“O Volga! .. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
N.A. Nekrasov about the Volga.
Head: Rondar Irina Nikolaevna,
city of Volgograd GAPOU "Volgograd technical school railway transport and communications,
1st year student, ATP group 1-15 "Rolling stock repairman"
The Volga theme in poetry declared itself only at the end of the 18th century, but it also developed in folklore long before that. Widely known are such folk songs as "Oh, you, Volga, Volga-mother", "Volga, the river is deep", "Down the mother along the Volga", "Volga, my mother", etc. Volga legends were passed down from generation to generation , were legends, legends. This folklore tradition attracted the attention of many poets of the last century. Exists a large number of works stylized as folklore by A. A. Shakhovsky, N. N. Mansyrev, Skitalets, A. V. Shiryaevts. Some poems of poets have become folk songs: "Between steep banks ..." M. I. Ozhegova, "Because of the island on the line ..." D. N. Sadovnikova, "Far, far the steppe has gone beyond the Volga ..." W. P. Rozengeym, "Dubinushka" L. N., Trefolev, "Cliff of Stenka Razin" A. A. Navrotsky. "Where would our draft folk song take its only strength if we did not have the Volga, in addition to our uterine earthly expanses? Where would our Russian speech, the most sonorous of languages, take its draft silver, if the Volga had not spilled into this speech with its free flow of water along the channel of our battlefield, eternally seeking, eternally thirsty for centuries?
Every poet has a theme. The Volga is solved in a peculiar, unique way. Nevertheless, it seems possible to find something in common, related in the perception and reflection of the great river.
N. M. Karamzin and I. I. Dmitriev, the Simbirians “resurrected” by the Volga, compose hymns in her honor, thereby trying to exalt “the most sacred river in the world” “on a weak lyre”, “... leave a humble tribute in sincere verses.” "Perhaps the main merit of Karamzin as a landscape painter is the realization of the deep poetry of nature itself as an object of contemplation and a source of inspiration. Karamzin writes the words "Nature", "Nature" with a capital letter: in his work, for the first time, a cult of nature as such is created. " In confirmation, we can cite the words of Karamzin himself: "Humanity and Nature are the two great subjects of Poetry. He can only be a poet who with his gaze penetrates into Humanity and Nature deeper than others."
The Volga acquires different meanings in the era of romanticism in the works of K. N. Batyushkov, P. A. Vyazemsky, N. M. Yazykov and others. Their landscapes, where the Volga is a symbol of Russia, can be conditionally called "patriotic". Very often, their poems are based on the antithesis "homeland - foreign land", which makes it possible to express love for their native country and the beautiful river more vividly, more emotionally. The theme of the Volga is inextricably linked with the theme of the Motherland.
The consummate singer water element, its refreshing effect on a person, the Simbirian N. M. Yazykov especially loved the Volga. He devoted the largest number of poems of all major Russian lyric poets to her. To Yazykov's ebullient gift, the image of an agitated, splashing, shocked element is dear. He can be considered the founder of that line in the development of the national landscape, which emphasizes not the modest, humble charm of Russian nature, but its proud expanse, brightness, pomp, majesty ("My Motherland", "Foreign Land", "Motherland").
“Water is a mirror of beauty, eternally created in our inexhaustible, inexhaustible Universe. And glory to the country that has found a mighty river for its face. There is no Egypt without the Nile, there is no India without the Ganges, there is Russia among the greatest and most beautiful countries, because it has the Volga. (Konstantin Balmont)
The theme of the Volga in Russian poetry has long occupied a special place. The connections of the Volga with the Russian people, its history and culture are reflected in the works of many writers and poets.
One of these poets is Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov. Nekrasov's childhood was spent in the Nekrasov family estate, in the village of Greshnevo, Yaroslavl province, in the district where father Alexei Sergeevich Nekrasov, having retired, moved when Nikolai was 3 years old. The village of Greshnevo was located near the Volga and “everything that walked and rode along it and was led, starting with postal troikas and ending with prisoners in chains, accompanied by escorts, was the constant food of our children's curiosity,” Nekrasov wrote later. In 1860 Nekrasov wrote the poem "On the Volga":
I grew up, like many, in the wilderness,On the banks of a big river
Where only sandpipers screamed,
The reeds rustled deafly,
In rows of flocks white birds,
Like statues of tombs
Sat importantly on the sand;
Mountains were seen in the distance
And the blue endless forest
Hiding the other side of heaven
Where, having finished the day's journey,
The sun goes to rest.
