How many of us are still alive and. Online reading of the book Little Tragedies A Feast in Time of Plague (from Wilson's Tragedy: The City of The Plague)
The Russian land has always been famous for the great names of poets and writers. Batyushkov Konstantin Nikolaevich is no exception. A creative person, impressionable, living with emotions, he left his mark on the history of Russian poetry.
One of best works recognized by great Russian poets such as A.S. Pushkin and critics of our time is the poem "The Shadow of a Friend". The reason for writing is rather sad and sad. Konstantin Nikolaevich dedicated it to his to the best friend, who died in the battle of Leipzig in 1813 to I.A. Petin. The poem was published in 1814. The poet traveled after heavy battles in which he took part.
The work is written in an unusual form. It's an elegy, but rather easy to read and listen to. Starting the narrative with a description of the foreign lands, the author in contrast presents a description of his beloved nature of the North. Batyushkov K.N. as a real Russian poet, he misses his homeland very much, although he is in the edges of Albion voluntarily, on vacation. A Russian is only really good at home. But the poet is sad not only about his native land, sincere longing for his beloved friend gave rise to writing a poem.
The main character is so immersed in his thoughts that he can hardly distinguish dreams from reality. Before him appears the image of I.A. Petina. The poet does not believe in the reality of what is happening. After all, he knows very well that Ivan Alexandrovich is no longer alive, that he buried him, having done everything necessary. He so wants to talk, hug, but suddenly the vision ends. And the poet understands the futility of his requests. After all, it was only a dream, beautiful and at the same time very sad. Waking up main character sees peace and tranquility around him.
The poem can be divided into three parts: a description of the homeland, a monologue with a friend, and the disappointment that it was just a dream. In the work, the poet expressed all the feelings of bitterness from loss, longing and the inability to turn everything back.
"The Shadow of a Friend" is an integral self-sufficient work that does not require further continuation or before the story. And so everything is clear. Emotionally filled, making the reader worry together with the author. Knowing Russian in the highest degree Batyushkov K.N. I was able to betray everything I wanted in my poem. For the time in which the poem was written, the language of the story was an innovation. Refined words and phrases were easy to read and understood not only by the poet's contemporaries, but in our time it brings pleasure to reading for true connoisseurs of the classics.
Analysis of the poem Shadow of a friend according to plan
You may be interested
- Analysis of the poem by Yesenin Pugachev
This work of Yesenin is very dynamic. Of course, the events of the rebellion under the leadership of Pugachev presented by the author themselves developed quite rapidly, but Yesenin also chose a very lively and vivid syllable.
- Analysis of the poem Utes Lermontov grade 6
The cliff is a poem written in 1841. This poem was written by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov. In this poem, we can meet a lot literary reception impersonation.
- Analysis of the poem to Bryusov's Woman
In the lyrics, deification is often found, denoting an extreme degree of admiration, admiration for the object. Most often, a woman becomes the deity of the lyrics. A similar situation is in the work of V. Ya. Bryusov Woman.
- Analysis of the poem by Don Pushkin
The work is included in the Caucasian cycle of the poet's writings, created by him during his travels to the Cossack villages.
- Analysis of the poem Peasant children of Nekrasov 5, 6 grade
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov has always treated ordinary people with respect, understanding and compassion. He conveys this respect and care in many of his poems.
(FROM THE WILSON'S TRAGEDY: THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE)
Street. Laid table. Several feasting men and women.
Young man
Honorable Chairman! I remember
About a person very familiar to us,
About whose jokes, stories are funny,
Sharp answers and remarks,
So caustic in their amusing importance,
The table conversation was enlivened
And they dispersed the darkness that is now
The infection, our guest, sends
The brightest minds.
That two days our common laughter praised
His stories; impossible to be
So that we are in our merry feast
Forgot Jackson! His armchairs here
Stand empty as if waiting
Merry man - but he's gone already
Into cold underground dwellings ...
Although the most eloquent language
He did not fall silent yet in the ashes of the coffin;
But many of us are still alive, and we
There is no reason to be sad. So,
I suggest a drink in his memory
With a cheerful clink of glasses, with an exclamation,
As if he were alive.
