Nekrasov Nikolai Alekseevich - reflections at the front entrance - read the book for free. Reflections at the front entrance, poem by Nikolai Nekrasov
Reflections at the Front Door (1858)
The very title of the poem (“Reflections…”) indicates the odic traditions of Lomonosov and Derzhavin. However, the traditions are rethought by Nekrasov, Nekrasov’s “lofty” words are not unambiguous, like Lomonosov’s. The text of the poem clearly echoes Derzhavin’s ode “The Nobleman.” From the first lines, the poet denounces false solemnity, “the parade of servility, the triumph of servility”:
Here is the front entrance.
On special days
Possessed by a servile illness,
The whole city is in some kind of fright
Drives up to the treasured doors;
Having written down your name and rank,
The guests are leaving for home,
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that’s their calling!
And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Projectors, place-seekers,
And an elderly man and a widow.
In contrast to Derzhavin’s ode (in which petitioners, including a widow, come to the nobleman), Nekrasov’s peasant petitioners appear - a symbolic image of rural Russia. The poet depicts the extreme degree of poverty, grief and humiliation of the peasants. “The cross on the neck and blood on the feet” are a symbol of suffering and asceticism. The doorman drives away the petitioners without accepting the “meager contributions.”
And they went, scorched by the sun,
Repeating: “God judge him!”
Throwing up hopeless hands,
And while I could see them,
They walked with their heads uncovered.
Then the poet introduces the reader to the chambers of a nobleman, immersed in bliss and luxury. In the poem itself, this part is separated, the meter and rhyme change dramatically.
You, who consider life enviable
The intoxication of shameless flattery,
Red tape, gluttony, gaming, -
Wake up!
The description of the nobleman’s old age and his “Arcadian idyll” sharply contrasts with the general content of the work. The poet does not allow the nobleman to die in his homeland, to which he is not involved:
Lulled by gentle singing,
Mediterranean wave, like a child,
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting impatiently for your death).
Silently cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted by loud praise!..
The intense lyricism of the poem is resolved by a groan-song, in which a generalized image of the Russian land appears:
… motherland,
Name me such an abode,
I've never seen such an angle
Where would your sower and guardian be?
Where would a Russian man not moan!
At the climax of the poem, the theme of the Volga, the eternal heroine of Russian folk songs, appears:
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this groan a song -
Then the barge haulers walk with a towline.
Volga! Volga!.. In spring, full of water
You're not flooding the fields like that,
Like the great sorrow of the people
Our land is overflowing, -
Where there are people, there is a groan...
The poem ends with a painful question addressed to the people:
...Oh, my dear!
What does your endless groan mean?
Will you wake up full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
You've already done everything you could -
Created a song like a groan
And spiritually rested forever?..
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Here is the front entrance. On special days, Possessed by a servile illness, The whole city with some kind of fear Drives up to the cherished doors; Having written down their name and title, the guests leave for home, So deeply satisfied with themselves, What do you think - that is their calling! And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance is besieged by wretched faces: Projectors, place-seekers, And an elderly man, and a widow. From him and to him you know in the morning All the couriers are jumping with papers. Returning, some sing “tram-tram”, And other petitioners cry. Once I saw the men come here, Russian village people, They prayed at the church and stood in the distance, Hanging their brown heads to their chests; The doorman appeared. “Allow me,” they say with an expression of hope and torment. He looked at the guests: they were ugly to look at! Tanned faces and hands, A thin little Armenian on his shoulders, A knapsack on his bent backs, A cross on his neck and blood on his feet, Shod in homemade bast shoes (You know, they wandered for a long time From some distant provinces). Someone shouted to the doorman: “Drive away! Ours doesn’t like ragged rabble!” And the door slammed. After standing, the pilgrims untied their purses, but the porter did not let him in, not taking a meager contribution, and they went, blazing with the sun, repeating: “God judge him!”, spreading their arms hopelessly, and, as long as I could see them, they walked with their heads uncovered... And the owner of the luxurious chambers was still in a deep sleep... You, who consider life to be enviable The intoxication of shameless flattery, Red tape, gluttony, gambling, Wake up! There is still pleasure: Turn them back! their salvation lies in you! But the happy are deaf to good... Heavenly thunders do not frighten you, But you hold earthly ones in your hands, And these unknown people carry inexorable grief in their hearts. .. It doesn’t matter what the man endures: So the providence guiding us Indicated... but he’s used to it! Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern, the poor people will drink everything down to the ruble And they will go, begging along the road, And they will groan... Native land! Name me such a monastery, I have never seen such a corner, Where would your sower and guardian be, Where would the Russian peasant not groan? He groans through the fields, along the roads, He groans through prisons, through prisons, In mines, on an iron chain; He groans under a barn, under a haystack, Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe; Moans in his own poor house, The light of God's sun is not happy; Moans in every remote town, At the entrance of courts and chambers. Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard Over the great Russian river? We call this groan a song - The barge haulers are walking along the towline!.. Volga! Volga!.. In the spring of abundant water You do not flood the fields, As our land is overflowing with the great sorrow of the people, - Where the people are, there is a groan... Eh, my heart! What does your endless groan mean? Will you wake up, full of strength, Or, obeying the law of fate, You have already accomplished everything that you could, - Created a song like a groan, And rested spiritually forever?..