The Volga for Nekrasov is something much more than an ordinary river. His brightest and carefree childhood years are connected with it. It was she who gave the teenage Nekrasov that sense of freedom that he lacked so much in father's house, and its "clear waters" gave coolness on a hot summer afternoon.
Oh Volga! ... my cradle! Has anyone loved you like me?
The poet admits that in childhood "I considered people to be brothers." He did not distinguish between rich and poor, as he grew up with the children of serfs and enjoyed talking with local fishermen who taught him the wisdom of their craft. But it was the meeting with barge haulers that made the future poet take a different look at life and realize that a person “born a slave” will face a very sad fate, which he is unable to avoid. Until a certain age, the poet had no idea that the power of the steamship industry was built on the slave labor of barge haulers. Once he saw a crowd of dirty, emaciated and sick people dragging a barge along the Volga, and was so struck by this cruel and gloomy picture that many years later he recreated it in his poem:
But suddenly I heard moans,And my eyes fell on the shore.
Almost head down
To legs entwined with string.
Shod in bast shoes, along the river
Barge haulers crawled in a crowd,
And was unbearably wild
And terribly clear in silence
Their measured funeral cry, -
And my heart trembled.
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
This howl was not heard!
A long time ago, at the same hour,
Hearing it for the first time.
I was scared, stunned.
And long by the river bank
Ran. Tired burlaki.
They brought a cauldron from the bark,
Sit down, make a fire
And led among themselves
A leisurely conversation.
- Will we get to the Lower one sometime? -
One said: - When to get
At least Ilya ... - “Maybe we'll come.
Another, with a sickly face,
He answered. - Oh, attack!
When the shoulder heals
I would pull the strap like a bear,
And if by morning to die -
It would have been better…”
He fell silent and lay down on his back.
I could not understand these words
But the one who said them
Gloomy, quiet and sick,
Since then, he has not left me!
He is now in front of me:
The rags of miserable poverty,
Exhausted Features
And, expressing reproach,
Calmly hopeless look...
Turning in his work to life and everyday life ordinary people, Nikolai Nekrasov never sought to embellish them. On the contrary, he tried to show in what slavish and incredibly difficult conditions the peasants live, forced to earn their living by hard physical labor. Nekrasov's poems dedicated to serfs are filled with pain and compassion. At the same time, the poet constantly wonders why the world is so unfair, and dreams of changing it.
Most of the poems dedicated to representatives of the lower strata of society were created by Nekrasov in his mature years, when he had already said goodbye to youthful illusions and realized that his noble spiritual impulses would not find a response in modern society. Nevertheless, the poet could not and did not want to put up with the inequality that he saw around him. But all that remained for him was to capture in his works unpleasant scenes from the life of peasants, trying at least in this way to open people's eyes to the fact that reverse side luxury and prosperity are poverty, hunger and disease.
Oh, bitterly, bitterly I sobbed,When I stood that morning
On the bank of the native river,
And called her for the first time
a river of slavery and anguish!...
The Volga is a living witness to history. Its waters saw the raids of the Khazar khans, the uprising of Stenka Razin, heard the groans of barge haulers, exhausted from inhuman efforts. Time passes, events and people go into the past, only eternal values remain. Each era writes its own history, but the Volga remains unchanged. The Great River continues to be a source of inspiration for Russian poets today.
House of the Nekrasovs in the village of Greshnevo
On the banks of a big river
Where only sandpipers screamed,
The reeds rustled deafly,
Rows of flocks of white birds
Like statues of tombs
Sat importantly on the sand,
Mountains were seen in the distance
And the blue endless forest
Hiding the other side of heaven
Where, having finished the day's journey,
The sun goes to rest.
I. Levitan "Barge haulers on the Volga"
But suddenly I heard moans,
And my eyes fell on the shore.
Almost head down
To legs entwined with string.
Shod in bast shoes, along the river
Barge haulers crawled in a crowd,
And was unbearably wild
And terribly clear in silence
Their measured funeral cry, -
And my heart trembled.
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
A long time ago, at the same hour,
Hearing it for the first time.
I was scared, stunned.
I wanted to know what he means -
And long by the river bank
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
This howl was not heard!
Truthfully describing the life of the lower classes, he was well aware that only literate people could appreciate his work, because the peasants could not read. Nekrasov deliberately swam against the current, aware of the complexity in the cycles of censorship, misunderstanding of critics and society as a whole.