Chairperson
He was eliminated first
From our circle. Let in silence
We'll drink in honor of him.
Young man
May it be so!
(Everyone drinks in silence.)
Chairperson
Sweetheart songs with wild perfection;
Sing, Mary, we are sad and drawn out,
So that we then turn to fun
Crazier as the one who is from the earth
Was excommunicated by some vision.
Mary
(sings)
There was a time that flourished
In the world our side:
I've been on Sunday
The Church of God is full;
Our kids in a noisy school
Voices rang out
And sparkled in a bright field
Sickle and quick scythe.Now the church is empty;
The school is deafly locked;
The cornfield is idly overripe;
The dark grove is empty;
And the village is like a dwelling
Burned, worth it, -
Quiet everything - one cemetery
Not empty, not silent.Every minute they carry the dead,
And the groans of the living
Fearfully asking God
Rest their souls!
Per minute need a place,
And the graves among themselves,
Like a frightened flock
They are huddled together in a tight row!If an early grave
Destined for my spring -
You who I loved so much
Whose love delights me
I pray: don't get close
You are yours to Jenny's body,
Do not touch the lips of the dead,
Follow her from afar.And then leave the village!
Go somewhere
Where could you torment the soul
Delight and relax.
And when the infection blows
Visit my poor ashes;
And Edmond will not leave
Jenny is even in heaven!
Chairperson
Thank you, pensive Mary,
Thank you for the mournful song!
In the days of the past, the plague is so evident,
I have visited your hills and valleys,
And pitiful groans were heard
On the banks of streams and streams,
Those who run now happily and peacefully
Through the wild paradise of your native land;
And the dark year in which so many have fallen
Brave, kind and wonderful victims,
Barely left a memory of myself
In some simple shepherd's song
Dull and pleasant ... No, nothing
So it does not grieve us in the midst of joy,
As a languid, heart-repeated sound!
Mary
Oh, if I never sang
Outside my parents' hut!
They loved to listen to Mary;
I seem to listen to myself
Louise
Out of fashion
Now such songs! But there is still
Still simple souls: glad to melt
From women's tears and blindly believe them.
She is sure that her eyes are tearful
Its irresistible - and if the same
I thought about my laughter, then, surely,
Everybody used to smile. Walsingham praised
Noisy northern beauties: here
She parted. Hate
The hair of these Scottish is yellow.
Chairperson
Listen: I hear the sound of wheels!
There is a cart filled with dead bodies. The Negro controls her.
Aha! Louise is ill; in it, I thought
Judging by the language, a man's heart.
But so-and-so - tender weaker cruel,
And fear lives in the soul, tormented by passions!
Throw, Mary, water in her face. She's better.
Mary
Sister of my sorrow and shame,
Lay down on my chest.
Louise
(coming to my senses)
Terrible demon
I dreamed: all black, white-eyed ...
He called me into his cart. In it
The dead lay and babbled
A terrible, unknown speech ...
Tell me: was it in a dream?
Has the cart gone?
Young man
Well Louise
Cheer up - even though the street is all ours
A silent haven from death
A haven of unperturbed feasts
But you know, this black cart
Has the right to travel everywhere.
We must let her pass! Listen,
Thou Walsingham: for the suppression of disputes
And sing the consequences of women's fainting
A song for us, a free, live song,
I'm not inspired by Scottish sadness,
And a violent, bacchic song,
Born for a boiling cup.
Chairperson
I don’t know such, but I’ll sing you a hymn
I am in honor of the plague - I wrote it
Last night, how we parted.
A strange one found me a hunt for rhymes
For the first time in my life! Listen to me:
Pushkin A.S.Feast in Time of Plague// Pushkin A.S. Complete collection works: In 10 volumes - L .: Science. Leningrad. branch, 1977-1979. T. 5. Eugene Onegin. Dramatic works. - 1978 ... - S. 351--359. http://feb-web.ru/feb/pushkin/texts/push10/v05/d05-351.htm
FEAST IN TIME OF PLAGUE
(EXTRACT FROM WILSON'S TRAGEDY: THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE)
(Street. Laid table.
Several feasting men and women.)
