Peasant children are wonderful, which means. Nikolai Nekrasov - Peasant children: Verse. Completion of the storyline
I'm in the village again. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy.
Yesterday, tired of walking through the swamp,
I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply.
Woke up: in the wide cracks of the barn
The rays of the sun look cheerful.
The dove coos; flew over the roof,
The young rooks are calling;
Some other bird is also flying -
I recognized the crow just by the shadow;
Chu! some kind of whisper... but here’s a line
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed together like flowers in a field.
There is so much peace, freedom and affection in them,
There is so much holy kindness in them!
I child's eye I love the expression
I always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched my soul...
Chu! whisper again!
Second
And the master, they said!..
Third
Be quiet, you devils!
Second
A bar doesn't have a beard - it's a mustache.
First
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And look, there’s a watch on the hat!
Fifth
Hey, important thing!
Sixth
And a gold chain...
Seventh
Is tea expensive?
Eighth
How the sun burns!
Ninth
And there is a dog - big, big!
Water runs from the tongue.
Fifth
Gun! look at this: the trunk is double,
Carved locks…
Third
(with fear)
Look!
Fourth
Shut up, nothing! Let's wait a little longer, Grisha!
Third
Will kill...
My spies were afraid
And they rushed away: when they heard the man,
So sparrows fly from the chaff in a flock.
I fell silent, squinted - they appeared again,
Little eyes flicker in the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And my verdict was pronounced:
- What kind of hunting is such a goose doing?
I would lie on the stove!
And it’s clear that it’s not the master: how he rode from the swamp,
So next to Gavrila... - “If he hears, be silent!”
_______________
O dear rogues! Who has seen them often?
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a “low kind of people”, -
I still have to confess openly,
That I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
God bless your spoiled children.
Happy people! No science, no bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I made mushroom raids with them:
I dug up leaves, rummaged through stumps,
I tried to spot a mushroom place,
And in the morning I couldn’t find it for anything.
“Look, Savosya, what a ring!”
We both bent down and grabbed it at once
Snake! I jumped: the sting hurt!
Savosya laughs: “I just got caught!”
But then we destroyed them quite a lot
And they laid them in a row on the railing of the bridge.
We must have expected glory for our exploits.
We had a long road:
People of working class scurried about
There are no numbers on it.
Vologda ditch digger,
Tinker, tailor, wool beater,
And then a city dweller goes to the monastery
On the eve of the holiday he is ready to pray.
Under our thick old elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will surround: the stories will begin
About Kyiv, about the Turk, about wonderful animals.
Some people will play around, so just hold on -
It will start from Volochok and will reach Kazan’
Chukhna will imitate, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse you with a fairy tale, and tell you a parable:
“Goodbye, guys! Try your best
To please the Lord God in everything:
We had Vavilo, he lived richer than everyone else,
Yes, I once decided to murmur against God, -
Since then, Vavilo has become seedy and bankrupt,
No honey from the bees, no harvest from the earth,
And there was only one happiness for him,
That nose hair grew a lot..."
The worker will arrange, lay out the shells -
Planes, files, chisels, knives:
“Look, little devils!” And the children are happy
How you saw, how you fooled - show them everything.
A passerby will fall asleep to his jokes,
Guys get to work - sawing and planing!
If they use a saw, you can’t sharpen it in a day!
They break the drill and run away in fear.
It happened that whole days flew by here, -
Like a new passerby, there’s a new story...
Wow, it’s hot!.. We were picking mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just towards
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
Meadow river; jumped off in a crowd
And brown heads above a deserted river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howling:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game...
And the sun beats down on them with the midday heat.
- Home, kids! it's time for lunch.-
We're back. Everyone has a basket full,
And how many stories! Got caught with a scythe
We caught a hedgehog and got a little lost
And they saw a wolf... oh, what a scary one!
