Reading the poem The Bronze Horseman. Alexander Pushkin - The Bronze Horseman: Verse

poem " Bronze Horseman» A.S. Pushkin is one of the most perfect creations of the poet. In its style, it resembles "Eugene Onegin", and in content it is close at the same time to history and mythology. This work reflects the thoughts of A.S. Pushkin about Peter the Great and absorbed various opinions about the reformer.

The poem became the final work of those written during the Boldin autumn. At the end of 1833, The Bronze Horseman was completed.

At the time of Pushkin, there were two types of people - some idolized Peter the Great, while others attributed to him a relationship with Satan. On this basis, myths were born: in the first case, the reformer was called the Father of the Fatherland, they talked about an unprecedented mind, the creation of a city-paradise (Petersburg), in the second, they prophesied the collapse of the city on the Neva, accused Peter the Great of having connections with dark forces, called the Antichrist.

The essence of the poem

The poem begins with a description of St. Petersburg, A.S. Pushkin emphasizes the uniqueness of the place for construction. Eugene lives in the city - the most ordinary employee, poor, does not want to get rich, it is more important for him to remain an honest and happy family man. financial well-being it is required only for the need to provide for his beloved Parasha. The hero dreams of marriage and children, dreams of meeting old age hand in hand with his girlfriend. But his dreams were not destined to come true. The work describes the flood of 1824. A terrible time when people perished in layers of water, when the Neva raged and swallowed up the city with its waves. In such a flood, Parasha dies. Eugene, on the other hand, shows courage during a disaster, does not think about himself, tries to see the house of his beloved in the distance and runs to him. When the storm subsides, the hero hurries to the familiar gate: here is a willow, but there is no gate and no house either. This picture broke young man, he is doomedly dragged along the streets of the northern capital, leads the life of a wanderer and every day relives the events of that fateful night. In one of these blurs, he comes across the house where he used to live and sees a statue of Peter the Great on horseback - the Bronze Horseman. He hates the reformer because he built a city on the water that killed his beloved. But suddenly the rider comes to life and angrily rushes at the offender. Later, the tramp will die.

In the poem, the interests of the state and ordinary person. On the one hand, Petrograd was called the northern Rome, on the other hand, its foundation on the Neva was dangerous for the inhabitants, and the flood of 1824 confirms this. Yevgeny's vicious speeches against the reforming ruler are interpreted in different ways: the first is a rebellion against the autocracy; the second is the revolt of Christianity against paganism; the third is a pitiful murmur little man whose opinion is not put in line with the force necessary for changes on a national scale (that is, to achieve grandiose goals, you always have to sacrifice something, and the mechanism of collective will will not be stopped by the misfortune of one person).

Genre, meter and composition

The genre of "The Bronze Horseman" is a poem written, like "Eugene Onegin", in iambic tetrameter. The composition is quite strange. It has an exorbitantly large introduction, which can generally be considered as a separate independent work. Then 2 parts, which talk about the main character, the flood and the collision with the Bronze Horseman. There is no epilogue in the poem, more precisely, it is not singled out by the poet himself separately - the last 18 lines about the island on the seaside and the death of Eugene.

Despite the non-standard structure, the work is perceived as a whole. This effect is created by compositional parallelisms. Peter the Great lived 100 years earlier than main character, but this does not interfere with creating a sense of the presence of a reforming ruler. His personality is expressed through the monument of the Bronze Horseman; but the person of Peter himself appears at the beginning of the poem, in the introduction, when it is about the military and economic significance of St. Petersburg. A.S. Pushkin also carries the idea of ​​the immortality of the reformer, because even after his death, innovations appeared and the old ones were in force for a long time, that is, he launched that heavy and clumsy machine of change in Russia.

So, the figure of the ruler appears throughout the poem, either as his own person, or in the form of a monument, he is revived by the confused mind of Eugene. The time interval of the narrative between the introduction and the first part is 100 years, but, despite such a sharp jump, the reader does not feel it, since A.S. Pushkin connected the events of 1824 with the so-called "culprit" of the flood, because it was Peter who built the city on the Neva. It is interesting to note that this book on the construction of composition is completely uncharacteristic of Pushkin's style, it is an experiment.

Characteristics of the main characters

1. Eugene - we know little about him; lived in Kolomna, served there. He was poor, but had no ill taste for money. Despite the perfect commonness of the hero, and he would easily be lost among thousands of the same gray residents of St. Petersburg, he has a lofty and bright dream that fully meets the ideals of many people - marrying his beloved girl. He - as Pushkin himself liked to call his characters - "the hero of the French novel." But his dreams are not destined to come true, Parasha dies in the flood of 1824, and Eugene goes crazy. The poet painted for us a weak and insignificant young man, whose face is instantly lost against the background of the figure of Peter the Great, but even this layman has his own goal, which is commensurate with or even surpasses the personality of the Bronze Horseman in strength and nobility.
2. Peter the Great - in the introduction, his figure is presented as a portrait of the Creator, Pushkin recognizes an incredible mind in the ruler, but emphasizes despotism. First, the poet shows that although the emperor is higher than Eugene, he is not higher than God and the elements that are not subject to him, but the power Russia will pass through all adversity and remain unharmed and unshakable. The author has repeatedly noticed that the reformer was too autocratic, did not pay attention to the troubles ordinary people who became victims of his global transformations. Probably, opinions on this topic will always differ: on the one hand, tyranny is a bad quality that a ruler should not have, but on the other hand, would such extensive changes be possible if Peter was softer? Everyone answers this question for himself.

Subject

The clash of power and the common man - main topic poem "The Bronze Horseman" In this work, A.S. Pushkin reflects on the role of the individual in the fate of the whole state.

