a shame and disgrace! Window - knock! - slams shut, the curtain falls. However, the lancer is satisfied: there is a beginning! He is a single man, free, who has seen the world, not red tape, but not a blunder, in women's souls no worse than in horses, he understands. And it turns out that he was right: two days later, the white-pink treasurer again appears in the window, this time "in a caring outfit." Garin, in order to teach the provincial girl a lesson, gets up - and goes from the yard, and does not return until morning. And so - three days in a row. And imagine - the filly did not buck, albeit with a temper, - on the contrary, she calmed down, but soon became bolder. Our heroes are twisting the novel at a glance and across the street, while Tambov is resting, and the treasurer in the treasury lives with the state sum as with his own treasury! Meanwhile, time is flowing, flowing away, Dunya seems to have enough amorous gatherings at the window, but Garin is very impatient - he is not a fabulous character to sigh silently - "it's time for the denouement." Finally happy. At the birthday celebrations of the provincial leader of the lancer and the treasurer, the unsuspecting owners are seated side by side at the dinner table. And this is where the headquarters captain is not lost, since the regimental trumpeters are playing with might and main on the balcony, and the neighbors on the table are desperately rattling knives, forks, plates. Dunya is in mute delight, but nevertheless, in exchange for a passionate confession, he promises only tender friendship (such is the custom of the village). Our lancers are fed up with gentle friendship, and what real man pays attention to female babble? Especially if he sees that the beauty’s heart is pounding and trembling, captivated by both his mighty gaze, and his mature ardor, thirty years old, and soft curls. Having somehow passed the night, in the morning, barely waiting for the old jealous husband to leave for the presence, the headquarters captain reports to the Bobkovskys. The servants are sleeping. Avdotya Nikolaevna is still in her bedroom. What does a wife do when her husband is not at home? Without dressing and without combing her hair, in her “dress,” crumpled from a restless sleep (uhlans... sabers... spurs), my darling takes up needlework and indulges in dreams. Garin interrupts this pleasant activity, throws open the door and, right off the bat, in Uhlan style, explains the situation: either Dunya gives herself to him here and now, or he - and also here and now - will “die from a pistol,” that is, shoot himself in front of cruel. Confused at first (Garin was about to believe it: “in a minute of love, triumph will come for him”), Avdotya Nikolaevna suddenly flushes with shame and pushes the impatient man away: get out, they say, or I’ll call the servants! Realizing that this is not pretense, but stubbornness, and that the Tambov stronghold cannot be taken with a swoop, the lancers are the height of all humiliations! - drops to his knees and no longer demands, no longer threatens - “pleading piteously.” And who knows, maybe Dunya would have taken pity on the poor fellow, but the door swings wide open again: the treasurer! Having looked gloomily into each other's eyes, the rivals disperse without uttering a word. Returning to his room, the headquarters captain urgently equips bullets and a pistol. No matter how it is! Instead of a decent challenge to a duel, the treasurer sends the offender an indecent invitation to “whistle”. Garin is thinking: is there some kind of catch here? But evening comes, and, looking out the window, he sees that the neighbor really has guests: “The house is full, what kind of lighting!” The hostess herself greets the uhlan - coldly, like a stranger, not a word about the morning scene. Discouraged, Garin goes further into the office, where another surprise awaits him: the treasurer, courtesy itself, treats the offender to jam, and brings champagne with his own hand. Meanwhile, the game is gaining momentum, from prudent to gambling. The losers are pale, tearing cards, screaming, the lucky ones clink their glasses loudly, and the treasurer-banker is gloomier than a cloud: for the first time in his life, luck slips out of his hands, and, enraged, he lets everything go clean: his own house and “everything that is in it or with him" (furniture, a stroller, horses, collars and even Dunya's earrings). The time, however, is late, the candles are burning out, soon it will begin to get light, the punters are exhausted - shouldn’t they go home? - and a lost banker in a trance. It's time, it's time to call it a day! And suddenly the treasurer, as if waking up, asks the players not to disperse and to allow him one more, last “talia” in order to win back the estate - “or lose his wife too.” The punters are horrified - what a crime! - Only Garin accepts the villainous condition. Avdotya Nikolaevna, huddled in a chair, is neither alive nor dead, but those gathered have no time to worry about the unfortunate beauty, because a serious battle is going on. Ulan plays desperately, and fate, having laughed one last time, finally turns away from old man Bobkovsky - “the lot has fallen <...> the hour has come.” In silence, without uttering a single word, the lost treasurer “slowly and smoothly” approaches the gambling table - no tears, no hysterics, no reproaches! She silently looks at her husband and silently throws her wedding ring in his face. And - fainted. Ulan, don’t be a fool, without hesitation, grabs the winnings in his arms and goes home, fortunately it’s not far to carry, and the burden doesn’t drag if it’s his own. And then what, you ask? But nothing. They quarreled for a week, the provincial lancers condemned the maidens, the treasurer tried to find defenders and, it seems, found several, but neither a duel nor a good quarrel followed. Tambov, dear sirs, this is Tambov. Everything is calm in Tambov. Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko Daemon. Eastern story. Poem (1829 - 1839, published 1860) From a cosmic height, the "sad Demon" surveys the wild and wonderful world of the Central Caucasus: like the edge of a diamond, Kazbek sparkles, the Terek jumps like a lioness, the gorge of Darial winds like a snake - and feels nothing but contempt. Evil even then bored the spirit of evil Everything is a burden: and perpetual loneliness, and immortality, and unlimited power over an insignificant earth. Meanwhile, the landscape is changing. Under the wing of the flying Demon is no longer a cluster of rocks and abysses, but the lush valleys of happy Georgia: the brilliance and breath of a thousand plants, the voluptuous midday heat and the dewy aromas of bright nights. alas, these magnificent pictures do not cause new thoughts in the inhabitant of the superstellar regions. Only for a moment the distracted attention of the Demon is delayed by the festive revival in the usually silent possessions of the Georgian feudal lord: the owner of the estate, Prince Gudal, betrothed the only heiress, in his high house they are preparing for the wedding celebration. The relatives have gathered ahead of time, the wine is already flowing, by sunset the groom of Princess Tamara, the illustrious ruler of the Synodal, will arrive, and while the servants are rolling out ancient carpets: according to custom, on the carpeted roof, the bride, even before the groom appears, must perform a traditional dance with a tambourine. Princess Tamara is dancing! Oh, how she dances! Now he rushes like a bird, circling a small tambourine above his head, now he freezes like a frightened doe, and a light cloud of sadness runs across his lovely bright-eyed face. After all, this is the princess’s last day in her father’s house! How will someone else's family greet her? No, no, Tamara is not being married off against her will. She likes the groom chosen by her father: in love, young, handsome - what more! But here no one constrained her freedom, but there... Having driven away the “secret doubt,” Tamara smiles again. Smiles and dances. The gray-haired Gudal is proud of her daughter, the guests admire, raise their horns, pronounce sumptuous toasts: “I swear, such a beauty // Never bloomed under the sun of the south!” The demon even fell in love with someone else’s bride. It circles and circles over the wide courtyard of a Georgian castle, as if chained to a dancing girlish figure by an invisible chain. There is an inexplicable excitement in the desert of his soul. Has a miracle really happened? Truly it happened: “A feeling suddenly began to speak in him // In his once native language!” Well, what will a free son of the ether do, enchanted by a powerful passion for an earthly woman? Alas, the immortal spirit does the same thing as a cruel and powerful tyrant would do in his situation: he kills his opponent. Tamara's fiance, at the instigation of the Demon, is attacked by robbers. Having plundered the wedding gifts, killed the guards and dispersed the timid camel drivers, the abreks disappear. The wounded prince is carried out of the battle by a faithful horse (of a priceless color, golden), but he, already in the darkness, is overtaken, at the tip of an evil spirit, by an evil stray bullet. With the dead owner in a saddle embroidered with colored silks, the horse continues to gallop at full speed: the rider, who in the last frenzied grasp of the golden mane, must keep the prince’s word: ride to the wedding feast, alive or dead, and only having reached the gate, falls dead. There is groaning and crying in the bride's family. Blacker than a cloud, Gudal sees God’s punishment in what happened. Falling onto the bed as she was - in pearls and brocade, Tamara sobs. And suddenly: a voice. Unfamiliar. Magic. She consoles, calms down, heals, tells fairy tales and promises to fly to her every evening - as soon as the night flowers bloom - so that “on silk eyelashes // to bring golden dreams...”. Tamara looks around: no one!!! Was it really your imagination? But then where does the confusion come from? Which has no name! In the morning, the princess nevertheless falls asleep and sees a strange thing - is it not the first of the promised gold ones? - dream. Shining with unearthly beauty, a certain “alien” leans towards her head. This is not a guardian angel, there is no luminous halo around his curls, but he doesn’t seem to look like a fiend from hell either: he’s too sad, he looks at him with love! And so every night: as soon as the night flowers wake up, it appears. Guessing that it is not someone who is confusing her with her irresistible dream, but the “evil spirit” himself, Tamara asks her father to let her go to the monastery. Gudal is angry - suitors, one more enviable than the other, are besieging their house, and Tamara is refusing everyone. Losing patience, he threatens a reckless curse. Tamara is not stopped by this threat either; Gudal finally gives in. And here she is in a secluded monastery, but here, in the sacred monastery, during the hours of solemn prayers, through the church singing she hears the same magical voice, in the fog of incense rising to the arches of the gloomy temple, Tamara sees the same image and the same eyes - irresistible, like a dagger. Falling to her knees in front of the divine icon, the poor virgin wants to pray to the saints, and her disobedient heart “prays to Him.” The beautiful sinner is no longer deceived about herself: she is not just confused by a vague dream of love, she is in love: passionately, sinfully, as if the night guest who captivated her with her unearthly beauty was not a stranger from the invisible, immaterial world, but an earthly youth. The demon, of course, understands everything, but, unlike the unfortunate princess, he knows what she does not know: the earthly beauty will pay for a moment of physical intimacy with him, an unearthly creature, with death. That’s why he hesitates; he is even ready to give up his criminal plan. At least, he thinks so. One