Peasant children are wonderful…. Peasant children (Nekrasov) Peasant children are wonderful
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I'm in the village again. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy
Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp,
I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply.
I woke up: into the wide crevices of the barn
The rays of the cheerful sun are looking.
The dove coos; flying over the roof,
Young rooks are screaming.
Another bird is also flying -
10
I recognized the raven by the shadow;
Chu! some whisper ... but a string
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
There is so much peace, freedom and affection in them,
There is so much holy kindness in them!
I love the expression of a child's eye
I will always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched my soul ...
20
Chu! whisper again!
Chu! whisper again! Beard!
And the master, they said! ..
And the master, they said! .. Quiet, you devils!
There is no beard at a bar - a mustache.
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And look on the hat - watch!
Ai important thing!
Ai important thing! And the chain is gold ...
Is tea expensive?
Is tea expensive? How the sun burns!
And there the dog is - big, big!
Water runs from the tongue.
Gun! look-tko: the trunk is double,
30
Carved clasps ...
The third
(with dismay)
Carved clasps ... Looks!
Fourth
Shut up, nothing! let's see again, Grisha!
Will hit ...
My spies were scared
And they rushed away: he heard a man,
So sparrows fly from the chaff in a flock.
I calmed down, narrowed my eyes - they appeared again,
Eyes flicker through the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And they called my sentence:
“What a hunt for such a goose!
40
I would lie on the stove!
And, apparently, not a master: as he drove from the swamp,
So next to Gavrila ... "- Hear, shut up! -
Oh, lovely rogues! Who often saw them,
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a "low kind of people" -
I still have to admit openly
What I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
50
As God grant to your spoiled children.
Happy people! No science, no bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I did mushroom raids with them:
Dug up the leaves, rummaged through the stumps,
I tried to spot a mushroom spot
And in the morning I could not find it.
"Look, Savosya, what a ring!"
We both bent down, and at once and grab
Snake! I jumped: I stung it hurt!
60
Savosya laughs: "I got caught out of the blue!"
But then we ruined them quite
And laid in a row on the railing of the bridge.
We must have waited for the feats of glory,
Our road was long:
The working rank of people scurried
There is no number on it.
Ditch digger - Vologda resident,
Tinker, tailor, wool,
And then the townspeople in the monastery
70
On the holiday rolls to pray.
Under our thick, old elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will circle: the stories will begin
About Kiev, about a Turk, about wonderful animals.
Someone will play around, so just hold on -
It will start with Volochok, it will reach Kazan!
Chukhnu mimics, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse with a fairy tale, and he will screw a parable:
“Goodbye guys! Try to be good
80
To please God in everything:
We had Vavilo, he lived the richest of all,
Yes, I once took it into my head to murmur against God, -
Since then, Vavilo has become ruined,
No honey from bees, no harvest from the earth,
And only one thing he had happiness,
That the hair from the nose grew rapidly ... "
The worker will place, lay out the shells -
Planers, files, chisels, knives:
"Look, you devils!" And the children are happy
90
How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.
A passer-by will fall asleep under his own jokes,
Guys for the cause - sawing and planing!
If you start a saw, you can't sharpen it in a day!
Break the drill - and run away with fright.
It happened that whole days flew by here,
As a new passer-by, there is a new story ...
Wow, it's hot! .. We were picking mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just to meet
A blue ribbon, winding, long
100
Meadow river: jumped off in a crowd,
And light-haired heads over a desert river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howl:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun beats them down with midday heat.
Home, kids! it's time to dine.
Have returned. Everyone has a full basket,
And how many stories! Got a scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
110
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible thing!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots milk gave him his -
Doesn't drink! retreated ...
Doesn't drink! retreated ... Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the womb pounds the linen,
Who is babysitting his two-year-old sister Glashka,
Who drags a bucket of kvask to reap,
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Mysteriously draws something on the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one:
120
Weaved myself a glorious wreath, -
Everything is white, yellow, lavender,
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the heat, they dance squatting down.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
I caught it, jumped up and rides it.
And whether she, born in the heat of the sun
And in an apron from the field brought home,
To be afraid of your humble horse? ..
The mushroom time did not have time to leave,
130
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed Oski: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, nuts!
A childish cry echoed
From morning to night it thunders through the forests.
Scared by the singing, the sounding, the laughing
Will the grouse take off, having cured the chicks,
Whether the hare jump up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing
Into the bush he was busy ... well, the poor man is bad!