The Bronze Horseman personifies Peter the Great, whose reign was close to despotism and tyranny. His hand introduced reforms that completely changed the course of ordinary Russian life. But when a forest is cut down, chips will inevitably fly. Can a small man find his happiness when such a lumberjack does not take into account his interests? The poem answers no. A clash of interests between the authorities and the people in this case is inevitable, of course, the latter remain the losers. A.S. Pushkin reflects on the structure of the state in the time of Peter the Great and the fate of a single hero taken in it - Eugene, coming to the conclusion that the empire is cruel to people in any case, and whether its greatness is worth such sacrifices is an open question.

The creator also addresses the topic of tragic loss. loved one. Eugene cannot stand loneliness and grief of loss and does not find what to cling to in life if there is no love.

Issues

• In the poem "The Bronze Horseman" A.S. Pushkin raises the problem of the individual and the state. Eugene is a native of the people. He is the most ordinary petty official, lives from hand to mouth. His soul is full of high feelings for Parasha, with whom he dreams of marrying. The monument of the Bronze Horseman becomes the face of the state. In oblivion of the mind, a young man comes across the house where he lived before the death of his beloved and before his madness. His gaze stumbles upon the monument, and his sick mind revives the statue. Here it is, the inevitable clash of the individual and the state. But the rider is viciously chasing Yevgeny, pursuing him. How dare the hero grumble at the emperor?! The reformer thought on a larger scale, considering plans for the future in a full-length dimension, as from a bird's eye view he looked at his creations, not peering at the people who were overwhelmed by his innovations. The people sometimes suffered from the decisions of Peter, just as now they sometimes suffer from ruling hand. The monarch erected a beautiful city, which during the flood of 1824 became a cemetery for many residents. But he doesn't care about opinion. ordinary people, it seems that with his thoughts he went far ahead of his time, and even after a hundred years, not everyone was able to comprehend his plan. Thus, a person is not protected in any way from the arbitrariness of higher persons, his rights are rudely and with impunity trampled.
• The problem of loneliness also bothered the author. The hero could not bear a day of life without the second half. Pushkin reflects on how vulnerable and vulnerable we are, how the mind is not strong and subject to suffering.
• The problem of indifference. No one helped the townspeople to evacuate, no one corrected the consequences of the storm either, and officials did not even dream of compensation for the families of the dead and social support for the victims. The state apparatus showed a surprising indifference to the fate of its subjects.

State as the Bronze Horseman

For the first time, we encounter the image of Peter the Great in the poem "The Bronze Horseman" in the introduction. Here the ruler is depicted as the Creator, who conquered the elements and built a city on the water.

The emperor's reforms were disastrous for the common people, since they were guided only by the nobility. Yes, and she had a hard time: remember how Peter forcibly cut the beards of the boyars. But the main victim of the monarch's ambitions was the ordinary working people: it was they who paved the road for hundreds of lives. northern capital. The city on the bones - that's it - the personification of the state machine. It was comfortable for Peter himself and his entourage to live in innovations, because they saw only one side of the new affairs - progressive and beneficial, and the fact that the destructive effect and “side effects” of these changes fell on the shoulders of “little” people did not bother anyone. The elite looked at St. Petersburg drowning in the Neva from "high balconies" and did not feel all the sorrows of the water foundation of the city. Peter perfectly reflects the peremptory absolutist state system- there will be reforms, but the people "will live somehow."

If at first we see the Creator, then closer to the middle of the poem, the poet propagates the idea that Peter the Great is not God and it is completely beyond his power to cope with the elements. At the end of the work, we see only a stone likeness of the former ruler, who was sensational in Russia. Years later, the Bronze Horseman has become only an occasion for unreasonable anxiety and fear, but this is only a fleeting feeling of a madman.

What is the meaning of the poem?

Pushkin created a multifaceted and ambiguous work, which must be evaluated in terms of ideological and thematic content. The meaning of the poem "The Bronze Horseman" lies in the confrontation between Eugene and the Bronze Horseman, the individual and the state, which criticism deciphers in different ways. So, the first meaning is the opposition of paganism and Christianity. Peter was often awarded the title of Antichrist, and Eugene opposes such thoughts. Another thought: the hero is a philistine, and the reformer is a genius, they live in different worlds and do not understand each other. The author, however, admits that both types are needed for the harmonious existence of civilization. The third meaning is that the main character personified the rebellion against autocracy and despotism, which the poet propagated, because he belonged to the Decembrists. The same helplessness of the uprising he allegorically retold in a poem. And one more interpretation of the idea is a pitiful and doomed to failure attempt by a “little” person to change and turn the course of the state machine in the other direction.

FOREWORD

The incident described in this story is based on truth. The details of the flood are borrowed from contemporary magazines. The curious can consult the news compiled by V. N. Berkh.

INTRODUCTION

On the shore of desert waves
He stood, full of great thoughts,
And looked into the distance. Wide before him
The river was rushing; poor man
He strove for her alone.
Along mossy, swampy shores
Blackened huts here and there,
Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;
And the forest, unknown to the rays
In the mist of the hidden sun
Noisy all around.

And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
Here the city will be founded
To the evil of an arrogant neighbor.
Nature here is destined for us
Cut a window to Europe, (1)
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on their new waves
All flags will visit us
And let's hang out in the open.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
Midnight countries beauty and wonder,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamp blat
Ascended magnificently, proudly;
Where before the Finnish fisherman,
The sad stepson of nature,
Alone by the low shores
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net, now there,
Along busy shores
The slender masses crowd
Palaces and towers; ships
Crowd from all corners of the earth
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
The islands covered her
And in front of the younger capital
Faded old Moscow
As before a new queen
Porphyritic widow.