It must be said that he succeeded in conveying his thoughts. The master of the pen was able to penetrate the consciousness of progressively minded contemporaries. His works became more and more popular every year. This is exactly what the poem “On the Volga”, written by Nikolai Alekseevich at a fairly mature age, is. In it, as usual, he raises the problems of the people, trying to convey them to the public.
Analysis of the poem "On the Volga"
This work was written in 1860. The manner to which the author turned is not uncommon in his work. Childhood memories are intertwined here: O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
Here is the admiration of the natural landscape of an already adult author:
Oh Volga! after many years
I brought you greetings again.
I'm not the same, but you are bright
And majestic, as she was.
Around all the same distance and expanse ..
Here is the climax. What worries the narrator the most. Nekrasov chose the most accurate words to describe the unfortunate barge hauler:
The rags of miserable poverty,
Exhausted Features
And, expressing reproach,
Calm and hopeless look ...
Hatless, pale, a little alive...
In the last part of the poem, the poet dripped deeply. He literally showed the sad acceptability of generations, when the hopelessness of the situation causes feelings greater than just sympathy:
How I knew you as a child
This is how I see it now:
You sing the same song
You carry the same strap
In the features of a tired face
All the same obedience without end.
The harsh environment is strong,
Where are the generations of people
Live and die without a trace
And without a lesson for children!
Your father groaned for forty years,
Wandering these shores
And before death did not know
What to command sons.
This understanding of the topic is not at all accidental. The family estate of Nekrasov, where he spent his childhood, was just on the banks of this river. Then he admired the power of steamships. However, in childhood, the child did not think that all the splendor was obtained by slave labor. Once on the Volga River, he saw a monstrous picture. Barge haulers pulled the barge. This gloomy picture made a strong impression on the boy, so strong that decades later, it was reflected in this work.
The Volga for the writer has always been something more than a simple river. The life of a poet is connected with it. In his father's house, it was the observation of the waters of the Volga that gave the writer a sense of freedom. The author notes that in childhood he considered everyone his brothers and never made a distinction between rich and poor, lower and upper strata of the population. He spent his childhood playing with ordinary peasant children of his age, and also learned a lot from local fishermen. The author notes that it was the meeting with barge haulers on the Volga that turned his mind upside down and made him look at the world differently. He realized that some people in the literal sense of the word are born slaves and in the future they do not bode well for them except suffering and misfortune.
The poem itself consists of four parts, the first two here are devoted to childhood memories. After the author says that after some time, he was again lucky to see this powerful river and he again admires the beauty. But the memories carry all the bitterness and misfortune that he once saw. Then the author concludes that a decade has passed and nothing really has changed, all the same barge haulers are dragging a barge, thereby earning their living by hellish labor.
“You sing the same song, you carry the same strap”
This is how the poet described his new meeting with these slaves. He was very upset by the people wandering in a team, who could barely move their legs from exhaustion. It seems like it goes on forever. Then Nekrasov argues that he would never have left these wonderful places, this howl of misfortune would not be present here.
Together with all this, the poet says that in childhood and youth he dreamed of changing this world, however, now he does not imagine this is possible. So many years have passed and he is ashamed. However, the writer notes that thanks to this, he managed to develop a sense of compassion for all the people. Now he has a purpose. He is ready to talk about the fate of the slave, so that everyone is imbued with problems and compassion.
The verse is in the first person. Main character talks about himself. He recalls his childhood and adolescence and very colorfully describes his favorite places. At first, the reader may think that this is a poem about nature.
The author notes that the river has retained all its beauty, as it was in his youth. All around is the same expanse and distance, the river is bright and magnificent, the monastery is just as visible as before. Therefore, the hero understands that his soul still trembles at the sight of the beauty of nature. The ringing of bells is heard and the soul becomes pleasant and light. All this beauty and awe of the soul remained with the hero forever.
But now the writer moves on to memories and reflections of a different nature. And it becomes clear that he, a few decades ago, on this shore, and now - completely two different person. However, one thing remained unchanged, that the hero still retained all the heaviness in his soul at the sight of these barge haulers. Their suffering echoes in his soul with deep sorrow.
The narrator lost all his pleasant memories and admiration of the landscape. Like many years ago, people walked entwined in ropes, carrying an unbearable burden. The bent ragamuffins in shabby, inferior clothes are forced to bow down to the very ground. And there was no strength to calmly accept this despondency and suffering.
Volga!.. my cradle! Has anyone loved you like me!