140
Alive to the village is dragged with triumph ...
“Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot,
It's time to get to work, dear! "
But even labor will turn around first
To Vanyusha with his smart side:
He sees how his father fertilizes the field,
As it throws grain into the loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours the grain.
The finished harvest will be cut with sickles,
150
They will tie up in sheaves, they will be taken to the barn,
Dry, beat, beat with flails,
At the mill they will dare and bake bread.
The child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he runs more willingly after his father.
Will they nave the senza: "Get in, little shooter!"
Vanyusha enters the village as a tsar ...
However, the envy in the child of the nobility
We would be sorry to sow.
So, we have to wrap by the way
160
The other side is a medal.
Let the peasant child be free
Grows up without learning anything
But he will grow up, if God pleases,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows forest paths,
Prances on horseback, is not afraid of water,
But the midges mercilessly eat it,
But he is familiar with the works early ...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
170
I went out of the forest; there was a bitter frost.
I look, slowly rises up the hill
A horse carrying brushwood.
And walking importantly, in a calm calm,
A little man leads the horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and with a fingernail himself!
"Great, boy!" - Go by yourself! -
“It’s painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where do the firewood come from? " - From the forest, of course;
180
Father, do you hear, chops, and I take away.
(A lumberjack's ax was heard in the forest.) -
"Does your father have a big family?"
- The family is big, but two people
There are only men: my father and I ... -
“So there it is! What is your name? "
- Vlas. -
"Why are you a year old?" - The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! - shouted the baby in a bass voice,
He pulled by the bridle and walked faster.
So the sun was shining on this picture,
190
The child was so hilariously small
As if all this was made of cardboard
As if I got into a children's theater!
But the boy was a boy alive, real,
And logs, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadening winter,
That the Russian soul is so painfully sweet
200
That inspires Russian thoughts into the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will
To which there is no death - press, do not press,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play now, children! Grow free!
That's what a red childhood is given to you,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it seems to you forever sweet.
Safeguard your age-old legacy,
210
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
He will take you to the bowels of the native land! ..
Now it's time for us to go back to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys became bolder,
"Hey! thieves are coming! I shouted to Fingal.
They will steal, they will steal! Well, hide it quickly! "
Fingalushka made a serious face,
He buried my belongings under the hay,
With special diligence he hid the game,
220
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
An extensive field of canine science
He was perfectly familiar;
He started throwing things like that
That the audience could not leave the place,
Wonder, laugh! There is no time for fear!
Command yourself! "Fingalka, die!" -
“Don't get caught, Sergei! Don't push, Kuzyakha! " -
"Look - dying - look!"
I enjoyed myself, wallowing in the hay,
230
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it got dark
In the barn: it gets dark so quickly on the stage
When the storm is destined to break out.
And for sure: a blow thundered over the barn,
A rain river poured into the barn,
The actor burst into deafening barks,
And the audience gave a stretch!
The wide door opened, creaked,
Hit the wall, locked it up again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
240
Just above our theater.
The children ran in the heavy rain
Barefoot to their village ...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for great snipe.
I'm in the village again. I go hunting, I write my verses - life is easy. Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp, I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply. I woke up: in the wide slits of the barn the rays of the cheerful sun are looking. The dove coos; flew over the roof, Screaming young rooks; Another kind of bird is also flying - I recognized the crow just by the shadow; Chu! some whisper ... but a string Along the slit of attentive eyes! All gray, brown, blue eyes - Mixed like flowers in a field. They have so much peace, freedom and affection, They have so much holy kindness! I love the expression of a child's eye, I always recognize Him. I froze: tenderness touched my soul ... Chu! whisper again! First Gool with Beard! The second A sir, they said! .. The third Be quiet, you devils! The second bar has no beard - a mustache. FIRST And the legs are long, like poles. FOURTH And there’s on the hat, look, - a clock! Fifth Ay, important thing! SIXTH And the chain is gold ... SIXTH Tea, is it expensive? V o s m o th How the sun burns! THE TWENTY And there the dog is - big, big! Water runs from the tongue. Fifth Shotgun! look-tko: the barrel is double, The clasps are carved ... (with dismay) Looks! FOURTH Shut up, nothing! Let's stand still, Grisha! The third will hit ... _______________ My spies were frightened And rushed away: he heard a man, So sparrows fly from the chaff in a flock. I calmed down, narrowed my eyes - appeared again, Eyes flickering in the cracks. What happened to me - they marveled at everything And they pronounced my sentence: - What a hunt for such a goose! I would lie on the stove! And apparently not the master: as he drove from the swamp, So next to Gavrila ...