I love you, Peter's creation,
I love your strict, slender look,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast-iron pattern,
your thoughtful nights
Transparent dusk, moonless brilliance,
When I am in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping masses are clear
Deserted streets, and light
Admiralty needle,
And not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn to replace another
Hurry, giving the night half an hour. (2)
I love your cruel winters
Still air and frost
Sledge running along the wide Neva;
Girlish faces brighter than roses
And the glitter and the noise and the talk of the balls,
And at the hour of the feast idle
The hiss of foamy glasses
And punch flame blue.
I love belligerent liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
monotonous beauty,
In their harmoniously unsteady formation
Patchwork of these victorious banners,
The radiance of these copper caps,
On through those shot in battle.
I love, military capital,
Your stronghold smoke and thunder,
When the midnight queen
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or breaking your blue ice
The Neva carries him to the seas,
And, feeling spring days, rejoices.

Show off, city of Petrov, and stop
Unshakable as Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and old captivity
Let Finnish waves forget
And vain malice will not be
disturb last sleep Petra!

It was a terrible time
She is a fresh memory...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story is sad.

PART ONE

Above the darkened Petrograd
November breathed autumn chill.
Rushing in a noisy wave
At the edge of its slender fence,
Neva rushed about like a patient
Restless in your bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily against the window,
And the wind blew, sadly howling.
At the time of the guests home
Eugene came young ....
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname
Although in the past
It may have shone
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It is forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
It shy of the noble and does not grieve
Not about the deceased relatives,
Not about the forgotten antiquity.

So, I came home, Eugene
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, lay down.
But he couldn't sleep for a long time.
In the excitement of different thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he labored
He had to deliver
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him
Mind and money. What is there
Such idle happy ones
Mindless sloths,
For whom life is easy!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
Didn't let up; that river
Sun arrived; that hardly
Bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will he do with Parasha
Separated for two, three days.
Eugene here sighed heartily
And he dreamed like a poet:

Marry? Well .... why not?
It's hard, of course.
But well, he's young and healthy
Ready to work day and night;
He somehow arranges himself
Shelter humble and simple
And Parasha will calm down in it.
"Perhaps another year will pass -
I'll get a place - Parashe
I will entrust our economy
And raising kids...
And we will live - and so on to the grave,
Hand in hand we will both reach,
And our grandchildren will bury us..."

So he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howled not so sadly
And let the rain beat on the window
Not so angry...
sleepy eyes
It finally closed. And so
The haze of a rainy night is thinning
And the pale day is coming... (3)
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Rushed to the sea against the storm,
Without defeating their violent dope ...
And she couldn't argue.
In the morning over her shores
Crowded crowds of people
Admiring the splashes, the mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But by the force of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
Went back, angry, turbulent,
And flooded the islands.
The weather got worse
The Neva swelled and roared,
Cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
Rushed to the city. before her
Everything ran; all around
Suddenly empty - water suddenly
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured to the gratings,
And Petropolis surfaced like a triton,
Immersed in water up to my waist.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves climbing through the windows. Chelny
With a running start, glass is smashed astern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Fragments of huts, logs, roofs,
thrifty commodity,
Relics of pale poverty,
Storm-blown bridges
A coffin from a blurry cemetery
Float through the streets!
People
Sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will take?
In that terrible year
The late tsar is still Russia
With glory rules. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he left
And he said: "With the element of God
Tsars cannot co-own." He sat down
And in the thought with mournful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were stacks of lakes
And in them wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Through the streets near and far
IN dangerous path in the midst of stormy waters
His generals set off (4)
Rescue and fear obsessed
And drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions
On a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clenched in a cross,
Sitting motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor
Not for myself. He didn't hear
As the greedy wave rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly took off his hat.
His desperate eyes
Pointed at the edge of one
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the disturbed depth
The waves got up there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Wreckage... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves
Near the bay
The fence is unpainted, yes willow
And a dilapidated house: there they are,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream... Or in a dream
Does he see it? or all of our
And life is nothing, like an empty dream,
Heaven's mockery of the earth?
And he, as if bewitched,
As if chained to marble
Can't get off! around him
Water and nothing else!
And turned his back on him
In the unshakable height
Over the perturbed Neva
Standing with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

PART TWO.

But now, satiated with destruction
And weary with impudent violence,
Neva pulled back
Admiring your indignation
And leaving with carelessness
Your prey. So villain
With his ferocious gang
Bursting into the village, aching, cutting,
Crushes and robs; screams, rattle,
Violence, abuse, anxiety, howl!....
And burdened with robbery,
Afraid of the chase, weary,
The robbers hurry home
Dropping prey on the way.

The water has gone, and the pavement
Opened, and my Eugene
Hurries, soul freezing,
In hope, fear and longing
To the barely calm river.
But the triumph of victory is full
The waves were still seething,
As if a fire smoldered under them,
Still their foam covered,
And Neva was breathing heavily,
Like a horse running from a battle.
Eugene looks: he sees a boat;
He runs to her as if to a find;
He calls the carrier -
And the carrier is carefree
Him for a dime willingly
Through terrible waves lucky.

And long with stormy waves
An experienced rower fought
And hide deep between their rows
Hourly with daring swimmers
The boat was ready - and finally
He reached the shore.
Unhappy
Familiar street runs
To familiar places. looks,
Can't find out. The view is terrible!
Everything in front of him is littered;
What is dropped, what is demolished;
Crooked houses, others
Completely collapsed, others
Moved by the waves; around,
As if in a battlefield
Bodies are lying around. Eugene
Headlong, not remembering anything,
Exhausted from pain,
Runs to where he is waiting
Fate with unknown news
Like a sealed letter.
And now he is running through the suburbs,
And here is the bay, and the house is close ....
What is this?...
He stopped.
Went back and turned back.
Looks... goes... still looks.
Here is the place where their house stands;
Here is the willow. There were gates here -
They took them down, you see. Where is the house?
And full of gloomy care
Sun walks, he walks around,
Talks loudly to himself -
And suddenly, striking his forehead with his hand,
Laughed.
Night haze
I descended on the trembling city
But for a long time the inhabitants did not sleep
And they talked among themselves
About the past day.
Morning beam
Because of the tired, pale clouds
Flashed over the quiet capital
And found no trace
The troubles of yesterday; scarlet
The evil was already covered up.
Everything went back to the old order.
Already through the streets free
With your insensibility cold
People walked. official people,
Leaving your nocturnal shelter
Went to the service. Trader brave
Reluctantly, I opened
New robbed basement
Gonna take your loss important
On the near vent. From yards
They brought boats.
Count Khvostov,
Poet, beloved by heaven,
Already sang immortal verses
The misfortune of the Neva banks.

