Alexander Pushkin - There is a green oak near the Lukomorye: Verse. Near the Lukomorye green oak-A

There is a green oak near the Lukomorye;
Golden chain on the oak tree:
Day and night the cat is a scientist
Everything goes round and round in a chain;
He goes to the right - the song starts,
To the left - he tells a fairy tale.
There are miracles there: a goblin wanders there,
The mermaid sits on the branches;
There on unknown paths
Traces of unseen beasts;
There's a hut there on chicken legs
It stands without windows, without doors;
There the forest and valley are full of visions;
There the waves will rush in at dawn
The beach is sandy and empty,
And thirty beautiful knights
From time to time clear waters emerge,
And their sea uncle is with them;
The prince is there in passing
Captivates the formidable king;
There in the clouds in front of the people
Through the forests, across the seas
The sorcerer carries the hero;
In the dungeon there the princess is grieving,
And the brown wolf serves her faithfully;
There is a stupa with Baba Yaga
She walks and wanders by herself,
There, King Kashchei is wasting away over gold;
There is a Russian spirit there... it smells like Russia!
And there I was, and I drank honey;
I saw a green oak by the sea;
The scientist cat sat under him
He told me his fairy tales.

Analysis of the poem “Near the Lukomorye there is a green oak” by Pushkin

“Near the Lukomorye there is a green oak tree...” - lines familiar to everyone from childhood. The magical world of Pushkin's fairy tales has become so firmly entrenched in our lives that it is perceived as an integral part of Russian culture. The poem “Ruslan and Lyudmila” was completed by Pushkin in 1820, but he completed the introduction in 1825 in Mikhailovsky. The poet took Arina Rodionovna’s saying as its basis.

Pushkin's introduction to the poem continues the ancient traditions of Russian folklore. Even the ancient Russian guslars began their tales with an obligatory saying that was not directly related to the plot. This saying set the listeners in a solemn mood and created a special magical atmosphere.

Pushkin begins his poem with a description of the mysterious Lukomorye - a mysterious area where any miracles are possible. “The Scientist Cat” symbolizes the ancient author-storyteller who knows an incredible number of fairy tales and songs. Lukomorye is inhabited by many magical heroes gathered here from all Russian fairy tales. Among them minor characters(goblin, mermaid), and " unprecedented beasts", and an as yet inanimate hut on chicken legs.

Gradually, more significant characters appear before the reader. Among the unclear visions, the mighty “thirty knights” appear, led by Chernomor, symbolizing military force Russian people. The main positive characters (the prince, the hero, the princess) are still nameless. They are collective images that will be embodied in a specific fairy tale. The magical picture is completed by the main negative characters– Baba Yaga and Kashchei the Immortal, personifying evil and injustice.

Pushkin emphasizes that all this Magic world has national roots. He is directly connected with Russia: “it smells like Russia there!” All events taking place in this world (feats, temporary victories of villains and the triumph of justice) are a reflection of real life. Fairy tales are not just stories made up for entertainment. They illuminate reality in their own way and help a person distinguish between good and evil.

RUSLAN AND LUDMILA

Dedication

For you, the soul of my queen,
Beauties, for you alone
Tales of times gone by,
During golden leisure hours,
Under the whisper of chatty old times,
I wrote with a faithful hand;
Please accept my playful work!
Without demanding anyone's praise,
I am already happy with sweet hope,
What a maiden with the trembling of love
He'll look, maybe furtively,
To my sinful songs.

There are miracles there: a goblin wanders there,
The mermaid sits on the branches;
There on unknown paths
Traces of unseen beasts;
There's a hut there on chicken legs
It stands without windows, without doors;
There the forest and valley are full of visions;
There the waves will rush in at dawn
The beach is sandy and empty,
And thirty beautiful knights
From time to time clear waters emerge,
And their sea uncle is with them;
The prince is there in passing
Captivates the formidable king;
There in the clouds in front of the people
Through the forests, across the seas
The sorcerer carries the hero;
In the dungeon there the princess is grieving,
And the brown wolf serves her faithfully;
There is a stupa with Baba Yaga
She walks and wanders by herself;
There, King Kashchei is wasting away over gold;
There is a Russian spirit there... it smells like Russia!
And there I was, and I drank honey;
I saw a green oak by the sea;
The cat was sitting under him, a scientist
He told me his fairy tales.
I remember one: this fairy tale
Now I will tell the world...

Song one

Things of days gone by
Deep legends of antiquity.

In the crowd of mighty sons,
With friends, in the high grid
Vladimir the sun feasted;
He gave away his youngest daughter
For the prince brave Ruslan
And honey from a heavy glass
I drank to their health.
Our ancestors did not eat soon,
It didn't take long to move around
Ladles, silver bowls
With boiling beer and wine.
They poured joy into my heart,
Foam hissed around the edges,
It is important that the teacups wore them
And they bowed low to the guests.

Speeches merged into indistinct noise;
A cheerful circle of guests buzzes;
But suddenly a pleasant voice was heard
And the sound of the harp is a fluent sound;
Everyone fell silent and listened to Bayan:
And the sweet singer praises
Lyudmila is lovely, and Ruslana,
And Lelem made a crown for him.

But, tired of ardent passion,
Ruslan, in love, does not eat or drink;
He looks at his dear friend,
Sighs, gets angry, burns
And, pinching my mustache with impatience,
Counts every moment.
In despondency, with a cloudy brow,
At a noisy wedding table
Three young knights are sitting;
Silent, behind an empty bucket,
Circular cups are forgotten,
And the trash is unpleasant to them;
They do not hear the prophetic Bayan;
They looked down, embarrassed:
Those are three rivals of Ruslan;
The unfortunate are hidden in the soul
Love and hate are poison.
One - Rogdai, brave warrior,
Pushing the limits with a sword
Rich Kyiv fields;
The other is Farlaf, an arrogant loudmouth,
In feasts, not defeated by anyone,
But the warrior is humble among swords;
The last one, full of passionate thought,
Young Khazar Khan Ratmir:
All three are pale and gloomy,
And a merry feast is not a feast for them.

