Yaroslavna cries early in putivl. Lament of Yaroslavna (Old Russian text in the reconstruction of Dmitry Likhachev). V. I. Stelletsky. Prayer-prayer of Yaroslavna. Poetic arrangement
A WORD ABOUT IGOREV'S REGULATION,
IGOR SON SVYATOSLAVOV, GRANDSON OLGOV
Translation by Vladimir Stelletsky
Is it not fitting for us, brothers,
to tell sad stories in an old way
about Igor's campaign, Igor Svyatoslavich?
To sing that song according to the past of our time,
and not according to Boyanov's intention.
Boyan prophetic, brothers, if someone wanted to lay down a song.
spreading thought along the tree,
ran like a gray wolf on the ground,
a gray eagle - in the clouds:
After all, he, the prophetic, commemorated the ancient times of fighting. Then he sent ten falcons on a flock of swans, which the falcon caught up with,
that first song composed
old Yaroslav,
brave Mstislav,
who defeated Rededya in front of the regiments of Kasozh, whether young Roman Svyatoslavich.
Boyan, brothers, not ten falcons for a flock of swans
let,
but he laid his prophetic fingers on living strings,
they themselves rumbled glory to the princes.
Let's lead, brothers, our story
from old Vladimir to present Igor;
he strained his mind with his will,
he sharpened his heart with courage;
full of fighting spirit,
led his brave regiments to the Polovtsian land for the Russian land.
Then Igor looked at the bright sun
and sees: darkness from him
all his soldiers are covered.
And Igor said to his squad:
"Brothers and squad!
Better to be killed
than to be full, -
sit down, brothers, on our greyhound horses,
let's look at the distance of the blue Don!
Inflamed the prince's mind with desire,
and a sign of thirst obscured him
to know the great Don.
“I want,” he said, “to break a spear in the Polovtsian field together with you, Russians;
I either want to lay down my head
or drink Don with a helmet!
O Boyan, nightingale of the old days!
If only you sang this army with your song,
galloping, nightingale, along the mental tree,
soaring mind under the clouds,
weaving glory on both sides of this time!
Ryshcha Troyan's path through the fields to the mountains,
so to sing a song about Igor to Velesov's grandson:
“Not a storm of falcons brought across the wide fields,
and not jackdaws fly in flocks to the great Don ... "
Or so to sing, prophetic Boyan, Velesov's grandson:
"Horses neigh for Sula -
glory rings in Kyiv.
Trumpets blow in Novgorod -
there are banners in Putivl;
Igor is waiting for his dear brother Vsevolod.
And the buoy-tour Vsevolod told him:
“One brother, one bright light - you, Igor,
both of us are Svyatoslavichs!
Saddle, brother, your greyhound horses,
and mine are ready, they are saddled near Kursk,
And my Kurians are seasoned warriors:
under the pipes are combat wraps,
cherished under the helmets,
fed from the end of the spear;
they know the way,
ravines are known
their bows are strained,
the quivers are open,
sabers are sharp;
they themselves jump like gray wolves in the field,
seeking honor for himself, and glory to the prince.
Then Prince Igor stepped into the golden stirrup
and drove across the open field.
The sun blocked his path with darkness,
the night moaned like a thunderstorm to him, awakened the birds,
the roar of an animal into the herds knocked them down.
Div calls from the top of the tree -
orders to listen to the unknown land,
Volga, and Pomorie, and Posulia,
and Surozh, and Korsun,
and you, Tmutorokan idol!
And the Polovtsians ran along untorque roads to the Great Don;
wagons scream at midnight like frightened swans. Igor leads warriors to the Don.
And the birds in the oak forests guard his misfortune;
wolves call a thunderstorm along the ravines;
eagles scream on the bones of the beast;
the foxes are barking at the red shields.
For a long time the darkness of the night lasts.
Dawn lit the light
darkness covered the field.
The nightingale's tickle fell asleep,
the talk of the jackdaws has awakened.
Rusichi blocked wide fields with their scarlet shields,
seeking honor for himself, and glory to the prince.
Early Friday morning they trampled the filthy shelves
Polovtsian
and scattered arrows across the field,
rushed the red Polovtsian girls,
and with them gold, and silk, and expensive Aksamites. Cloaks, bedspreads and opashnyas, and various patterned Polovtsian
bridges began to be built over swamps and swampy places. Black banner, white banner,
black bangs, silver peak -
brave Svyatoslavich!
In the field, Olga's good nest is dozing, it has flown far away!
It was not born to offend either the falcon or the gyrfalcon
neither to you, black raven, filthy polovchin!
Gza runs like a gray wolf,
Konchak followed him - to the great Don!
The next day at an early hour
bloody dawns herald the light;
black clouds come from the sea -
want to cover the four suns,
and blue lightnings tremble in them.
Be great thunder!
To rain with arrows from the Great Don!
Here the spears break
here to beat the sabers
about Polovtsian helmets
on the river on Kayala, near the Great Don.
Oh Russian land - oh warriors! Over the hill you went to the frontier!
Here are the winds, Stribog's grandchildren, blow from the sea with arrows on
brave regiments of Igor.
The earth hums, the rivers flow muddy,
dust covers the field, splashing, banners say,
Polovtsy come from the Don and from the sea,
Russian regiments surrounded from all sides.
Children of demons blocked the fields with a click,
and the brave Russians - with scarlet shields!
Yar-tur Prince Vsevolod!
You stand on the defensive
pimple on warriors with arrows,
you thunder against helmets with damask swords;
where, tour, no matter how you jump, with your golden helmet
shining,
there lie the filthy Polovtsian heads.