But my poor, poor Eugene...
Alas! his confused mind
Against terrible shocks
Didn't resist. Rebellious Noise
Neva and winds resounded
In his ears. Terrible thoughts
Silently full, he wandered.
Some kind of dream tormented him.
A week has passed, a month has passed
He did not return to his home.
His desert corner
I gave it for hire, as the term expired,
The owner of the poor poet.
Eugene for his good
Didn't come. He will soon light
Became a stranger. Walked all day,
And slept on the pier; ate
In the window filed piece.
The clothes are shabby on him
It tore and smoldered. Evil children
They threw stones at him.
Often coachman's whips
He was beaten because
That he did not understand the road
Never; it seemed he
Didn't notice. He is stunned
It was the sound of inner anxiety.
And so he is his unhappy age
Dragged, neither beast nor man,
Neither with °, nor the inhabitant of the world
Not a dead ghost...
Once he slept
At the Neva pier. Summer days
Leaning towards autumn. breathed
Bad wind. Gloomy Shaft
Splashed on the pier, murmuring pennies
And beating on the smooth steps,
Like a petitioner at the door
He does not heed the judges.
The poor man woke up. It was gloomy
The rain was falling, the wind was howling dejectedly,
And with him away, in the darkness of the night
The sentry called...
Eugene jumped up; remembered vividly
He is a past horror; hastily
He got up; went to wander, and suddenly
Stopped - and around
Quietly began to drive his eyes
With wild fear on his face.
He found himself under the pillars
Big house. On the porch
With a raised paw, as if alive
There were guard lions,
And right in the dark sky
Above the walled rock
Idol with outstretched hand
He sat on a bronze horse.

Eugene shuddered. cleared up
It has terrible thoughts. He found out
And the place where the flood played
Where the waves of prey crowded,
Revolting viciously around him,
And the lions, and the square, and that,
Who stood still
In the darkness with a copper head,
Togo, whose fateful will
The city was founded under the sea....
He is terrible in the surrounding darkness!
What a thought!
What power is hidden in it!
And what a fire in this horse!
Where are you galloping, proud horse,
And where will you lower your hooves?
O mighty lord of fate!
Are you not so above the abyss
At a height, an iron bridle
Raised Russia on its hind legs? (5)

Around the foot of the idol
The poor madman walked around
And brought wild eyes
On the face of the ruler of the semi-world.
His chest was shy. Chelo
It lay down on the cold grate,
Eyes clouded over,
A fire ran through my heart,
The blood boiled up. He became gloomy
Before the proud idol
And, clenching his teeth, clenching his fingers,
As if possessed by black power,
"Good, miraculous builder! -
He whispered, trembling angrily,
Already to you!..." And suddenly headlong
Started running. It seemed
Him, that formidable king,
Instantly ignited with anger,
The face turned slowly...
And he's empty
Runs and hears behind him -
As if thunder rumbles -
Heavy-voiced galloping
On the shaken pavement.
And, illuminated by the pale moon,
Stretch out your hand above
Behind him rushes the Bronze Horseman
On a galloping horse;
And all night the poor madman.
Wherever you turn your feet
Behind him everywhere is the Bronze Horseman
Jumped with a heavy thud.

And since then, when it happened
Go to that area to him
His face showed
Confusion. To your heart
He hurriedly pressed his hand,
As if pacifying his torment,
Worn-out symal cap,
I didn't raise my confused eyes
And walked to the side.

small island
Visible at the seaside. Sometimes
Mooring with a net there
A belated fisherman
And he cooks his poor supper,
Or an official will visit,
Boating on a Sunday
Desert island. not grown up
There is not a blade of grass. flood
There, playing, skidded
The house is dilapidated. Above the water
He remained like a black bush.
His last spring
They took it to the bar. He was empty
And all destroyed. At the threshold
Found my madman
And then his cold corpse
Buried for God's sake.

"The Bronze Horseman Poem"

The incident described in this story
based on truth. Details
floods are borrowed from the then
magazines. The curious can handle
with the news compiled by V. N. Berkh.

On the shore of desert waves
He stood, full of great thoughts,
And looked into the distance. Wide before him
The river was rushing; poor boat
He strove for her alone.
Along mossy, swampy shores
Blackened huts here and there,
Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;
And the forest, unknown to the rays
In the mist of the hidden sun
Noisy all around.

And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
Here the city will be founded
To the evil of an arrogant neighbor.
Nature here is destined for us
Cut a window to Europe
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on their new waves
All flags will visit us,
And let's hang out in the open.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
Midnight countries beauty and wonder,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamp blat
Ascended magnificently, proudly;
Where before the Finnish fisherman,
The sad stepson of nature,
Alone by the low shores
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net, now there
Along busy shores
The slender masses crowd
Palaces and towers; ships
Crowd from all corners of the earth
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
The islands covered her
And in front of the younger capital
Faded old Moscow
As before a new queen
Porphyritic widow.

I love you, Peter's creation,
I love your strict, slender look,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast-iron pattern,
your thoughtful nights
Transparent dusk, moonless brilliance,
When I am in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping masses are clear
Deserted streets, and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn to replace another
Hurry, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winters
Still air and frost
Sledge running along the wide Neva,
Girlish faces brighter than roses
And shine, and noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the hour of the feast idle
The hiss of foamy glasses
And punch flame blue.
I love belligerent liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
monotonous beauty,
In their harmoniously unsteady formation
Patchwork of these victorious banners,
The radiance of these copper caps,
On through those shot in battle.
I love, military capital,
Your stronghold smoke and thunder,
When the midnight queen
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or breaking your blue ice
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, feeling spring days, rejoices.

