There are women in Russian villages... Nikolai Nekrasov - There are women in Russian villages: Poem The author will stop a galloping horse

Nekrasov -
great Russian poet, always rooted for
the fate of Russia. He highly valued Russian
people for their free pursuit of happiness,
freedom, "for which there is no death - do not crush
push." ​​Therefore, the central character
Nekrasov's works - the people. To
the pictures of folk life were complete, the poet
not limited to episodes only from
peasant life, but also describes the hardships
urban poor, shows and
oppressors and people's defenders.

Special
occupies a place in Nekrasov's works
image of a Russian woman. "Type of majestic
Slavs" the poet always writes with great
respect and love. People like this talk about it
poems like Troika", "In full
in full swing...", episodes from the poems "Frost,
Red Nose", "Russian Women" and "To Whom
Is it good to live in Rus'?"

First two
the poems resonate. In "Troika"
the author only predicts the road, reminds
to a girl about the difficult fate that awaits her: “You will bloom,
Before you have time to bloom, you will fall into sleep
unstoppable, you will babysit, work and
there is." Approximately this is the path of life
All peasant women in Russia are taking part.
Poem "In full swing..."
reveals to us a real episode from such
peasant life: "A cry is heard
next strip, the woman goes there -
the kerchiefs are disheveled - we need a child
download!" Nekrasov constantly emphasizes
that a woman bears a double burden:
landowner and family. In the poem "Troika"
we read the bitter words: "He will beat you
picky husband and mother-in-law in three deaths
bend." "Share you! - Russian share
women's! Hardly any more difficult to find." -
the poet speaks about the fate of the Russian woman,

In the poem "Frost"
Red Nose" peasant Daria could not
bear the brunt of men's work and not
Finding no support, she died. Such
frantic dedication to work
very characteristic of a Russian woman. Job
is both a heavy burden for her and
peace of mind. Having no others
sources of joy and ways of relaxation, she
knows how to find them in work, knows how to find them
a piece of happiness in your deprived fate.
So Matryona Timofeevna from the poem "To whom on
Is Rus' living well?” I’m already satisfied with the fact that
her husband doesn't hit her. And she is a woman's destiny

Talking about
female fate., the poet did not stop
admire the spiritual qualities of everyone
heroines., their enormous willpower, feeling
self-esteem, pride, not
oppressed by harsh living conditions. Also in
one of his poems "Russian Women"
Nekrasov spoke about his heroic deed
wives of the Decembrists exiled to Siberia,
who went after their husbands, not
fearing Siberian frosts, hunger, deprivation
and regardless of the loss of titles and fortunes.
Here, too, golden features are revealed to us.
character of a Russian woman.

But the image
peasant women enslaved and
serfdom and despotism of the husband's family,
Nekrasov worries more. Bitter share
peasant woman, eternally humiliated
poverty, working too hard and not seeing
happiness, evokes deep sympathy in the soul
poet, but, at the same time, he notices in her and
human dignity, and pride, and
unshakable moral purity. Nekrasov
talks about this

The main thing
the dignity of a Russian woman Nekrasov
considers her ability to be real,
sensitive mother. Caring for children and deep
a sense of responsibility for their lives
makes Daria overcome her grief and somehow
support a family. The heroine of the poem "In
in full swing..." "exhausted,
so that her baby is fed. Theme of motherhood
touched upon by Nekrasov in the poem “Nightingales”.
A mother touchingly teaches her children to appreciate
beautiful, love and protect nature. To her,
Of course, I want her children to be
happy. Expressing the dream of all mothers that
if there were lands for people where they lived
freely, “without taxes and recruitment”,
then "everything is in the hands of their children

Timofeevna
understands his son with his sensitive heart, accepting
shameful self-punishment.

Women's
the characters of Nekrasov’s heroines speak of strength,
purity and integrity of the common people. Those
inhuman living conditions, against the backdrop
of which these images emerge,
blatantly indicate acute
the need for changes in order, style and
lifestyle in villages and cities
old regime Russia.