Avar helmets were chopped with red-hot sabers
yours, yar-tour Vsevolod!
What are the wounds, brothers,
who forgot the honor and wealth, and the city of Chernigov father
golden throne,
and his dear wife, clear Glebovna, habits and customs.
There were centuries of Troyanov,
the summers of Yaroslav have passed;
there were campaigns of Olegov, Oleg Svyatoslavich.
That Oleg forged sedition with a sword
and sowed arrows on the ground:
enters the golden stirrup in the city of Tmutorokani,
that ringing was heard by the old great Vsevolod, the son
Yaroslavov,
and Vladimir, every morning, pawned his ears in Chernigov;
Boris Vyacheslavich
boasting brought to the death court,
young and brave prince,
and on Kanin she spread a green bed for insulting Olegov. With the same as now, Kayaly was taken by Svyatopolk father
his
between Ugric pacers to St. Sophia to Kyiv.
Then, under Oleg Gorislavich,
sown and germinated by strife,
the side of Dazhdbozh's grandson perished,
in princely sedition, the human age was reduced;
then, across the Russian land, plowmen rarely shouted,
but often the crows croaked,
dividing the dead among themselves,
and the jackdaws started their speech,
intending to fly for a living.
It was in those battles and in those campaigns,
but no such battle has been heard of.
From dawn to evening
from evening to light
arrows are flying,
sabers rattle on helmets,
crackle copy damask
in an unknown field, among the Polovtsian land.
The black earth under the hooves was sown with bones,
and watered with blood;
grief they ascended the Russian land!
What is making noise, what is ringing from afar
early before dawn?
Igor returns to the regiment battle:
sorry for his dear brother Vsevolod!
Fought a day, fought another,
on the third day, by noon, Igor's banners fell.
Here two brothers parted on the banks of the fast Kayala
no bloody wine here
here the brave Russians finished the feast:
got the matchmakers drunk,
and they themselves fell
for the Russian land.
Grass dies with pity,
Already sad, brothers, the time has come,
the Desert has already covered the Russian Force!
Resentment arose with enmity in the regiments of Dazhdbozh's grandson,
she entered the land of Troyanov as a virgin,
splashed with swan wings on the blue sea near the Don,
splashing, drove free times!
The war of the princes with the filthy has come to an end,
for brother said to brother: “This is mine, and this is mine!”
And the princes began to say about the small "this is great"
and forge sedition on themselves,
and the filthy from all sides came with war and misfortune to the Russian land.
O! A falcon flew far away - to the sea, beating birds.
But Igor's brave regiment cannot be resurrected!
Karna clicked on him,
And Zhlya ran across the Russian land,
carrying the funeral heat in a fiery horn.
The Russian wives wept, lamenting:
“Already we can’t think of our dear ones,
don't even think about it,
not to be seen with eyes
and gold and silver are certainly no fun!”
And groaned, brothers, Kyiv from grief,
and Chernigov from troubles and misfortunes,
longing spread across the Russian land,
plentiful sadness flowed among the Russian land.
And the princes forged sedition on themselves,
and the filthy ones, with war and victories, scouring the Russian land,
tribute was collected by veksha from the court.
Those two brave Svyatoslavichs,
Igor and Vsevolod,
awakened falsehood by arbitrariness;
their father humbled her with a thunderstorm, the great formidable Svyatoslav
Kyiv,
frightened with his mighty regiments and damask swords,
invaded the Polovtsian land,
trampled hills and ravines,
stirred up rivers and lakes,
dried up streams and swamps,
and the filthy Kobyak from the Lukomorye,
from the iron great Polovtsian regiments, like a whirlwind,
snatched,
and Kobiak fell in the city of Kyiv,
in the Gridnitsa of Svyatoslav.
There are Germans and Venetics,
here the Greeks and the Moravia
sing the glory of Svyatoslav,
reproach Prince Igor,
that he sunk the good at the bottom of the Kayala, the Polovtsian river. Russian gold was sprinkled!
Here Prince Igor moved from the golden saddle to the saddle
slave!
Their mighty Kremlins were despondent over the city, and their joy drooped.
And Svyatoslav saw a sad dream in Kyiv on the mountains.
“On this very night from the evening they dressed me,” he said, “with a black veil on my yew bed,
they scooped me blue, sinister wine, mixed with bitterness;
from the empty quivers of the filthy interpreters, they poured down-to-earth pearls on my chest, dressing me up.
Already boards without mats in my golden-domed tower!
All night since the evening, prophetic crows croaked near Plesnesk on the floodplain,
they flew from the darkness of the Kisansky gorge
and rushed to the blue sea.
And the boyars said to the prince:
“Woe, prince, the mind has overcome:
two falcons flew down from the father's golden throne
look for the city of Tmutorokani
or drink Don's helmet.
Filthy sabers have already cut the falcons' wings,
and they themselves were confused with iron fetters
For it became dark on the third day: two suns were eclipsed
both pillars of crimson went out - darkened,
and with them two young months, Oleg and Svyatoslav, darkness
veiled
and plunged into the sea.
They gave great audacity to the newcomers-Khinov.
On the river on Kayala Darkness covered the Light;
the Polovtsy rushed to the Russian land, like a brood
leopards.
Disgrace has already fallen on Glory,
Violence has already struck at Will,
Div has already fallen to the ground!
The Gothic beauties of the maiden sang on the shore of the blue sea, ringing with Russian gold;
sing busovo time,
cherish revenge for Sharukanov's misfortune.
And already we, the squad, have lost fun!