Show off, city of Petrov, and stop
Unshakable as Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and old captivity
Let Finnish waves forget
And vain malice will not be
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time
She is a fresh memory...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story is sad.

Part one

Above the darkened Petrograd
November breathed autumn chill.
Rushing in a noisy wave
At the edge of its slender fence,
Neva rushed about like a patient
Restless in your bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily against the window,
And the wind blew, sadly howling.
At the time of the guests home
Eugene came young ...
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname
Although in the past
It may have shone.
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It is forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
It shy of the noble and does not grieve
Not about the deceased relatives,
Not about the forgotten antiquity.

So, I came home, Eugene
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, lay down.
But he couldn't sleep for a long time.
In the excitement of different thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he labored
He had to deliver
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him
Mind and money. What is there
Such idle happy ones
Mindless, sloths,
For whom life is easy!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
Didn't let up; that river
Everything arrived; that hardly
Bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will he do with Parasha
Separated for two, three days.
Eugene here sighed heartily
And he dreamed like a poet:

"Marry? To me? why not?
It is hard, of course;
But well, I'm young and healthy
Ready to work day and night;
I'll somehow arrange myself
Shelter humble and simple
And I will calm Parasha in it.
It may take a year or two,
I'll get a place, Parashe
I will entrust our family
And raising kids...
And we will live, and so on to the grave
Hand in hand we will both reach,
And our grandchildren will bury us…”

So he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howled not so sadly
And let the rain beat on the window
Not so angry...
Sleepy eyes
It finally closed. And so
The haze of a rainy night is thinning
And the pale day is coming...
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Rushed to the sea against the storm,
Without defeating their violent dope ...
And she couldn't argue...
In the morning over her shores
Crowded crowds of people
Admiring the splashes, the mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But by the force of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
Went back, angry, turbulent,
And flooded the islands
The weather got worse
The Neva swelled and roared,
Cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
Rushed to the city. before her
Everything ran, everything around
Suddenly empty - water suddenly
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured to the gratings,
And Petropolis surfaced like a triton,
Immersed in water up to my waist.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves climbing through the windows. Chelny
With a running start, glass is smashed astern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Fragments of huts, logs, roofs,
thrifty commodity,
Relics of pale poverty,
Storm-blown bridges
A coffin from a blurry cemetery
Float through the streets!
People
Sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will take?
In that terrible year
The late tsar is still Russia
With glory rules. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he left
And he said: “With the element of God
Kings cannot be controlled." He sat down
And in the thought with mournful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were stacks of lakes,
And in them wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Through the streets near and far
On a dangerous journey through stormy waters
His generals set off
Rescue and fear obsessed
And drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions
On a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clenched in a cross,
Sitting motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor
Not for myself. He didn't hear
As the greedy wave rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly took off his hat.
His desperate eyes
Pointed at the edge of one
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the disturbed depth
The waves got up there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Wreckage... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves
Near the bay
The fence is unpainted, yes willow
And a dilapidated house: there they are,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream... Or in a dream
Does he see it? or all of our
And life is nothing, like an empty dream,
Heaven's mockery of the earth?

And he, as if bewitched,
As if chained to marble
Can't get off! around him
Water and nothing else!
And with his back turned to him,
In the unshakable height
Over the perturbed Neva
Standing with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

Part two

But now, satiated with destruction
And weary with impudent violence,
Neva pulled back
Admiring your indignation
And leaving with carelessness
Your prey. So villain
With his ferocious gang
Bursting into the village, aching, cutting,
Crushes and robs; screams, rattle,
Violence, abuse, anxiety, howl! ..
And burdened with robbery,
Afraid of the chase, weary,
The robbers hurry home
Dropping prey on the way.

The water has gone, and the pavement
Opened, and my Eugene
Hurries, soul freezing,
In hope, fear and longing
To the barely calm river.
But, the triumph of victory is full,
The waves were still seething,
As if a fire smoldered under them,
Still their foam covered,
And Neva was breathing heavily,
Like a horse running from a battle.
Eugene looks: he sees a boat;
He runs to her as if to a find;
He calls the carrier -
And the carrier is carefree
Him for a dime willingly
Through terrible waves lucky.

And long with stormy waves
An experienced rower fought
And hide deep between their rows
Hourly with daring swimmers
The boat was ready - and finally
He reached the shore.
Unhappy
Familiar street runs
To familiar places. looks,
Can't find out. The view is terrible!
Everything in front of him is littered;
What is dropped, what is demolished;
Crooked houses, others
Completely collapsed, others
Moved by the waves; around,
As if in a battlefield
Bodies are lying around. Eugene
Headlong, not remembering anything,
Exhausted from pain,
Runs to where he is waiting
Fate with unknown news
Like a sealed letter.
And now he is running through the suburbs,
And here is the bay, and the house is close ...
What is this?..
He stopped.
Went back and turned back.
Looks... goes... still looks.
Here is the place where their house stands;
Here is the willow. There were gates here -
They took them down, you see. Where is the house?
And, full of gloomy care,
Everyone walks, he walks around,
Talks loudly to himself -
And suddenly, striking his forehead with his hand,
Laughed.
Night haze
She descended on the trembling city;
But for a long time the inhabitants did not sleep
And they talked among themselves
About the past day.
Morning beam
Because of the tired, pale clouds
Flashed over the quiet capital
And found no trace
The troubles of yesterday; scarlet
The evil was already covered up.
Everything was in order.
Already through the streets free
With your insensibility cold
People walked. official people,
Leaving your nocturnal shelter
Went to the service. brave trader,
Reluctantly, I opened
New robbed basement
Gonna take your loss important
On the near vent. From yards
They brought boats.
Count Khvostov,
Poet, beloved by heaven,
Already sang immortal verses
The misfortune of the Neva banks.