Then he again recalls his childhood, how he ran around the race to look at the river. Then it seemed that the world was kind and bright, everything was calm, only the rays of the sun fell on the waves. Then the boy went to the fishermen and rode a shuttle with them or ran along the coast and imagined himself as an animal jumping on the sand and depicting various caricatures, throwing stones into the water. Memories of youth strongly flooded the hero, showing that he is still the same young man in his soul, however, with different views.
However, his pleasant pastime was disturbed by a wild howl. Then the hero got scared and decided to find out what was going on. It turns out that these are barge haulers who brought the cauldron and began to make a fire. Here the author conveys a conversation between barge haulers, from which it is clear that many of them are very sick. But people do not grumble, but only grieve that, for example, because of a sore shoulder, one peasant cannot do his job better. And this work was very difficult.
At that time, barges were dragged with thick ropes, they were straps. They were attached to the shoulders of people and they pulled this barge with a load along the shore. And when a man with a painful look said that it would be better if he died, his words resonated in the soul of the narrator:
I could not understand these words, But the one who said them, Gloomy, quiet and sick, Has not left me since then!
The horror of the plight of a person who, with all his might, is trying to pull this big barge: in any weather, on any poor-quality road made of stones, on sand, on water - so that at the end of the journey, to get for this thankless and difficult work, a penny for which you can barely to make ends meet, forever remaining in the soul of the poet.
In the memory of the hero, an image constantly arises, a tired and dull man, in tatters, completely exhausted from overwork, lying on the sand. In his eyes there was pain, resentment and hopelessness, it sunk into the soul of the author for a long time. He could never forget that meeting, that sad, reproachful look. The poem "On the Volga" confirms this.
The beautiful, beloved Volga turned out to be "a river of slavery and longing." For himself, Nekrasov found the only right exit- talk. To speak loudly and boldly, in fact, becoming a people's intercessor.
Sergeichik Vadim, Budarina Arina, Lech Adelina
For the event, you need a projector, tokens to determine the winners of the quiz "O Volga! .. my cradle!"
The presenters demonstrate a slide presentation about the origin of the name of the Volga River, its length, origins, geographical location. The presentation is followed by a quiz. "O Volga! .. my cradle!"
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Quiz game
"O Volga! .. my cradle!"
Purpose: to educate children's interest and love for nature native land, stimulate the reading of books on ecology, promote the development of intelligence, resourcefulness.
For the event, you need a projector, tokens to determine the winners of the quiz"O Volga! .. my cradle!"
The presenters demonstrate a slide presentation about the origin of the name of the Volga River, its length, origins, geographical location. The presentation is followed by a quiz."O Volga! .. my cradle!"
Slide 1 (video)
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
That bell didn't ring!
(Nekrasov)
slide 2 Volga! From an early age we hear this unusually sonorous, capacious word. We pronounce the name of the river everyday, habitually. After all, it stretched freely in its relentless course for all 3530 kilometers - from a tiny spring in Valdai to the salty, hot Caspian. Seven thousand large and small rivers flow into it along the way. Truly great! The largest in Europe. Volga and Russia - is it possible to imagine one without the other? “Volga is mother”, “beauty”, “worker” - this is how she has long been called in songs and legends. Much has been written about our beauty of songs and poems, legends and stories. The most different - both old and new. Love for this river is in the blood of Russians, Tatars, Chuvashs, Maris and other peoples living on its generous banks.
slide 3 In the written ancient Roman sources of the 2nd-4th centuries, the Volga is geographically identified as the river Ra - generous, in the Arabic sources of the 9th century it is called Atelya - the river of rivers, the great river.
The Russian name Volga (old-Slav. Vlga) comes from the Proto-Slavic * Vьlga, cf. volgly - vologa - moisture.
slide 4 The Volga originates on the Valdai Upland (at an altitude of 229 m), flows into the Caspian Sea. The mouth lies 28 m below sea level. The total fall is 256 m. The area of its drainage basin is 1,361,000 km². The Volga is the world's largest river of internal flow, that is, it does not flow into the oceans.
slide 5 The river system of the Volga basin includes 151 thousand watercourses with a total length of 574 thousand km. The Volga receives about 200 tributaries. The left tributaries are more numerous and more abundant than the right ones. There are no significant tributaries after Kamyshin.
slide 6 The Volga basin occupies about 1/3 European territory Russia and extends from the Valdai and Central Russian Uplands in the west to the Urals in the east.