Here it is over; stand in rows
Mixed in noisy crowds,
And everyone looks at the young people:
The bride lowered her eyes
As if my heart was depressed,
And the joyful groom shines.
But the shadow embraces all nature,
It’s already close to midnight; it’s deaf;
The boyars, dozing off from honey,
With a bow they went home.
The groom is delighted, in ecstasy:
He caresses in the imagination
The beauty of a shy maid;
But with secret, sad tenderness
Grand Duke blessing
Gives a young couple.

And here is the young bride
Lead to the wedding bed;
The lights went out... and the night
Lel lights the lamp.
Sweet hopes have come true,
Gifts are being prepared for love;
Jealous robes will fall
On Tsaregrad carpets...
Do you hear the loving whisper,
And the sweet sound of kisses,
And an intermittent murmur
The last timidity?.. Spouse
Feels delight in advance;
And then they came... Suddenly
Thunder struck, light flashed in the fog,
The lamp goes out, the smoke runs out,
Everything around is dark, everything is trembling,
And Ruslan’s soul froze...
Everything fell silent. In the menacing silence
A strange voice was heard twice,
And someone in the smoky depths
Soared blacker than the foggy darkness...
And again the tower is empty and quiet;
The frightened groom stands up
Cold sweat rolls off your face;
Trembling, with a cold hand
He asks the mute darkness...
About grief: there is no dear friend!
The air is empty;
Lyudmila is not in the thick darkness,
Abducted by an unknown force.

Oh, if love is a martyr
Suffering hopelessly from passion,
Even though life is sad, my friends,
However, it is still possible to live.
But after a long time, for long years
Hug your loving friend
The object of desires, tears, longing,
And suddenly a minute wife
Lose forever... oh friends,
Of course it would be better if I died!

However, unhappy Ruslan is alive.
But what did the Grand Duke say?
Suddenly struck by a terrible rumor,
I became angry at my son-in-law,
He convenes him and the court:
“Where, where is Lyudmila?” - asks
With a terrible, fiery brow.
Ruslan doesn't hear. “Children, friends!
I remember my previous achievements:
Oh, have mercy on the old man!
Tell me which one of you agrees
Jump after my daughter?
Whose feat will not be in vain,
Therefore, suffer, cry, villain!
He couldn’t save his wife! —
To him I will give her as a wife
With half the kingdom of my great-grandfathers.
Who will volunteer, children, friends?..”
"I!" - said the sad groom.
"I! I!" - exclaimed with Rogdai
Farlaf and joyful Ratmir:
“Now we saddle our horses;
We are happy to travel all over the world.
Our Father, let us not prolong the separation;
Don’t be afraid: we’re going for the princess.”
And gratefully dumb
In tears he stretches out his hands to them
An old man, exhausted by melancholy.

All four go out together;
Ruslan was killed by despondency;
Thought of the Lost Bride
It torments and kills him.
They sit on zealous horses;
Along the banks of the Dnieper happy
They fly in swirling dust;
Already hiding in the distance;
The riders are no longer visible...
But he still looks for a long time
Grand Duke in an empty field
And the thought flies after them.

Ruslan languished silently,
Having lost both meaning and memory.
Looking over your shoulder arrogantly
And it’s important to put your arms akimbo, Farlaf,
Pouting, he followed Ruslan.
He says: “I force
I've broken free, friends!
Well, will I soon meet the giant?
Surely blood will flow,
These are the victims of jealous love!
Have fun, my faithful sword,
Have fun, my zealous horse!”

Khazar Khan, in his mind
Already hugging Lyudmila,
Almost dancing over the saddle;
The blood in him is young,
The look is full of fire of hope:
Then he gallops at full speed,
It teases the dashing runner,
Circles, rears up
Ile boldly rushes to the hills again.

Rogday is gloomy, silent - not a word...
Fearing an unknown fate
And tormented by vain jealousy,
He is the most worried
And often his gaze is terrible
He looks gloomily at the prince.

Rivals on the same road
Everyone travels together all day.
The Dnieper became dark and sloping;
The shadow of the night pours from the east;
The fogs over the Dnieper are deep;
It's time for their horses to rest.
There's a wide path under the mountain
A wide path crossed.
“Let’s leave, it’s time! - they said -
Let us entrust ourselves to the unknown fate.”
And every horse, not smelling steel,
By will, I chose the path for myself.

What are you doing, Ruslan, unhappy,
Alone in desert silence?
Lyudmila, the wedding day is terrible,
It seems like you saw everything in a dream.
Pushing the copper helmet over his eyebrows,
Leaving the reins from powerful hands,
You're walking between the fields,
And slowly in your soul
Hope dies, faith fades.

But suddenly there was a cave in front of the knight;
There is light in the cave. He's straight to her
Walks under the dormant arches,
Contemporaries of nature itself.
He entered with despondency: what is he seeing?
There is an old man in the cave; clear view,
Calm gaze, gray hair;
The lamp in front of him is burning;
He sits behind an ancient book,
Reading it carefully.
“Welcome, my son! —
He said with a smile to Ruslan. —
I've been here alone for twenty years
In the darkness of the old life I wither;
But finally I waited for the day
Long foreseen by me.
We are brought together by fate;
Sit down and listen to me.
Ruslan, you have lost Lyudmila;
Your strong spirit is losing strength;
But a quick moment of evil will rush by:
For a while, fate befell you.
With hope, cheerful faith
Go for everything, don’t be discouraged;
Forward! with a sword and a bold chest
Make your way to midnight.

Find out, Ruslan: your insulter
The terrible wizard Chernomor,
Longtime thief of beauties,
Full owner of the mountains.
No one else in his abode
Until now the gaze has not penetrated;
But you, destroyer of evil machinations,
You will enter it, and the villain
He will die by your hand.
I don't have to tell you anymore:
The fate of your coming days,
My son, from now on it is your will.”

Our knight fell at the feet of the old man
And in joy he kisses his hand.
The world brightens before his eyes,
And the heart forgot the torment.
He came to life again; and suddenly again
There is a sadness on the flushed face...
“The reason for your melancholy is clear;
But sadness is not difficult to disperse, -
The old man said, “You are terrible.”
Love of a gray-haired sorcerer;
Calm down, know: it is in vain
And the young maiden is not afraid.
He brings down the stars from the sky,
He whistles and the moon trembles;
But against the time of the law
His science is not strong.
Jealous, reverent guardian
Locks of merciless doors,
He's just a weak torturer
Your lovely captive.
He silently wanders around her,
Curses his cruel lot...
But, good knight, the day passes,
But you need peace.”

