Reflections at the front door. Poems by Nekrasov. Reflections at the front door - Nekrasov poems

Here front door. On solemn days
Possessed by a servile disease,
A whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Spotlights, place seekers,
And an old man, and a widow.
From him and to him then know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another sings "tram-tram",
And other petitioners are crying.
Once I saw the men came here,
rustic Russian people,
We prayed to the church and stood far away,
Dangling blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it go," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they are ugly to look at!
Sunburnt faces and hands
Armenian thin on the shoulders,
By knapsack on the backs bent,
Cross on the neck and blood on the legs
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(Know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the porter: "Drive!
Ours does not like ragged black!"
And the door slammed shut. after standing,
The pilgrims unleashed the bag,
But the porter did not let me in, without taking a meager mite,
And they went, burning with the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!",
Spreading hopelessly hands,
And as long as I could see them,
With their heads uncovered...
And the owner of luxurious chambers
Another dream was deeply embraced ...
You, who consider life enviable
Intoxication with shameless flattery,
red tape, gluttony, game,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Take them back! you are their salvation!
But the happy are deaf to good...
The thunders of heaven do not frighten you,
And you hold earthly things in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexorable grief in the hearts.
What is this crying sorrow to you,
What are these poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life won't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers fun
You call the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory

And die with glory!
Serene arcadian idyll
The old days will roll.
Under the captivating skies of Sicily,
In fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Dive into the azure sea
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting for your death with impatience);
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!

However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take out our anger on them? -
Safer...More fun
Find some solace...
It doesn't matter what the man will suffer:
So the providence that guides us
Indicated ... yes, he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a poor tavern
The poor will drink everything to the ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan... Native land!
Name me a place like this
I didn't see that angle.
Wherever your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He groans through the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, prisons,
In mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the stack,
Under the cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor little house,
The light of God's sun is not happy;
Moaning in every deaf town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
That barge haulers are towing! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water
You don't flood the fields like that
Like the great grief of the people
Our land is full,
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless moan mean?
Will you wake up, full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
All that you could, you have already done -
Created a song like a moan
And spiritually rested forever? ..

Nikolai Nekrasov, 1858

Nikolay Alekseevich Nekrasov

Here is the front entrance. On solemn days
Possessed by a servile disease,
A whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;

Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Spotlights, place seekers,
And an old man, and a widow.
From him and to him then know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another sings "tram-tram",
And other petitioners are crying.
Once I saw the men came here,
Village Russian people
We prayed to the church and stood far away,
Dangling blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it go," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they are ugly to look at!
Sunburnt faces and hands
Armenian thin on the shoulders,
By knapsack on the backs bent,
Cross on the neck and blood on the legs
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(Know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the porter: “Drive!
Ours does not like ragged mob!
And the door slammed shut. after standing,
The pilgrims untied the bag,
But the porter did not let me in, without taking a meager mite,
And they went, burning with the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!",
Spreading hopelessly hands,
And as long as I could see them,
They walked with their heads uncovered ...

And the owner of luxurious chambers
Another dream was deeply embraced ...
You, who consider life enviable
Intoxication with shameless flattery,
red tape, gluttony, game,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Take them back! you are their salvation!
But the happy are deaf to good...

The thunders of heaven do not frighten you,
And you hold earthly things in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexorable grief in the hearts.

What is this crying sorrow to you,
What are these poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life won't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers3 fun
You call the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory
And die with glory!
Serene arcadian idyll4
The old days will roll.
Under the captivating skies of Sicily,
In fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Dive into the azure sea
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting for your death with impatience);
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!

However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take out our anger on them? -
Safer…More fun
Find some solace...
It doesn't matter what the man will suffer:
So the providence that guides us
Indicated ... yes, he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a poor tavern
The poor will drink everything to the ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan... Native land!
Name me a place like this
I didn't see that angle.
Wherever your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He groans through the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, prisons,
In mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the stack,
Under the cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor little house,
The light of God's sun is not happy;
Moaning in every deaf town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
That barge haulers are towing! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water
You don't flood the fields like that
Like the great grief of the people
Our land is full,
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless moan mean?
Will you wake up, full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
All that you could, you have already done -
Created a song like a moan
And spiritually rested forever? ..