Slide 7 The source of the Volga is the key near the village of Volgoverkhovye in the Tver region. In the upper reaches, within the Valdai Upland, the Volga passes through small lakes - Small and Big Verkhity, then through a system of large lakes known as the Upper Volga lakes: Sterzh, Vselug, Peno and Volgo, united in the so-called Upper Volga reservoir.
Slide 7 The main feeding part of the Volga catchment area, from the source to the cities of Nizhny Novgorod and Kazan, is located in the forest zone, the middle part of the basin to the cities of Samara and Saratov is in the forest-steppe zone, Bottom part- in the steppe zone to Volgograd, and to the south - in the semi-desert zone.
Slide 8 It is customary to divide the Volga into 3 parts: the upper Volga - from the source to the mouth of the Oka, the middle Volga - from the confluence of the Oka to the mouth of the Kama, and the lower Volga - from the confluence of the Kama to the mouth.
Slide 9 The “Guide” of 1896 says: “Here is the source of the indestructible economic wealth of Russia, the main reserves of fish, bread, wool, and lard. Cast iron and steel, malachite and marble, granite and gems. Forests and electricity, coal and oil - all in the Volga basin! Today there are 500 cities along the banks of the great river.
Slide 10 The Volga flows into the Caspian Sea. The Volga Delta is huge. Looking at the map, it looks like root system huge tree. First, two powerful roots are separated from the trunk: the Volga itself and Buzan. Then they branch into numerous branches, channels, eriki. And between them is a real water lace.
slide 11 The main food of the Volga is melted spring waters. Rains, which fall mainly in summer, and ground water, due to which the river lives in winter, play a smaller role in its nutrition. In accordance with this, in the annual level of the river, there are: high and prolonged spring floods, a fairly stable summer low water and a low winter low water. The duration of the flood is an average of 72 days. The maximum rise in water usually occurs in the first half of May, half a month after the spring ice drift.
slide 11 As long as there is the Volga, there is Russia. The Volga has long been a symbol of Russia in the eyes of the whole world.
I live on the Volga, not in the capital,
But, really, I can be proud,
What happened to settle
On this holy shore
Some stars above the planet
But every Volzhanian will understand:
Above the Volga - a special air,
On the Volga - a special people!
Quiz questions
"O Volga! .. my cradle!"
1. What is the length of the Volga River?(3530)
2. What is the area of the Volga river basin?(1,361,000 km²)
3. Which basin does the Volga River belong to?
Atlantic ocean basin
Pacific basin
Indian Ocean basin
Arctic Ocean Basin
Internal drainage basin
4.Where does the Volga river flow?(Caspian Sea)
5. What is the name of the hill on which the source of the Volga River is located? (Valdai Hills)
6. At what height above ocean level is the source of the Volga River?(229m)
7. At what height above ocean level is the mouth of the Volga River?(28m)
8. How many streams does the Volga River include?(151 thousand)
9. How many tributaries does the Volga river take?(200)
10. What tributaries are more numerous and abundant in water left or right?(left)
11. In what village, in what region is the source of the Volga located?(Volgoverkhovye)
14. Underline the names and surnames of artists in whose paintings there is an image of the Volga:
E.I. Repin
A.P. Bogolyubov
THEM. Belonogov
A.E. Arkhipov
G.P. Sabaneev
EAT. Kustodiev
IN AND. Surikov
IN AND. Ovchinnikov
N.N. Gapakhov
S.L. Kozhin
18. Does the length of the Volga change over time? If yes, then justify your answer.
19. How many meters is the fall of the Volga?(256 m)
21. What is the average flow rate of water in the Volga?(from 2 to 6 km per hour)
22. How many days does the Volga remain ice-free?(115 days)
24. What is the name of the Volga River according to ancient sources of the 2nd-4th centuries? What does this name mean? (Ra is generous, Atel is great)
Stepan Razin throws the Persian princess into the Volga
Barge Haulers on the Volga
To Yazykov's ebullient gift, the image of an agitated, splashing, shocked element is dear. He can be considered the founder of that line in the development of the national landscape, which emphasizes not the modest, humble charm of Russian nature, but its proud expanse, brightness, pomp, majesty ("My Motherland", "Foreign Land", "Motherland").
“Water is a mirror of beauty, eternally created in our inexhaustible, inexhaustible Universe. And glory to the country that has found a mighty river for its face. There is no Egypt without the Nile, there is no India without the Ganges, there is Russia among the greatest and most beautiful countries, because it has the Volga. (Konstantin Balmont)
The theme of the Volga in Russian poetry has long occupied a special place. The connections of the Volga with the Russian people, its history and culture are reflected in the works of many writers and poets.