Dedicated to my sister Anna Alekseevna. You again reproached me, That I became friends with my muse, That I submitted to the worries of the current day And its amusements. For everyday calculations and enchantments I would not have parted with my muse, But God knows whether that gift that used to be friends with her has not gone out? But the poet is not yet a brother to people, And his path is thorny and fragile, I knew how not to be afraid of slander, I myself was not preoccupied with them; But I knew whose heart was torn with sadness in the darkness of the night, And on whose chest they fell like lead, And whose life they poisoned. And even though they passed by, Thunderstorms passed over me, I know whose prayers and tears averted the fatal arrow... Yes, and time passed, I was tired... Even though I was not a fighter without reproach, But I recognized the strength in myself, I deeply believed in many things, And now it’s time for me to die... Not then to set off on the road, To again awaken the fatal alarm in a loving heart... I myself reluctantly caress my subdued muse... I sing the last song For you - I dedicate it to you too. But it will not be more cheerful, It will be much sadder than before, Because it is darker in the heart And in the future it will be even more hopeless... The storm howls in the garden, the storm breaks into the house, I am afraid that it will break the old oak tree that my father planted, And that the willow that my mother planted, this willow that you strangely connected with our fate, on which the leaves faded in the night when the poor mother died... And the window trembles and is variegated... Chu! how large hailstones jump! Dear friend, you realized a long time ago - Here only stones do not cry... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You have known me since childhood. You are all fear embodied, You are all age-old languor! His feet are covered in snow up to his knees, In his hands is a spade and a crowbar, A large hat covered in frost, His mustache and beard in silver. The Old Man stands motionless, thinking, on a high hillock. Made up his mind. He marked with a cross where the grave would be dug. He made the sign of the cross and began to rake away the snow with a shovel. There were different techniques here, The cemetery is not like the fields: Crosses came out of the snow, Crosses lay on the ground. Bending his old back, He dug for a long time, diligently, And the yellow frozen clay was immediately covered with snow. A crow flew up to him, poked his nose, walked around: The earth rang like iron - The crow got away with nothing... The grave was perfectly ready, - “It’s not for me to dig this hole! (The old man burst out a word.) I wouldn’t curse you to rest in it, I wouldn’t curse you!..” The old man stumbled, the crowbar slipped out of his hands and rolled into a white hole, the old man pulled it out with difficulty. He went... walking along the road... There is no sun, the moon has not risen... It’s as if the whole world is dying: Calm, snow, half-darkness... VII In a ravine, near the river Zheltukha, the old man caught up with his woman And quietly asked the old woman : “Did the coffin go well?” Her lips barely whispered in response to the old man: “Nothing.” Then they were both silent, And the firewood ran so quietly, As if they were afraid of something... The village had not yet opened, But fire was flashing close by. The old woman made a sign of the cross, the horse darted to the side, without a hat, with bare feet, with a large pointed stake, suddenly the old acquaintance Pakhom appeared before them. Covered with a woman's shirt, the chains on him rang; The village fool tapped a stake on the frosty ground, then grunted compassionately, sighed and said: “It’s no problem! He worked for you quite a bit, And your turn has come! The mother bought a coffin for her son, the father dug a hole for him, the wife sewed a shroud for him - he gave you all a job at once!..” He mumbled again - and without purpose the fool ran into space. The chains rang sadly, And the bare calves glittered, And the staff scribbled across the snow. It’s not the wind that’s humming along the feather grass, It’s not the wedding train that’s thundering, - Prokle’s relatives howled, It’s Prokle’s family howling: “You’re our blue-winged darling! Where did you fly away from us? You had no equal in your beauty, height and strength in the village, You were an adviser to your parents, You were a worker in the field, You were hospitable and welcoming to guests, You loved your wife and children... Why didn’t you walk around the world a little? Why did you leave us, dear? You thought about this little idea, You thought it over with the damp earth, - You thought it over - and He ordered us to stay in the world; for orphans, not to wash with fresh water, but for us with burning tears! The old woman will die from the cliff, Your father will not live either, A birch tree in the forest without a top - A housewife without a husband in the house. You don’t feel sorry for her, poor thing, You don’t feel sorry for the children... Get up! You will reap a harvest from your protected strip in the summer! Splash, darling, with your hands, Look with your hawk's eye, Shake the silk O with your curls, Sakh A open your mouth! For joy, we would brew both honey and intoxicating mash, They would seat you at the table - Eat, dear, dear! And they themselves would stand opposite - Breadwinner, the family's hope! - They wouldn't take their eyes off you, They would catch your speech...” Others took over. But now the crowd had dispersed, the relatives sat down to dinner - cabbage and kvass with bread. The old man did not allow the useless ruin to take control of Him: Having moved closer to the splinter, He picked the thin bast shoe. Sighing long and loudly, the old woman lay down on the stove, and Daria, the young widow, went to visit the children. All night, standing by the candle, the sexton read over the deceased, and a cricket echoed him from behind the stove with a piercing whistle. But Daria, the owner of the patient, drove the adviser away; The woman decided to try other means: and at night she went to a distant monastery (ten versts from the village), where in a certain icon the healing power was revealed. She went and returned with the icon - The sick man was lying silent, dressed as if in a coffin, receiving communion. He saw his wife, groaned and died... XIII ...Savrasushka, touch, Pull the tug tighter! You served your master a lot, Serve for the last time! Chu! two death blows! The priests are waiting - go!.. Murdered, mournful couple, Mother and father walked ahead. The guys and the deceased both sat, not daring to sob, And, ruling Savraska, at the coffin With the reins of their poor mother