The textbook poem "Reflections at the front door" was written by Nikolai Nekrasov in 1858, becoming one of the many works that the author dedicated to the common people. The poet grew up on a family estate, but because of the cruelty of his own father, he realized very early that the world is divided into rich and poor. Nekrasov himself was among those who were forced to drag out a semi-beggarly existence, as he was disinherited and earned his living on his own from the age of 16. Understanding what it is like for ordinary peasants in this soulless and unfair world, the poet regularly turned to social topics in his works. Most of all, he was oppressed by the fact that the peasants did not know how to defend their rights and did not even know what exactly they could count on under the law. As a result, they are forced to turn into petitioners, whose fate directly depends not so much on the whim of a high-ranking person, but on the mood of an ordinary doorman.

In one of the houses of St. Petersburg, petitioners are especially frequent, because the governor lives here. But getting to him is not an easy task, since a formidable doorman stands in the way of the petitioners, shod in "home-made bast shoes". It is he who decides who is worthy of a meeting with an official, and who should be persecuted in the neck, even despite the meager offering. Such an attitude towards petitioners is the norm, although the peasants, naively believing in the myth of a good master, blame his servants for everything and leave without having achieved justice. However, Nekrasov understands that the problem lies not in the porters, but in the representatives of power themselves, for whom there is nothing sweeter than "rapture with shameless power." Such people are not afraid of the "thunders of heaven", and they easily solve all earthly problems with the power of their own power and money. needs ordinary people such officials are not at all interested, and the poet focuses on this in his poem. The author is outraged that there is such a gradation in society, because of which it is impossible to achieve justice without money and a high social status. Moreover, the Russian peasant is a constant source of irritation and a reason for anger for such bureaucrats. No one thinks about the fact that it is on the peasants that everything rests modern society which cannot do without free work force. The fact that all people, by definition, are born free, is deliberately concealed, and Nekrasov dreams that someday justice will still prevail.

The thunders of heaven do not frighten you,
And you hold earthly things in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexorable grief in the hearts.

What is this crying sorrow to you,
What are these poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life won't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers fun
You call the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory
And die with glory!
Serene arcadian idyll
The old days will roll.
Under the captivating skies of Sicily,
In fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Dive into the azure sea
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting for your death with impatience);
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!

Krinitsyn A.B.

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

Possessed by a servile disease,

A whole city with some kind of fright

Drives up to the cherished doors;

Writing down your name and rank,

Guests are leaving home

So deeply satisfied with myself

What do you think - that is their calling!

Thus, Nekrasov makes a broad generalization: "the whole city" "drives up to the cherished doors." The main entrance appears before us as a symbol of the world of the rich and those in power, before whom the entire capital grovels servilely. By the way, the house and entrance described by Nekrasov belonged to Count Chernyshov, who earned notoriety in society for being the head of the investigative commission on the affairs of the Decembrists, and he pronounced a strict guilty verdict on his relative, hoping to take possession of the property left after him. Hints that this face is odious (that is, hated by everyone) will later appear in the verse (“Secretly cursed by the fatherland, exalted by loud praise”).

The poor part of the city is immediately drawn as an antithesis:

And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance

Poor faces besiege:

Spotlights, place seekers,

And an old man, and a widow.

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

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

You, who consider life enviable

Intoxication with shameless flattery,

red tape, gluttony, game,

Wake up! There is also pleasure:

Take them back! you are their salvation!

But the happy are deaf to good...

To shame the dignitary even more, the poet-denunciator paints the pleasures and luxury of his life, painting pictures of Sicily, his beloved medical resort in Europe of that time, where his “fast-running” life will come to an end:

Serene arcadian idyll

The old days will roll:

Under the captivating skies of Sicily,

In fragrant tree shade,

Contemplating how the sun is purple

Dive into the azure sea

Stripes of his gold, -

Lulled by gentle singing

Mediterranean waves - like a child

You will fall asleep...

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

You will fall asleep ... surrounded by care

Dear and beloved family

(Waiting for your death with impatience);

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

Secretly cursed by the motherland,

Exalted with loud praise!

Finally, the poet leaves the attention of the rich man and turns not to him, but to the readers, as if convinced that his heart is still not reachable: “However, why do we bother such a person for small people?” and adopts the tone of a corrupt journalist, accustomed to hiding the problems and ulcers of society and writing about them condescendingly and humiliatingly:

… Even more fun

Find some solace...

It doesn't matter what the man will suffer:

So the providence that guides us

Indicated ... yes, he's used to it!