Ruslan lies down on soft moss
Before the dying fire;
He is looking for sleep,
Sighs, turns slowly...
In vain! Knight finally:
“I can’t sleep, my father!
What to do: I am sick at heart,
And it’s not a dream, how sickening it is to live.
Let me refresh my heart
Your holy conversation.
Forgive my impertinent question.
Open up: who are you, blessed one,
An incomprehensible confidant of fate?
Who brought you to the desert?

Sighing with a sad smile,
The old man replied: “Dear son,
I've already forgotten my distant homeland
Gloomy edge. Natural Finn,
In the valleys known to us alone,
Chasing the herd from the surrounding villages,
In my carefree youth I knew
Some dense oak groves,
Streams, caves of our rocks
Yes, wild poverty is fun.
But to live in gratifying silence
It didn't last long for me.

Then, near our village,
Like a sweet color of solitude,
Naina lived. Between friends
She thundered with beauty.
One morning
Their herds on the dark meadow
I drove on, blowing the bagpipes;
There was a stream in front of me.
Alone, young beauty
I was making a wreath on the shore.
I was attracted by my destiny...
Ah, knight, it was Naina!
I go to her - and the fatal flame
I was rewarded for my daring gaze,
And I recognized love in my soul
With her heavenly joy,
With her painful melancholy.

Half of the year has flown away;
I opened up to her with trepidation,
He said: I love you, Naina.
But my timid sorrow
Naina listened with pride,
Loving only your charms,
And she answered indifferently:
“Shepherd, I don’t love you!”

And everything became wild and gloomy for me:
Native bush, shade of oak trees,
Merry games of shepherds -
Nothing consoled the melancholy.
In despondency, the heart dried up and sluggishly.
And finally I thought
Leave Finnish fields;
Seas of faithless depths
Swim across with a brotherly squad
And deserve the glory of abuse
Naina's proud attention.
I called the brave fishermen
Look for dangers and gold.
For the first time the quiet land of fathers
I heard the swearing sound of damask steel
And the noise of non-peaceful shuttles.
I sailed into the distance, full of hope,
With a crowd of fearless countrymen;
We are ten years of snow and waves
They were stained with the blood of enemies.
Rumor spread: the kings of a foreign land
They were afraid of my insolence;
Their proud squads
The northern swords fled.
We had fun, we fought menacingly,
They shared tributes and gifts,
And they sat down with the vanquished
For friendly feasts.
But a heart full of Naina,
Under the noise of battle and feasts,
I was languishing in secret sorrow,
Searched for the Finnish coast.
It's time to go home, I said, friends!
Let's hang up the idle chain mail
Under the shadow of my native hut.
He said - and the oars rustled;
And, leaving fear behind,
To the Gulf of the Fatherland dear
We flew in with proud joy.

Long-time dreams have come true,
Ardent wishes come true!
A minute of sweet goodbye
And you sparkled for me!
At the feet of the haughty beauty
I brought a bloody sword,
Corals, gold and pearls;
Before her, intoxicated with passion,
Surrounded by a silent swarm
Her envious friends
I stood as an obedient prisoner;
But the maiden hid from me,
Saying with an air of indifference:
"Hero, I don't love you!"

Why tell me, my son,
What is there no power to retell?
Ah, and now alone, alone,
Soul asleep, at the door of the grave,
I remember sorrow, and sometimes,
How a thought is born about the past,
By my gray beard
A heavy tear rolls down.

But listen: in my homeland
Between the desert fishermen
Wonderful science lurks.
Under the roof of eternal silence,
Among the forests, in the distant wilderness
Gray-haired sorcerers live;
To objects of high wisdom
All their thoughts are directed;
Everyone hears their terrible voice,
What happened and what will happen again,
And they are subject to their formidable will
And the coffin and love itself.

And I, a greedy seeker of love,
Decided in joyless sadness
Attract Naina with charms
And in the proud heart of a cold maiden
Ignite love with magic.
Hastened into the arms of freedom,
Into the lonely darkness of the forests;
And there, in the teachings of sorcerers,
Spent invisible years.
The long-awaited moment has come,
And the terrible secret of nature
I realized with bright thoughts:
I learned the power of spells.
The crown of love, the crown of desires!
Now, Naina, you are mine!
The victory is ours, I thought.
But really the winner
There was rock, my persistent persecutor.

In dreams of young hope,
In the delight of ardent desire,
I cast spells hastily,
I call the spirits - and in the darkness of the forest
The arrow rushed like thunder,
The magic whirlwind raised a howl,
The ground shook under my feet...
And suddenly he sits in front of me
The old woman is decrepit, gray-haired,
Sparkling with sunken eyes,
With a hump, with a shaking head,
A picture of sad disrepair.
Ah, knight, it was Naina!..
I was horrified and silent
With my eyes scary ghost measured
I still didn’t believe in doubt
And suddenly he began to cry and shout:
“Is it possible! oh, Naina, is it you!
Naina, where is your beauty?
Tell me, is heaven really
Have you been changed so badly?
Tell me, how long has it been since you left the light?
Have I parted with my soul and my sweetheart?
How long ago?..” “Exactly forty years,”
There was a fatal answer from the maiden, -
Today I was seventy.
“What should I do,” she squeaks to me, “
The years flew by in a crowd.
My, your spring has passed -
We both managed to grow old.
But, friend, listen: it doesn’t matter
Loss of unfaithful youth.
Of course, I'm gray now,
A little hunchbacked, maybe;
Not like in the old days,
Not so alive, not so sweet;
But (added the chatterbox)
I’ll tell you a secret: I’m a witch!”

And it really was like that.
Mute, motionless in front of her,
I was a complete fool
With all my wisdom.

But here's something terrible: witchcraft
It was completely unfortunate.
My gray deity
There was a new passion for me.
Curling his terrible mouth into a smile,
Freak with a grave voice
He mumbles a confession of love to me.
Imagine my suffering!
I trembled, looking down;
She continued through her cough.
Heavy, passionate conversation:
“So, now I recognize the heart;
I see, true friend, it
Born for tender passion;
Feelings have awakened, I'm burning,
I'm yearning for love...
Come into my arms...
Oh darling, darling! I'm dying..."