One of these poets is Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov. Nekrasov's childhood was spent in the Nekrasov family estate, in the village of Greshnevo, Yaroslavl province, in the district where father Alexei Sergeevich Nekrasov, having retired, moved when Nikolai was 3 years old. The village of Greshnevo was located near the Volga and “everything that walked and rode along it and was led, starting with postal troikas and ending with prisoners in chains, accompanied by escorts, was the constant food of our children's curiosity,” Nekrasov wrote later. In 1860 Nekrasov wrote the poem "On the Volga":
I grew up, like many, in the wilderness,On the banks of a big river
Where only sandpipers screamed,
The reeds rustled deafly,
Rows of flocks of white birds
Like statues of tombs
Sat importantly on the sand;
Mountains were seen in the distance
And the blue endless forest
Hiding the other side of heaven
Where, having finished the day's journey,
The sun goes to rest.
The Volga for Nekrasov is something much more than an ordinary river. His brightest and carefree childhood years are connected with it. It was she who gave the teenage Nekrasov that feeling of freedom that he so lacked in his father's house, and her "clear waters" gave coolness on a hot summer afternoon.
Oh Volga! ... my cradle! Has anyone loved you like me?
The poet admits that in childhood "I considered people to be brothers." He did not distinguish between rich and poor, as he grew up with the children of serfs and enjoyed talking with local fishermen who taught him the wisdom of their craft. But it was the meeting with barge haulers that made the future poet take a different look at life and realize that a person “born a slave” will face a very sad fate, which he is unable to avoid. Until a certain age, the poet had no idea that the power of the steamship industry was built on the slave labor of barge haulers. Once he saw a crowd of dirty, emaciated and sick people dragging a barge along the Volga, and was so struck by this cruel and gloomy picture that many years later he recreated it in his poem:
But suddenly I heard moans,And my eyes fell on the shore.
Almost head down
To legs entwined with string.
Shod in bast shoes, along the river
Barge haulers crawled in a crowd,
And was unbearably wild
And terribly clear in silence
Their measured funeral cry, -
And my heart trembled.
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
This howl was not heard!
A long time ago, at the same hour,
Hearing it for the first time.
I was scared, stunned.
And long by the river bank
Ran. Tired burlaki.
They brought a cauldron from the bark,
Sit down, make a fire
And led among themselves
A leisurely conversation.
- Will we get to the Lower one sometime? -
One said: - When to get
At least Ilya ... - “Maybe we'll come.
Another, with a sickly face,
He answered. - Oh, attack!
When the shoulder heals
I would pull the strap like a bear,
And if by morning to die -
It would have been better…”
He fell silent and lay down on his back.
I could not understand these words
But the one who said them
Gloomy, quiet and sick,
Since then, he has not left me!
He is now in front of me:
The rags of miserable poverty,
Exhausted Features
And, expressing reproach,
Calmly hopeless look...
Referring in his work to the life and life of ordinary people, Nikolai Nekrasov never sought to embellish them. On the contrary, he tried to show in what slavish and incredibly difficult conditions the peasants live, forced to earn their living by hard physical labor. Nekrasov's poems dedicated to serfs are filled with pain and compassion. At the same time, the poet constantly wonders why the world is so unfair, and dreams of changing it.
Most of the poems dedicated to representatives of the lower strata of society were created by Nekrasov in his mature years, when he had already said goodbye to youthful illusions and realized that his noble spiritual impulses would not find a response in modern society. Nevertheless, the poet could not and did not want to put up with the inequality that he saw around him. But all that remained for him was to capture in his works unpleasant scenes from the life of peasants, trying at least in this way to open people's eyes to the fact that poverty, hunger and disease are the reverse side of luxury and prosperity.
Oh, bitterly, bitterly I sobbed,When I stood that morning
On the bank of the native river,
And called her for the first time
a river of slavery and anguish!...
The Volga is a living witness to history. Its waters saw the raids of the Khazar khans, the uprising of Stenka Razin, heard the groans of barge haulers, exhausted from inhuman efforts. Time passes, events and people go into the past, only eternal values remain. Each era writes its own history, but the Volga remains unchanged. The Great River continues to be a source of inspiration for Russian poets today.