The hedgehog is offered flies and boogers,
I gave him my root milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the uterus beats the laundry,
Who is babysitting his sister, two-year-old Glashka,
Who carries a bucket of kvass to reap,
And he, tying his shirt under his throat,
Mysteriously draws something in the sand;
That one got stuck in a puddle, and this one with a new one:
I wove myself a glorious wreath,
Everything is white, yellow, lavender
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket -
She caught it, jumped up and rode it.
And is it her, born under the sunny heat
And brought home from the field in an apron,
To be afraid of your humble horse?..
The mushroom time has not yet left,
Look - everyone’s lips are so black,
They filled the ears: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, and nuts!
A childish cry echoed
From morning until night it thunders through the forests.
Scared by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the black grouse take off, cooing to her chicks?
If the little hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing
I was messing around in the bush... well, the poor guy feels bad!
The living one is dragged to the village in triumph...
Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot,
It's time to get to work, dear! -
But even labor will turn out first
To Vanyusha with his elegant side:
He sees his father fertilizing the field,
Like throwing grain into loose soil,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours grain;
The ready harvest will be cut with sickles,
They will tie them up in sheaves and take them to Riga,
They dry it out, they beat and beat with flails,
At the mill they grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he runs more willingly after his father.
Will they wind up the hay: “Climb up, little shooter!”
Vanyusha enters the village as a king...
However, envy in a noble child
We would be sorry to sow.
So, we have to wrap it up by the way
The other side is the medal.
Let's say peasant child free
Growing up without learning anything
But he will grow up, if God wants,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows the forest paths,
Prancing on horseback, not afraid of water,
But the midges eat it mercilessly,
But he is familiar with the works early...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time,
I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold.
I see it's slowly going uphill
A horse carrying a cart of brushwood.
And, walking importantly, in decorous calm,
A man leads a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a short sheepskin coat,
In big mittens... and he's as small as a fingernail!
- Great, lad! - “Go past!”
- You’re too formidable, as I can see!
Where did the firewood come from? - “From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, chops, and I take it away.”
(A woodcutter’s ax was heard in the forest.)
- What, does your father have a big family?
“The family is big, but two people
Just men: my father and I..."
- So there it is! What is your name? - “Vlas”.
- How old are you? - “The sixth year has passed...
Well, dead! - the little one shouted in a deep voice,
He pulled the reins and walked faster.
The sun was shining on this picture so much,
The child was so hilariously small
It was as if it was all cardboard,
As if in children's theater they got me!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And wood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow lying up 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,
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
For which there is no death - don’t push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play, children! Grow in freedom!
That's why you were given a wonderful childhood,
To love this meager field forever,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your centuries-old inheritance,
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the depths of your native land!..
_______________
Now it's time for us to return to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys had become bolder, -
“Hey, thieves are coming!” I shouted to Fingal:
They will steal, they will steal! Well, hide it quickly!”
Shiner made a serious face,
I buried my belongings under the hay,
I hid the game with special care,
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
The vast field of canine science
She was perfectly familiar to him;
He started doing things like this,
That the audience could not leave their seats.
They marvel and laugh! There's no time for fear here!
They command themselves! - “Fingalka, die!”
- Don’t freeze, Sergei! Don't push, Kuzyakha, -
“Look - he’s dying - look!”
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it became dark
In the barn: the stage gets dark so quickly,
When the storm is destined to break out.
And sure enough: the blow thundered over the barn,
A river of rain poured into the barn,
The actor burst into a deafening bark,
And the audience gave the go-ahead!
The wide door opened, creaked,
It hit the wall and locked itself again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
Just above our theater.
The kids ran in the heavy rain
Barefoot to their village...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for snipes.
Analysis of the poem “Peasant Children” by Nekrasov
Nekrasov spent his childhood surrounded by peasant peers. He grew up on his father's estate and was able to experience for himself all the charm of a free life, which was sharply different from city life. The child did not immediately realize his dominant position and treated other children as equals. Subsequently, he loved to watch the peasant children. The poet expressed his impressions in the poem “Peasant Children” (1861).