Speaking on his own behalf, Nekrasov, in a mournful and sympathetic tone, draws the prospect of genuine hardships and insults of the peasants who left with nothing, which unfolds into an epic picture of people's suffering. The verse acquires the measured, majestic movement of a drawn-out folk song. The former melodious alternation of dactylic and male rhymes is replaced by an alternation of male and female, which is why the verse acquires firmness and, as it were, "fills with strength." But this “strength” is inseparable from unbearable suffering: a groan becomes the key motive and general intonation of the song:

… Motherland!

Name me a place like this

I didn't see that angle.

Wherever your sower and keeper,

Where would a Russian peasant not moan?

He groans through the fields, along the roads,

He groans in prisons, prisons,

In mines, on an iron chain;

He groans under the barn, under the stack,

Under the cart, spending the night in the steppe;

Moaning in his own poor little house,

The light of God's sun is not happy;

Moaning in every deaf town,

At the entrance of courts and chambers.

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

Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard

Over the great Russian river?

<...>Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water

You don't flood the fields like that

Like the great grief of the people

Our land is full...

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

Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!

What does your endless moan mean?

Will you wake up, full of strength,

Or, fate obeying the law,

Everything that you could, you have already done, -

Created a song like a moan

And spiritually rested forever? ..

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

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

Another program poem for Nekrasov was "Railway". Many researchers consider it as a poem. If we compared “Reflections at the Front Door” with the pamphlet genre, then the designation of another magazine genre, the feuilleton, can be more applicable to the “Railway”.

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

The railway as a reason for controversy was not chosen by Nekrasov by chance. It was about one of the first railway lines - Nikolaevskaya, which connected Moscow and St. Petersburg. It became a real event in the life of Russia at that time. Nekrasov was not alone in dedicating poetry to her. She was also sung in verse by Fet, Polonsky, Shevyrev. For example, Fet's poem "On the Railroad" was widely known at that time, where the poeticized image of the road was organically and originally combined with love themes. The swift ride was compared to a magical flight, transferring the lyrical hero into the atmosphere of a fairy tale.

Frost and night over the snowy distance,

And it's cozy and warm here

And before me your gentle face

And a childlike brow.

Full of embarrassment and courage

With you, meek seraphim,

We are through the wilds and ravines

We fly on a fiery serpent.

He throws golden sparks

On the illuminated snows

And we dream of other places

Others dream of the coast.

And, drenched in silver with moonlight,

Trees fly past you

Under us with a cast-iron roar

Bridges instantly rattle.

general public Railway perceived as a symbol of progress and Russia's entry into new century, in the European space. Therefore, the boy's question about who created it became fundamental and was perceived as a dispute about which social class in Russia is the leading engine of progress. The general names Count Kleinmichel, the chief manager of the communications routes, as the builder of the road. According to the poet, the road owes its existence, first of all, not to ministers, not to German designers who did not hire workers to merchant contractors, but to hired laborers from the peasants who did the hardest and most laborious thing - laying an embankment through the marshy swamps. Although the general's prosperous family plays at the national level (the boy Vanya is dressed in a coachman's coat), they have no idea about the people and their life.

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

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

Hunger is his name.

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

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

Straight path: the mounds are narrow,

Poles, rails, bridges.

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

The soft melodiousness of the verse and the tenderness of the tone make the story, oddly enough, even more eerie. Folklore vocabulary shows that the poet is describing as if already on behalf of the peasants themselves. Concerned about the "entertainment" of the story for the child, Nekrasov continues to preserve the fabulous flavor, unexpectedly resorting to the romantic genre of the ballad.

Chu! terrible exclamations were heard!

Stomp and gnashing of teeth;

A shadow ran over the frosty glass...

What's there? Crowd of the Dead!

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

... "On this moonlit night

We love to see our work!

We tore ourselves under the heat, under the cold,

With an eternally bent back,

Lived in dugouts, fought hunger,

Were cold and wet, sick with scurvy.

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

Brothers! You are reaping our fruits!

We are destined to rot in the earth ...

Do all of us, the poor, remember kindly

Or have you forgotten a long time ago? .. "

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

This noble habit of work

We would not be bad to adopt with you ...

Bless the work of the people

And learn to respect the man.