- "Hear, shut up!" _______________ O lovely rogues! Who often saw them, He, I believe, loves peasant children; But even if you hated them, Reader, as a "low kind of people", - I still have to admit openly, That I often envy them: In their life so much poetry is merged, As God forbid your spoiled children. Happy people! Neither science nor bliss They do not know in childhood. I made mushroom raids with them: I dug up leaves, rummaged through stumps, I tried to notice a mushroom spot, And in the morning I could not find it for anything. "Look, Savosya, what a ring!" We both bent down and grab the Snake at once! I jumped: I stung it hurt! Savosya laughs: "I got caught out of the blue!" But then we killed them quite And laid them in a row on the railing of the bridge. We must have waited for the feats of glory. We had a long road: the working rank of people scurried Along it without number. Ditch digger Vologda, Tinker, tailor, wool, And then in the monastery city dwellers On a holiday to pray rolls. Under our thick old elms Tired people were drawn to rest. The guys will circle: stories about Kiev, about a Turk, about wonderful animals will begin. Someone will play around, just hold on - Will start with Volochek, it will reach Kazan "Chukhnu will mimic, Mordovians, cheremis, And he will amuse him with a fairy tale, and will screw a parable:" Goodbye, guys! Try to indulge the Lord God in everything: We had Vavilo, lived all the richer, Yes, he once took it into his head to murmur against God, - Since then, Vavilo has become ruined, ruined, No honey from bees, no harvest from the earth, And only in one he was happiness, That the hair from his nose grew rapidly ... "The worker will arrange, spread shells - Planes, files, chisels, knives: "Look, devils!" And the children are happy, How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything. A passer-by will fall asleep under their own jokes, Guys for the cause - saw and plan! Start a saw - you won't sharpen a day! Break the drill - and run out of fright. days flew by, - What a new passer-by, then a new story ... Wow, it's hot! .. Until noon, mushrooms were collected. So they came out of the forest - towards just a Blue ribbon, winding, long, A meadow river; jumped down in a crowd, And light-brown heads over deserted river What porcini mushrooms in the forest clearing! The river echoed with laughter and howling: Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ... And the sun beats them with midday heat. - Home, kids! it's time to dine. '' Returned. Everyone has a basket full, And how many stories! Got a scythe, Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little And saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible! The hedgehog offers flies and boogers, Roots gave him his milk - He doesn't drink! retreated ... Who catches leeches On the lava, where the uterus beats the linen, Who nurses the little sister, two-year-old Glashka, Who drags a bucket of kvask to reap, And he, having tied his shirt under his throat, Mysteriously draws something on the sand; That one huddled into a puddle, and this one with a new one: Weaved a glorious wreath for itself, Everything is white, yellow, lavender Yes, occasionally a red flower. Those sleep in the heat, they dance squatting down. Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket - She caught it, jumped up and rides on it. And whether she, born under the sun's heat And in an apron from the field brought home, To be afraid of her humble horse? And there are raspberries, lingonberries, nuts! A childish cry, echoed, Thunders through the woods from morning till night. Frightened by the singing, aukanye, laughter, Will the grouse fly up, gagging the chicks, Will the little hare jump up - soda, turmoil! Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing Into the bush was brought in ... well, the poor man is bad! Alive to the village dragged with triumph ... - Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot, It's time for work, dear! - But even the work will first turn to Vanyusha with its elegant side: He sees how his father fertilizes the field, How he throws grain into the loose earth, How the field then begins to turn green, How an ear grows, pours grain ; The finished harvest will be trimmed with sickles, They will tie it up in sheaves, they will take it to the barn, Dry it, beat and beat it with flails, At the mill they will dare and bake bread. The child will taste the fresh bread And in the field more willingly runs after his father. Will they nave the senza: "Get in, little shooter!" Vanyusha enters the village as a tsar ... However, it would be a pity to sow envy in a noble's child. So, we are obliged to wrap by the way the other side of the medal. Suppose a peasant child grows freely without learning anything, But he will grow up, if God pleases, And nothing prevents him from bending. Suppose he knows forest paths, Prances on horseback, is not afraid of water, But the midges mercilessly eat him, But he knows his works early ... Once, in a cold winter time, I left the forest; there was a bitter frost. I look, slowly rising up the mountain Horse, carrying a wagon