The author describes his hunt in the village. Having settled down to rest in the barn, he notices children who are furtively watching him. The poet listens to their conversation. A huge mysterious world, existing only in the minds of children. They already understand their difference from the master, but do not yet see humility and humiliation in him. The master seems to them to be a mysterious creature living in some kind of special life. He is surrounded by mysterious objects that you will never see in the village.
Nekrasov is touched by these naive children's views. He begins to think about peasant children. Representatives of high society considered them inferior creatures who could only replenish the army of obedient and downtrodden servants. The poet recalls vivid incidents from his life, which he spent surrounded by peasant children. They are no different, and even make a more favorable impression compared to the pampered barchuks. All children are equal from birth. They are endowed with rich inner world. Even monotonous country life becomes a source of vivid impressions for them.
Peasant children grow up in the lap of nature. All their games are played on fresh air. Any activity, for example, picking mushrooms, becomes an entire event, full of various adventures.
Nekrasov knows that a peasant child from the very beginning early age starts working. For some, this becomes just another fun idea. More serious children immediately understand that in such “undertakings” their whole life will be spent. future life. - a textbook passage that clearly illustrates hard life village child. A noble six-year-old child is even forbidden to go outside, but in the village he controls a horse on his own.
Nekrasov is delighted with peasant children. He sees in them a true expression of the national healthy spirit. The poet appeals to them to fully enjoy carefree childhood, while there is still such an opportunity.
At the end of the poem “Peasant Children” the author returns to reality. After making the children laugh at his dog's antics, he heads off to hunt. With this neutral episode, the poet wants to emphasize that he will not be able to change anything in the situation of the serf children. Fleeting childhood happiness will melt away without a trace, and a harsh working life will begin.
I'm in the village again. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy,
Yesterday, tired of walking through the swamp,
I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply.
Woke up: in the wide cracks of the barn
The rays of the sun look cheerful.
The dove coos; flying over the roof,
Young rooks scream.
Some other bird is also flying -
10
I recognized the crow just by the shadow;
Chu! some kind of whisper... but here’s a line
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 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!..
Be quiet, you devils!
A bar doesn't have a beard - it's a mustache.
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And look at that hat - a watch!
Oh important thing!
Oh important thing!
And a gold chain... Is tea expensive?
Is tea expensive?
Water runs from the tongue.
Gun! look at this: the trunk is double,
30
Carved locks…
Third
(with fear)
Carved locks… Look!
And the legs are long, like poles.
Shut up, nothing! Let's see more, Grisha!
Will kill...
My spies were afraid
And they rushed away: when they heard the man,
So sparrows fly from the chaff in a flock.
I fell silent, squinted - they appeared again,
Little eyes flicker in the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And my sentence was called:
“What kind of hunting is such and such a goose doing?
40
I would lie on my stove!
And, apparently, not a master: as he rode from the swamp,
So next to Gavrila...” - If he hears, be silent! -
Oh, dear rogues! Who has seen them often?
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a “low kind of people,” -
I still have to confess openly,
That I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
50
God bless your spoiled children.
Happy people! No science, no bliss
They don’t know in childhood.
I made mushroom raids with them:
I dug up leaves, rummaged through stumps,
I tried to spot a mushroom place,
And in the morning I couldn’t find it for anything.
“Look, Savosya, what a ring!”
We both bent down and grabbed it at once
Snake! I jumped: the sting hurt!
60
Savosya laughs: “I just got caught!”
But then we destroyed them quite a lot
And they laid them in a row on the railing of the bridge.
We must have waited for the exploits of glory,
We had a long road:
People of working class scurried about
There is no number on it.
Ditch digger - Vologda resident,
Tinker, tailor, wool beater,
Otherwise, a city dweller goes to the monastery
70
On the eve of the holiday he is ready to pray.