Chagall... Her eyes were sunken, And the scarf she wore, made of white canvas, was not whiter than her cheeks. Behind Daria - neighbors, neighbors A thin crowd trailed, Interpreting that the fate of Proklov's children was now unenviable, That Daria would get work, That dark days awaited her. “There will be no one to feel sorry for her,” they decided in agreement... XIV As usual, they lowered him into the pit and covered Proclus with earth; They cried, howled loudly, took pity on the Family, and honored the Dead Man with generous praise. The headman himself, Sidor Ivanovich, howled in an undertone to the women and “Peace be with you, Prokl Sevastyanich!” He said, “You were complacent, Lived honestly, and most importantly: on time, How God helped you out, Paid dues to the master And presented taxes to the tsar!” Having spent his reserve of eloquence, the venerable man groaned: “Yes, this is human life!” He added and put on his hat. “He fell... otherwise he was in power!.. Let’s fall... not too long for us!..” They were also baptized at the grave And with God they went home. Tall, gray-haired, lean, Without a hat, motionless and mute, Like a monument, old grandfather stood at his dear grave! Then the bearded old man moved quietly along it, Leveling the earth with a shovel Under the cries of his old woman. When, having left his son, He and the woman entered the village: “He’s staggering like a drunken man! Look!..” - the people said. All around - there is no urine to look, The plain glitters in diamonds... Daria's eyes filled with tears - The sun must be blinding them... XVII It was quiet in the fields, but quieter in the forest and seemed brighter. The farther you go, the trees get higher and higher, and the shadows get longer and longer. Trees, and sun, and shadows, And dead, grave peace... But - chu! mournful pennies, a dull, crushing howl! Grief overpowered Daryushka, And the forest listened indifferently, As groans flowed in the open air, And the voice tore and trembled, And the sun, round and soulless, Like the yellow eye of an owl, Looked from heaven indifferently At the widow's grave torment. And how many strings broke in the poor peasant soul, remained hidden forever in the uninhabited wilderness of the forest. The great grief of the widow And the mothers of little orphans The free birds overheard, But they did not dare to give it to the people... XVIII It is not the huntsman who trumpets the oak tree, The daredevil cackles, - Having cried, the young widow chops and chops wood. Having cut it down, he throws it on the wood - I wish I could fill it as soon as possible, And she hardly notices that tears are still pouring from her eyes: Another will fall from an eyelash And fall into the snow with a flourish - It will reach the very ground, Burn a deep hole; He’ll throw another one onto a tree, onto a die, and look, it will solidify like a large pearl - White, and round, and dense. And she will shine on the eye, She will run like an arrow along her cheek, And the sun will play in her... Daria is in a hurry to cope, You know, she chops - she doesn’t feel the cold, She doesn’t hear that her legs are chilling, And, full of thoughts about her husband, Calls him, with says to him... XIX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Darling! Our beauty In the spring, Masha’s girlfriends will again pick up Masha in a round dance And begin to swing her in her arms! XXI The little cattle began to go into the forest, Mother rye began to rush about in the ear, God sent us a harvest! Bless the newlyweds down the aisle!.. We were waiting for this day like a holiday, Do you remember how Grishukha began to walk, We spent the whole night talking about how we were going to marry him, We began to save up little by little for the wedding... Well, we have waited, thank God! A whatever O what a kid. Get up, stand up for your dear son! A You look at the sky - some coffins, Chains and weights coming out of the clouds... Didn’t I try to take care of him? O Did I regret anything? I was afraid to tell him how much I loved him! with a deep bow, she stood on her legs, and lo and behold, the Raven was sitting on a gilded cross, and her heart trembled again! Where the fast, noisy waters recently flowed freely - Today pedestrians passed, Carts with goods passed. I love to dress the dead in frost in deep graves, and freeze the blood in the veins, and freeze the brain in the head. To woe to the unkind thief, To the fear of rider and horse, I love to start a chatter in the forest in the evening. The little women, blaming the devils, quickly run away home. And it’s even more fun to fool drunk people, both on horseback and on foot. Without chalk, I’ll whiten my whole face, And my nose will burn with fire, And I’ll freeze my beard to the reins - even if I chop it with an axe! I am rich, I don’t count the treasury, And everything is not scarce; I am cleaning up my kingdom Into diamonds, pearls, silver. Enter my kingdom with me and be the queen in it! We will reign gloriously in winter, And in summer we will fall asleep deeply. Come in! I’ll take care of her, I’ll warm her up, I’ll take her to the blue palace...” And the governor began to wave his ice mace over her. The mother gave the young fellow a kindness, The boy's father pinched him; Meanwhile, the Savraska was not dozing either: He stretched and pulled his neck, He got there, baring his teeth, Chewing peas appetizingly, And taking Grishukhino’s ear into his soft, kind lips... XXXIV Mashutka shouted to her father: - Take me, daddy, with you! She jumped off the bag and fell. Her father picked her up. “Don't howl! I killed myself - it’s not an important matter! Look!..” The wife was ashamed: “That’s enough for you alone!” (And I knew that the Child was already beating under my heart...) “Well! Mashuk, nothing!” And Proklushka, standing on the cart, took Mashutka with him. Grishukha jumped up and ran, and the cart rolled off with a roar. A flock of sparrows flew from the sheaves and soared above the cart. And Daryushka watched for a long time, shielding herself from the sun with her hand, as the children and their father approached their smoking barn, And the rosy faces of the children smiled at her from the sheaves... What a song! familiar sounds! The singer has a good voice... The last signs of Daria's torment disappeared from her face, Her soul flew away after the song, She surrendered herself completely to it... There is no more charming song in the world, Which we hear in our dreams! What is she talking about - God knows! I couldn’t catch the words, But she satisfies my heart, There is a limit to lasting happiness in her. It contains a gentle caress of participation, Vows of love without end... The smile of contentment and happiness does not leave Daria's face.