Notes: The poem, according to Panaeva’s memoirs, “was written by Nekrasov when he was in the blues. He then lay on the sofa all day, ate almost nothing and did not accept anyone with him. [...] The next morning I got up early and, going to the window, became interested in the peasants sitting on the steps of the front entrance stairs in the house where the Minister of State Property lived (M. N. Muravyov.- V. Korovin). It was deep autumn, the morning was cold and rainy. In all likelihood, the peasants wanted to submit some kind of petition and came to the house early in the morning. The porter, sweeping the street, drove them away; They took cover behind the ledge of the entrance and shifted from foot to foot, pressed against the wall and getting wet in the rain. I went to Nekrasov and told him about the scene I had seen. He approached the window at the moment when the house janitors and the policeman were driving the peasants away, pushing them in the back. Nekrasov pursed his lips and nervously pinched his mustache; then he quickly moved away from the window and lay down again on the sofa. About two hours later he read me the poem “At the Main Entrance.” Nekrasov completely reworked real life material, introducing themes of universal evil, biblical associations, motives of the highest court and retribution. All this gave the poem a generalized symbolic meaning. The idea of “salvation among the people” is combined with thoughts about the tragic fate of the people. Many motifs of the poem go back to the “satirical ode”
Krinitsyn A.B.
Nekrasov most clearly and clearly formulates his attitude towards the people in “Reflections on the Front Entrance.” This is a kind of creative manifesto of Nekrasov. If we try to analyze the genre of this poem, we will be forced to admit that we have never encountered anything like this before. It is structured like a real indictment. This is a work of oratory, and Nekrasov uses literally all the techniques of rhetoric (the art of eloquence). Its beginning is deliberately prosaic in its descriptive intonation: “Here is the front entrance...”, which refers us rather to the realistic genre of the essay. Moreover, this front entrance really existed and was visible to Nekrasov from the windows of his apartment, which also served as the editorial office of the Sovremennik magazine. But from the first lines it becomes clear that what is important to Nekrasov is not so much the entrance itself, but the people who come to him, who are portrayed sharply satirically:
Possessed by a servile illness,
The whole city is in some kind of fright
Drives up to the treasured doors;
Having written down your name and rank,
The guests are leaving for home,
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that’s their calling!
Thus, Nekrasov makes a broad generalization: “the whole city” is “driving up to the cherished doors.” The front entrance appears before us as a symbol of the world of the rich and powerful, before whom the entire capital grovels servilely. By the way, the house and entrance described by Nekrasov belonged to Count Chernyshov, who earned notoriety in society for heading the investigative commission on the affairs of the Decembrists, and passed a strict guilty verdict against his relative, hoping to take possession of the property left after him. Hints that this person is odious (that is, hated by everyone) will later appear in the verse (“Silently cursed by the fatherland, exalted by loud praise”).
The poor part of the city is immediately depicted as an antithesis:
And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Projectors, place-seekers,
And an elderly man and a widow.
Next, Nekrasov goes on to describe a specific episode: “Once I saw it, the men came here, Russian village people...”. The last two epithets seem redundant at first glance: it is already clear that since they are men, that means they are from the Russian village. But in this way, Nekrasov expands his generalization: it turns out that in the person of these men, the whole of peasant Russia approaches the entrance with a plea for help and justice. The appearance of the men and their behavior emphasize Christian traits: poverty, gentleness, humility, gentleness. They are called “pilgrims,” like wanderers to holy places, “tanned faces and hands” make one remember the hot sun of Jerusalem and the deserts, where the holy hermits retired (“And they went, scorched by the sun”). “The cross on the neck and the blood on the feet” speak of their martyrdom. Before approaching the entrance, they “prayed at the church.” They beg to be let in “with an expression of hope and anguish,” and when they are refused, they leave “with their heads uncovered,” “repeating: “God judge him!” In the Christian understanding, under the guise of every beggar, Christ himself comes to a person and knocks on the door: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.” (Rev. 3.20). Nekrasov thus wants to appeal to the Christian feelings of readers and awaken in their hearts pity for the unfortunate men.