Under our thick, ancient elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will surround: the stories will begin
About Kyiv, about the Turk, about wonderful animals.
Some people will play around, so just hold on -
It starts from Volochok and reaches Kazan!
Chukhna will imitate, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse you with a fairy tale, and tell you a parable:
“Goodbye, guys! Try your best
80
To please the Lord God in everything:
We had Vavilo, he lived richer than everyone else,
Yes, I once decided to murmur against God, -
Since then, Vavilo has become seedy and bankrupt,
There is no honey from the bees, no harvest from the earth,
And there was only one happiness for him,
That nose hair grew a lot..."
The worker will arrange, lay out the shells -
Planes, files, chisels, knives:
“Look, little devils!” And the children are happy
90
How you saw, how you fooled - show them everything.
A passerby will fall asleep to his jokes,
Guys get to work - sawing and planing!
If they use a saw, you can’t sharpen it in a day!
They break the drill and run away in fear.
It happened that whole days flew by here,
Like a new passerby, there’s a new story...
Wow, it’s hot!.. We were picking mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just towards
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
100
Meadow river: they jumped off in a crowd,
And brown heads above a deserted river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howling:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game...
And the sun beats down on them with the midday heat.
Home, kids! it's time for lunch.
We're back. Everyone has a basket full,
And how many stories! Got caught with a scythe
We caught a hedgehog and got a little lost
110
And they saw a wolf... oh, what a scary one!
The hedgehog is offered flies and boogers,
I gave him my root milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Doesn't drink! retreated... Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the uterus beats the laundry,
Who is babysitting his two-year-old sister Glashka,
Who carries a bucket of kvass to reap,
And he, tying his shirt under his throat,
Mysteriously draws something in the sand;
That one got stuck in a puddle, and this one with a new one:
120
I wove myself a glorious wreath, -
Everything is white, yellow, lavender,
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
She caught it, jumped up and rode it.
And is it her, born under the sunny heat
And brought home from the field in an apron,
To be afraid of your humble horse?..
The mushroom time has not yet left,
130
Look - everyone’s lips are so black,
They filled the ears: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, and nuts!
A childish cry echoed
From morning until night it thunders through the forests.
Scared by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the black grouse take off, cooing to her chicks?
If the little hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing
I was messing around in the bush... well, the poor guy feels bad!
140
The living one is dragged to the village in triumph...
“That’s enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot,
It’s time to get to work, dear!”
But even labor will turn out first
To Vanyusha with his elegant side:
He sees his father fertilizing the field,
Like throwing grain into loose soil,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours grain.
The ready harvest will be cut with sickles,
150
They will tie them up in sheaves and take them to Riga,
They dry it out, they beat and beat with flails,
At the mill they grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he runs more willingly after his father.
Will they wind up the hay: “Climb up, little shooter!”
Vanyusha enters the village as a king...
However, envy in a noble child
We would be sorry to sow.
So, we have to wrap it up by the way
160
The other side is a medal.
Suppose a peasant child is free
Growing up without learning anything,
But he will grow up, if God wants,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows the forest paths,
Prancing on horseback, not afraid of water,
But the midges eat it mercilessly,
But he is familiar with the works early...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
170
I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold.
I see it's slowly going uphill
A horse carrying a cart of brushwood.
And walking importantly, in decorous calm,
A man leads a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a short sheepskin coat,
In big mittens... and he's as small as a fingernail!
“Great, lad!” - Go past! -
“You’re so formidable, as I can see!
Where do the firewood come from? - From the forest, of course;
180
Father, you hear, chops, and I take it away.
(A woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.) -
“What, does your father have a big family?”
- The family is big, two people
Just men: my father and I... -
“So there it is! What’s your name?”
- Vlas.-
“How old are you?” - The sixth has passed...
Well, dead! - the little one shouted in a deep voice,
He pulled the reins and walked faster.