of brushwood. And, walking importantly, in a decorous calm, The horse is led by the bridle by a peasant In large boots, in a sheepskin coat, In large mittens. .. and himself with a fingernail! - Great, boy! - "Go by yourself!" - Painfully you are formidable, as I can see! Where do the woods come from? - “From the forest, no doubt; Father, do you hear, chops, and I take away. " (A lumberjack's ax was heard in the forest.) - What, does your father have a big family? “The family is big, but there are two people. There are only peasants: my father and I ...” - So that's it! And what is your name? - "Vlasom". - And why are you a year old? - "The sixth passed ... Well, dead!" - shouted the baby in a bass, Pulled by the bridle and walked faster. The sun was shining on this picture so much, The child was so hilariously small, As if all this was made of cardboard, As if I was in a children's theater! But the boy was a living, real boy, And wood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse, And snow lying to the windows of the village, And a cold fire of the winter sun - Everything, all real Russian was, With the stigma of an unsociable, deadening winter, That the Russian soul is so excruciatingly sweet, That instills Russian thoughts into the minds, Those honest thoughts that have no will, For which there is no death - do not press, In which there is so much anger and pain, In which there is so much love! Play now, children! Grow free! That is why a red childhood has been given to you, To forever love this meager field, To make it seem dear to you forever. Keep your age-old legacy, Love your labor bread - And let the charm of childhood poetry Conduct you into the bowels of your native land! .. _______________ Now it's time for us to return to the beginning. Noticing that the guys became bolder, - “Hey, thieves are coming!” I shouted to Fingal: “They will steal, they will steal! Well, hide it quickly! " Fingalushka made a serious face, He buried my belongings under the hay, With special diligence he hid the game, He lay down at my feet - and growled angrily. The vast area of canine science was perfectly familiar to him; He began to throw things out so that the audience could not get off the spot. Wonder, laugh! There is no time for fear! They command themselves! - "Fingalka, die!" - Don't get caught, Sergei! Do not push, Kuzyakha, - "Look - dying - look!" I myself enjoyed, wallowing in the hay, Their noisy fun. Suddenly it became dark In the barn: it darkens so quickly on the stage, When a thunderstorm is destined to break out. And for sure: the blow thundered over the barn, The rain river poured into the barn, The actor burst into deafening barking, And the audience gave a stretch! The wide door opened, creaked, hit the wall, locked again. I looked out: a dark cloud was hanging Above our theater just. In the heavy rain the children ran Barefoot to their village ... Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm And went out to look for great snipe.
The text of Nekrasov's poem "Peasant Children" (sometimes the work is also called a poem) is studied in the 5th - 6th grade. At this time, it is still difficult to fully comprehend the poet's intention, therefore, when starting to read the verse "Peasant Children" by Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov at a literature lesson, one must pay attention to semantic nuances.
The work was published in the year of the abolition of serfdom. Therefore, perhaps, the theme of freedom slips in the poem, although it is only about the relative freedom of the child. Nekrasov's childhood memories were reflected here: he often spent time among peasant children, played with them and participated in their daily activities. There is nostalgia in the image of the everyday life of children. Their life is filled with joy, freedom, communication with nature. Then, using his favorite technique - the antithesis - Nekrasov depicts hard work, which often fell to the lot of very young peasant children. In the poem, one can hear tenderness for the children, and admiration for their spontaneity, courage, and concern about their fate. Dialogue is an interesting compositional technique: it reveals the characters of the children spying on the master.
I'm in the village again. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy
Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp,
I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply.
I woke up: into the wide crevices of the barn
The rays of the cheerful sun are looking.
The dove coos; flying over the roof,
Young rooks are screaming
Another bird is also flying -
I recognized the raven by the shadow;
Chu! some whisper ... but a string
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
There is so much peace, freedom and affection in them,
There is so much holy kindness in them!
I love the expression of a child's eye
I will always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched my soul ...
Chu! whisper again!
And the master, they said! ..
Quiet, you devils!
There is no beard at a bar - a mustache.
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And there is a hat on, look - a clock!
Ay, important thing!
And the chain is gold ...
Is tea expensive?
How the sun burns!
And there the dog is - big, big!
Water runs from the tongue.
Gun! look-tko: the trunk is double,
Carved clasps ...
(with dismay)
Fourth
Shut up, nothing! Let's stand still, Grisha!
Will hit ...
My spies were scared
And they rushed away: he heard a man,
So sparrows fly from the chaff in a flock.