In the second part, the poet sharply changes his tone and makes angry accusations against the “owner of luxurious chambers”:
You, who consider life enviable
The intoxication of shameless flattery,
Red tape, gluttony, gaming,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Turn them back! their salvation lies in you!
But the happy are deaf to goodness...
To further shame the dignitary, the accusatory poet describes the pleasures and luxuries of his life, painting pictures of Sicily, a favorite medical resort in Europe at that time, where his “eternal holiday of fast running” life will come to an end:
More serene than an Arcadian idyll
The old days will set:
Under the captivating sky of Sicily,
In the fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Plunges into the azure sea,
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean wave - like a child
You will fall asleep...
So Nekrasov unexpectedly resorts to the genre of idyll, which nothing predicted in this poem, drawing a beautiful Mediterranean landscape. Romantic epithets appear: “captivating”, “affectionate”, “fragrant”, “purple”, “azure”. The special rhythm also corresponds to the content: Nekrasov combines masculine and dactylic rhymes [v], and sometimes additionally uses intonation transfers, dividing one sentence between two lines: “With stripes of his gold, - Lulled by the gentle singing - of the Mediterranean wave, - like a child, - You will fall asleep...”, rocking us on the waves of a poetic melody, as if on the waves of a warm sea. However, this beauty is deadly for the rich man - in the literal sense of the word, because we are talking about his death against the backdrop of such a beautiful scenery:
You will fall asleep... surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting impatiently for your death);
<...>And you will go to your grave... hero,
Silently cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted by loud praise!..
Finally, the poet abandons the attention of the rich man and turns not to him, but to the readers, as if convinced that his heart still cannot be reached: “However, why are we bothering such a person for small people?” and takes on the tone of a corrupt journalist, accustomed to hiding the problems and ills of society and writing about them in a condescending and derogatory manner:
... Even more fun
Find some consolation in something...
It doesn’t matter what the man will endure:
This is how providence guides us
Pointed... but he's used to it!
Speaking on his own behalf, Nekrasov, in a mournful and sympathetic tone, paints the perspective of the true hardships and grievances of the men who left with nothing, which unfolds into an epic picture of popular suffering. The verse takes on the measured, stately movement of a drawn-out folk song. The former melodious alternation of dactylic and masculine rhymes is replaced by an alternation of masculine and feminine ones, which is why the verse acquires firmness and, as it were, “fills with strength.” But this “power” is inseparable from unbearable suffering: the key motive and general intonation of the song is a groan:
… Motherland!
Name me such an abode,
I've never seen such an angle
Where would your sower and guardian be?
Where would a Russian man not moan?
He moans across the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, in prisons,
In the mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the haystack,
Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor house,
I am not happy with the light of God's sun;
Moans in every remote town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
The verb “moans” sounds again and again at the beginning of several lines (that is, it acts as an anaphor), moreover, its constituent sounds are repeated, “echoed” in neighboring words (“he groans ... along the prisons ... under the haystack”). One gets the feeling that the same mournful cry is incessantly heard in all corners of the country. The peasant, so humiliated and powerless, appears as a “sower and preserver,” the creative basis of life for the entire Russian land. It is spoken of in the singular, which conventionally denotes the plurality - the entire Russian people (this technique - singular instead of plural - is also rhetorical and is called synecdoche). Finally, in Nekrasov’s lyrics, barge haulers become the living embodiment of people’s suffering, whose groan echoes over the entire Russian land, spilling over with “the great sorrow of the people.” Nekrasov turns to the Volga, making it at the same time a symbol of the Russian land, the Russian people's element and at the same time of people's suffering:
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
<...>Volga! Volga!.. In spring, full of water
You're not flooding the fields like that,
Like the great sorrow of the people
Our land is overflowing...