Then the great Svyatoslav dropped the golden word,
mixed with tears, saying:
“O my sons, Igor and Vsevolod!
Until the time you began to drive the Polovtsian land with swords into tears,
and achieve glory for yourself,
but not with honor entered the battle,
not with honor you spilled blood filthy!
Your brave hearts are bound with strong damask steel,
and hardened in the distance!
What have you done to my silver gray hair?
And I no longer see the power and help of the mighty and rich,
and my multiple brother Yaroslav
with the Chernihiv nobles,
with governors, with elders, with shelbir boyars;
with topchak warriors, with heroes, with brave men,
but they are without shields, with boot knives,
with a click the regiments win,
ringing great-grandfather glory!
But you said: "Let's fight ourselves,
we alone will seize the new glory - and the former ourselves
let's share!"
Is it really so wonderful, brothers, for the old to become younger?
When the falcon molts
drives the birds high -
will not give his nest to offense!
But here's the evil: the princes swore to help me;
turned to a bad time!”
Behold in Rimov they shout under Polovtsian sabers,
and Vladimir is seriously wounded,
Woe and longing to the son of Glebov!
Grand Duke Vsevolod!
It’s not just a thought to fly to you from afar, father’s gold
watch the throne!
After all, you can splash the Volga with oars, and scoop out the Don with helmets!
If only you were here, the captives would be sold for next to nothing, and the captives even more so!
After all, you can shoot alive on land with firearms - the daring sons of Glebov.
You, buoy Rurik, and Davyd!
Don't you have warriors on helmets gilded in blood
swam?
Do not you have roaring, like tours, brave warriors, wounded by red-hot sabers on an unknown field? Enter, sovereigns, into the golden stirrup for this offense
time
daring Svyatoslavich!
Galician Prince Osmomysl Yaroslav!
You sit high on your gold-forged throne,
you supported the Ugrian mountains with iron shelves,
you blocked the way of the king, shut the gates of the Danube,
throwing bulks for the clouds,
courts are as far as the Danube!
Your thunderstorms flow across the lands,
you open the gates of Kyiv,
you shoot from the golden throne at the sultans
behind the lands
shoot, sir, at Konchak, at the filthy slave, for the Russian land, for the wounds of Igor,
daring Svyatoslavich!
And you, buoy Roman, and Mstislav!
Brave thought directs your mind to work!
You rise high, you swim. Roman, on a feat in
valor,
like a falcon, spreading in the winds,
who wished to overcome the bird in dashing!
Warriors wear your iron shells
under Latin helmets!
From them the earth trembled, and many tribes,
Khino enemy: Lithuania, Yatvingians, Deremela and Polovtsy -
threw down their spears,
and bowed their heads
under those blued swords.
But already, prince, for Igor the light of the sun has faded,
and the tree dropped its leaves for no good:
divided the cities along Ros and Sula,
and Igor's brave regiment cannot be resurrected!
Don you, prince, calls and calls the princes to victory:
Olgovichi, brave princes, have already worked hard in battle!
Ingvar and Vsevolod and all three Mstislavichs!
Not bad nests of six-winged falcons!
Not by lots of victories did the volosts get themselves!
Why your golden helmets, and Lyash spears, and shields?
Block the gates of your enemies with your sharp arrows
for the Russian land, for the wounds of Igor,
daring Svyatoslavich!
Judgment no longer flows like silver streams for hail
Pereyaslavl,
and the Dvina flows with dark dregs to those formidable Polochans under the cliques of the filthy.
Only Izyaslav, son of Vasilkov,
clanged with his sharp swords on the Lithuanian helmets, cast down the glory of his grandfather Vseslav,
and himself, under red shields on the bloody grass, was defeated by Lithuanian swords,
and, betrothed to his betrothed, he said:
“Your squad, prince, the birds dressed up with wings, and the animals licked the blood!”
There was neither brother Bryachislav, nor another - Vsevolod,
he alone dropped a pearly soul from a brave body through a golden necklace!
trumpets trumpet gorodensky.
Yaroslav, also you, all the grandchildren of Vseslavov!
Bow down your banners,
sheathe your shattered swords -
you have strayed from your grandfather's glory!
You began to induce nasty people with your sedition
to the Russian land,
to the volost Vseslavov:
because of strife-distemper came to us violence
from the Polovtsian land!
In the seventh century, Vseslav threw a lot for a girl in Troyan, any one for him.
He, leaning on his horses with cunning, galloped to the city of Kyiv
and touched the golden throne of Kyiv with a peak;
spied from the regiments a fierce beast at midnight from Belgorod and soared in a blue cloud,
and in the morning he plunged axes: he opened the gates of Novgorod - he smashed the glory of Yaroslavov.
He rode like a wolf to Nemiga from Dudutki,
on Nemiga sheaves of heads are laid, threshed with flails
damask,
put life on the current, blow the soul from the body.
Nemiga's bloody shores were not sown with good - they were sown with the bones of Russian sons!
Prince Vseslav judged people by court,
lined the princes of the city,
and he himself roamed like a wolf in the night,
from Kyiv he ran like a wolf to roosters in Tmutorokan;
overtook the great Horse on the way.
The bells rang for him in Polotsk early in the morning
at Hagia Sophia
and he heard the ringing in Kyiv!
Although the soul of the sorcerer was in a brave body,
but often suffered from adversity.
The prophetic, wise Boyan said in an old chorus about him:
"Neither cunning, nor much,
nor much seer
the judgment of God cannot be avoided!
O! Moaning the Russian land, remembering the old time
and former princes!