I calmed down, narrowed my eyes - they appeared again,
Eyes flicker through the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And they pronounced my sentence:
“What a hunt for such a goose!
I would lie on the stove!
And, apparently, not a master: as he drove from the swamp,
So next to Gavrila ... "- Hear, shut up! -
O lovely rogues! Who often saw them,
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a "low kind of people" -
I still have to admit openly
What I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
As God grant to your spoiled children.
Happy people! No science, no bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I did mushroom raids with them:
Dug up the leaves, rummaged through the stumps,
I tried to spot a mushroom spot
And in the morning I could not find it.
"Look, Savosya, what a ring!"
We both bent down, and at once and grab
Snake! I jumped: I stung it hurt!
Savosya laughs: "I got caught out of the blue!"
But then we ruined them quite
And laid in a row on the railing of the bridge.
We must have waited for the feats of glory,
Our road was long:
The working rank of people scurried
There are no numbers on it.
Ditch digger - Vologda resident,
Tinker, tailor, wool,
And then the townspeople in the monastery
On the holiday rolls to pray.
Under our thick, old elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will circle: the stories will begin
About Kiev, about a Turk, about wonderful animals.
Someone will play around, so just hold on -
It will start with Volochek, it will come to Kazan!
Chukhnu mimics, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse with a fairy tale, and he will screw a parable:
“Goodbye guys! Try to be good
On the Lord God in everything to please.
We had Vavilo, he lived the richest of all,
Yes, I once took it into my head to murmur against God, -
Since then, Vavilo has become ruined,
No honey from bees, no harvest from the earth,
And only one thing he had happiness,
That the hair from the nose grew rapidly ... "
The worker will place, lay out the shells -
Planers, files, chisels, knives:
"Look, you devils!" And the children are happy
How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.
A passer-by will fall asleep under his own jokes,
Guys for the cause - sawing and planing!
If you start a saw, you won't sharpen it in a day!
Break the drill - and run away with fright.
It happened that whole days flew by here -
As a new passer-by, there is a new story ...
Wow, it's hot! .. We were picking mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just to meet
A blue ribbon, winding, long
Meadow river: jumped off in a crowd,
And light-haired heads over a desert river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howl:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun beats them down with midday heat.
Home, kids! it's time to dine.
Have returned. Everyone has a basket full,
And how many stories! Got a scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible thing!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots milk gave him his -
Doesn't drink! retreated ...
Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the womb pounds the linen,
Who is babysitting his two-year-old sister Glashka,
Who drags a bucket of kvask to reap,
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Mysteriously draws something on the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one:
Weaved myself a glorious wreath, -
Everything is white, yellow, lavender
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the heat, they dance squatting down.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
I caught it, jumped up and rides it.
And whether she, born in the heat of the sun
And in an apron from the field brought home,
To be afraid of your humble horse? ..
The mushroom time did not have time to leave,
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed Oski: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, nuts!
A childish cry echoed
From morning to night it thunders through the forests.
Scared by the singing, the sounding, the laughing
Will the grouse take off, having cured the chicks,
Whether the hare jump up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing
Into the bush he was busy ... well, the poor man is bad!
Alive to the village is dragged with triumph ...
“Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot,
It's time to get to work, dear! "
But even labor will turn around first
To Vanyusha with his smart side:
He sees how his father fertilizes the field,
As it throws grain into the loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours the grain.
The finished harvest will be cut with sickles,
They will tie up in sheaves, they will be taken to the barn,
Dry, beat, beat with flails,
At the mill they will dare and bake bread.
The child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he runs more willingly after his father.
Will they nave the senza: "Get in, little shooter!"
Vanyusha enters the village as a tsar ...
However, the envy in the child of the nobility
We would be sorry to sow.
So, we have to wrap by the way
The other side is a medal.
Let the peasant child be free
Grows up without learning anything
But he will grow up, if God pleases,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows forest paths,
Prances on horseback, is not afraid of water,
But the midges mercilessly eat it,
But he is familiar with the works early ...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I went out of the forest; there was a bitter frost.
I look, it rises slowly up the hill
A horse carrying brushwood.
And walking importantly, in a calm calm,
A little man leads the horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and with a fingernail himself!
"Great, boy!" - Go by yourself! -
“It’s painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where do the firewood come from? " - From the forest, of course;
Father, do you hear, chops, and I take away.
(A lumberjack's ax was heard in the forest.) -
"Does your father have a big family?"