And meanwhile she, Ruslan,
She blinked with languid eyes;
And meanwhile for my caftan
She held herself with her skinny arms;
And meanwhile I was dying,
I closed my eyes in horror;
And suddenly I couldn’t stand the urine;
I broke out screaming and ran.
She followed: “Oh, unworthy!
You have disturbed my calm age,
The days are bright for the innocent maiden!
You have achieved Naina's love,
And you despise - these are men!
They all breathe treason!
Alas, blame yourself;
He seduced me, wretched one!
I gave myself up to passionate love...
Traitor, monster! oh shame!
But tremble, maiden thief!

So we parted. From now on
Living in my solitude
With a disappointed soul;
And in the world there is consolation for the old man
Nature, wisdom and peace.
The grave is already calling me;
But the feelings are the same
The old lady hasn't forgotten yet
And the late flame of love
Turned from frustration into anger.
Loving evil with a black soul,
The old witch, of course,
He will hate you too;
But grief on earth does not last forever.”

Our knight greedily listened
Stories of the Elder; clear eyes
I didn’t fall into a light nap
And a quiet flight of the night
I didn't hear it in deep thought.
But the day shines radiantly...
With a sigh the grateful knight
Volume of the old sorcerer;
The soul is full of hope;
Gets out. Legs squeezed
Ruslan of the neighing horse,
He recovered in the saddle and whistled.
"My father, do not leave me."
And gallops across the empty meadow.
Gray-haired sage to a young friend
He shouts after him: “Happy journey!
Forgive, love your wife,
Don’t forget the elder’s advice!”

Song two

Rivals in the art of warfare,
Know no peace among yourselves;
Bring tribute to the dark glory
And revel in enmity!
Let the world freeze before you,
Marveling at the terrible celebrations:
No one will regret you
Nobody will bother you.
Rivals of a different kind
You, knights of the Parnassian mountains,
Try not to make people laugh
The immodest noise of your quarrels;
Swear - just be careful.
But you, rivals in love,
Live together if possible!
Believe me, my friends:
To whom fate is indispensable
A girl's heart is destined
He will be sweet in spite of the universe;
It is stupid and sinful to be angry.

When Rogdai is indomitable,
Tormented by a dull foreboding,
Leaving his companions,
Set off into a secluded region
And he rode between the forest deserts,
Lost in deep thought -
Evil spirit worried and confused
His yearning soul
And the cloudy knight whispered:
“I’ll kill!.. I’ll destroy all the barriers...
Ruslan!.. do you recognize me...
Now the girl will cry..."
And suddenly, turning the horse,
He gallops back at full speed.

At that time the valiant Farlaf,
Having dozed sweetly all morning,
Hiding from the midday rays,
By the stream, alone,
To strengthen your mental strength,
I dined in peaceful silence.
When suddenly he sees someone in the field,
Like a storm, he rushes on a horse;
And without wasting any more time,
Farlaf, leaving his lunch,
Spear, chain mail, helmet, gloves,
Jumped into the saddle and without looking back
He flies - and he follows him.
“Stop, dishonorable fugitive! —
An unknown person shouts to Farlaf. —
Despicable one, let yourself be caught up!
Let me rip your head off!”
Farlaf, recognizing Rogdai’s voice,
Crouching in fear, he died
And, expecting certain death,
He drove the horse even faster.
It's like the hare is in a hurry,
Covering your ears fearfully,
Over hummocks, across fields, through forests
Jumps away from the dog.
At the site of the glorious escape
Melted snow in spring
Muddy streams flowed
And they dug into the wet chest of earth.
A zealous horse rushed to the ditch,
He waved his tail and white mane,
He bit the steel reins
And he jumped over the ditch;
But the timid rider is upside down
He fell heavily into a dirty ditch,
I didn’t see the earth and the heavens
And he was ready to accept death.
Rogdai flies up to the ravine;
The cruel sword has already been raised;
“Die, coward! die! - broadcasts...
Suddenly he recognizes Farlaf;
He looks and his hands drop;
Annoyance, amazement, anger
His features were depicted;
Gritting my teeth, numb,
Hero, with drooping head
Having quickly driven away from the ditch,
I was furious... but barely, barely
He didn't laugh at himself.

Then he met under the mountain
The old lady is barely alive,
Hunchbacked, completely gray.
She's a road stick
She pointed him north.
“You will find him there,” she said.
Rogdai was boiling with joy
And he flew to certain death.

And our Farlaf? Left in the ditch
Not daring to breathe; About myself
As he lay there, he thought: Am I alive?
Where did the evil rival go?
Suddenly he hears right above him
The old woman's deathly voice:
“Get up, well done: everything is quiet in the field;
You won't meet anyone else;
I brought you a horse;
Get up, listen to me."

The embarrassed knight involuntarily
Crawling left a dirty ditch;
Looking around timidly,
He sighed and said, coming to life:
“Well, thank God, I’m healthy!”

“Believe me! - the old woman continued, -
Lyudmila is difficult to find;
She has run far;
It's not up to you and me to get it.
It is dangerous to travel around the world;
You really won't be happy.
Follow my advice
Go back quietly.
Near Kyiv, in solitude,
In his ancestral village
Better stay without worries:
Lyudmila will not leave us.”

Having said that, she disappeared. Impatient
Our prudent hero
I immediately went home
Heartily forgetting about fame
And even about the young princess;
And the slightest noise in the oak grove,
The flight of the tit, the murmur of the waters
They threw him into the heat and sweat.

Meanwhile, Ruslan rushes far;
In the wilderness of forests, in the wilderness of fields
With habitual thought he strives
To Lyudmila, my joy,
And he says: “Will I find a friend?
Where are you, my soul husband?
Will I see your bright gaze?
Will I hear a gentle conversation?
Or is it destined that the sorcerer
You were an eternal prisoner
And, growing old as a mournful maiden,
Has it bloomed in a dark dungeon?
Or a daring opponent
Will he come?.. No, no, my priceless friend:
I still have my faithful sword with me,
The head hasn’t fallen off my shoulders yet.”