The sun was shining on this picture so much,
190
The child was so hilariously small
It was as if it was all cardboard,
It was 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 the snow lying up 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,
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
200
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
For which there is no death - don’t push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play, children! Grow in freedom!
That's why you were given a wonderful childhood,
To love this meager field forever,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your centuries-old inheritance,
210
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the depths of your native land!..
Now it's time for us to return to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys had become bolder,
"Hey! thieves are coming! - I shouted to Fingal.
They will steal, they will steal! Well, hide it quickly!”
Shiner made a serious face,
I buried my belongings under the hay,
I hid the game with special care,
220
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
The vast field of canine science
She was perfectly familiar to him;
He started doing things like this,
That the audience couldn't leave their seats,
They marvel and laugh! There's no time for fear here!
They command themselves! “Fingalka, die!” -
“Don’t freeze, Sergei! Don’t push, Kuzyakha!” -
“Look - he’s dying - look!”
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
230
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it became dark
In the barn: the stage gets dark so quickly,
When the storm is destined to break out.
And sure enough: the blow thundered over the barn,
A river of rain poured into the barn,
The actor burst into a deafening bark,
And the audience gave a shout!
The wide door opened, creaked,
It hit the wall and locked itself again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
240
Just above our theater.
The kids ran in the heavy rain
Barefoot to their village...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for snipes.
A friend contacted me today... The story is a classic: he let his friend use his bank card for a week. A friend from his legal office. transferred no less than 3,000,000 rubles to his card, withdrew from ATMs for a week, returned the card, thanked him with cognac, everything seemed to be going well... it was.
Today the bank blocked the card. Asks for clarification of origin Money. “What’s there? Did you give it to a friend to use? Well, look at your account statement, do you like it?”
He came to me with the questions “what will happen?” and “what should I do?”, but my friend promised that everything would be fine. And I was even somehow confused. Firstly, I don’t have enough experience (well, no one from my circle has ever asked such a question, apparently the system of protecting me from idiots failed this time). Secondly, everything will really be fine. True, this is only if you are some kind of drug addict - with these, if you have enough for the dose, everything is always fine. Even if the moon falls into the garden, it disappears, and the problem is not a problem, sometimes I even envy. But if you are conditionally an adequate person with a family, a mortgage and a white salary, there is no need to talk about normalcy. So.
With "what will happen?" easier. There don't seem to be 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 was chasing cashers: some started skiing, some were about to sit down, and some raised the prices so much that only Allah is higher. So the clients of the defunct cash-out offices have to somehow get out, because there is no understanding why in the spring the cash-out rate was 5-8%, and in the winter it was already 10-15%. It's stupid, dangerous, but what can you do? The consequences under such circumstances are as minimal as possible. The bank blocks the card, you no longer work with this bank, the tax office is trashing a friend’s company, based on the results it issues an invoice for 13% income tax (and maybe it will also add pension contributions and social insurance), the amount is enough for a criminal case. And in the worst case, you receive a demand from the bailiffs for about plus/minus a million and a little probation. A little expensive, of course, for priceless life experience, but what can you do - being a dumbass has always been expensive. In principle, if half of the salary is enough for a mortgage and eaten up, then it’s even tolerable. Well, or you can quit and find a job without registration. There are risks, of course, but it’s an option.
2. The situation is worse if your friend is a professional casher. What’s worse is that since he’s still working, at least he’s not a fool, and it won’t be possible to shift at least part of the responsibility onto him.
3. It’s even worse if the money is bad. It’s really bad if the money is stolen from the state. It's completely dark here. Several dozen languid interrogations in the status of the main suspect make an unprepared person quiet, modest and willing to make any deal with the investigation, as long as they leave behind. With a lawyer, of course, it’s easier, but firstly there are expenses, and secondly... well, our bodies know how to work, no matter what Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny says, our valiant employees know how to work well and not everyone takes bribes.