night, having already approached the treasured cell, he tries to leave, and in fear he feels that he cannot flap his wing: the wing does not move! Then he sheds a single tear - an inhuman tear burns through the stone. Realizing that even he, seemingly omnipotent, cannot change anything, the Demon appears to Tamara no longer in the form of an obscure nebula, but incarnated, that is, in the form of a winged, but beautiful and courageous person. However, the way to the sleeping Tamara's bed is blocked by her guardian angel and demands that the vicious spirit does not touch his, angelic, shrine. The Demon, smiling slyly, explains to the messenger of paradise that he appeared too late and that in his, the Demon, possessions - where he owns and loves - the cherubs have nothing to do. Tamara, waking up, does not recognize the young man of her dreams in a random guest. She does not like his speeches either - lovely in a dream, in reality they seem dangerous to her. But the Demon opens his soul to her - Tamara is touched by the immensity of the sorrows of the mysterious stranger, now he seems to her a sufferer. And yet, something worries her both in the guise of an alien and in reasoning too complicated for her weakening mind. And she, oh holy naivete, asks him to swear that he is not disingenuous, does not deceive her gullibility. And the Demon swears. Whatever he does not swear - and by heaven, which he hates, and by hell, which he despises, and even by the shrine, which he does not have. The Demon Oath is a brilliant example of male love eloquence - which a man will not promise a woman when the fire of desire burns in his blood! In "impatience of passion" he does not even notice that he contradicts himself: either he promises to take Tamara to the over-stellar lands and make her the queen of the world, or he assures that it is here, on an insignificant earth, that he will build for her magnificent - from turquoise and amber - palaces. And yet, the outcome of a fatal date is not decided by words, but by the first touch - hot male lips - to trembling female lips. The night watchman of the monastery, making a routine round, slows down his steps: in the cell of the new nun there are unusual sounds, something like "two mouths kissing in agreement." Embarrassed, he stops and hears: first a groan, and then a terrible, albeit weak, like a death cry. Notified of the death of the heiress, Gudal takes the body of the deceased from the monastery. He firmly decided to bury his daughter in a high-mountain family cemetery, where one of his ancestors, in atonement for many sins, erected a small temple. Moreover, he does not want to see his Tamara, even in a coffin, in a rough hair shirt. By his order, the women of his hearth dress up the princess in a way that they did not dress up on days of fun. For three days and three nights, higher and higher, the mournful train moves, ahead of Gudal on a snow-white horse. He is silent, and the others are silent. So many days have passed since the death of the princess, but decay does not touch her - the color of her brow, as in life, is whiter and purer than the veil? And this smile, as if frozen on your lips?! Mysterious as her death itself!!! Having given his peri to the gloomy earth, the funeral caravan sets off on its way back... The wise Gudal did everything right! The river of time washed away from the face of the earth both his tall house, where his wife bore him a beautiful daughter, and the wide courtyard where Tamara played with her children. But the temple and cemetery with it are intact, they can still be seen now - there, high, on the line of jagged rocks, for nature, with its supreme power, has made the grave of the Demon’s beloved inaccessible to humans. Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko Mtsyri. Poem (1840) Mtskheta is the ancient capital of Georgia, founded there “where, merging, making noise, // Embracing like two sisters, // The streams of Aragva and Kura.” Here, in Mtskheta, is the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral with the tombs of the last kings of independent Georgia, who “handed over” “their people” to united Russia. Since then (the end of the 17th century) the grace of God has fallen on the long-suffering country - it has blossomed and prospered, “not afraid of enemies, // Beyond friendly bayonets.” “Once a Russian general // was passing from the mountains to Tiflis; He was carrying a child prisoner. // He fell ill..." Realizing that in such a state he would not be able to take the child to Tiflis alive, the general left the prisoner in Mtskheta, in the local monastery. Mtskheta monks, righteous men, ascetics, educators, having cured and baptized the foundling, raise him in a true Christian spirit. And it seems that hard and selfless work achieves the goal. Having forgotten his native language and accustomed to captivity, Mtsyri speaks fluently in Georgian. Yesterday's savage is "ready to take a monastic vow in the prime of his life." And suddenly, on the eve of the solemn event, the adopted child disappears, unnoticeably slipping out of the monastery fortress at that terrible hour when the holy fathers, frightened by a thunderstorm, crowded like lambs around the altar. The fugitive, naturally, is searched for by the entire monastery army and, as expected, for three whole days. To no avail. However, after some time, Mtsyri is still found completely by accident by some strangers - and not in the depths of the Caucasus Mountains, but in the immediate vicinity of Mtskheta. Recognizing the unconscious young man lying on the bare ground scorched by the heat as a monastery servant, they bring him to the monastery. When Mtsyri comes to his senses, the monks interrogate him. He is silent. They try to force feed him, because the fugitive is exhausted, as if he had suffered a long illness or exhausting labor. Mtsyri refuses to eat. Having guessed that the stubborn man is deliberately hastening his “end,” they send to Mtsyri the very same