One day, in the dark,
Along the rocks along the steep bank
Our knight rode over the river.
Everything was calming down. Suddenly behind him
Arrows instant buzzing,
Chainmail ringing, and screaming, and neighing,
And the tramp across the field is dull.
"Stop!" - a thunderous voice boomed.
He looked back: in an open field,
Raising his spear, he flies with a whistle
Fierce horseman and thunderstorm
The prince rushed towards him.
“Aha! caught up with you! wait! —
The daring rider shouts,
Get ready, friend, to be cut to death;
Now lie down among these places;
And look for your brides there.”
Ruslan flared up and trembled with anger;
He recognizes this violent voice...

My friends! and our maiden?
Let's leave the knights for an hour;
I will remember them again soon.
Otherwise it’s high time for me
Think about the young princess
And about the terrible Black Sea.

Of my fancy dream
The confidant is sometimes immodest,
I told how on a dark night
Lyudmila of gentle beauty
From the inflamed Ruslan
They suddenly disappeared among the fog.
Unhappy! when the villain
With your mighty hand
Having torn you from the wedding bed,
Soared like a whirlwind towards the clouds
Through heavy smoke and gloomy air
And suddenly he rushed off to his mountains -
You have lost your feelings and memory
And in the terrible castle of the sorcerer,
Silent, trembling, pale,
In an instant I found myself.

From the threshold of my hut
That's what I saw, among summer days,
When the chicken is cowardly
The arrogant sultan of the chicken coop,
My rooster was running around the yard
And voluptuous wings
Already hugged my friend;
Above them in cunning circles
The chickens of the village are the old thief,
Taking destructive measures
A gray kite rushed and swam
And he fell like lightning into the yard.
He took off and flies. In terrible claws
Into the darkness of safe chasms
The poor villain takes her away.
In vain, with my sorrow
And struck with cold fear,
The rooster is calling his mistress...
He sees only flying fluff,
Blown by the flying wind.

Until the morning, young princess
She lay in painful oblivion,
Like a terrible dream,
Embraced - finally she
I woke up with fiery excitement
And full of vague horror;
The soul flies for pleasure,
Looking for someone with ecstasy;
“Where is my dear,” he whispers, “where is my husband?”
She called and suddenly died.
He looks around with fear.
Lyudmila, where is your bright room?
The unhappy girl lies
Among the down pillows,
Under the proud canopy of the canopy;
Curtains, lush feather bed
In tassels, in expensive patterns;
Brocade fabrics are everywhere;
The yachts play like heat;
There are golden incense burners all around
They raise aromatic steam;
Enough... fortunately I don’t need it
Describe magic house:
It's been a long time since Scheherazade
I was warned about that.
But the bright mansion is not a consolation,
When we don’t see a friend in him.

Three maidens of wonderful beauty,
In light and pretty clothes
They appeared to the princess and approached
And they bowed to the ground.
Then with silent steps
One came closer;
To the princess with airy fingers
Braided a golden braid
With art, which is not new these days,
And she wrapped herself in a crown of pearls
The circumference of the pale forehead.
Behind her, modestly bowing his gaze,
Then another one approached;
Azure, lush sundress
Dressed Lyudmila's slender figure;
Golden curls covered themselves,
Both chest and shoulders are young
A veil as transparent as fog.
The envious veil kisses
Beauty worthy of heaven
And the shoes lightly compress
Two legs, miracle of miracles.
The princess is the last maiden
Pearl Belt delivers.
Meanwhile, the invisible singer
He sings happy songs to her.
Alas, neither the stones of the necklace,
Not a sundress, not a row of pearls,
Not a song of flattery or fun
Her souls are not glad;
In vain the mirror draws
Her beauty, her outfit:
Downcast, motionless gaze,
She is silent, she is sad.

Those who love the truth,
On dark heart read the day
Of course they know about themselves
What if a woman is sad
Through tears, stealthily, somehow,
In spite of habit and reason,
Forgets to look in the mirror, -
She's really sad now.

But Lyudmila is alone again.
Not knowing what to start, she
He approaches the lattice window,
And her gaze sadly wanders
In the space of a cloudy distance.
Everything is dead. Snowy plains
They lay down in bright carpets;
The peaks of the gloomy mountains stand
In monotonous whiteness
And they slumber in eternal silence;
You can't see the smoky roof all around,
The traveler is not visible in the snow,
And the ringing horn of cheerful catching
There is no trumpet in the desert mountains;
Only occasionally with a sad whistle
A whirlwind rebels in a clean field
And on the edge of gray skies
The naked forest shakes.

In tears of despair, Lyudmila
She covered her face in horror.
Alas, what awaits her now!
Runs through the silver door;
She opened with music,
And our maiden found herself
In the garden. Captivating limit:
More beautiful than the gardens of Armida
And those that he owned
King Solomon or Prince of Tauris.
They waver and make noise before her
Magnificent oak trees;
Alleys of palm trees and laurel forests,
And a row of fragrant myrtles,
And the proud peaks of cedars,
And golden oranges
The waters are reflected by the mirror;
Hills, groves and valleys
The springs are enlivened by fire;
The May wind blows with coolness
Among the enchanted fields,
And the Chinese nightingale whistles
In the darkness of trembling branches;
Diamond fountains are flying
With a cheerful noise to the clouds:
The idols shine under them
And, it seems, alive; Phidias himself,
Pet of Phoebus and Pallas,
Finally admiring them
Your enchanted chisel
I would drop it out of my hands out of frustration.
Crushing against marble barriers,
Pearly, fiery arc
Waterfalls are falling and splashing;
And streams in the forest shade
They curl a little like a sleepy wave.
A haven of peace and coolness,
Through the eternal greenery here and there
Light arbors flash by;
There are living rose branches everywhere
They bloom and breathe along the paths.
But inconsolable Lyudmila
He walks and walks and doesn’t look;
She is disgusted with the luxury of magic,
She is sad and blissfully bright;
Where, without knowing, she wanders,
The magic garden goes around,
Giving freedom to bitter tears,
And raises gloomy gazes
To the unforgiving skies.
Suddenly a beautiful gaze lit up:
She pressed her finger to her lips;
It seemed like a terrible idea
Was born... A terrible path was opened:
High bridge over the stream
In front of her hangs on two rocks;
In grave and deep despondency
She comes up - and in tears
I looked at the noisy waters,
Hit, sobbing, in the chest,
I decided to drown in the waves -
However, she didn’t jump into the water
And then she continued on her way.