4. You can also remember about the financing of some thread of ISIS, but it’s better not to mention it in vain, especially since in such a situation the only option for behavior is to relax and have fun.
But I don’t even know what to do with “what to do.”
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 forever understand a couple of points for yourself
a) a bank card is the property of the bank, and you have no right to dispose of someone else’s property.
b) your money is the one that is in your pocket. All. You don't have any more money. What you have in your stash at home is not yours, but the one who finds it first, and it’s not a fact that it will be you. The money you borrowed to a friend is already the friend’s money, and only he can decide to return it or do something else with it. What's on your card is the bank's money. You only have the right to claim against the bank for a certain amount, and the bank may or may not satisfy your demand (and legally and justifiably).
c) what you cannot document (or reliably confirm by other means) does not exist for our bodies and for our judicial system. Have you given the card to another person? Is there a transfer and acceptance certificate? Receipt? Well, at least something? So this didn’t happen, don’t bullshit me here.
3. Collect evidence. Ask for a copy of the payment slip. Make an audio recording telephone conversation with this “friend”, communicate with him via SMS, ask him to write you a receipt stating 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 withdrawing cash, or were, but in a different area from the ATM. Movie tickets, a receipt from a cafe/gas station, recordings from video cameras at the place of work.
4. Everything. I'm done with this. I don’t even know if I should contact the police. Won't this only make things worse? This is my first time encountering such idiocy and I will be glad to receive adequate advice in the comments.
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is a new trend in the history of Russian literature. He was the first to introduce the topic common people and filled the rhymes with colloquial expressions. The life of common people appeared, and so it began a new style. Nikolai Alekseevich became a pioneer in the field of combining lyricism and satire. He dared to change its very content. “Peasant Children” by Nekrasov was written in 1861 in Greshnevo. The barn in which the narrator slept was most likely located in Shoda, under the house of Gabriel Zakharov (the children recognize him in the story). At the time of writing, the poet wore a beard, which was rare for nobles, so the children questioned his origins.
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 gentleman. Nekrasov never gave up on a simple life. He was interested in exploring new worlds. Therefore, he was probably one of the first to introduce the image common man V high poetry. It was Nekrasov who noticed the beauty in village images. Later, other writers followed his example.
A movement of followers was formed who wrote like Nekrasov. “Peasant children” (which can be analyzed based on historical period, in which the poem was written) stand out noticeably from the poet’s entire work. In other works more grief. And these children are full of happiness, although the author does not have great hopes for their bright future. Little ones don’t have time to be sick and think about unnecessary things. Their life is full of the 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 absorb science bit by bit from their elders. They are interested in legends and stories; they even do not shy away from the work of the carpenter mentioned in the poem.
Despite all the problems, they are happy in their corner of paradise. The author says that there is nothing to pity or hate such children, they should be envied, because the children of rich people do not have such color and freedom.
Introduction to the poem through the plot
Nekrasov’s poem “Peasant Children” begins with a description of the previous few days. The narrator was hunting and, tired, wandered into the barn, where he fell asleep. He was awakened by the sun breaking through the cracks. He heard the voices of birds and recognized pigeons and rooks. I recognized the crow by the shadow. Eyes looked at him through the crack different color, 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 commented among themselves on what they saw. One looked at the beard and long legs narrator, another on big dog. When the man, probably Nekrasov himself, opened his eyes, the children rushed away like sparrows. As soon as the poet lowered his eyelids, they appeared again. They further concluded that he was not a gentleman, because he was not lying on the stove and was coming from the swamp.
Author's thoughts
Next Nekrasov breaks away from storyline and indulges in reflection. He confesses his love for children and says that even those who perceive them as “low-class people” still once envied them. There is more poetry in the life of the poor, says Nekrasov. Peasant children made mushroom forays with him, placed snakes on the railings of the bridge and waited for the reaction of passers-by.