House of the Nekrasovs in the village of Greshnevo
I grew up, like many, in the wilderness,On the banks of a big river
Where only sandpipers screamed,
The reeds rustled deafly,
Rows of flocks of white birds
Like statues of tombs
Sat importantly on the sand,
Mountains were seen in the distance
And the blue endless forest
Hiding the other side of heaven
Where, having finished the day's journey,
The sun goes to rest.
I. Levitan "Barge haulers on the Volga"
But suddenly I heard moans,
And my eyes fell on the shore.
Almost head down
To legs entwined with string.
Shod in bast shoes, along the river
Barge haulers crawled in a crowd,
And was unbearably wild
And terribly clear in silence
Their measured funeral cry, -
And my heart trembled.
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
A long time ago, at the same hour,
Hearing it for the first time.
I was scared, stunned.
I wanted to know what he means -
And long by the river bank
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
This howl was not heard!
N.A. Nekrasov.
ON THE VOLGA
(Childhood of Valezhnikov)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Take your time, my faithful dog!
Why jump on my chest?
We still have time to shoot.
Are you surprised that I grew up
On the Volga: I've been standing for an hour
Motionless, frowning and silent.
I remembered my youth
And I want to give myself to her
Here on the loose. I look like
On a beggar: here is a poor house,
Here, maybe they would give a penny.
But here is another - richer: in it
Perhaps more will be served.
And the beggar by; meanwhile
In a rich house, the janitor is a rogue
Didn't give him anything.
Here is a house even more magnificent, but there
Almost got kicked in the neck!
And, as if on purpose, the whole village
Passed - no luck anywhere!
Empty, at least turn out the bag.
Then he came back
To a wretched hut - and glad.
That the crust was thrown to him;
Her poor man is like a timid dog,
Take away from people
And gnaws ... Early neglected
I am what was at hand
And almost a child's foot
I stepped over my father's threshold.
They tried to keep me
My friends, my mother prayed,
My beloved forest babbled to me:
Believe me, there is no sweeter native heaven!
Nowhere to breathe freely
Native meadows, native fields,
And full of the same song
There was a talk of these lovely waves.
But I didn't believe in anything.
No, I said to that life.
Nothing bought peace
Disgusting to my heart...
Maybe not enough strength
Or my work was not needed,
But I killed life in vain,
And what I dared to dream
Now I'm ashamed to remember!
All the powers of my heart
Spent in a slow struggle
without questioning anything
From life to your neighbors and yourself,
I knock timidly at the door
Of my wretched youth:
Oh, my poor youth!
Forgive me, I have reconciled!
Do not remember my daring dreams,
With which, leaving the native land,
I mocked you!
Do not remember my stupid tears,
How many times have I cried
Struggling with your peace!
But kindly something
What to rest your heart on
I could send me! I'm tired,
I lost faith in myself
And only the memory of childhood days
Doesn't weigh on my soul...
I grew up, like many, in the wilderness,
On the banks of a big river
Where only sandpipers screamed,
The reeds rustled deafly,
Rows of flocks of white birds
Like statues of tombs
Sat importantly on the sand;
Mountains were seen in the distance
And the blue endless forest
Hiding the other side of heaven
Where, having finished the day's journey,
The sun goes to rest.
I did not know fear from a young age,
I considered people brothers
And soon stopped
Be afraid of goblin and devils.
One day the nanny says:
"Don't run at night - the wolf is sitting
Behind our barn, and in the garden
Devils are walking on the pond!
And that very night I went into the garden.
Not that I'm happy as hell
And so I wanted to see them.
I'm going. Silence of the night
Full of vigilance
As if deliberately hushed up
The whole world of God - and watched
What a cheeky boy was up to!
And somehow I didn’t walk
In this all-seeing silence.
Shouldn't you return home?
And then how the devils attack
And drag with them into the pond,
And forced to live under water?
However, I didn't go back.
The moon plays over the pond,
And reflected on it
Row of coastal trees.
I stood on the shore
I listened - hell no gu-gu!
I went around the pond three times,
But the devil didn't come out, didn't come!
I looked between the branches of trees
And between the wide mugs,
What overgrown along the coast,
In the water: did he hide there?
You could tell by the horns.
There is no one! I went away
Holding back a step on purpose.
This night came to me as a gift,
But if a friend or an enemy
Sat in a bush and screamed
Or even, frightened by me,
An owl soared overhead
I must have fallen dead!
So, curious, pressed
I am false fears in myself
And in that useless struggle
Lost a lot of power.
But, obtained since then,
The habit of not looking for support
She led me on my way
As long as born a slave
proud fate
Did not turn back into a slave!