That old Vladimir could not have been nailed to the mountains of Kyiv!
And now his banners have become Rurik's,
and those are the Davydovs.
But apart their banners blow, their spears sing in different ways.
An unknown cuckoo calls early:
“I will fly,” he says, “like a cuckoo along the Danube,
I will soak a silk sleeve in the Kayala River,
I will wipe away the prince's bloody wounds on his mighty body.
Yaroslavna weeps early in the morning in Putivl at the loopholes of the Kremlin, lamenting:
“O wind-wind!
Why, my lord, do you blow with counter-force,
why do you aim the enemy's arrows on your light wings at my frets of warriors?
Have you not enough, high under the clouds of the sea, to cherish the ships on the blue sea?
Why, sir, is my joy across the feather grass field
dispelled?"
Yaroslavna is crying at dawn in Putivl-city on the fence of the Kremlin, lamenting:
“Oh Dnepr Slovutich!
You broke through the stone mountains among the Polovtsian land with a wave,
you cherished on your jets Svyatoslav's boats to the regiment of Kobyakov -
attach, sir, my fret to me, so that she does not send tears to him on the sea early.
Yaroslavna cries early in the morning in Putivl on the wall of the Kremlin, lamenting:
“Bright and crackling Sun!
You are all warm and beautiful!
Why, my lord, did you spread your hot rays on the warriors of the frets,
in a waterless field with thirst he bent his bows,
closed the quivers with melancholy?
The sea roared at midnight
tornadoes are coming in clouds.
God shows the way to Prince Igor
from the Polovtsian land to the Russian land
to the father's golden throne.
Dawns went out in the evening.
Igor sleeps - Igor looks,
Igor measures fields with thought
from the great Don to the small Donets.
At midnight Ovlur whistled his horse across the river,
tells the prince to understand:
“Prince Igor should not be here!” - clicked.
The earth knocked, the grass rustled -
the Polovtsian towers were alarmed!
And Prince Igor rode like an ermine into the reeds,
flew like a white gogol into the water;
jumped on a greyhound horse,
jumped off him like a werewolf
and ran to the Donets meadow,
and flew like a falcon under the cloud,
beating geese and swans
for breakfast, lunch and evening.
When Igor flew like a falcon,
then Ovlur ran like a wolf,
shaking the icy dew,
they drove their greyhound horses!
Donets said: “Prince Igor!
You have a lot of greatness
and Konchak mourning,
and joy to the Russian land!
Igor said: “Oh my Donets!
You have a lot of greatness
who cherished the prince on the waves,
who spread green grass for him on his silver banks,
dressing him in warm darkness under the shade of a green tree;
you guarded him with a gogol on the water,
seagulls on streams,
blacken on the winds!
The river Stugna is not known like this: having an unkind stream,
swallowing other people's streams and waters,
expanding towards the mouth
she hid the youth of Prince Rostislav at the bottom near the dark shore.
Rostislavov's mother is crying
after the young prince Rostislav.
The flowers are despondent in sorrow,
and the tree bowed to the ground in sorrow.
And not magpies chirped -
Gza and Konchak are on the trail of Igor.
Then the crows did not croak,
the jackdaws fell silent,
magpies did not chirp,
the creeps subsided, they only crawled.
Woodpeckers knock the way to the river,
nightingales herald the light with merry songs.
Says Gza Konchak:
“If the falcon flies to the nest,
We will shoot the Falcon with our gilded arrows.”
Konchak Gze says:
“If the falcon flies to the nest,
We will entangle Falcon with a red maiden.
And he said to Gza Konchak:
“If we entangle him with a red maiden,
we will not have a falcon,
there will be no red maiden,
and the birds will begin to beat us in the Polovtsian field!
Said Boyan, before him - Khodyna, singer Svyatoslavov, composers of songs about the old time -
Yaroslavov, Olegov, wives of the kagan:
"It's hard for you, head, without shoulders,
evil and a body without a head,
Russian land - without Igor!
The sun shines in the sky:
Prince Igor - in the Russian land.
The maidens sing on the Danube,
Igor is driving along Borichev to the Holy Mother of God Pirogoshcha.
The villages are happy, the cities are cheerful!
Singing a song to the old princes, it is necessary to sing to the young:
"Glory to Igor Svyatoslavich,
Bui-tour to Vsevolod,
Vladimir Igorevich!
Hello princes and squad,
that stand up for Christians on filthy shelves!
Glory to the princes and the squad!
4. According to the definition of the literary critic A. S. Orlov, the hero of "The Tale of Igor's Campaign" is not any of the princes, but the whole Russian land. How do you understand this idea? What single thought and mood permeates the entire work? What idea, very important for his time, was expressed by the author of "The Tale of Igor's Campaign"?
V. I. Stelletsky. Prayer-prayer of Yaroslavna. Poetic arrangement
"I'll fly like a cuckoo," he says, "on the Danube,
I will dip my silk sleeve in Kayala,
I will wipe the bloody, grieving, wounds
On the mighty body of the frets-prince.Yaroslavna on the wall of Putivl-grad
Early in the morning weeps, lamenting:"Wind, my lord!
Why are you blowing counter force?
Why do you carry on light wings
Enemy arrows
On the shelves of the spouse-lady,
Or is it not enough for you to blow in the sky under the clouds,
Ships to cherish in the blue sea?
Why, sir, my joy
Have you dispelled the feather-grass in the steppe?"Yaroslavna on the fence of the city of Putivl
Cries early in the morning, lamenting:"Dnepr Slovutich!