People were resting under the old elm trees, children surrounded them and listened to stories. This is how they learned the legend about Valil. Having always lived as a rich man, he somehow angered God. And since then he had neither harvest nor honey, only they grew well. Another time a working man laid out his tools and showed interested children how to saw and chop. The exhausted man fell asleep, and the guys started sawing and planing. Then it was impossible to remove the dust for a day. If we talk about the stories that the poem “Peasant Children” describes, Nekrasov seems to convey own impressions and memories.
Everyday life of peasant children
Next, the writer leads the reader to the river. It's boiling there fast paced life. Who bathes, who shares stories. Some boy catches leeches “on the lava, where the queen beats the laundry,” another looks after his younger sister. One girl makes a wreath. Another attracts a horse and rides it. Life is full of joy.
Vanyusha’s father called him to work, and the guy gladly helps him in the field with bread. When the harvest is harvested, he is the first to try 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 Nekrasov is concerned about this. Peasant children do not study and grow up happily, although they have to work.
The most striking character in 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, a horse leading little man. He is wearing a big hat and huge boots. It turned out to be a child. The author said hello, to which the boy replied to let him pass. Nekrasov asks what he is doing here, the child replies that he is carrying firewood that his father chops. The boy helps him because there are only two men in their family, his father and him. Therefore, it all looks like theater, but the boy is real.
There is such a Russian spirit in the poem that Nekrasov wrote. “Peasant children” and an analysis of their way of life show the whole situation in Russia at that time. The writer calls for growing up in freedom, because later this will help you love your labor.
Completion of the storyline
Next, the author breaks away from the memories and continues the plot with which he began the poem. The children became bolder, and he shouted to the dog, named Fingal, that thieves were approaching. We need to hide our belongings, Nekrasov told the dog. The peasant children were delighted with Fingal's skills. The dog with a serious face hid all the goods in the hay. She worked especially hard on the game, then lay down at her owner’s feet and growled. Then the children themselves began to give commands to the dog.
The narrator enjoyed the picture. It became dark and a thunderstorm approached. Thunder roared. The rain fell. The spectators fled. Barefoot children rushed to the houses. Nekrasov stayed in the barn and waited out the rain, and then went with Fingal to look for snipes.
The image of nature in the poem
It is impossible not to praise the richness and beauty of Russian nature. Therefore, along with the theme of love for children, Nekrasov’s work “Peasant Children” glorifies the delights of life behind the gray walls of the city.
From the very first lines, the author drowns in the cooing of doves and the chirping of birds. Then he compares the color of the children's eyes with the flowers in the field. The image of the earth haunts the poet in the forest when he is picking mushrooms. From the forest he leads the reader to the river, where children are swimming, which is why the water seems to laugh and howl. Their life is inseparable from nature. Children weave wreaths of pale yellow flowers, their lips are black from the blueberries that set their teeth on edge, 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 the holiness of growing grain. He describes the entire process from throwing the seed into the ground to baking the bread at the 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.
The hard life of Nekrasov children
The fate of peasant children is tightly tied to labor on the land. The author himself says that they learn labor early. So, Nikolai Alekseevich gives as an example 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. Seeing how their parents treat the field with respect, their children imitate them.
Coverage of educational issues
In addition, the problem of education arises in the poem, 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 in the face of endless work, children do not lose their thirst for life. They have not forgotten how to enjoy the little things that come their way. Their everyday life is full of bright, warm emotions.
The poem is an ode to ordinary children. After its publication in 1861, the entire rich world learned that peasant children are wonderful. Nekrasov exalted the simplicity of existence. He showed that in all corners of the country there are people who, despite their low social status, are distinguished by their humanity, decency and other benefactors, which have already begun to be forgotten in major cities. The product was a sensation. And its relevance remains acute to this day.