My beautiful Lyudmila,
Running through the sun in the morning,
I'm tired, I've dried my tears,
I thought in my heart: it’s time!
She sat down on the grass, looked around -
And suddenly there is a tent over her,
Noisily, she turned around with coolness;
Lunch is sumptuous before her;
A device made of bright crystal;
And in silence from behind the branches
The invisible harp began to play.
The captive princess marvels,
But secretly she thinks:
“Away from the sweetheart, in captivity,
Why should I live in the world anymore?
O you, whose disastrous passion
It torments me and cherishes me,
I'm not afraid of the villain's power:
Lyudmila knows how to die!
I don't need your tents
No boring songs, no feasts -
I won't eat, I won't listen,
I will die among your gardens!

The princess gets up, and instantly the tent
And a magnificent luxury device,
And the sounds of the harp... everything was gone;
Everything became quiet as before;
Lyudmila is alone in the gardens again
Wanders from grove to grove;
Meanwhile in the azure skies
The moon, queen of the night, is floating,
Finds darkness on all sides
And she rested quietly on the hills;
The princess is involuntarily falling asleep,
And suddenly an unknown force
More gentle than the spring breeze,
Lifts her into the air
Carries through the air to the palace
And carefully lowers
Through the incense of evening roses
On a bed of sadness, a bed of tears.
Three maidens suddenly appeared again
And they fussed around her,
To take off your luxurious attire at night;
But their dull, vague gaze
And forced silence
Showed secret compassion
And a weak reproach to fate.
But let's hurry: with their gentle hand
The sleepy princess is undressed;
Charming with careless charm,
In one snow-white shirt
She goes to bed.
With a sigh the maidens bowed,
Get away as quickly as possible
And they quietly closed the door.
Well, our prisoner is now!
He trembles like a leaf, he doesn’t dare to breathe;
The hearts grow cold, the gaze darkens;
Instant sleep flees from the eyes;
Not sleeping, doubled my attention,
Looking motionless into the darkness...
Everything is gloomy, dead silence!
Only hearts can hear the fluttering...
And it seems... the silence whispers,
They go - they go to her bed;
The princess is hiding in the pillows -
And suddenly... oh fear!.. and really
There was a noise; illuminated
With an instant shine the darkness of the night,
Instantly the door opened;
Silently, proudly speaking,
Flashing naked sabers,
Arapov is walking in a long line
In pairs, as decorously as possible,
And be careful on the pillows
He bears a gray beard;
And he follows her with importance,
Raising his neck majestically,
Humpbacked dwarf from the door:
His head is shaved,
Covered with a high cap,
Belonged to the beard.
He was already approaching: then
The princess jumped out of bed,
Gray-haired Karl for the cap
With a quick hand I grabbed it,
Trembling raised fist
And she screamed in fear,
Which stunned all the Arabs.
Trembling, the poor man hunched over,
The frightened princess is paler;
Quickly cover your ears,
I wanted to run, but I had a beard
Confused, fallen and thrashing;
Gets up, fell; in such trouble
Arapov's black swarm is restless;
They make noise, push, run,
They grab the sorcerer
And out they go to unravel,
Leaving Lyudmila's hat.

But something about our good knight?
Do you remember the unexpected meeting?
Take your quick pencil,
Draw, Orlovsky, night and flog!
In the quivering light of the moon
The knights fought fiercely;
Their hearts are filled with anger,
The spears have already been thrown far away,
The swords are already shattered,
The chain mail is covered in blood,
Shields are cracking, broken into pieces...
They grappled on horseback;
Exploding black dust to the sky,
Beneath them the greyhounds' horses fight;
The fighters are motionlessly intertwined,
Squeezing each other, they remain
As if nailed to the saddle;
Their members are cramped with malice;
Intertwined and ossified;
A quick fire runs through the veins;
On the enemy's chest the chest trembles -
And now they hesitate, weaken -
Someone's mouth... suddenly my knight,
Boiling with an iron hand
The rider is torn from the saddle,
Lifts you up and holds you above you
And throws it into the waves from the shore.
“Die! - exclaims menacingly; —
Die, my evil envious man!”

You guessed it, my reader,
Who did the valiant Ruslan fight with:
He was a seeker of bloody battles,
Rogdai, the hope of the people of Kiev,
Lyudmila is a gloomy admirer.
It is along the Dnieper banks
I was looking for rival tracks;
Found, overtook, but the same strength
I cheated on my battle pet,
And Rus' is an ancient daredevil
I found my end in the desert.
And it was heard that Rogdaya
Young mermaid of those waters
I accepted it coldly
And, greedily kissing the knight,
Drove me to the bottom with laughter,
And long after, on a dark night
Wandering near quiet shores,
Bogatyr's ghost is huge
Scared the desert fishermen.

Song three

It was in vain that you lurked in the shadows
For peaceful, happy friends,
My poems! You didn't hide
From angry, envying eyes.
Already a pale critic, to her service,
The question was fatal to me:
Why does Ruslanov need a girlfriend?
As if to laugh at her husband,
I call both maiden and princess?
You see, my good reader,
There is a black seal of anger here!
Tell me, Zoilus, tell me, traitor,
Well, how and what should I answer?
Blush, unfortunate one, God bless you!
Blush, I don’t want to argue;
Satisfied that I am right in soul,
I remain silent in humble meekness.
But you will understand me, Klymene,
You will lower your languid eyes,
You, victim of the boring Hymen...
I see: secret tear
It will fall on my verse, clear to my heart;
You blushed, your gaze went dark;
She sighed silently... an understandable sigh!
Jealous: be afraid, the hour is near;
Cupid with wayward chagrin
We entered into a bold conspiracy,
And for your inglorious head
The vengeful cleaning is ready.

Already the cold morning was shining
On the crown of the full mountains;
But in the marvelous castle everything was silent.
In annoyance, the hidden Chernomor,
Without a hat, in a morning robe,
Yawned angrily on the bed.
Around his gray hair
The slaves crowded silently,
And gently the bone comb
Combed her curls;
Meanwhile, for benefit and beauty,
On an endless mustache
Oriental aromas flowed,
And the cunning curls curled;
Suddenly, out of nowhere,
A winged serpent flies into the window;
Rattling with iron scales,
He bent into quick rings
And suddenly Naina turned around
In front of an astonished crowd.
“I greet you,” she said, “
Brother, long revered by me!
Until now I knew Chernomor
One loud rumor;
But secret fate connects
Now we have common enmity;
You are in danger
A cloud hangs over you;
And the voice of insulted honor
Calls me to revenge."