monk who once came out and baptized him. The kind old man is sincerely attached to his ward and really wants his pupil, since he is destined to die so young, to fulfill his Christian duty, humble himself, repent and receive absolution before his death. But Mtsyri does not at all repent of his daring act. On the contrary! He is proud of it as a feat! Because in freedom he lived and lived the way all his ancestors lived - in union with wild nature - vigilant like eagles, wise like snakes, strong like mountain leopards. Unarmed, Mtsyri enters into single combat with this royal beast, the owner of the local dense forests. And, having honestly defeated him, he proves (to himself!) that he could “be in the land of his fathers // Not one of the last daredevils.” The feeling of will returns to the young man even what captivity seemed to have taken away forever: the memory of childhood. He remembers his native speech, his native village, and the faces of his loved ones - his father, sisters, brothers. Moreover, even if only for a brief moment, living in union with wild nature makes him a great poet. Telling the monk about what he saw, what he experienced while wandering in the mountains, Mtsyri selects words that are strikingly similar to the pristine nature of the mighty nature of his father’s land. And only one sin weighs on his soul. This sin is perjury. After all, once upon a time, long ago, as a youth, the fugitive swore to himself with a terrible oath that he would run away from the monastery and find a path to his native lands. And so he seems to be following the right direction: he walks, runs, rushes, crawls, climbs - to the east, to the east, to the east. All the time, both day and night, according to the sun, according to the stars - east of Mtskheta! And suddenly he discovers that, having made a circle, he returned to the very place where his escape, the feat of Escape, began, to the immediate vicinity of Mtskheta; From here it’s a stone’s throw to the monastery that sheltered him! And this, in Mtsyri’s understanding, is not a simple annoying oversight. Life in captivity extinguished the “guide ray” in his soul, that is, that unmistakably true, almost animal sense of his path, which every highlander possesses from birth and without which neither man nor beast can survive in the wild abysses of the central Caucasus. Yes, Mtsyri escaped from the monastery fortress, but he could no longer destroy that inner prison, that constraint that the civilizers had built in his soul! It is this terrible tragic discovery, and not the lacerations inflicted by the leopard, that kills the instinct of life in Mtsyri, that thirst for life with which true, and not adopted, children of nature come into the world. A born freedom lover, in order not to live as a slave, he dies like a slave: humbly, without cursing anyone. The only thing he asks his jailers to do is to bury him in that corner of the monastery garden from where “the Caucasus is visible.” His only hope is the mercy of a cool breeze blowing from the mountains - what if the faint sound of his native speech or a fragment of a mountain song carries to the orphan’s grave... Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko Masquerade. Drama in verse (1835 - 1836, published 1842) Evgeny Aleksandrovich Arbenin, a man of late youth, a gambler by nature and by profession, having become rich at cards, decides to change his fate: enter into an “alliance with virtue,” marry and live as a master. Conceived - done. Life, however, makes a significant amendment to this most beautiful plan. Having made a match not just out of direct calculation, but rather “out of mature reflection,” Evgeniy, unexpectedly for himself, falls in love, and seriously, with his young wife. And this, given his gloominess and his temperament - like lava, “ebullient” - does not promise spiritual comfort. It seems that he has “calmed down”, moored to the family pier, but feels like a “broken shuttle”, thrown again into the open, stormy sea. His wife, no doubt, is an angel, but she is a child, and in soul, and for years, and childishly adores everything that glitters, and most of all “the glitter, and the noise, and the talk of balls.” Here it is today: holidays, St. Petersburg is having fun, dancing, Nastasya Pavlovna Arbenina (at home - Nina) is having fun somewhere. I promised to be there before midnight, now it’s already two o’clock... Finally appears. He creeps up on tiptoe and kisses him on the forehead, like a kind uncle. Arbenin makes a scene for her, but the dear ones scold - just for fun! Moreover, Evgeniy Aleksandrovich himself is now not without sin: he broke his vow - “not to play cards anymore.” Sat down! And he won big. True, the pretext is plausible: we need to help the lost Prince Zvezdich out of trouble! With Zvezdich, he goes from the gambling house to the masquerade house - to Engelhardt. To dissipate. It’s impossible to disperse: in the idle crowd, Arbenin is a stranger to everyone, but Zvezdich, a young and very handsome guardsman, is in his element and, of course, dreams of an amorous adventure. The dream comes true. A mysterious lady in a mask, intriguing, confesses to him her involuntary passion. The prince asks for some symbolic “object” to remember the masquerade meeting. The mask, not risking giving away his ring, gives the handsome man a bracelet lost by someone: gold, with enamel, pretty (look for the winds in the field!). The prince shows the masquerade “trophy” to Arbenin. He saw something similar somewhere, but he doesn’t remember where. And he has no time for Zvezdich, someone Unknown, having spoken insolently, has just predicted misfortune for Evgeny, and not in general, but precisely on this festive winter night!.. Agree that after such a stormy day, Mr. Arbenin has reason to be nervous, waiting for his late wife! But the thunderstorm, without turning into a storm, rushed away. So what if Nina loves differently than he does - unconsciously, playing with her feelings, but she