I'm in the village again. I go hunting, I write my verses - life is easy. Yesterday, tired from walking through the swamp, I wandered into the barn and fell asleep deeply. I woke up: the rays of the cheerful sun were peeping through the wide cracks of the barn. The dove coos; flying over the roof, young rooks screaming; Some other bird was also flying - I recognized the crow from the shadow; Chu! some kind of whisper... but here is a line along the crack of attentive eyes! All gray, brown, blue eyes - Mixed together 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 always recognize it. I froze: tenderness touched my soul... Chu! whisper again! (with fear) Look! The river resounded with laughter and howling: Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game... And the sun scorches them with the midday heat. - Home, kids! It's time for lunch. - We're back. Everyone has a basket full, And so many stories! Got caught with a scythe, caught a hedgehog, got a little lost and saw a wolf... wow, what a scary one! They offer the hedgehog flies and boogers, I gave him my Root milk - He doesn’t drink! retreated... Who catches leeches On the lava, where the queen beats the laundry, Who nurses his sister, two-year-old Glashka, Who drags a bucket of kvass for reaping, And he, tying his shirt under his throat, Mysteriously draws something in the sand; That one huddled in a puddle, and this one with a new one: She wove herself a glorious wreath, All white, yellow, lavender, and occasionally a red flower. Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting. Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket - she caught it, jumped up and rode it. And is she, born under the sunny heat And brought home from the field in an apron, Afraid of her humble horse?.. The mushroom time has not yet had time to leave, Look - everyone’s lips are so black, They’ve filled their lips: the blueberry is ripe! And there are raspberries, lingonberries, and nuts! A childish cry, echoed, thunders through the forests from morning to night. Frightened by singing, hooting, laughter, Will the grouse take off, squawking at the chicks, Will the little hare jump up - soda, turmoil! Here is an old capercaillie with a faded wing, busy in the bush... well, the poor thing feels bad! They drag the living one into the village in triumph... - Enough, Vanyusha! You’ve been walking a lot, It’s time to get to work, dear! - But even work will first turn out to Vanyusha with its elegant side: He sees how his father fertilizes the field, How he throws grain into the loose soil, How the field then begins to turn green, How the ear grows, pours grain ; The finished harvest will be cut with sickles, tied into sheaves, taken to the barn, dried, pounded and pounded with flails, ground in a mill and baked. The child tastes the fresh bread and runs more willingly into the field after his father. Will they wind up the hay: “Climb up, little shooter!” Vanyusha enters the village as a king... However, it would be a pity for us to sow envy in a noble child. So, by the way, we must wrap the medal with the other side. Suppose a peasant child grows up freely without learning anything, but he will grow up if God pleases, and nothing prevents him from bending. Suppose he knows the forest paths, prances on horseback, is not afraid of water, but the midges eat him mercilessly, but he knows the work early... One day, in the chilly winter season, I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold. I see a horse slowly ascending the mountain, carrying a cart of brushwood. And, walking importantly, in decorous calm, the horse is led by the bridle by a peasant in large boots, in a short sheepskin coat, and in large mittens. ..and from the nail itself! - Great, lad! - “Go past!” - You’re too formidable, as I can see! Where did the firewood come from? - “From the forest, of course; Father, you hear, chops, and I take it away.” (A woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.) - What, does your father have a big family? “It’s a big family, but two people. Just men: my father and me...” - So that’s it! What is your name? - “Vlas”. - How old are you? - “The sixth year has passed... Well, she’s dead!” - the little one shouted in a deep voice, pulled the reins and walked faster. The sun was shining so much on this picture, The child was so hilariously small, As if it was all cardboard, As if I was in a children's theater! But the boy was a living boy, a real one, And the firewood, and the brushwood, and the piebald horse, And the snow that lay up 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, Which is so true for the Russian soul It’s painfully sweet, That Russian thoughts instill in the minds, Those honest thoughts that have no will, For which there is no death - don’t push, In which there is so much anger and pain, In which there is so much love!