In the middle of the great steppe, Polovtsian,
You broke stone mountains with waves,
You cherished the boats of Svyatoslav
To the regiments of Kobyak,
Cling to me you fret, my lord,
So as not to send me tears to the sea early!On the wall of Putivl-grad Yaroslavna
Early in the morning weeps, lamenting:"The sun is bright, crackling you, the Sun!
You are warm to everyone, you are wonderful for everyone!
Why did he send sultry rays,
my lord,
You are the wife of the warriors
And in the waterless steppe, Polovtsian,
Luke you thirsty for them
And the quivers closed with grief?
I. I. Kozlov. Cry of Yaroslavna. Free imitation
Princess 3. A. Volkonskaya
That is not a cuckoo in a dark grove
Cooking early at dawn -
Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl
One on the city wall:
"I will leave the pine forest,
I will fly along the Danube,
And in the Kayal River beaver
I will wet my sleeve;
I will come home to my native place,
Where the bloody battle was in full swing,
Prince I will wash the wound
On his breast is young."Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl,
Dawn, on the city wall:
"Wind, wind, oh mighty!
Violent wind, what are you making noise?
What are you black clouds in the sky
And uplift and swirl?
What are you with light wings
Disturbed the flow of the river,
Veya Khan's arrows
On the native shelves?Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl,
Dawn, on the city wall:
"Is it close to blow in the clouds
From the steep mountains of a foreign land?
If you want to cherish
Ships in the blue sea
What did you do with fear?
Our share? for what
On the feather-grass dispelled
the joy of my heart?"Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl,
Dawn, on the city wall:
"My glorious Dnieper! You are the waves
The rocks of the Polovtsy broke through;
Svyatoslav with heroes
I ran for you.
Don't worry, the Dnieper is wide,
Fast current of icy waters, -
Imi my black-eyed prince
He will sail to holy Rus'.Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl,
Dawn, on the city wall:
"O river! Give me a friend -
On the waves of his cherish,
To a sad girlfriend
Embraced him quickly;
So that I don't see anymore
Prophetic horrors in a dream
So that I do not send tears to him
Blue sea at dawn."Yaroslavna is crying in Putivl,
Dawn, on the city wall:
"Sun, sun, you shine
Everything is beautiful and bright!
In a sultry field what do you burn
My friend's army
Thirst bows with bowstrings
Withered in their hands
And sadness is a quiver with arrows
She put it on her shoulders."And quietly in Yaroslavna's tower
Leaving the city wall.
Questions and tasks
1. Why does Yaroslavna appeal to different forces of nature three times?
1. Find in Yaroslavna's lament the features characteristic of folk poetry. Compare the text of "Words ..." and its literary transcriptions. Explain the meaning of folklore symbols that appear in Yaroslavna's words.
1. Read the transcriptions of Yaroslavna's lamentation by V. I. Stelletsky and I. I. Kozlov. How are these texts different and what do they have in common?
2. What image did the poets seek to create?
18th century literature
M. V. Lomonosov. G. R. Derzhavin. D. I. Fonvizin. N. M. Karamzin.
On Russian literature of the 18th century
"The Eighteenth Century". This name was given to his poem by Alexander Nikolaevich Radishchev, an outstanding writer and thinker, an unbending denunciator of despotism, the author of the famous book Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow, for the publication of which he paid for a long exile in Siberia. In 1801-1802 he summed up the past century in poetic form.
No, you will not be oblivious, the century is crazy and wise,
You will be damned forever, forever by the surprise of all.
…………………………………….
Oh unforgettable century! You give joyful mortals
Truth, liberty and light, a clear constellation forever ...
A seemingly contradictory assessment of the results of the past century is explained by the contradictions of the very Russian reality of that era. It was the age of creation, the triumph of the Enlightenment, the flourishing of culture, the free human mind, and at the same time the age of destruction, blood, uprisings, irreconcilable confrontations. In the 18th century, outstanding works were created in Russia, true masterpieces of literature, painting, sculpture, architecture, major successes were achieved in science and technology.
Assessing the past century, Radishchev paid tribute to Peter I and his persecutor Catherine II, although he was an opponent of autocracy and the policy of the empress.
Peace, judgment of truth, truth, liberty pour from the throne,
Ekaterina, raised by Peter, so that Russia would be happy.
Peter and you, Catherine! your spirit lives on with us.
See the new age, see your Russia...
So, what did the eighteenth century bring to the history of national culture.
About Russian classicism
In the thirties of the 18th century, classicism became the main trend in Russian art. Its largest representatives in literature were A. D. Kantemir, V. K. Trediakovsky, M. V. Lomonosov, A. P. Sumarokov, D. I. Fonvizin, M. M. Kheraskov, Ya. B. Knyazhnin, G. R. Derzhavin, in painting - A. P. Losenko, D. G. Levitsky, in architecture - V. I. Bazhenov, M. F. Kazakov. What united them, what tasks did they set for their work?
The word "classicism" is derived from the Latin classicus, which means "exemplary". In the 18th century, works of ancient art were considered exemplary, and the classicists began to turn to antiquity. This was expressed in the use by writers and artists of ancient plots and images, elements of Greek and Roman mythology.
Following the traditions of ancient authors, as well as European classicists, Russian writers affirmed in their works the ideas of enlightened absolutism, patriotism, citizenship, and the education of true sons of the Fatherland. You will see the development of these ideas by reading the odes of Lomonosov and Derzhavin. However, along with praise, Russian writers allowed themselves to express a critical attitude towards the absolute monarchy, denounce tyranny and arbitrariness, violating the laws of the state. This contributed to the development of the satirical orientation of Russian classicism.