The railway is interpreted as a symbol of the way of the cross of the Russian people (“The Russian people endured enough, / They endured this railway as well - / They endure everything that the Lord sends!”) And at the same time as a symbol of the historical path of Russia (comparable to the symbolic meaning with the motif of the road and image of Russia-troika in " Dead souls Gogol): “Tolerate everything - and make a wide, clear / Chest path for himself.” However, the tragedy of reality does not allow Nekrasov to be a naive optimist. Rejecting high pathos, he concludes with sober bitterness:

The only pity is to live in this beautiful time

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

Vanya, like the heroine of Zhukovsky's ballad "Svetlana", everything she hears seems to be an "amazing dream", into which he imperceptibly plunges in the process of the story. According to the well-known specialist in Nekrasov's work, Nikolai Skatov, “the picture of the amazing dream that Vanya saw is, first of all, a poetic picture. A liberating convention - a dream that makes it possible to see many things that you will not see in ordinary life - a motif that has been widely used in literature. With Nekrasov, a dream ceases to be just a conditional motive. A dream in Nekrasov's poem is a striking phenomenon in which realistic images are boldly and unusually combined with a kind of poetic impressionism.<...>what happens, happens precisely in a dream, or rather, not even in a dream, but in an atmosphere of strange half-asleep. The narrator tells something all the time, the disturbed children's imagination sees something, and what Vanya saw is much more than what he was told.

However, the second part of the poem brings us back to hard reality. The mocking general, who recently returned from Europe, perceives the people as "a wild crowd of drunkards", "barbarians" who "do not create, destroy masters", like the barbarian tribes that destroyed the cultural wealth of the Roman Empire. At the same time, he quotes Pushkin's famous poem “The Poet and the Crowd”, although he distorts the meaning of the quote: “Or is Apollo Belvedere for you Worse than an oven pot? Here is your people - these terms and baths, A miracle of art - he dragged everything away! "The general replaces the concept of the people, thus, with the concept of the crowd, borrowed from Pushkin's poem "The Poet and the Crowd" (although Pushkin did not mean by the crowd the people who cannot read, but just a wide section of the educated reading public, who do not understand true art, like the depicted general.) He thus finds himself in the camp of supporters of "pure art", which included Druzhinin, Polonsky, Tyutchev and Fet. This is a deadly polemical device: Nekrasov portrays his eternal opponents in a satirical way, without directly objecting to anything: they would hardly want to hear their position distorted by a semi-educated general.So, for Nekrasov, the people are a moral ideal, a creator-worker; for a general, a barbarian-destroyer who is inaccessible to higher inspiration creative mind. Speaking of creation, Nekrasov means the production of material goods, the general - scientific and artistic creativity nature, the creation of cultural values.

If we get rid of the rude tone of the general, then we can recognize in his words a grain of truth: the destructive element also lurks in the people and comes out if they fall into anarchy. Yes, and Pushkin, to whom the general refers, was horrified by the "Russian rebellion, senseless and merciless." Let us recall how many cultural values were destroyed in Russia during the 1917 revolution and the civil war that followed. Nekrasov, on the contrary, who called on the people to revolt against their oppressors (although not as clearly as they tried to present in Soviet years, rather, he is talking about the ability of the people to defend their rights and not allow themselves to be exploited for nothing), did not know what a terrible “genie” he wants to “let out of the bottle”.

The last part of the poem is openly satirical, sharply different in tone from the previous ones. In response to the request of the general to show the child the “bright side” of road construction, the poet paints a picture of the completion of folk labors already at sunlight, which in this case sets a completely different genre for the story. If during the magical “moonlight” the highest, ideal essence of the people was revealed to us as an engine of progress and a moral standard for all other Russian classes, then in the sunlight, our gaze is by no means “ bright sides» folk life. The workers turned out to be deceived: they were not only not paid anything for their truly hard labor, but they were cruelly cheated, so that “Each contractor should stay, absentee days became a penny!” Illiterate peasants cannot check the false calculation and look helpless, like children. Nekrasov bitterly conveys their uneducated, almost meaningless speech: ""Maybe there is now too much, But go ahead! .." - they waved their hand ...". A cheating contractor arrives, "fat, stocky, red as copper." The poet tried to give him repulsive features: “Sweat wipes the merchant from his face And says, akimbo pictorially: “Okay ... something ... well done! .. well done! ..” He behaves like a king and a universal benefactor: “With God , now go home - congratulations! (Hats off - if I say!) I expose a barrel of wine to the workers And - I give arrears ... ". And the people naively rejoice at the forgiveness of fictitious debts, do not resent impudent robbing and are bought by their weakness for wine on “generous gift”: “The people unharnessed their horses - and the merchant’s wife With a shout of “hurray” rushed along the road ... ". So - stupidly gullible and naive, not knowing prices themselves and their work, unable to stand up for themselves - the people appear in the epilogue. This is his real state. It calls for correction. According to the poet, the people need to be helped if they cannot do it themselves.