Young man. Honorable Chairman! I will remind You of a person very familiar to us, About whose jokes and stories are funny, Sharp answers and remarks, So caustic in their importance, amusing, The table conversation enlivened And dispersed the darkness that now Infection, our guest, sends On the most brilliant minds. That two days our common laughter praised His stories; it is impossible to be, That we, in our merry feast, Forgot Jackson. His armchairs here Stand empty, as if waiting for Veselchak - but he has already gone Into the cold underground dwellings ... Although the most eloquent language Did not stop in the ashes of the coffin, But many of us are still alive, and we have no reason to grieve. So, I propose to drink in his memory With a cheerful clink of glasses, with an exclamation, As if he were alive. Chairman. He was the first to leave our circle. Let in silence We will drink in honor of him. Young man. May it be so.
(Everyone drinks in silence.)
Chairman. Your voice, my dear, brings out the sounds of Darling songs with wild perfection: Sing, Mary, we are sad and drawn-out, So that later we turn to joy Crazier, like the one who was excommunicated from the earth by some vision. Mary (sings). There was a time, our side flourished in the world; On Sunday the Church of God was full; Our children in a noisy school Voices were heard, And a sickle and a fast scythe sparkled in the bright field. Now the church is empty; The school is deafly locked; The cornfield is idly overripe; The dark grove is empty; And the village, like a burnt dwelling, stands, - Everything is quiet. One cemetery Is not empty, is not silent. Every minute they carry the dead, And the groans of the living Fearfully ask God to Calm their souls. Every minute you need a place, And the graves among themselves, Like a frightened herd, They huddle together in a close row! If an early grave Is destined for my spring - You, whom I loved so much, Whose love delights me, - I pray: do not approach Jenny's body with yours, Do not touch the lips of the dead, Follow her from afar. And then leave the village! Go somewhere, Where you could delight the souls of torment and rest. And when the infection is blown, Visit my poor ashes; And Jenny won't leave Edmond even in heaven! Chairman. Thank you, pensive Mary, Thank you for the mournful song! In the days of the previous plague, it is evident that it visited your hills and valleys, And miserable groans were heard Along the banks of streams and streams Running now merrily and peacefully Through the wild paradise of your native land; And the gloomy year, in which so many Brave, kind and wonderful sacrifices fell, Barely left a memory of myself In some simple shepherd's song, Dull and pleasant ... No! Nothing So saddens us among the merriments, Like a languid, heart-repeated sound! Mary. Oh, if I never sang Outside the hut of my parents! They loved to listen to Mary; I seem to be listening to myself, Singing at the threshold of my birth - My voice was sweeter at that time - it Was the voice of innocence ... Louise. Not in fashion Now such songs! But there are still simple souls: glad to melt From women's tears, and blindly believe them. She is sure that Her tearful gaze is irresistible - and if she thought the same About her laugh, then she would surely smile. Valsingam praised the screaming northern beauties: so She parted. I hate those yellow hair Scottish. Chairman. Listen: I hear the sound of wheels!
(There is a cart filled with dead bodies.
The negro rules her.)
Aha! Louise is ill; in it, I thought, Judging by the language, a man's heart. But so-and-so - tender, weaker cruel, And fear lives in the soul, tormented by passions! Throw water in her face, Mary. She's better. Mary. Sister of my sorrow and shame, Lie down on my chest. Louise (coming to her senses). A terrible demon I dreamed about: all black, white-eyed ... He called me into his cart. The dead lay in it - and babbled A terrible, unknown speech ... Tell me: was it in a dream? Has the cart gone? Young man. Well, Louise, Have fun - even though the street is all ours A silent refuge from death, A shelter of feasts with nothing unperturbed, But you know? this black cart Has the right to drive around everywhere - We must let it pass! Listen to You, Valsingham: to suppress disputes And the consequences of women's fainting, sing Us a song - a free, lively song - Not inspired by Scottish sadness, But a violent, Bacchic song, Born over a boiling cup. Chairman. I don’t know such, but I’ll sing you a hymn in honor of the plague, - I wrote it Last night, as we parted. I found a strange hunt for rhymes For the first time in my life. Listen to me: my hoarse voice befits a song. - Many. A hymn in honor of the plague! let's listen to him! A hymn in honor of the plague! wonderful! bravo! bravo! Chairperson (sings). When the mighty Winter, Like a vigorous leader, leads the shaggy squads of Its frosts and snows itself On us, - Fireplaces crackle towards it, And the winter heat of the feasts is cheerful. * The fearsome queen, the Plague Now comes upon us itself And is flattered by the rich harvest; And to our window day and night Knocks with a grave shovel ... What should we do? and how to help? * As from the mischievous Winter, We will also lock ourselves from the Plague, Let's light the fires, pour the glasses; Let us drown our minds cheerfully And, having brewed feasts and balls, Let us praise the kingdom of the Plague. * There is rapture in battle, And the dark abyss at the edge, And in the enraged ocean, Among the formidable waves and stormy darkness, And in the Arabian hurricane, And in the whiff of the Plague. * Everything, everything that threatens with death, For the heart of a mortal conceals Inexplicable pleasures - Immortality, perhaps a pledge! And happy is he who, amid the excitement of Them, could acquire and know. * So - praise you, Plague! We are not afraid of the darkness of the grave, We will not be confused by your calling! Glasses are singing together we, And the maiden-roses are drinking the breath, - Perhaps ... full of the Plague.