The word “moan” is repeated many times, to the point of exaggeration, and grows into a comprehensive concept: the groan is heard throughout the Volga - the “great Russian river”, characterizes the entire life of the Russian people. And the poet asks the last question, which hangs in the air, about the meaning of this groan, about the fate of the Russian people, and, accordingly, all of Russia.
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless groan mean?
Will you wake up full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
You have already done everything you could, -
Created a song like a groan
And spiritually rested forever?..
This question may seem rhetorical, may seem overly politicized (like a call for an immediate uprising), but from our time perspective we can only state that it really always remains relevant, that the amazing humility of the “patience of an amazing people”, the ability to endure unimaginable suffering in the very in fact, is its essential feature, which more than once turns out to be both saving and hindering the development of society and dooming it to apathy, decay and anarchy.
So, from the image of a certain front entrance, the poem expands to the breadth of the Volga expanses, all of Russia and its eternal questions. Now we can define the genre of this poem as a pamphlet. This is a magazine genre, a genre of political article - a bright, imaginative presentation of one’s political position, distinguished by its propaganda character and passionate rhetoric.
Another programmatic poem for Nekrasov was “The Railway”. Many researchers consider it as a poem. If we compared “Reflections at the Front Entrance” with the pamphlet genre, then the designation of another magazine genre – feuilleton – could not be more applicable to “The Railway”.
A seemingly insignificant conversation on a train between a boy and his general father leads the poet to “think” about the role of the people in Russia and the attitude of the upper strata of society towards them.
The poet describes the front entrance of a house belonging to an influential and wealthy nobleman. “On special days” many people come to see him.
Having written down your name and rank,
The guests are leaving for home,
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that’s their calling!
They come to remind the powerful owner of the house about themselves.
On ordinary weekdays, the entrance is also in full swing with life: a crowd of ordinary people - “searchlighters, place-seekers, and an elderly old man, and a widow,” couriers scurrying around with papers. Some petitioners leave there satisfied, while others leave with tears in their eyes.
One day the poet saw men, “village Russian people,” approach the entrance and ask the doorman to let them in. Looking around the guests, the doorman found them unsightly.
Tanned faces and hands,
The Armenian boy is thin on his shoulders,
On a knapsack on their bent backs,
Cross on my neck and blood on my feet,
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(You know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
The doorman was ordered to drive the men out of the house - the owner “does not like ragged rabble.” The wanderers untied their wallets, but the doorman did not take the “meager contribution” and did not let them into the house. The men left, scorched by the sun, “throwing up their arms hopelessly,” and walked for a long time with their heads uncovered. “And the owner of the luxurious chambers” was sleeping soundly at that time.
The poet calls on the nobleman to wake up, leave “red tape, gluttony, gambling” and shameless flattery, which he considers his life, and accept the poor petitioners, because only in them is his salvation. “But the happy are deaf to good” - heavenly thunders do not frighten the rich man, and earthly power is in his hands.
The rich man doesn't care about the common people. His life is an eternal holiday that does not allow him to wake up and see the people's poverty and sorrow. And the nobleman doesn’t need this. And without worrying about the people's welfare, he will live and die “with glory.”
The poet ironically describes how the nobleman lives out his days “under the captivating sky of Sicily,” contemplating the magnificent sunsets over the Mediterranean Sea, and then dies, surrounded by his family, impatiently awaiting his death.
They will bring your remains to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to your grave... hero,
Silently cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted by loud praise!...
However, such a significant person should not be disturbed “for small people.” On the contrary, it is better to “take your anger out” on them - it is both safe and fun. But the man will endure as usual, as “the providence guiding us” indicated to him. Having drunk their last kopecks “in a wretched tavern,” the men groan and return home, “begging along the way.”
The poet does not know a place where the Russian peasant, “the sower and the preserver,” does not moan. His groan is heard from everywhere - from fields and roads; from prisons, prisons and mines; from barns and poor houses; from the “entrance of courts and chambers”.
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this groan a song -
The barge haulers are walking with a towline!...
The poet compares the people's grief, with which “our land is overflowing,” with the spring flood of the mighty Volga. He asks: what does this endless groan mean? Will the people wake up “full of strength”? Or he has already done everything he could - “created a song like a groan.”
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov
Here is the front entrance. On special days,
Possessed by a servile illness,
The whole city is in some kind of fright
Drives up to the treasured doors;
Having written down your name and rank,
The guests are leaving for home,
So deeply pleased with ourselves
What do you think - that’s their calling!
And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Projectors, place-seekers,
And an elderly man and a widow.