Nikolai Nekrasov from childhood watched the injustice that reigned in society, and openly sympathized with the peasants. But he could not change anything, but he could inspire the revolutionary-minded youth with his lyrics, pay attention to this problem, which had to be solved. Nikolai Nekrasov is a wonderful poet, whose work is known, readable and in demand, it was during his lifetime, and now, after many years. He boldly showed the problems of the Russian state and the inability of the authorities to solve these problems. But his main theme has always been the people.

From under the hand of a classic came out a large number of poems written under strong influence. This was also the work “Reflection at the front door”, which was born within a few hours.

Reflections at the front door

Here is the front entrance. On solemn days
Possessed by a servile disease,
A whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Spotlights, place seekers,
And an old man, and a widow.
From him and to him then know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another sings "tram-tram",
And other petitioners are crying.
Once I saw the men came here,
Village Russian people
We prayed to the church and stood far away,
Dangling blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it go," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they are ugly to look at!
Sunburnt faces and hands
Armenian thin on the shoulders,
By knapsack on the backs bent,
Cross on the neck and blood on the legs
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(Know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the porter: “Drive!
Ours does not like ragged mob!
And the door slammed shut. after standing,
The pilgrims untied the bag,
But the porter did not let me in, without taking a meager mite,
And they went, burning with the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!",
Spreading hopelessly hands,
And as long as I could see them,
With their heads uncovered...
And the owner of luxurious chambers
Another dream was deeply embraced ...
You, who consider life enviable
Intoxication with shameless flattery,
red tape, gluttony, game,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Take them back! you are their salvation!
But the happy are deaf to good...
The thunders of heaven do not frighten you,
And you hold earthly things in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexorable grief in the hearts.
What is this crying sorrow to you,
What are these poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life won't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers fun
You call the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory
And die with glory!
Serene arcadian idyll
The old days will roll:
Under the captivating skies of Sicily,
In fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Dive into the azure sea
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting for your death with impatience);
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!
However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take our anger out on them? -
Safer...More fun
Find some solace...
It does not matter that the peasant will suffer;
So the providence that guides us
Indicated ... yes, he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a poor tavern
The poor will drink everything to the ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan... Native land!
Name me a place like this
I didn't see that angle.
Wherever your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He groans through the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, prisons,
In mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the stack,
Under the cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor little house,
The light of God's sun is not happy;
Moaning in every deaf town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
That barge haulers are towing! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water
You don't flood the fields like that
Like the great grief of the people
Our land is full,
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless moan mean?
Will you wake up, full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
Everything that you could, you have already done, -
Created a song like a moan
And spiritually rested forever? ..

The history of the creation of the poem

According to the memoirs of contemporaries, the poem "Reflection at the front door" was written at a time when Nikolai Alekseevich was in a spleen. This is how Panaeva saw him, with whom he lived for more than ten years. She described this day in her memoirs, telling that the poet spent the whole day on the couch, without even getting up. He refused to eat and did not want to see anyone, so there was no reception that day.

Avdotya Panaeva recalled that, disturbed by the behavior of the poet, the next day she woke up earlier than usual and decided to look out the window to see what the weather was like outside. The young woman saw peasants on the porch waiting for the front door opposite the poet's house to open. Prince N. Muraviev lived in this house, who at that time served as a minister state property. Despite the fact that the weather was rainy, damp and overcast, the peasants sat on the steps of the front porch and waited patiently.

Most likely, they came here early in the morning, when the dawn was just beginning to rise. From their dirty clothes it was easy to understand that they had come from afar. And they probably had only one goal - to petition the prince. The woman also saw how suddenly a porter appeared on the steps, who began to sweep and drove them out into the street. But the peasants still didn’t leave: they hid behind the ledge of this entrance and, freezing, moving from foot to foot, getting wet to the skin, pressed against the wall, trying to hide from the rain, expecting that, perhaps, they would still be accepted, listened to , or at least take a petition.

Panaeva could not stand it and went to the poet to tell him the whole situation. When Nikolai Nekrasov went to the window, he saw how the peasants were driven away. The janitor and the summoned policeman pushed them in the back, trying to clear them out of the porch and, in general, the yard as quickly as possible. This greatly outraged the poet, he began to pinch his mustache, and he did this when he was very nervous, and compressed his lips tightly.