With a gaze full of cunning flattery,
Karla gives her his hand,
Saying: “Wonderful Naina!
Your union is precious to me.
We will put Finn to shame;
But I’m not afraid of dark machinations:
A weak enemy is not scary to me;
Find out my wonderful lot:
This blessed beard
No wonder Chernomor is decorated.
How long will her hair be gray?
A hostile sword will not cut,
None of the dashing knights
No mortal will destroy
My slightest plans;
My century will be Lyudmila,
Ruslan is doomed to the grave!”
And the witch gloomily repeated:
“He will die! he will die!
Then she hissed three times,
She stomped her foot three times
And she flew away like a black serpent.

Shining in a brocade robe,
A sorcerer, encouraged by a witch,
Having cheered up, I decided again
Carry the captive to the feet of the maiden
Mustaches, humility and love.
The bearded dwarf is dressed up,
Again he goes to her chambers;
There is a long row of rooms:
There is no princess in them. He's far away, into the garden,
To the laurel forest, to the garden trellis,
Along the lake, around the waterfall,
Under bridges, in gazebos... no!
The princess left, and there was no trace!
Who will express his embarrassment,
And the roar and the thrill of frenzy?
Out of frustration, he did not see the day.
Carla heard a wild groan:
“Here, slaves, run!
Here, I hope for you!
Now find Lyudmila for me!
Hurry up, do you hear? Now!
It’s not that - you’re joking with me -
I will strangle you all with my beard!”

Reader, let me tell you,
Where did the beauty go?
All night she follows her fate
She marveled in tears and laughed.
The beard scared her
But Chernomor was already known,
And he was funny, but never
Horror is incompatible with laughter.
Towards the morning rays
Lyudmila left the bed
And she turned her involuntary gaze
To high, clean mirrors;
Involuntarily golden curls
She lifted me from her lily shoulders;
Involuntarily thick hair
She braided it with a careless hand;
Your yesterday's outfits
I accidentally found it in the corner;
Sighing, I got dressed and out of frustration
She began to cry quietly;
However, from the right glass,
Sighing, I didn’t take my eyes off,
And it occurred to the girl,
In the excitement of wayward thoughts,
Try on Chernomor's hat.
Everything is quiet, no one is here;
No one will look at the girl...
And a girl at seventeen
What hat won't stick!
You're never too lazy to dress up!
Lyudmila shook her hat;
On the eyebrows, straight, askew
And she put it on backwards.
So what? oh the wonder of old days!
Lyudmila disappeared in the mirror;
Turned it over - in front of her
The old Lyudmila appeared;
I put it back on - no more;
I took it off and in the mirror! "Wonderful!
Good, sorcerer, good, my light!
Now I’m safe here;
Now I’ll save myself the hassle!”
And the old villain's hat
Princess, blushing with joy,
I put it on backwards.

But let's return to the hero.
Aren't we ashamed to do this?
So long with a hat, a beard,
Ruslana entrusting to the fates?
Having fought a fierce battle with Rogdai,
He drove through a dense forest;
A wide valley opened before him
In the brightness of the morning skies.
The knight trembles involuntarily:
He sees an old battlefield.
In the distance everything is empty; here and there
The bones turn yellow; over the hills
Quivers and armor are scattered;
Where is the harness, where is the rusty shield;
The sword lies in the bones of the hand here;
The grass is overgrown there with a shaggy helmet
And the old skull smolders in it;
There is a whole skeleton of a hero there
With his downed horse
Lies motionless; spears, arrows
Stuck into the damp ground,
And peaceful ivy wraps around them...
Nothing of silent silence
This desert does not disturb,
And the sun from a clear height
The valley of death is illuminated.

With a sigh the knight surrounds himself
He looks with sad eyes.
"Oh field, field, who are you
Strewn with dead bones?
Whose greyhound horse trampled you
In the last hour of a bloody battle?
Who fell on you with glory?
Whose heaven heard the prayers?
Why, O field, have you fallen silent?
And overgrown with the grass of oblivion?..
Time from eternal darkness,
Perhaps there is no salvation for me either!
Perhaps on a silent hill
They will place the silent coffin of the Ruslans,
And the loud strings of Bayan
They won’t talk about him!”

But soon my knight remembered,
That a hero needs a good sword
And even armor; and the hero
WITH last battle unarmed
He walks around the field;
In the bushes, among the forgotten bones,
In the mass of smoldering chain mail,
Swords and helmets shattered
He is looking for armor for himself.
The roar and the silent steppe woke up,
A crackling and ringing sound arose in the field;
He raised his shield without choosing,
I found both a helmet and a ringing horn;
But I just couldn’t find the sword.
Driving around the valley of battle,
He sees many swords
But everyone is light, but too small,
And the handsome prince was not sluggish,
Not like the hero of our days.
To play something out of boredom,
He took the steel spear in his hands,
He put the chain mail on his chest
And then he set off on his way.

The ruddy sunset has already turned pale
Over the sleepy earth;
The blue mists are smoking,
And the golden month rises;
The steppe has faded. Along a dark path
Our Ruslan rides thoughtfully
And he sees: through the night fog
A huge hill blackens in the distance,
And something terrible is snoring.
He is closer to the hill, closer - he hears:
The wonderful hill seems to be breathing.
Ruslan listens and looks
Fearlessly, with a calm spirit;
But, moving his timid ear,
The horse resists, trembles,
Shakes his stubborn head,
And the mane stood on end.
Suddenly a hill, a cloudless moon
Palely illuminated in the fog,
It becomes clearer; the brave prince looks -
And he sees a miracle before him.
Will I find colors and words?
There is a living head in front of him.
Huge eyes covered in sleep;
He snores, rocking his feathered helmet,
And feathers in the dark heights,
Like shadows, they walk, fluttering.
In its terrible beauty
Rising above the gloomy steppe,
Surrounded by silence
The guardian of the nameless desert,
Ruslan will have it
A menacing and foggy mass.
In bewilderment he wants
Mysterious to destroy sleep.
Looking closely at the wonder,
Got my head spinning
And he stood silently before his nose;
Tickles the nostrils with a spear,
And, wincing, my head yawned,
She opened her eyes and sneezed...
A whirlwind arose, the steppe trembled,
Dust flew up; from eyelashes, from mustaches,
A flock of owls flew from the brows;
The silent groves woke up,
An echo sneezed - a zealous horse
Neighed, jumped, flew away,
The knight himself barely sat still,
And then a noisy voice rang out:
“Where are you going, foolish knight?
Step back, I'm not kidding!
I’ll just swallow the impudence!”
Ruslan looked around with contempt,
He held the reins of the horse
And he smiled proudly.
"What do you want from me? —
Frowning, the head cried out. —
Fate sent me a guest!
Listen, get away!
I want to sleep, it's night now
Goodbye!" But the famous knight
Hearing harsh words
He exclaimed with angry importance:
“Be quiet, empty head!
I heard the truth, it happened:
I'm going, I'm going, I'm not whistling,
And once I get there, I won’t let you go!”