loves! Touched, in a fit of tenderness, Evgeniy kisses his wife’s fingers and involuntarily draws attention to her bracelet: a few hours ago, Zvezdich boasted exactly the same one, gold and with enamel! And here you go! There is no bracelet on her right wrist, but they are paired, and Nina, following fashion, wears them on both hands! No, it cannot be! "Where, Nina, is your second bracelet?" - "Lost." Lost? By order of Arbenin, the whole house is searched for the loss, of course, they are not found, but in the process of searching it becomes clear: Nina stayed until two o’clock in the morning not at a home ball in a respectable family, but at a public masquerade at Engelhardt’s, where a decent woman, alone, without companions , driving is shameful. Struck by the strange, inexplicable (is it really just childish curiosity?) act of his wife, Arbenin begins to suspect that Nina is having an affair with the prince. Suspicion, however, is not yet certainty. Angel Nina cannot choose an empty, cute boy over him, a mature husband! Arbenin is much more outraged (for now) by the prince - what amorous pranks this “Cupid” would have had if he, Arbenin, had not generously won back his card loss! The next day, Nina goes to a jewelry store; She naively hopes that her husband will change his anger to mercy if she manages to find exactly the same trinket to replace the lost trinket. Having bought nothing (the bracelets are handmade), Madame Arbenina visits her socialite friend, the young widow Baroness Shtral, and, meeting Zvezdich in the living room, innocently tells him about her troubles. Having decided that the mysterious lady in the mask and Nina Arbenina are one and the same person, and the “fairy tale” about the supposedly lost bracelet is a hint, Zvezdich instantly transforms from a bored bon vivant into an ardent lover. Having cooled his ardor with the “Epiphany cold,” Nina hastily leaves, and the annoyed prince lays out “the whole story” to the Baroness. The widow is horrified, because it was she, not recognized under the masquerade mask, who found and gave Nina a bracelet! Saving her reputation, she leaves Zvezdich in error, and he, in the hope of confusing Nina and thereby achieving his goal, sends her an insolent letter to her home address: they say, I would rather die than refuse you, having previously notified half of the secular world about its contents. St. Petersburg. As a result of multi-stage intrigue, the scandalous message falls into the hands of Arbenin. Now Evgeniy is not only convinced that he has been cruelly deceived. Now he also sees in what happened a certain prophetic sign: they say, it is not for those who have experienced “all the sweets of vice and villainy” to dream of peace and carelessness! Well, which player is the husband? And even more so a virtuous father of the family! However, Arbenin cannot take revenge on the insidious “seducer” the way the “genius of villainy” and vice would have done, that is, to strangle Zvezdich like a sleeping little kitten: “alliance with virtue,” albeit short, apparently, is still something changed his very being. Meanwhile, Baroness Shtral, frightened for the life of the prince, whom, in spite of everything, she loves, for what - not knowing, "maybe so, from boredom, from vexation, from jealousy," she decides to reveal the truth to Arbenin and thereby prevent the inevitable , in her opinion, drl. Arbenin, scrolling through the options for revenge in his head, does not listen to her, or rather, listening, does not hear. Mrs. Shtral is in despair, although she worries in vain: the duel is not included in Eugene's plans; he wants to take away from the lucky one and the minion of fate not life - why does he need the life of "red tape", but something more: the honor and respect of society. The ingenious enterprise succeeds quite well. Having dragged the spineless prince into a card battle, he finds fault with trifles, publicly accuses him of fraud: "You are a cheater and a scoundrel," he slaps him. So, Zvezdich is punished. It's Nina's turn. But Nina is not an immoral and godless prince; Nina is Nina, and Arbenin, superstitious like all players, hesitates, waiting to say what fate will tell him, her old and faithful slave. Fate “behaves” extremely insidiously: while unraveling the intrigue, it immediately confuses it! Mrs. Shtral, after an unsuccessful attempt to have a clear conversation with her friend’s husband and realizing that at any turn of events her secular career is hopelessly ruined, decides to retire to her village estate, and before leaving, she explains to Zvezdich “the solution to the seicharade.” The prince, already transferred, at his own request, to the Caucasus, lingers in St. Petersburg to return the ill-fated trinket to its real owner, and most importantly, to warn Nina, who is attractive to him: beware, they say, your husband is a villain! Having not come up with any other way to talk to Mrs. Arbenina in private, he very carelessly approaches her at the next high-society ball. The prince does not dare to call a spade a spade, and Nina absolutely does not understand his hints. Is her Eugene the villain? Is her husband going to take revenge on her? What nonsense? She also has no idea what decision Arbenin, who is observing this scene from afar, comes to ("I will find her execution... She will die, I cannot live with her anymore"). Excited by the dancing, having long forgotten about the funny officer, Nina asks her husband to bring her ice cream. Evgeny obediently trudges to the pantry and, before serving a saucer of ice cream to his wife, pours poison into it. The poison is fast-acting, sure, and that same night, in terrible agony, Nina dies. Friends and acquaintances come to say goodbye to the body of the deceased. Having left the visitors of grief to the servants, Arbenin wanders through the empty house in gloomy solitude. In one of the far rooms he is found by Zvezdich and the same unknown gentleman who, a few days ago, at Engelhardt’s masquerade, predicted “misfortune” for Arbenin. This is his old acquaintance, whom Evgeniy Alexandrovich once beat and sent, as they say, around the world. Having learned from his own bitter experience what this man is capable of, Unknown, confident that Madame Arbenina did not die a natural death, declares openly, in front of Zvezdich: “You killed your wife.” Arbenin is horrified; for some time the shock takes away his ability to speak. Taking advantage of the pause that has arisen, Zvezdich sets out in detail the true history of the fatal bracelet and, as proof, gives Evgeniy the written testimony of the baroness. Arbenin is going crazy. But before forever plunging into the saving darkness of madness, this “proud” mind manages to throw an accusation at God himself: “I told you that you are cruel!” The stranger triumphs: he has been completely avenged. But Zvezdich is inconsolable: a duel in the current state of Arbenin is impossible, and, therefore, he, a young, handsome man full of strength and hope, is forever deprived of both peace and honor. Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko Hero of our time. Roman (1839 - 1840) 30s of the last century. The conquest of the Caucasus, which knew much more "stormy days" under Alexei Petrovich Yermolov, is nearing completion. "Foreign forces", of course, burden "the edge of the liberty of the saint", and he, of course, is indignant, but not so much as to block the Georgian Military Highway. On it, the author, an officer of the Russian colonial troops, meets with a veteran of the Caucasian War, Staff Captain Maxim Maksimych. It is not so far to Vladikavkaz, where our army men are on their way, but ice and a sudden snowstorm force them to stop twice for the night. Under seagulls from a cast-iron teapot, Maxim Maksimych tells an inquisitive, like all people who write and write down, a fellow traveler, a real incident from his life. Now the fifty-year-old staff captain is listed as something like a quartermaster, but five years ago he was still a combat officer - the commandant of a guard fortress and stood with his company in newly pacified Chechnya. Of course, anything happens - “every day there is danger” (“the people are wild all around”) - but in general, with the pacified “savages” the peacemakers live like neighbors, until Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin, a brilliant guardsman, transferred to the “boring” fortress, appears into the army and half-exiled to the Caucasus for some scandalous secular offense. Having served under Maxim Maksimych for about a year, the twenty-five-year-old ensign, so thin and white in appearance, manages to set his sights on the pretty daughter of the local “peaceful” prince, with the help of Bela’s younger brother, Azamat, to kidnap her from her father’s house, tame her, and make her fall in love with yourself to passion, and after four months you realize: the love of a savage is no better than the love of a noble lady. Maksim Maksimych is so simple, but he understands: the romantic enterprise started by Pechorin (out of boredom!) will not end well. It really does end badly: the redistribution of stolen goods. The fact is that Pechorin pays Azamat not with his own gold, but with someone else’s - priceless - horse, the only asset of the daredevil Kazbich. Kazbich, in revenge, kidnaps Bela and, realizing that he cannot escape the chase, stabs her to death. The “story” told by the staff captain would have remained a travel episode in “Notes on Georgia”, which the author is working on, if not for a travel surprise: having stopped in Vladikavkaz, he becomes an eyewitness to the unexpected meeting of Maxim Maksimych with Pechorin, who has retired and is heading to Persia. Having observed the former subordinate of the staff captain, the author, a remarkable physiognomist, convinced that a person’s character can be judged by facial features, comes to the conclusion: Pechorin is a typical face, perhaps even a portrait of a hero of the time, made up by life itself from the vices of a barren generation. In short: it looks like an ultra-modern, psychological novel, no less interesting than “the history of an entire people.” In addition, he receives a unique document at his full disposal. Having become angry with Grigory Alexandrovich, Maxim Maksimych rashly hands over to his fellow traveler the “Pechorin papers” - a diary that he had forgotten in the fortress during his hasty departure beyond the ridge to Georgia. Extracts from these papers are the central part of "A Hero of Our Time" ("Pechorin's Journal"). The first chapter of this novel in the novel - the adventure short story "Taman" - confirms: the staff captain, with all his innocence, correctly sensed the character of the destroyer Bela: Pechorin is an adventure hunter, one of those senselessly effective natures who are ready to sacrifice their lives a hundred times, only to get the key to the riddle that intrigued their restless mind. Judge for yourself: three days on the road, arrives in Taman late at night, finds it difficult to get a billet - the orderly snores, and the master has no time for sleep. The hunting instinct and devilish intuition whisper: the blind boy who let him go “to the Vatera” is not as blind as they say, and the Vatera - even though it is a lopsided mud hut - does not look like a family hut. The blind man really behaves strangely for a blind person: he goes down to the sea along a steep slope with a “sure step,” and even drags some kind of bundle. Pechorin sneaks behind him and, hiding behind a coastal cliff, continues observation. A female figure is visible in the fog. After listening, he guesses: two people on the shore are waiting for a certain Yanko, whose boat must sneak past the patrol ships unnoticed. The girl in white is worried - there is a strong storm at sea - but the brave oarsman lands safely. Having shouldered the brought bales, the trio leaves. The riddle, which seemed complicated to Pechorin, is resolved easily: Yanko brings contraband