Oh Volga! after many years
I brought you greetings again.
I'm not the same, but you are bright
And majestic, as she was.
All around is the same distance and expanse,
The same monastery is visible
On an island, among the sands,
And even the thrill of the old days
I felt in my soul
Hear the bells ring.
All the same, the same... just not
Killed forces, lived years ...
It's almost noon. Such a heat
That footprints burn in the sand
Fishing doze over the water,
Seated in tight rows;
Grasshoppers forge, from the meadows
The cry of quails is carried.
without breaking the silence
Lazy slow wave
The bark moves like a river.
The clerk, a young guy,
Laughing for his companion
Runs across the deck; she is
Sweet, stout and red.
And I hear him shouting to her:
"Wait, naughty, already -
I’ll catch up! .. ”Caught up, caught it, -
And their kiss sounded
Above the Volga is tasty and fresh.
Nobody kissed us like that!
Yes in toasty lips
At our urban ladies
And there are no sounds.
In some pink dreams
I forgot. Sleep and heat
Already reigned over me.
But suddenly I heard moans,
And my eyes fell on the shore.
Almost head down
To legs entwined with string.
Shod in bast shoes, along the river
Barge haulers crawled in a crowd,
And was unbearably wild
And terribly clear in silence
Their measured funeral cry, -
And my heart trembled.
O Volga!.. my cradle!
Has anyone loved you like me?
Alone, in the morning dawns,
When everything else in the world is sleeping
And the scarlet glitter barely slips
On dark blue waves
I ran to my native river.
I go to the aid of the fishermen,
I ride with them in a shuttle,
I wander around the islands with a gun.
Like a playing animal.
From the high cliff to the sand
I ride, then the river bank
I run throwing stones
And I sing a loud song
About my early daring ...
Then I was ready to think
That I will never leave
From these sandy shores.
And I wouldn't go anywhere
When would, about Volga! upon you
This howl was not heard!
A long time ago, at the same hour,
Hearing it for the first time.
I was scared, stunned.
I wanted to know what he means -
And long by the river bank
Ran. Tired burlaki.
They brought a cauldron from the bark,
Sit down, make a fire
And led among themselves
A leisurely conversation.
- When will we get to the Lower? -
One said: - When to get
At least Ilya ... - “Maybe we'll come.
Another, with a sickly face,
He answered. - Oh, attack!
When the shoulder heals
I would pull the strap like a bear,
And if by morning to die -
It would have been better…”
He fell silent and lay down on his back.
I could not understand these words
But the one who said them
Gloomy, quiet and sick,
Since then, he has not left me!
He is now in front of me:
The rags of miserable poverty,
Exhausted Features
And, expressing reproach,
Calmly hopeless look...
Hatless, pale, slightly alive,
Only late at night home
I returned. Who was here
I asked everyone for an answer
On what I saw and in a dream
About what they told me
I was delirious. The nanny was scared:
“Sit, dear, sit!
Don't go for a walk today!"
But I ran away to the Volga.
God knows what happened to me?
I did not recognize the native river:
Difficulty stepping on the sand
My leg: it's so deep;
No longer beckons to the islands
Their bright fresh grass
Coastal birds familiar cry
Sinister, piercing and wild,
And the voice of the same lovely waves
Full of other music!
Oh, bitterly, bitterly I sobbed,
When I stood that morning
On the bank of the native river,
And called her for the first time
A river of slavery and longing!..
What I was thinking at that time
Calling the children's comrades,
What vows did I make -
Let it die in my soul
So that no one laughs!
But if you are a naive delirium,
Vows of youth
Why don't you forget?
And you caused a reproach
So devastatingly cruel?
Dull, gloomy hauler!
How I knew you as a child
This is how I see it now:
You sing the same song
You carry the same strap
In the features of a tired face
All the same obedience without end.
The harsh environment is strong,
Where are the generations of people
Live and die without a trace
And without a lesson for children!
Your father groaned for forty years,
Wandering these shores
And before death did not know
What to command sons.
And, as he did not have a chance
You will come across a question:
The worse would be your fate,
When would you be less patient?
Like him, silently you will die,
Like him, you will disappear without a trace.
So swept up in sand
Your footprint on these shores
Where do you walk under the yoke
No more beautiful than a prisoner in chains,
Saying hateful words
From the century the same "one and two!"
With a painful chorus of "oh!"
And shaking my head to the beat...
1860
N.A. Nekrasov. Works in three volumes.
Moscow: State publishing house
fiction, 1959.