(The old priest enters.)
Priest. Godless feast, godless madmen! You feast and songs of debauchery Scold over the gloomy silence, Death spread everywhere! Amid the horror of a deplorable funeral, Among pale faces I pray in the cemetery And your hateful raptures Confuse the silence of the coffins - and shake the earth Above the dead bodies! Whenever the old men and wives of prayer were not consecrated to the common, mortal pit, - I could have thought that now the demons torment the lost spirit of the atheist And drag them into the pitch darkness with laughter. Several voices. He speaks masterfully of hell! Go, old man! go your way! Priest. I conjure you with the holy blood of the Savior crucified for us: Interrupt the monstrous feast, when You wish to meet the Lost beloved souls in heaven - Go to your homes! Chairman. House a We are sad - youth loves joy. Priest. Is it you, Walsingham? Are you the very one Who for three weeks was on his knees The corpse of his mother, sobbing, hugged And with a cry fought over her grave? Or do you think she does not cry now, Does not cry bitterly in the very heavens, Looking at her feasting son, In a feast of debauchery, hearing your voice, Singing mad songs, between the Prayers of the saint and heavy sighs? Follow me! Chairman. Why do you come to disturb Me? I can’t, I must’t. I must follow you. I am held here by Despair, a terrible memory, Consciousness of my iniquity, And the horror of that dead emptiness, Which I meet in my house - And with the news of these frantic joy, And the grace-filled poison of this cup, And the caresses (God forgive me) Of the deceased - but dear creation ... The shadow of a mother will not call me From now on it's too late - I hear your voice, Calling me, - I recognize the efforts to save Me ... old man! go in peace; But damn you who will follow you! Many. Bravo, bravo! worthy chairman! Here is a sermon to you! go! go! Priest. Matilda's pure spirit is calling you! Chairperson (stands up). Swear to me, with a faded, pale hand raised to heaven, - to leave in the coffin the silent name forever! Oh, if only from the eyes of her immortals Hide this sight! She once considered me pure, proud, free - And she knew heaven in my arms ... Where am I? Holy child of light! I see You there, where my fallen spirit Will not reach already ... A woman's voice. He's crazy - He raves about his buried wife! Priest. Let's go, let's go ... Chairman. My father, for God's sake, Leave me! Priest. God save you! I'm sorry my son.
(Exit. The feast continues. The Chairman remains deep in thought.)
FEAST IN TIME OF PLAGUE
The play is a translation of a scene from John Wilson's dramatic poem The Plague City (1816). The songs of Mary and the Chairman belong to Pushkin himself and do not in any way resemble the corresponding songs of Wilson. Wilson's play was known to Pushkin in the 1829 edition. It describes the London plague of 1665. The translation was completed in Boldino on November 6, 1830. The choice of scene for translation was prompted by the fact that at that time an epidemic of cholera, which was often called the plague, was raging in Russia. The play was printed in the almanac "Alcyone" in 1832 (published around December 1, 1831) and then was included in the third part of Pushkin's "Poems".
Loading...