- The family is big, but two people
There are only men: my father and I ... -
“So there it is! What is your name? "
- Vlas. -
"Why are you a year old?" - The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! - shouted the baby in a bass voice,
He pulled by the bridle and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture so
The child was so hilariously small
As if all this was made of cardboard
As if I got into a children's theater!
But the boy was a boy alive, real,
And logs, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadening winter.
That the Russian soul is so painfully sweet
What inspires Russian thoughts in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will
To which there is no death - press, do not press,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play now, children! Grow free!
That's what a red childhood is given to you,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it seems to you forever sweet.
Safeguard your age-old legacy,
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
He will take you to the bowels of the native land! ..
Now it's time for us to go back to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys became bolder,
“Hey, thieves are coming! I shouted to Fingal. -
They will steal, they will steal! Well, hide it quickly! "
Fingalushka made a serious face,
He buried my belongings under the hay,
With special diligence he hid the game,
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
An extensive field of canine science
He was perfectly familiar;
He started throwing things like that
That the audience could not leave the place,
Wonder, laugh! There is no time for fear!
Command yourself! "Fingalka, die!" -
“Don't get caught, Sergei! Don't push, Kuzyakha! "
"Look - dying - look!"
I enjoyed myself, wallowing in the hay,
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it got dark
In the barn: it gets dark so quickly on the stage
When the storm is destined to break out.
And for sure: a blow thundered over the barn,
A rain river poured into the barn,
The actor burst into deafening barks,
And the audience gave a stretch!
The wide door opened, creaked,
Hit the wall, locked it up again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
Just above our theater.
The children ran in the heavy rain
Barefoot to their village ...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for great snipe.
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov - a new trend in the history of Russian literature. He was the first to introduce the theme of the common people and filled rhymes with colloquial turns. The way of life of commoners appeared, so a new style was born. Nikolai Alekseevich became a pioneer in the mainstream of a combination of lyrics and satire. He dared to change its very content. "Peasant Children" by Nekrasov was written in 1861 in Greshnevo. The shed in which the narrator slept was most likely located in Shoda, under the house of Gabriel Zakharov (children recognize him in the work). At the time of writing, the poet wore a beard, which was a rarity for nobles, so the children questioned his origin.
The rich image of peasant children
The future writer was born into a simple, poor, but respected family. As a child, he often played with his peers. The guys did not perceive him as a superior and a master. Nekrasov never gave up a simple life. He was interested in learning new worlds. Therefore, he was probably one of the first to introduce the image of a common man into high poetry. It was Nekrasov who noticed the beauty in rural images. Later other writers followed suit.
A movement of followers was formed who wrote like Nekrasov. "Peasant Children" (which can be analyzed based on the historical period in which the poem was written) stands out from all the poet's work. In other works, there is more grief. And these children are full of happiness, although the author does not cherish high hopes regarding their bright future. The little ones have no time to get sick and think about the unnecessary. Their life is full of colorful nature, in which they were lucky enough to live. They are hardworking and simply wise. Every day is an adventure. At the same time, children bit by bit absorb science from their elders. They are interested in legends and stories, they do not even shy away from the work of the carpenter, which is mentioned in the poem.
Despite all the problems, they are happy in their corner of paradise. The author says that there is nothing to regret and hate such children, they need to envy, because the children of the rich do not have such color and freedom.
An introduction to a poem through a plot
Nekrasov's poem "Peasant Children" begins with a description of several previous days. The narrator was hunting and, tired, wandered into the barn, where he fell asleep. He was awakened by the sun, which made its way through the cracks. He heard the voices of birds and recognized pigeons and rooks. I recognized the crow by the shadow. Eyes of different colors looked at him through the gap, in which there was peace, affection and kindness. He realized that these were the views of children.
The poet is sure that only children can have such eyes. They quietly among themselves commented on what they saw. One looked at the beard and long legs of the narrator, the other at the large dog. When the man, probably Nekrasov himself, opened his eyes, the children rushed away like sparrows. As soon as the poet dropped his eyelids, they appeared again. Then they concluded that he was not a master, because he was not lying on the stove and was driving from the swamp.
Reflections of the author
Further, Nekrasov breaks away from the storyline and indulges in reflections. He confesses his love for children and says that even those who perceive them as "a low kind of people" still once envied them. There is more poetry in the life of the poor, says Nekrasov. Peasant children made mushroom raids with him, put snakes on the railing of the bridge and waited for the reactions of passers-by.