The conflicts of the works of classicism have always been built on the clash of duty, reason and feeling, and they were resolved in favor of duty, affirming the priority of duties to the state, laws, and moral standards.
The classicists strictly followed the division of literary genres into high and low. The high ones were ode, tragedy, heroic poem, the low ones were satire, comedy, fable.
Cry of Yaroslavna. 1185 year.
On the Danube, Yaroslav's voice is heard, she calls early like an unknown seagull. "I'll fly, -
says, - like a seagull along the Danube, I will dip a silk sleeve in the Kayala River, I will wipe the prince's bloody
his wounds on his hot body."
Yaroslavna has been crying on the wall of Putivl since morning, lamenting: "O wind, sail! Why, sir,
do you whine so much? Why do you throw Khan's arrows on your light wings at warriors
my fret? Is it not enough for you to winnow under the clouds, nurturing the ships on the blue sea? Why,
sir, have you dispelled my merriment?"
Yaroslavna has been crying since morning on the wall of the city of Putivl, lamenting: "O Dnieper Slovutich! You
broke through the stone mountains through the Polovtsian land. You cherished Svyatoslav's boats on yourself
to the camp of Kobyakov. Cherish, sir, my harmony with me, so that I do not send early to
him tears at sea."
Yaroslavna has been crying on the wall in Putivl since morning, lamenting: "The bright and three-light sun! For
you all are warm and wonderful! Why, lord, did you send your hot rays to the warriors
frets? In the waterless field, their bows were pulled down by thirst, their quivers were stuffed up with grief.
(A word about Igor's regiment per. D Likhachev.)
O wind, stormy wind! I pray,
Do not rush the Khan's arrows to a dear friend,
Be merciful and do a favor
As before, blow the ship to the sea.
Oh glorious Dnieper! I sing a song to you
And I send streams of tears, roaring like a beluga.
Oh, take pity, do not prolong my flour,
Come, whom I so idolize.
O sun, thrice bright! Sorry,
That I beg you to hide in the clouds.
Everything in order to Igor's army
From the most unbearable thirst to save.
Oh my God! Let me be a bird
To find yourself with your loved one!
Reviews
Prince Igor would not have gone to rob his neighbors, he would not have been full, Yaroslavna would not have cried. Forgive me ancestors and Great God.
Well written, Petrusha! Light syllable, the feelings of a woman are well conveyed
worried about her husband.
Good luck, Vadim.
Thanks, Vadim! Always glad to see you! I've always been attracted historical characters and our and world history ... now a new cycle of sonnets has begun on Ostrovka.
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"Yaroslavna is crying early..."
(The heroine of "The Tale of Igor's Campaign" in the circle of contemporaries)
In the fate of "The Tale of Igor's Campaign" - the great ancient Russian poem, it is surprising that over time, disputes about it flare up hotter and fiercer. Mountains of books and articles about the poem hundreds of times exceeded its very volume. Her central female image is the figure of Yaroslavna, the wife of Prince Igor. We follow in the poem the interweaving of the destinies of various princes - modern to the author or being history for him - but it is Yaroslavna on the city "fence of the wall", conjuring the sun, winds and the Dnieper to help her beloved husband escape from captivity, where he fell after an unsuccessful battle with the Polovtsians, is perhaps the most lively and bright face of the Tale of Igor's Campaign. In fact, at the mention of this heroic epic, every second one involuntarily remembers: “How. how, Yaroslavna flies zegzitseyu to the Danube ... "
Who has not admired this creation of a nameless singer! Pushkin wrote about the richness of "poetry ... in Yaroslavna's lament." The famous Austrian poet Rilke, who was in love with Russian literature and created best translation poems on German, noted: “The most delightful place is the cry of Yaroslavna, as well as the beginning, where a proud unsurpassed comparison is given with 10 falcons lowered onto swans ... I don’t know anything like that.”
If we consider The Tale of Igor's Campaign as a kind of "War and Peace" of the 12th century, then the scenes of the world in the poem are, first of all, Yaroslavna's lament.
How can we imagine her - the wife of Prince Igor? What can we say about her? After all, even her name was not preserved, and Yaroslavna is a patronymic. The heroine of the poem bears the name of her father - Yaroslav Galitsky Osmomysl, which is natural for the time when a woman called herself after her father, husband and even father-in-law. At the completion of restoration work in the main cathedral Kievan Rus- A graffiti inscription (a special technique of wall writing) of the 12th century was found on the plaster of St. This inscription was made by the sister of the heroes of the poem - Prince Igor, "buy-tour Vsevolod" and Oleg, who died earlier on the ill-fated campaign. The unfortunate widow (in the annals called "Volodimirya" - after her husband) identified herself by belonging to the prince's house, as a sister and daughter-in-law, but did not dare to imprint her name.
In the difficult and difficult fate of studying the Lay, the first to propose considering Yaroslavna the daughter of Yaroslav of Galicia was Empress Catherine II. A lover of Russian history and genealogy, she worked hard on her Notes on Russian History, which she brought to the end of the 13th century. The same Catherine told the first publisher of the Lay, Count A. I. Musin-Pushkin, the name of Prince Igor's wife: her name was supposedly Efrosinya. The evidence for this was strong: the chronicles mentioned the misfortunes of Yaroslav's son, Vladimir, who in 1184 found refuge with his brother-in-law (that is, his wife's brother), Prince Igor of Novgorod-Seversky. From this was born the affirmed assumption that Yaroslavna married Igor only a year before the campaign, was the stepmother to his sons, the second wife of the prince, the young princess.