But my poor, poor Eugene...
Alas! his confused mind
Against terrible shocks
Didn't resist. Rebellious Noise
Neva and winds resounded
In his ears. Terrible thoughts
Silently full, he wandered.
Some kind of dream tormented him.
A week has passed, a month has passed
He did not return to his home.
His desert corner
I rented it out, as the term expired,
The owner of the poor poet.
Eugene for his good
Didn't come. He will soon light
Became a stranger. Walked all day,
And slept on the pier; ate
In the window filed piece.
The clothes are shabby on him
It tore and smoldered. Evil children
They threw stones at him.
Often coachman's whips
He was beaten because
That he did not understand the road
Never; it seemed he
Didn't notice. He is stunned
It was the sound of inner anxiety.
And so he is his unhappy age
Dragged, neither beast nor man,
Neither this nor that, nor the inhabitant of the world,
Not a dead ghost...
Once he slept
At the Neva pier. Summer days
Leaning towards autumn. breathed
Bad wind. Gloomy Shaft
Splashed on the pier, murmuring pennies
And beating on the smooth steps,
Like a petitioner at the door
He does not heed the judges.
The poor man woke up. It was gloomy
The rain was falling, the wind was howling dejectedly,
And with him away, in the darkness of the night
The sentry called...
Eugene jumped up; remembered vividly
He is a past horror; hastily
He got up; went to wander, and suddenly
Stopped - and around
Quietly began to drive his eyes
With wild fear on his face.
He found himself under the pillars
Big house. On the porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There were guard lions,
And right in the dark sky
Above the walled rock
Idol with outstretched hand
He sat on a bronze horse.

Eugene shuddered. cleared up
It has terrible thoughts. He found out
And the place where the flood played
Where the waves of prey crowded,
Revolting viciously around him,
And the lions, and the square, and that,
Who stood still
In the darkness with a copper head,
Togo, whose fateful will
The city was founded under the sea...
He is terrible in the surrounding darkness!
What a thought!
What power is hidden in it!
And what a fire in this horse!
Where are you galloping, proud horse,
And where will you lower your hooves?
O mighty lord of fate!
Are you not so above the abyss
At a height, an iron bridle
Raised Russia on its hind legs?

Around the foot of the idol
The poor madman walked around
And brought wild eyes
On the face of the ruler of the semi-world.
His chest was shy. Chelo
It lay down on the cold grate,
Eyes clouded over,
A fire ran through my heart,
The blood boiled up. He became gloomy
Before the proud idol
And, clenching his teeth, clenching his fingers,
As if possessed by black power,
“Good, miraculous builder! -
He whispered, trembling angrily,
Already you! .. ”And suddenly headlong
Started running. It seemed
Him, that formidable king,
Instantly ignited with anger,
The face turned slowly...
And he's empty
Runs and hears behind him -
As if thunder rumbles -
Heavy-voiced galloping
On the shaken pavement.
And, illuminated by the pale moon,
Stretch out your hand above
Behind him rushes the Bronze Horseman
On a galloping horse;
And all through the night the poor madman,
Wherever you turn your feet
Behind him everywhere is the Bronze Horseman
Jumped with a heavy thud.

And since then, when it happened
Go to that area to him
His face showed
Confusion. To your heart
He hurriedly pressed his hand,
As if pacifying his torment,
Worn-out symal cap,
I didn't raise my confused eyes
And walked to the side.
small island
Visible at the seaside. Sometimes
Mooring with a net there
A belated fisherman
And he cooks his poor supper,
Or an official will visit,
Boating on a Sunday
Desert island. not grown up
There is not a blade of grass. flood
There, playing, skidded
The house is dilapidated. Above the water
He remained like a black bush.
His last spring
They took it to the bar. He was empty
And all destroyed. At the threshold
Found my madman
And then his cold corpse
Buried for God's sake.

],
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on their new waves
All flags will visit us,
And let's hang out in the open.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
Midnight countries beauty and wonder,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamp blat
Ascended magnificently, proudly;
Where before the Finnish fisherman,
The sad stepson of nature,
Alone by the low shores
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net, now there
Along busy shores
The slender masses crowd
Palaces and towers; ships
Crowd from all corners of the earth
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
The islands covered her
And in front of the younger capital
Faded old Moscow
As before a new queen
Porphyritic widow.

I love you, Peter's creation,
I love your strict, slender look,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast-iron pattern,
your thoughtful nights
Transparent dusk, moonless brilliance,
When I am in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping masses are clear
Deserted streets, and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn to replace another
Hurry, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winters
Still air and frost
Sledge running along the wide Neva,
Girlish faces brighter than roses
And shine, and noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the hour of the feast idle
The hiss of foamy glasses
And punch flame blue.
I love belligerent liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
monotonous beauty,
In their harmoniously unsteady formation
Patchwork of these victorious banners,
The radiance of these copper caps,
Shot through and through in battle.
I love, military capital,
Your stronghold smoke and thunder,
When the midnight queen
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or breaking your blue ice
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, feeling spring days, rejoices.

Show off, city of Petrov, and stop
Unshakable like Russia
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and old captivity
Let Finnish waves forget
And vain malice will not be
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time
She is a fresh memory...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story is sad.

Around the foot of the idol
The poor madman walked around
And brought wild eyes
On the face of the ruler of the semi-world.
His chest was shy. Chelo
It lay down on the cold grate,
Eyes clouded over,
A fire ran through my heart,
The blood boiled up. He became gloomy
Before the proud idol
And, clenching his teeth, clenching his fingers,
As if possessed by black power,
“Good, miraculous builder! -
He whispered, trembling angrily,
Already you! .. ”And suddenly headlong
Started running. It seemed
Him, that formidable king,
Instantly ignited with anger,
The face turned slowly...
And he's empty
Runs and hears behind him -
As if thunder rumbles -
Heavy-voiced galloping
On the shaken pavement.
And, illuminated by the pale moon,
Stretch out your hand above
Behind him rushes the Bronze Horseman
On a galloping horse;
And all night the poor madman
Wherever you turn your feet
Behind him everywhere is the Bronze Horseman
Jumped with a heavy thud.