People were resting under the old elms, the children surrounded them and listened to stories. This is how we learned the legend about Valil. Having always lived a rich man, he somehow angered God. And since then he had neither harvest nor honey, only they grew well. On another occasion, a working man laid out tools and showed interested children how to saw and chop. The exhausted man fell asleep, and the guys let's saw and plan. Then it was impossible to remove the dust for a day. If we talk about the stories that the poem "Peasant Children" describes, Nekrasov, as it were, conveys his own impressions and memories.
Everyday life of peasant children
Then the writer leads the reader to the river. A stormy life is in full swing there. Who bathes, who shares stories. One boy catches leeches “on the lava, where the womb beats the linen,” another looks after his younger sister. One girl makes a wreath. The other attracts the horse and rides it. Life is full of joy.
His father called Vanyusha to work, and the guy gladly helps him in the field with bread. When the harvest is harvested, he is the first to taste the new bread. And then he sits astride a cart with straw and feels like a king. The other side of the coin is that children do not have the right to choose their future, and this is what Nekrasov is concerned about. Peasant children do not study and grow up happily, although they have to work.
The most striking character of the poem
The next part of the poem is often mistakenly considered a separate work.
The narrator "in the cold winter season" sees a cart with brushwood, the horse is being led by a little man. He wears a big hat and huge boots. It turned out to be a child. The author greeted, to which the boy replied that he should pass. Nekrasov asks what he is doing here, the child replies that he carries firewood, which his father chops. The boy helps him, because there are only two men in their family, the father and him. Therefore, it all looks like a theater, but the boy is real.
Such a Russian spirit in the poem that Nekrasov wrote. "Peasant children", an analysis of their way of life shows the whole situation in Russia at that time. The writer calls on to grow in freedom, because later it will help to love your labor bread.
Completion of the storyline
Further, the author breaks away from the memories and continues the plot with which he began the poem. The children became more courageous, and he shouted to a dog named Fingal that thieves were approaching. We need to hide belongings, Nekrasov told the dog. The peasant children were delighted with Fingal's skills. A dog with a serious muzzle hid all the good in the hay. She especially tried over the game, then lay down at the feet of the owner and growled. Then the children began to give commands to the dog themselves.
The narrator enjoyed the painting. It became dark, a thunderstorm approached. Thunder rumbled. The rain fell. The spectators fled. Barefoot children rushed to their homes. Nekrasov stayed in the barn and waited out the rain, and then went with Fingal to look for snipe.
The image of nature in a poem
It is impossible not to praise the wealth and beauty of Russian nature. Therefore, along with the theme of love for children, Nekrasov's work "Peasant Children" glorifies the delights of life outside the gray walls of the city.
From the very first lines, the author drowns in the cooing of pigeons and the chirping of birds. Then he compares the color of the children's eyes to the flowers in the field. The image of the earth haunts the poet in the forest as he gathers mushrooms. From the forest, he leads the reader to the river, where the children bathe, which makes the water seem to laugh and howl. Their life is inseparable from nature. Children weave wreaths of pale yellow flowers, their lips are black with blueberries, which have set them sore, they meet a wolf, feed a hedgehog.
The role of bread in the poem is important. Through the eyes of one of the boys, the narrator conveys all the sanctity of growing grain. He describes the whole process from throwing a seed into the ground to baking bread in a mill. Nekrasov's poem "Peasant Children" calls for eternal love of the field, which gives strength and labor bread.
The presence of nature adds melody to the poem.
Hard life of Nekrasov children
The fate of peasant children is firmly tied to labor on the ground. The author himself says that they learn the works early. So, Nikolai Alekseevich cites the example of a little boy who matured early. A six-year-old boy works in the forest with his father and does not even think about complaining about his life.
Respect for work is instilled from childhood. Depending on how their parents are respectful of the field, children imitate them.
Coverage of the educational issue
In addition, the problem of education in the poem arises, which Nekrasov raises. Peasant children are deprived of the opportunity to study. They don't know books. And the narrator is worried about their future, because he knows that only God knows whether the child will grow up or die.
But next to endless work, children do not lose their thirst for life. They have not forgotten how to enjoy the little things that come across on their way. Their everyday life is full of bright, warm emotions.
The poem is an ode to simple children. After its publication in 1861, the entire rich world learned that peasant children are wonderful. Nekrasov elevated the simplicity of being. He showed that in all corners of the country there are people who, despite their low social status, are distinguished by humanity, decency and other benefactors, which have already begun to be forgotten in large cities. The piece made a splash. And its relevance remains acute to this day.