From him and to him you know in the morning
All the couriers are jumping around with papers.
Returning, another hums “tram-tram”,
And other petitioners cry.
Once I saw the men come here,
Village Russian people,
They prayed at the church and stood away,
Hanging their brown heads to their chests;
The doorman appeared. “Allow me,” they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they were ugly to look at!
Tanned faces and hands,
The Armenian boy is thin on his shoulders,
On a knapsack on their bent backs,
Cross on my neck and blood on my feet,
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(You know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the doorman: “Drive!
Ours doesn’t like ragged rabble!”
And the door slammed. After standing,
The pilgrims untied their wallets,
But the doorman did not let me in, without taking a meager contribution,
And they went, scorched by the sun,
Repeating: “God judge him!”
Throwing up hopeless hands,
And while I could see them,
They walked with their heads uncovered...
And the owner of luxurious chambers
I was still in deep sleep...
You, who consider life enviable
The intoxication of shameless flattery,
Red tape, gluttony, gaming,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Turn them back! their salvation lies in you!
But the happy are deaf to goodness...
The thunder of heaven does not frighten you,
And you hold earthly ones in your hands,
And these unknown people carry
Inexorable grief in the hearts.
Why do you need this crying sorrow?
What do you need these poor people?
Eternal holiday quickly running
Life doesn't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers3 fun
You are calling for the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory
And you will die with glory!
More serene than an Arcadian idyll4
The old days will set.
Under the captivating sky of Sicily,
In the fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Plunges into the azure sea,
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean wave - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting impatiently for your death);
They will bring your remains to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to your grave... hero,
Silently cursed by the fatherland,
Exalted by loud praise!..
However, why are we such a person?
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take our anger out on them?
Safer... Even more fun
Find some consolation in something...
It doesn’t matter what the man will endure:
This is how providence guides us
Pointed out... but he’s used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern
The poor will drink everything down to the ruble
And they will go, begging along the road,
And they will groan... Native land!
Name me such an abode,
I've never seen such an angle
Where would your sower and guardian be?
Where would a Russian man not moan?
He moans across the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, in prisons,
In the mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the haystack,
Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor house,
I am not happy with the light of God's sun;
Moans in every remote town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
Go out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this groan a song -
The barge haulers are walking with a towline!..
Volga! Volga!.. In spring, full of water
You're not flooding the fields like that,
Like the great sorrow of the people
Our land is overflowing, -
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless groan mean?
Will you wake up full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
You have already done everything you could, -
Created a song like a groan
And spiritually rested forever?..
The textbook poem “Reflections at the Front Entrance” was written by Nikolai Nekrasov in 1858, becoming one of the many works that the author dedicated to the common people. The poet grew up on a family estate, but due to the cruelty of his own father, he realized very early that the world was divided into rich and poor. Nekrasov himself was among those who were forced to eke out a semi-beggarly existence, since he was deprived of an inheritance and earned his living independently from the age of 16. Understanding what it was like for ordinary peasants in this soulless and unjust world, the poet regularly addressed social issues in his works. What depressed him most was the fact that the peasants did not know how to defend their rights and did not even know what exactly they could count on under the law. As a result, they are forced to turn into petitioners, whose fate directly depends not so much on the whim of a high-ranking person, but on the mood of an ordinary doorman.
Petitioners visit one of the houses in St. Petersburg especially often, because the governor lives here. But getting to him is not an easy task, since a formidable doorman stands in the way of the applicants, shod in “homemade bast shoes.” It is he who decides who is worthy of meeting with an official and who should be driven away, even despite a meager offering. Such an attitude towards petitioners is the norm, although the peasants, naively believing in the myth of the good master, blame his servants for everything and leave without achieving justice. However, Nekrasov understands that the problem lies not in the doormen, but in the representatives of power themselves, for whom there is nothing sweeter than “the intoxication of shameless power.” Such people are not afraid of “heavenly thunder,” and they easily solve all earthly problems with the power of their own power and money. Such officials are not at all interested in the needs of ordinary people, and the poet focuses on this in his poem. The author is outraged that there is such a gradation in society, due to which it is impossible to achieve justice without money and high social status. Moreover, the Russian peasant is a constant source of irritation and a reason for anger for such a bureaucrat. No one thinks about the fact that it is the peasants who support the entire modern society, which is unable to do without free labor. The fact that all people, by definition, are born free is deliberately hidden, and Nekrasov dreams that someday justice will triumph.