And since then, when it happened
Go to that area to him
His face showed
Confusion. To your heart
He hurriedly pressed his hand,
As if pacifying his torment,
Worn-out symal cap,
I didn't raise my confused eyes
And walked to the side.

On the shore of desert waves
He stood, full of great thoughts,
And looked into the distance. Wide before him
The river was rushing; poor boat
He strove for her alone.
Along mossy, swampy shores
Blackened huts here and there,
Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;
And the forest, unknown to the rays
In the mist of the hidden sun
Noisy all around.

And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
Here the city will be founded
To the evil of an arrogant neighbor.
Nature here is destined for us
Cut a window to Europe
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on their new waves
All flags will visit us,
And let's hang out in the open.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
Midnight countries beauty and wonder,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamp blat
Ascended magnificently, proudly;
Where before the Finnish fisherman,
The sad stepson of nature,
Alone by the low shores
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net, now there
Along busy shores
The slender masses crowd
Palaces and towers; ships
Crowd from all corners of the earth
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
The islands covered her
And in front of the younger capital
Faded old Moscow
As before a new queen
Porphyritic widow.

I love you, Peter's creation,
I love your strict, slender look,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast-iron pattern,
your thoughtful nights
Transparent dusk, moonless brilliance,
When I am in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping masses are clear
Deserted streets, and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn to replace another
Hurry, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winters
Still air and frost
Sledge running along the wide Neva,
Girlish faces brighter than roses
And shine, and noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the hour of the feast idle
The hiss of foamy glasses
And punch flame blue.
I love belligerent liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
monotonous beauty,
In their harmoniously unsteady formation
Patchwork of these victorious banners,
The radiance of these copper caps,
On through those shot in battle.
I love, military capital,
Your stronghold smoke and thunder,
When the midnight queen
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or breaking your blue ice
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, feeling spring days, rejoices.

Show off, city of Petrov, and stop
Unshakable as Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and old captivity
Let Finnish waves forget
And vain malice will not be
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time
She is a fresh memory...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story is sad.

Part one

Above the darkened Petrograd
November breathed autumn chill.
Rushing in a noisy wave
At the edge of its slender fence,
Neva rushed about like a patient
Restless in your bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily against the window,
And the wind blew, sadly howling.
At the time of the guests home
Eugene came young ...
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname
Although in the past
It may have shone.
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It is forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
It shy of the noble and does not grieve
Not about the deceased relatives,
Not about the forgotten antiquity.

So, I came home, Eugene
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, lay down.
But he couldn't sleep for a long time.
In the excitement of different thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he labored
He had to deliver
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him
Mind and money. What is there
Such idle happy ones
Mindless, sloths,
For whom life is easy!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
Didn't let up; that river
Everything arrived; that hardly
Bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will he do with Parasha
Separated for two, three days.
Eugene here sighed heartily
And he dreamed like a poet:

"Marry? To me? why not?
It is hard, of course;
But well, I'm young and healthy
Ready to work day and night;
I'll somehow arrange myself
Shelter humble and simple
And I will calm Parasha in it.
It may take a year or two,
I'll get a place, Parashe
I will entrust our family
And raising kids...
And we will live, and so on to the grave
Hand in hand we will both reach,
And our grandchildren will bury us…”

So he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howled not so sadly
And let the rain beat on the window
Not so angry...
Sleepy eyes
It finally closed. And so
The haze of a rainy night is thinning
And the pale day is coming...
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Rushed to the sea against the storm,
Without defeating their violent dope ...
And she couldn't argue...
In the morning over her shores
Crowded crowds of people
Admiring the splashes, the mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But by the force of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
Went back, angry, turbulent,
And flooded the islands
The weather got worse
The Neva swelled and roared,
Cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
Rushed to the city. before her
Everything ran, everything around
Suddenly empty - water suddenly
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured to the gratings,
And Petropolis surfaced like a triton,
Immersed in water up to my waist.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves climbing through the windows. Chelny
With a running start, glass is smashed astern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Fragments of huts, logs, roofs,
thrifty commodity,
Relics of pale poverty,
Storm-blown bridges
A coffin from a blurry cemetery
Float through the streets!
People
Sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will take?
In that terrible year
The late tsar is still Russia
With glory rules. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he left
And he said: “With the element of God
Kings cannot be controlled." He sat down
And in the thought with mournful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were stacks of lakes,
And in them wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Through the streets near and far
On a dangerous journey through stormy waters
His generals set off
Rescue and fear obsessed
And drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions
On a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clenched in a cross,
Sitting motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor
Not for myself. He didn't hear
As the greedy wave rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly took off his hat.
His desperate eyes
Pointed at the edge of one
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the disturbed depth
The waves got up there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Wreckage... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves
Near the bay
The fence is unpainted, yes willow
And a dilapidated house: there they are,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream... Or in a dream
Does he see it? or all of our
And life is nothing, like an empty dream,
Heaven's mockery of the earth?

And he, as if bewitched,
As if chained to marble
Can't get off! around him
Water and nothing else!
And with his back turned to him,
In the unshakable height
Over the perturbed Neva
Standing with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

Part two

But now, satiated with destruction
And weary with impudent violence,
Neva pulled back
Admiring your indignation
And leaving with carelessness
Your prey. So villain
With his ferocious gang
Bursting into the village, aching, cutting,
Crushes and robs; screams, rattle,
Violence, abuse, anxiety, howl! ..
And burdened with robbery,
Afraid of the chase, weary,
The robbers hurry home
Dropping prey on the way.