But he could not watch for a long time, so he very soon moved away from the window, and, thinking, again lay down on the sofa. And exactly two hours later he read Avdotya his new poem, which was originally called "At the front door." Of course, the poet changed a lot in the picture that he saw in reality, and added fiction to raise the themes of retribution and biblical and righteous judgment. Therefore, this poetic plot has a symbolic meaning for the author.

But censorship could not miss such a poetic Nekrasov creation, so it simply corresponded for five years and went from hand to hand, rewritten by hand. In 1860 it was published in one of the literary magazines, but without specifying the author. Herzen, who contributed to the printing of this Nekrasov poem, in his magazine "The Bell", below the text of the verse, also wrote a note in which he said that poems were rare in their magazines, but

"the poem is impossible not to place."

The attitude of the author to his work

In his story, the poet shows a simple and ordinary situation for that time, when the peasants become humiliated and insulted. The situation depicted by the author, for the mores and orders of that time, was business as usual and familiar to many contemporaries. But Nikolai Alekseevich turns it into a whole story, which is based on real and truthful facts.

The poet shows his attitude to the fact that the peasants, accustomed to humiliation, do not even try to protest. They, like silent slaves, moderately allow themselves to be bullied. And this habit of theirs also horrifies the poet.

Some readers may consider in his story the call to rebellion, which the poet, as a patriot of his beloved country and suffering people, created in such an interesting poetic form. And now, when his patience has already reached a certain peak, he calls on his people to rise up against slavery and injustice.

The main idea that Nekrasov is trying to convey is that the people will not be able to break through, or even stand at the front door.

You need to act differently.

Basic images and expressive means

The main image of the entire Nekrasov poem is, first of all, the author himself, whose voice sounds constantly, and the reader feels his attitude to everything that happens and to the problem that he raises. But nevertheless, he does not name himself, and creates his image as if he speaks not from himself, but as if hidden behind reality, behind those pictures of the world that he draws with the help of expressive means. In every detail you can see the author, who is trying to emphasize his attitude to reality.

The characters in the Nekrasov story are different. Most of them are united by one thing - suffering and a hero. The author divides all the petitioners who are at this front entrance into two groups: someone comes out singing something pleasant to himself, and the second group of people usually comes out crying.

And after such a division, the second part of his story begins, where he immediately directly says that once it was he, the poet Nikolai Nekrasov, who happened to see. With each new line in the plot, the voice of the author grows, who has become an unwitting witness to human grief and servility. And the poet's voice sounds strong and angry, because he feels himself not at all as a witness, but as a participant in all this.

It is enough to read the characteristics that the author gives to the peasants who came with the petition. They wait, do not ask for it, and when they are not accepted, then, resigned to this, they dutifully wander on. And soon the author takes the reader to those rooms where the peasants could not get. The writer shows the life of such an official who continues to humiliate the peasants, considering himself superior to them.

In the third part of the Nekrasov plot, one can also hear the grief of the poet himself, who is indignant and protests against such an attitude towards the peasants. But how does the official feel, who so easily drives the peasants away? And here the author uses expressive means to make his monologue more lively and visual:

⇒Expression.
⇒Complex sentences.
⇒ Rhetorical exclamations and questions.
⇒Dactylic rhyme.
⇒Alternation of anapaests: three-foot and four-foot.
⇒ Conversational style.
⇒Antithesis.

Analysis of the poem

The author tries to show the contrast between the life of a well-fed official who is engaged in gambling, gluttony, constant lies and falsehood in everything, and a completely different opposite life among the peasants who do not see anything good.

The life of a peasant is tragic, and prisons and prisons are always ready for the peasant. The people are constantly oppressed, that's why they suffer so much. Such a strong nation perishes at the will of officials, whose generalized portrait is shown in the poem.

Nikolai Nekrasov is outraged by such a long patience of the common people. He tries to become their protector, because they themselves do not resent and do not grumble. He calls on the poet and the official to think again, to finally remember their duties, because his task is to serve for the good of the homeland and the people who live here. The author is indignant at the fact that such orders reign in his beloved country, what lawlessness, and hopes that this will all stop soon.

But the author addresses not only the official, but also the people themselves, who are silent. He asks him how much more he can endure and when, finally, he will wake up and stop being filled with grief and suffering. After all, their terrible moan is heard throughout the country, and it is terrible and tragic.

The indignation of the poet is so great, and the faith is so strong that the reader has no doubts - justice will prevail.