The night will have stars, Will it be brighter for us?.. The hare jumped out from under the night, Bunny, stop! Don't you dare cross my path!
He drove off into the forest, thank God... By midnight it became worse, - I hear the evil spirit has stomped, howled, and howled in the forest.
What do I care about evil spirits?
Forget me! I bring an offering to the Most Pure Virgin!
I hear horses neighing, I hear wolves howling, I hear them chasing me, - Don’t rush at me, the beast!
Don't touch a dashing man, Our penny of labor is dear!
_____ He ​​spent the summer working, did not see the children in the winter, spent the night thinking about him, I did not close my eyes. He rides, he's cold... and I, sad, made of fibrous flax, As if his road is alien, I'm pulling a long thread. My spindle jumps, spins, hits the floor. The proklushka walks on foot, crosses himself in a pothole, and harnesses himself to the cart on the hill.
Summer after summer, winter after winter, That's how we got the treasury! Be merciful to the poor peasant, Lord! We give everything away, What we earned by hard work, a penny, a copper penny!.. XXVI All of you, forest path!
The forest is over.
By morning, a golden star suddenly fell from God's heavens and fell, God blew on it, my heart trembled: I thought, I remembered - Th
was in your thoughts then, How did the star roll?
I remembered! My little legs have become, I’m trying to walk, but I can’t!

I thought that I would hardly find Proclus alive... No! The queen of heaven will not allow it! A wonderful icon will give healing!. Vadim Serov. 2003.

See what “He will stop a galloping horse, / He will enter a burning hut” in other dictionaries:

See: He will stop a galloping horse, / He will enter a burning hut. Encyclopedic Dictionary of winged words and expressions. M.: Locked Press. Vadim Serov. 2003 ... Dictionary of popular words and expressions

Ivan Argunov, “Portrait of an unknown woman in Russian costume”, 1784 ... Wikipedia

1) preposition with accusative and prepositional cases. Without stress, except in cases where it is transferred from a noun to a preposition, for example: on the feet, on the floor, on the night. I. With the accusative case. 1. Used to designate an object, on... ... Small academic dictionary