goods (ribbons, beads and brocade) from overseas, and the girl and the blind man help hide and sell it. Out of frustration, Pechorin takes a rash step: point-blank, in front of the old housewife, he asks the boy where he goes at night. Frightened that the guest will “report” to the military commandant, Yanko’s girlfriend (Pechorin privately calls her an undine - a water maiden, a mermaid) decides to get rid of the overly curious witness. Noticing that she has caught the eye of a passing gentleman, the little mermaid offers him a nighttime, tête-à-tête, boat ride on the choppy sea. Pechorin, who cannot swim, hesitates, but retreating in the face of danger is not in his rules. As soon as the boat sails a sufficient distance, the girl, having lulled the gentleman’s vigilance with a fiery embrace, deftly throws his pistol overboard. A fight ensues. The boat is about to capsize. Pechorin is stronger, but the maiden of the sea is flexible, like a wild cat; one more cat throw - and our superman will follow his pistol into the oncoming wave. But still, the undine ends up overboard. Pechorin somehow rows up to the shore and sees that the little mermaid is already there. Yanko appears, dressed for camp, and then blind. The smugglers, confident that now, after the unsuccessful attempt, the gentleman officer will probably inform the authorities, inform the boy that they are leaving Taman for good. He tearfully asks to take him too, but Yanko rudely refuses: “What do I need you for!” Pechorin becomes sad, he still feels sorry for the “poor wretched one.” alas, not for long. Having discovered that the poor blind man had robbed him, having accurately chosen the most valuable things (a box with money, a unique dagger, etc.), he calls the thief “the damned blind man.” We learn about what happened to Pechorin after leaving Taman from the story “Princess Mary” (the second fragment of “Pechorin’s Journal”). On a punitive expedition against the Black Sea mountaineers, he casually meets the cadet Grushnitsky, a provincial youth who entered military service for romantic reasons: he spends the winter in S. (Stavropol), where he briefly meets Dr. Werner, a smart guy and a skeptic. And in May, Pechorin, Werner, and Grushnitsky, wounded in the leg and awarded the St. George Cross for bravery, were already in Pyatigorsk. Pyatigorsk, like neighboring Kislovodsk, is famous for its healing waters; May is the beginning of the season, and the entire “water society” is assembled. The society is mainly male, officer - after all, and there is war all around, ladies (and especially not old and pretty ones) - in spades. The most interesting of the "resort girls", according to the general verdict, is Princess Mary, the only daughter of a rich Moscow lady. Princess Ligovskaya is an Anglomaniac, so her Mary knows English and reads Byron in the original. Despite her scholarship, Mary is spontaneous and democratic in Moscow style. Instantly noticing that the wound prevents Grushnitsky from bending over, she picks up the glass of sour, medicinal water that the cadet dropped. Pechorin catches himself thinking that he envies Grushnitsky. And not because he liked the Moscow young lady so much - although, as a connoisseur, he fully appreciated her unusual appearance and stylish manner of dressing. But because he believes: all the best in this world should belong to him. In short, out of nothing to do, he begins a campaign, the goal of which is to win Mary’s heart and thereby hurt the pride of the arrogant and narcissistic gentleman of St. George Both are quite successful. The scene at the "sour" spring is dated May 11, and eleven days later, in the Kislovodsk "restaurant" at a public ball, he is already dancing with the youngest Lithuanian waltz. Taking advantage of the freedom of resort customs, the dragoon captain, tipsy and vulgar, tries to invite the princess to a mazurka. Mary is shocked, Pechorin deftly sends off the dork and receives from a grateful mother - still! Saved my daughter from fainting at the ball! - an invitation to visit her house easily. Meanwhile, the circumstances are getting more complicated. A distant relative of the princess comes to the waters, in whom Pechorin recognizes "his Faith", the woman whom he once truly loved. Vera still loves her unfaithful lover, but she is married, and her husband, a rich old man, is relentless like a shadow: the princess's living room is the only place where they can see each other without arousing suspicion. In the absence of friends, Mary shares with her cousin (who prudently rented a neighboring house with a common dense garden) heart secrets; Vera gives them to Pechorin - "she is in love with you, poor thing," - he pretends that this does not interest him at all. But female experience tells Vera: a dear friend is not completely indifferent to the charm of a charming Muscovite. Jealous, she takes the word from Grigory Alexandrovich that he will not marry Mary. And as a reward for the sacrifice, he promises a faithful (night, alone, in his boudoir) date. Impatient lovers are lucky: a famous magician and magician arrives in Kislovodsk, where the "water society" has moved for another portion of medical procedures. The whole city, with the exception of Mary and Vera, of course, is there. Even the princess, despite her daughter's illness, takes a ticket. Pechorin rides along with everyone, but, without waiting for the end, disappears "in English." Grushnitsky and his dragoon friend pursue him and, noticing that Pechorin is hiding in the Ligovsky garden, set up an ambush (knowing nothing about Vera, they imagine that the villain is secretly dating the princess). True, it is not possible to catch a womanizer red-handed, but they raise a fair amount of noise - keep, they say, a thief! In search of robbers, that is, Circassians, a Cossack detachment is urgently called to Kislovodsk. But this version is for the common people. The male part of the "water society" relishes with pleasure the insidious slander against