One comrade turned to me today ... The story is a classic: he gave his friend to use his bank card for a week. A friend from your legal entity. I put as many as 3,000,000 rubles on his card, took it off at ATMs for a week, returned the card, thanked him with brandy, it seemed like everything was in a bunch ... it was.
The bank blocked the card today. Asks to clarify the origin of the funds. "What is there? Gave a friend to use? Well, look at your account statement, do you like it?"
He came to me with questions "what will happen?" and "what to do?", a friend promised that everything would be fine. And I was even somehow at a loss. Firstly, there is not enough experience (well, no one from my environment has ever asked such a question, apparently the system of protecting me from the dumbass this time failed). Secondly, everything will really be fine. True, this is only if you are some kind of drug addict - with these, if there is enough for a dose, everything is always fine. Even though the moon fell into the garden - it burst out, and the problem is not a problem, I even envy sometimes. But if you are a conditionally adequate person with a family, a mortgage and a white salary, then there is no need to talk about normality. So.
With "what will happen?" simpler. There are not many options here.
1. The most obvious and probable is a one-time cash out for a friend. In our city, all last summer, the FSB chased cashiers: who got on their skis, who was about to sit down, and who raised their prices so that only Allah was higher. So the clients of the deceased cash offices have to somehow get out, because there is no understanding why they cash out 5-8% in the spring, and already 10-15% in the winter. Stupid, dangerous, but what to do. The consequences under such circumstances are as minimal as possible. The bank blocks the card, you don't work with this bank anymore, the tax authorities cheat on a friend's company, and according to the results, it issues an invoice for 13% of income tax (or maybe it will tie up pension contributions and social insurance), the amount is enough for a criminal offense. And in the worst case, you get a demand from the bailiffs somewhere for plus / minus a million and a little suspended sentence. Expensive, of course, for invaluable life experience, but what can you do - being a dumbass has always been expensive. In principle, if half of the salary will be enough for a mortgage and gobble up, it is even tolerable. Well, or you can quit and find a job without registration. Their risks, of course, but as an option.
2. The situation is worse if the friend is a professional cashier. Worse, since he is still working, then at least he is not a fool, and he will not be able to blame at least part of the responsibility on him.
3. It is even worse if the money is sizzling. It is very bad if the money is taken from the state. It’s generally dark. Several dozen languid interrogations in the status of the main suspect make an unprepared person quiet, modest and agreeable to any deal with the investigation, if only they fell behind already. With a lawyer, of course, it's easier, but firstly, the costs, and secondly ... well, our bodies know how to work, no matter what Alexey Anatolyevich Navalny says, our valiant employees know how to work well and not everyone takes bribes.
4. You can also recall the financing of a thread of ISIS, but we'd better not remember it in vain, especially since in such a situation the only option for behavior is to relax and have fun.
But what with "what to do" I do not even know.
1. The most obvious thing is to get a dog, name it Totoshka, find some kind of tornado and go to the wise Goodwin to ask for brains.
2. The second is to understand for yourself a couple of points forever
a) the bank card is the property of the bank, and you are not entitled to dispose of someone else's property.
b) your money is the one that is in your pocket. Everything. You have no more money. The fact that you have in your stash at home is not yours, but the one who finds it first, and it is not a fact that it will be you. The money that you borrowed to a friend is already the friend's money, and it is only for him to decide whether to return it or otherwise deal with it. What lies on your card is the bank's money. You only have the right to claim a certain amount against the bank, and the bank may or may not satisfy your demand (and legally and justifiably).
c) what you cannot document (or by other means reliably confirm) does not exist for our bodies and for our judicial system. Transferred the card to another person? Is there a transfer certificate? A receipt? Anything? So it wasn’t, don’t fuck me here.
3. Collect proof. Ask for a copy of the payment order. Make an audio recording of a telephone conversation with this "friend", chat with him by SMS, ask him to write you a receipt that he took your card for such and such a period. By the way, you can immediately determine whether he is a fool or not. And if he is not a fool, then you will have to run: find documents that you were not in the city at the time of cash withdrawal, or was, but in a different area from the ATM. Cinema tickets, a receipt from a cafe / gas station, recordings from video cameras at the place of work.
4. Everything. On this I have dried up. I don't even know if it is worth contacting the police. Wouldn't it only make it worse. This is the first time I come across such idiocy and I will be glad to provide adequate advice in the comments.