The name Euphrosinia is indeed found in the Lyubech Synodikon, the commemorative book of all Chernigov princes and their spouses, but there is no precise indication that the name Euphrosinia refers to the wife of Prince Igor, and such connoisseurs of Chernigov antiquities as Filaret directly expressed in this doubt. And although an almost two-hundred-year-old tradition lists Yaroslavna as Euphrosyne, there is too little authentic historical data to assert this decisively and reconstruct the historical image of the heroine of the Lay. However, we can recall something about it, at least by a system of reflections from other mirrors. Looking more closely at the faces and fates of Yaroslavna's contemporaries - women of the 12th century, we, perhaps, will more reliably highlight the poetic figure of the heroine of an ancient poem hiding in the darkness of time.
From the book of Rurik. Collectors of the Russian Land author Burovsky Andrey MikhailovichYaroslavna Yaroslav Osmomysl married his daughter Efrosinya to Novgorod-Seversky, and then to Prince Igor of Putivl. The daughter of Yaroslav Osmomysl is the same Yaroslavna, who went down in history as an image of selfless female love. The wife who escorts Prince Igor to the war,
author Chuev Felix IvanovichDid they take Berlin early? From the TV screen american film“Monster” about Stalin) I happened to hear the opinion that the Red Army should not have rushed to take Berlin in April - May 1945, because this could have been done later, and with less bloodshed, but Stalin did not spare his
From the book of Molotov. semi-dominant ruler author Chuev Felix IvanovichRevolution - early? - Now, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich, there is such a current of thought among the intelligentsia, it probably happened before, that they hurried with the revolution. - They think it's too early? -: What did this, they say, lead to? No good. Russia would go its own way: And to something
From the book of Bylina. historical songs. ballads author author unknownA sentry is crying at the coffin of Ivan the Terrible At the porch, is it at the palace Yes, there was a sovereign, ah, sovereign. yes, but it was with the zlachenyva, oh, with the zlachenyva.
From the book Everyday life Russian gendarmes author Grigoriev Boris Nikolaevich“Oh, the guard gets up early!” Service in the royal guard at all times was not an easy task, especially for the lower ranks, and was much harder, more restless and dangerous than the usual gendarme service. For example, the guard duty described above was carried out around the clock
From the book On Russian National Consciousness author Kozhinov Vadim Valerianovich From the book From the KGB to the FSB (instructive pages national history). book 1 (from the KGB of the USSR to the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation) author Strigin Evgeny Mikhailovich4.24. April Laws (“oh, the guards get up early”) 4.24.1. March, as you know, spring does not end. It continues next month. On April 28, 1993, two Laws were passed. "On the state protection of the highest bodies of state power Russian Federation and them
From the book Battle on the Ice and other "myths" of Russian history author Bychkov Alexey AlexandrovichYaroslavna, who is she? On the Danube, Yaroslavna's voice is heard, moaning like an unrecognized seagull early in the morning. And who is Yaroslavna? Igor's wife? Igor reigned in Putivl until 1179, and then settled in Novgorod-Seversky.
From the book Easter Island author Nepomniachtchi Nikolai Nikolaevich authorAnna Yaroslavna In The Tale of Bygone Years, there is no mention of Yaroslav's daughter Anna, who became Queen of France in 1051. And there is not a word about France itself. At first glance, this is difficult to explain. It is generally accepted that it is through the Russian lands along the Dnieper and along the Volga
From the book of Rurik. historical portraits author Kurganov Valery MaksimovichElizaveta Yaroslavna There is no information about Yaroslav's daughters in The Tale of Bygone Years, and therefore the story about them has to be based on foreign sources. One of these documents is the Scandinavian sagas and, first of all, the world-famous collection
From the book Stalin against Trotsky author Shcherbakov Alexey Yurievich“Just early in the morning there was a coup in the country” There is no point in talking in detail about the October Revolution - I outlined these events in another book, it is not interesting to repeat. I will note only the main events important for the theme of this work. The Bolsheviks headed for
From the book Silent Guardians of Secrets (riddles of Easter Island) author Kondratov Alexander MikhailovichWoodpile Rano-Roraku “Standing on a mountainside, they look with incomprehensible calmness at the sea and land, and then you immediately feel how their contours begin to lure you, despite their simplicity. And the more you indulge in such contemplation, the stronger it becomes.
From the book Strength of the Weak - Women in the History of Russia (XI-XIX centuries) author Kaidash-Lakshina Svetlana NikolaevnaAnd Yaroslavna? Yaroslavna is not like any of these types. What is its mystery?D. S. Likhachev very subtly noticed one amazing and, perhaps, the main feature of "Yaroslavna's crying." He, according to him, resembles an inlay in the text of the poem: “The author of the Lay, as it were,
From the book Great History of Ukraine author Golubets NikolayAnna Yaroslavna As a clear proof of the living links between Ukraine and distant France, you can serve as a friend of the French King Henry with Yaroslav's daughter Anna. In 1048 p. King Heinrich povdov_v and hanging the embassy with Bishop Goti Saveyra on the island in Kiev, ask for the hand of his daughter
From the book Both time and place [Historical and philological collection for the sixtieth birthday of Alexander Lvovich Ospovat] author Team of authorsfrom a brave body
fun faded,
trumpets trumpet Gorodensky!
Yaroslav all grandchildren and Vseslav!
Already lower your banners,
sheathe your damaged swords,
for we have lost the glory of our grandfathers.
With their sedition
you started to make filthy
to the Russian land,
to the property of Vseslav.