The water has gone, and the pavement
Opened, and my Eugene
Hurries, soul freezing,
In hope, fear and longing
To the barely calm river.
But, the triumph of victory is full,
The waves were still seething,
As if a fire smoldered under them,
Still their foam covered,
And Neva was breathing heavily,
Like a horse running from a battle.
Eugene looks: he sees a boat;
He runs to her as if to a find;
He calls the carrier -
And the carrier is carefree
Him for a dime willingly
Through terrible waves lucky.

And long with stormy waves
An experienced rower fought
And hide deep between their rows
Hourly with daring swimmers
The boat was ready - and finally
He reached the shore.
Unhappy
Familiar street runs
To familiar places. looks,
Can't find out. The view is terrible!
Everything in front of him is littered;
What is dropped, what is demolished;
Crooked houses, others
Completely collapsed, others
Moved by the waves; around,
As if in a battlefield
Bodies are lying around. Eugene
Headlong, not remembering anything,
Exhausted from pain,
Runs to where he is waiting
Fate with unknown news
Like a sealed letter.
And now he is running through the suburbs,
And here is the bay, and the house is close ...
What is this?..
He stopped.
Went back and turned back.
Looks... goes... still looks.
Here is the place where their house stands;
Here is the willow. There were gates here -
They took them down, you see. Where is the house?
And, full of gloomy care,
Everyone walks, he walks around,
Talks loudly to himself -
And suddenly, striking his forehead with his hand,
Laughed.
Night haze
She descended on the trembling city;
But for a long time the inhabitants did not sleep
And they talked among themselves
About the past day.
Morning beam
Because of the tired, pale clouds
Flashed over the quiet capital
And found no trace
The troubles of yesterday; scarlet
The evil was already covered up.
Everything was in order.
Already through the streets free
With your insensibility cold
People walked. official people,
Leaving your nocturnal shelter
Went to the service. brave trader,
Reluctantly, I opened
New robbed basement
Gonna take your loss important
On the near vent. From yards
They brought boats.
Count Khvostov,
Poet, beloved by heaven,
Already sang immortal verses
The misfortune of the Neva banks.

But my poor, poor Eugene...
Alas! his confused mind
Against terrible shocks
Didn't resist. Rebellious Noise
Neva and winds resounded
In his ears. Terrible thoughts
Silently full, he wandered.
Some kind of dream tormented him.
A week has passed, a month has passed
He did not return to his home.
His desert corner
I rented it out, as the term expired,
The owner of the poor poet.
Eugene for his good
Didn't come. He will soon light
Became a stranger. Walked all day,
And slept on the pier; ate
In the window filed piece.
The clothes are shabby on him
It tore and smoldered. Evil children
They threw stones at him.
Often coachman's whips
He was beaten because
That he did not understand the road
Never; it seemed he
Didn't notice. He is stunned
It was the sound of inner anxiety.
And so he is his unhappy age
Dragged, neither beast nor man,
Neither this nor that, nor the inhabitant of the world,
Not a dead ghost...
Once he slept
At the Neva pier. Summer days
Leaning towards autumn. breathed
Bad wind. Gloomy Shaft
Splashed on the pier, murmuring pennies
And beating on the smooth steps,
Like a petitioner at the door
He does not heed the judges.
The poor man woke up. It was gloomy
The rain was falling, the wind was howling dejectedly,
And with him away, in the darkness of the night
The sentry called...
Eugene jumped up; remembered vividly
He is a past horror; hastily
He got up; went to wander, and suddenly
Stopped - and around
Quietly began to drive his eyes
With wild fear on his face.
He found himself under the pillars
Big house. On the porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There were guard lions,
And right in the dark sky
Above the walled rock
Idol with outstretched hand
He sat on a bronze horse.

Eugene shuddered. cleared up
It has terrible thoughts. He found out
And the place where the flood played
Where the waves of prey crowded,
Revolting viciously around him,
And the lions, and the square, and that,
Who stood still
In the darkness with a copper head,
Togo, whose fateful will
The city was founded under the sea...
He is terrible in the surrounding darkness!
What a thought!
What power is hidden in it!
And what a fire in this horse!
Where are you galloping, proud horse,
And where will you lower your hooves?
O mighty lord of fate!
Are you not so above the abyss
At a height, an iron bridle
Raised Russia on its hind legs?

Around the foot of the idol
The poor madman walked around
And brought wild eyes
On the face of the ruler of the semi-world.
His chest was shy. Chelo
It lay down on the cold grate,
Eyes clouded over,
A fire ran through my heart,
The blood boiled up. He became gloomy
Before the proud idol
And, clenching his teeth, clenching his fingers,
As if possessed by black power,
“Good, miraculous builder! -
He whispered, trembling angrily,
Already you! .. ”And suddenly headlong
Started running. It seemed
Him, that formidable king,
Instantly ignited with anger,
The face turned slowly...
And he's empty
Runs and hears behind him -
As if thunder rumbles -
Heavy-voiced galloping
On the shaken pavement.
And, illuminated by the pale moon,
Stretch out your hand above
Behind him rushes the Bronze Horseman
On a galloping horse;
And all through the night the poor madman,
Wherever you turn your feet
Behind him everywhere is the Bronze Horseman
Jumped with a heavy thud.

And since then, when it happened
Go to that area to him
His face showed
Confusion. To your heart
He hurriedly pressed his hand,
As if pacifying his torment,
Worn-out symal cap,
I didn't raise my confused eyes
And walked to the side.
small island
Visible at the seaside. Sometimes
Mooring with a net there
A belated fisherman
And he cooks his poor supper,
Or an official will visit,
Boating on a Sunday
Desert island. not grown up
There is not a blade of grass. flood
There, playing, skidded
The house is dilapidated. Above the water
He remained like a black bush.
His last spring
They took it to the bar. He was empty
And all destroyed. At the threshold
Found my madman
And then his cold corpse
Buried for God's sake.