the princess, which Grushnitsky and his partner spread. Pechorin, who has fallen into a false position, has no choice but to challenge the slanderer to a duel. Grushnitsky, on the advice of his second (still the same drunken dragoon), offers to shoot "at six paces." And in order to protect himself (it is almost impossible to miss at six steps, especially for a professional military man), he allows the dragoon to leave the enemy’s pistol unloaded. Werner, who by pure chance found out about the dishonest conspiracy, is horrified. However, Pechorin coolly - and strictly according to the rules of the dueling code - upsets the fraudulent plan. First, by lot, Grushnitsky shoots, but he is so excited that the "true" bullet only slightly touches his lucky opponent. Before making a return - fatal - shot, Pechorin offers his former friend a world peace. He, in a state of almost insane, refuses flatly: "Shoot! I despise myself, but I hate you! If you don't kill me, I'll stab you from around the corner!" The death of the unlucky admirer of the princess does not relieve the tension inside the love quadrangle. Vera, having heard about the duel at six steps, ceases to control herself, her husband guesses the true state of things and orders to urgently lay the stroller. After reading her farewell note, Pechorin jumps on his Circassian. The thought of parting forever horrifies him: only now does he realize that Vera is dearer to him than anything in the world. But the horse does not withstand a mad race - a senseless race for lost, ruined happiness. Pechorin returns on foot to Kislovodsk, where unpleasant news awaits him: the authorities do not believe that the death of Grushnitsky is the tricks of the Circassians, and, just in case, decides to send the surviving "combatant" to hell. Before leaving, Pechorin goes to the Ligovskys to say goodbye. The princess, forgetting about decency, offers him the hand of her daughter. He asks permission to talk to Mary alone and, remembering the oath given to Vera - "You will not marry Mary ?!" - He announces to the poor girl that he dragged after her out of boredom to laugh. Of course, this vulgar formula, suitable only for petty-bourgeois stories, does not fit the formula of dislike for his feelings for Mary. But he is a player, and the most important thing for a player is to keep a good face on a bad game. And with this - alas! - it's nothing you can do! Style is a person, and our hero's lifestyle is such that he, apparently not wanting it, destroys all living things, wherever this living thing is found - in a mountain sakla, in a wretched hut or in a rich noble nest. Pechorin involuntarily appears as an executioner in the action-packed short story "The Fatalist" (the final chapter of the novel). In the officer's card company, gathered at the apartment of the head of the front-line garrison, a philosophical dispute is tied up. Some consider the Muslim belief - "as if the fate of a person is written in heaven" - is sheer nonsense, others, on the contrary, are convinced that a fateful minute is assigned to everyone from above. Lieutenant Vulich, originally a Serb, and by the disposition of his mind a fatalist, invites the debaters to take part in a mystical experiment. Say, if the hour of his death has not yet struck, then providence will not allow the pistol, which he, Vulich, publicly puts the muzzle to his forehead, to fire. Who, gentlemen, wants to pay for the rare spectacle N-th amount of gold coins? Nobody wants it, of course. Except Pechorin. This one not only turns out all the contents of his wallet on the playing table, but also says to Vulich - aloud, looking into his eyes: "You will die today!" The Serb wins the first "round" of the dangerous bet: the pistol does misfire, although it is in perfect working order, with the next shot the lieutenant pierces through the owner's cap hanging on the wall. But Pechorin, watching how the fatalist shifts his gold coins into his pocket, insists: Vulich's face is a sign of imminent death. Vulich, at first embarrassed, and then flaming up, leaves. One. Without waiting for the lingering comrades. And he dies before reaching the house: he is cut with a saber - from shoulder to waist - by a drunken Cossack. Now even those who did not believe in predestination believed. It never occurs to anyone to imagine how the fate of the unfortunate lieutenant would have unfolded if blind chance and a desire to change places had not brought Grigory Pechorin from a boring fortress, from under the supervision of Maxim Maksimych, to the front-line Cossack village. Well, gentlemen officers would have made some noise, the gloomy Serb would have frightened them, and they would have returned to the cards thrown under the table, to shtoss and whist, and would have sat up until dawn - and there, you see, the stanitsa, violent in hops, would have sobered up. Even Maxim Maksimych, after listening to Pechorin's story about the terrible death of poor Vulich, although he tried to do without metaphysics (they say, these Asian triggers often fail), he ended up agreeing with the general opinion: "It seems that it was written in his family." With his own special opinion, only Pechorin remains, although he does not express it aloud: and which of you, gentlemen, knows for sure whether he is convinced of what or not? Come on, think about it - how often does each of you take a delusion of feelings or a mistake of reason for conviction? And really - who? After all, Grigory Alexandrovich was convinced that his people were destined for death from an evil wife. And he died - on the road, returning from Persia, under circumstances that remained unexplained (at the request of the author). Author of the retelling: A. M. Marchenko << Back: Vladimir Alexandrovich Sollogub 1813-1882 (Tarantas. Travel impressions. Tale (1845)) >> Forward: Pyotr Pavlovich Ershov 1815-1869 (The Little Humpbacked Horse. Russian fairy tale in three parts (1834))
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