Because of the strife, after all, violence has gone
from the Polovtsian land!
On the seventh century Trojan
Vseslav threw a lot
about a girl he loves.
Cunning leaned on horses
and jumped to the city of Kyiv,
and touched the shaft
golden throne of Kyiv.
Bounced off them like a fierce beast
at midnight from Belgorod,
embraced by a blue mist, got luck:
in three attempts opened the gates of Novgorod,
smashed the glory of Yaroslav,
jumped like a wolf
to Nemiga from Dudutok.
And Nemiga sheaves lay from the heads,
thresh with damask flails,
they lay life on the current,
blow the soul from the body.
Nemiga bloody shores
were not sown with good,
sown with the bones of Russian sons.
Vseslav-Prince ruled the court for people,
lined the princes of the city,
and he himself roamed like a wolf at night:
from Kyiv to the roosters to Tmutorokan,
to the great Hors, he roamed the path like a wolf.
They called him in Polotsk early in the morning
at St. Sophia in the bells,
and he heard that ringing in Kyiv.
Although he had a prophetic soul in a brave body,
but often suffered from misfortune.
To him the prophetic Boyan
a long time ago, the refrain, reasonable, said:
"Not cunning
nor skillful,
nor a skillful bird
the judgment of God cannot be avoided!"
Oh, moan the Russian land,
remembering
the first times and the first princes!
That old Vladimir
it was impossible to nail the mountains of Kyiv;
and now the Rurikov banners have risen,
and others - Davydovs,
but apart their banners flutter.
an unknown cuckoo cuckoos early:
"I'll fly," he says, "like a cuckoo on the Danube,
I will soak a silk sleeve in the Kayala River,
morning to the prince his bloody wounds
on his mighty body."
Yaroslavna cries early
"O wind, wind!
Why, sir, are you moving forward?
Why are you rushing Khin's arrows
on their light wings
on my dear warriors?
Is it not enough for you to blow under the clouds,
cherishing ships on the blue sea?
Why, sir, did you dispel my joy on the feather-grass?"
Yaroslavna cries early
in Putivl-city on a visor, saying:
"Oh Dnepr Slovutich!
You broke through the stone mountains through the Polovtsian land.
You cherished Svyatoslav's plantations on yourself
to the camp of Kobyakov.
Pour, sir, my dear to me,
so that I do not send tears to him
at sea early!
Yaroslavna cries early
in Putivl on a visor, saying:
"Bright and thrice bright sun!
You are all warm and beautiful:
why, lord, did you stretch out your hot rays
on the warriors of my kind?
In the waterless field, thirst twisted their bows,
sorrow shut up their quivers?"
The sea burst at midnight;
tornadoes are coming in clouds.
God shows the way to Prince Igor
from the Polovtsian land
to the Russian land, to the father's golden table.
Dawns went out in the evening.
Igor is sleeping
Igor is watching
Igor measures the field with thought
from the great Don to the small Donets.
Ovlur whistled a horse across the river at midnight;
tells the prince to understand: not to be Igor in captivity.
Clicked
the earth hit
rustled grass,
the Polovtsian towers moved.
And Prince Igor galloped
ermine to the reed
and white gogol on the water.
Jumped on a greyhound horse
and jumped off him like a gray wolf.
And ran to the bend of the Donets,
and flew like a falcon under the clouds,
beating geese and swans
for breakfast
When Igor flew like a falcon,
then Ovlur ran like a wolf,
shaking off the icy dew:
Both of them tore their greyhound horses.
Donets says:
"O Prince Igor!
A lot of greatness for you, and dislike for Konchak,
and joy to the Russian land!"
Igor says:
"O Donets! You have a lot of greatness,
who cherished the prince on the waves,
who spread green grass for him
on their silver shores,
dressed him in warm mists
under the shade of a green tree;
you guarded him with a gogol on the water,
seagulls on streams,
Chernyadi on the winds. "
Not like that, he says, the river Stugna:
having a meager stream,
swallowing other people's streams and streams,
extended towards the mouth
concluded the youth of Prince Rostislav.
On the dark bank of the Dnieper
Rostislav's mother is crying
after the young prince Rostislav.
The flowers are despondent from pity,
and the tree with anguish bowed down to the earth.
It was not the magpies that chirped -
Igor's trail is followed by Gzak and Konchak.
Then the crows did not play,
the jackdaws fell silent,
magpies did not chirp,
only snakes crawled.
Woodpeckers knock the way to the river,
yes nightingales with cheerful songs
dawn is announced.
Gzak says to Konchak:
"If the falcon flies to the nest,
shoot the falcon
with their gilded arrows."
Konchak says to Gzak:
"If the falcon flies to the nest,
Then we will entangle the falcon
red girl."
And Gzak said to Konchak:
"If we entangle him with a red maiden,
we will have neither a falcon nor a red maiden,
and the birds will beat us
in the Polovtsian field.
Boyan and Khodyna said
Svyatoslav songwriters
old time Yaroslav,
and Oleg the Prince's favorites:
"It's hard for a head without shoulders,
trouble for a body without a head" -
and the Russian land without Igor.
The sun shines in the sky,
and Igor is a prince in the Russian land.
Igor rides along Borichev
to the Holy Mother of God Pirogoshcha.
The villages are happy, the cities are cheerful.
Singing a song to the old princes,
then sing to the young:
"Glory to Igor Svyatoslavich,
Bui tour Vsevolod,
Vladimir Igorevich!
Hello, princes and squad,
Fighting for Christians
against the invasions of the filthy!
Glory to the princes and the squad!