Then, speechless with rage,
Constrained by the flames of anger,
The head pouted; like fever
Bloody eyes sparkled;
Foaming, lips trembled,
Steam rose from the lips and ears -
And suddenly, as fast as she could,
She began to blow towards the prince;
In vain the horse, closing its eyes,
Bowing my head, straining my chest,
Through the storm, the rain and the darkness of the night
The infidel continues on his way;
Fearful, blinded,
He rushes again, exhausted,
Far away in the field to rest.
The knight wants to turn again -
Reflected again, no hope!
And his head follows,
She laughs like crazy
Thunders: “Ay, knight! ah, hero!
Where are you going? hush, hush, stop!
Hey, knight, you'll break your neck for nothing;
Don't be afraid, rider, and me
Please me with at least one blow,
Until I killed the horse.”
And yet she is a hero
teased scary language.
Ruslan, there is annoyance in the heart of the cut,
Silently threatens her with a copy,
Shakes him with his free hand,
And, trembling, the cold damask steel
Stuck into the insolent tongue.
And blood from a mad mouth
The river ran instantly.
From surprise, pain, anger,
In a moment I lost my insolence,
The head looked at the prince,
Iron gnawed and turned pale
In a calm spirit, heated,
So sometimes in the middle of our stage
Melpomene's bad pet,
Stunned by a sudden whistle,
He doesn't see anything anymore
He turns pale, forgets his role,
Trembling, head down,
And, stuttering, falls silent
In front of a jeering crowd.
Taking advantage of the moment,
To a head filled with embarrassment,
Like a hawk, the hero flies
With a raised, formidable right hand
And on the cheek with a heavy mitten
It hits the head with a swing;
And the steppe resounded with a blow;
Dewy grass all around
Stained with bloody foam,
And, staggering, the head
Turned over, rolled,
And the cast-iron helmet rattled.
Then the place is empty
The heroic sword flashed.
Our knight is in joyful trepidation
He was grabbed and to the head
On the bloody grass
Runs with cruel intent
Cut off her nose and ears;
Ruslan is already ready to strike,
Already swung his broad sword -
Suddenly, amazed, he listens
The head of the begging pitiful moan...
And quietly he lowers his sword,
Fierce anger dies in him,
And stormy vengeance will fall
In a soul pacified by prayer:
So the ice melts in the valley,
Struck by the midday ray.

“You talked some sense into me, hero,”
With a sigh the head said,
Your right hand has proven
That I am guilty before you;
From now on I am obedient to you;
But, knight, be generous!
My lot is worthy of weeping.
And I was a daring knight!
In the bloody battles of the adversary
I have not matured my equal;
Happy whenever I don't have
Little brother's rival!
The insidious, evil Chernomor,
You, you are the cause of all my troubles!
Our family is a disgrace,
Born by Karla, with a beard,
My wondrous growth from my youth
He could not see without annoyance
And for this reason in his soul he became
I, cruel one, should be hated.
I've always been a little simple
Although tall; and this unfortunate one,
Having the stupidest height,
Smart as a devil - and terribly angry.
Moreover, you know, to my misfortune,
In his wonderful beard
A fatal force lurks,
And, despising everything in the world,
As long as the beard is intact -
A traitor fears no evil.
Here he is one day with an air of friendship
“Listen,” he said to me slyly, “
Don't give up on this important service:
I found it in black books
What's beyond the eastern mountains?
On the quiet shores of the sea,
In a remote basement, under locks
The sword is kept - so what? fear!
I made out in the magical darkness,
That by the will of hostile fate
This sword will be known to us;
That he will destroy us both:
He will cut off my beard,
Head for you; judge for yourself
How important is it for us to purchase
This creature of evil spirits!”
“Well, what then? where is the difficulty? —
I told Karla, “I’m ready;
I’m going, even beyond the limits of the world.”
And he put the pine tree on his shoulder,
And on the other for advice
He imprisoned his brother's villain;
Set off on a long journey,
I walked and walked and, thank God,
As if to spite the prophecy,
Everything went happily at first.
Behind the distant mountains
We found the fatal basement;
I scattered it with my hands
And he took out the hidden sword.
But no! fate wanted it:
A quarrel has boiled between us -
And, I confess, it was about something!
Question: who should own the sword?
I argued, Karla got excited;
They fought for a long time; finally
The trick was invented by a cunning man,
He became quiet and seemed to soften.
“Let’s leave the useless argument,”
Chernomor told me it was important, -
We will thereby dishonor our union;
Reason commands us to live in the world;
We'll let fate decide
Who does this sword belong to?
Let's both put our ears to the ground
(What does evil not invent!),
And whoever hears the first bell,
He will wield the sword until his grave.”
He said and lay down on the ground.
I foolishly also stretched myself;
I'm lying there, I don't hear anything,
I dare to deceive him!
But he himself was cruelly deceived.
Villain in deep silence
Standing up, tiptoeing towards me
He crept up from behind and swung it;
A sharp sword whistled like a whirlwind,
And before I looked back,
My head has already flown off my shoulders -
And supernatural power
The spirit in her life stopped.
My frame is overgrown with thorns;
Far away, in a country forgotten by people,
My unburied ashes have decayed;
But the evil Karl suffered
I'm in this secluded land,
Where I should have always been guarding
The sword you took today.
O knight! You are kept by fate,
Take it, and God be with you!
Perhaps on its way
You will meet Karl the sorcerer -
Oh, if you notice him,
Take revenge on deceit and malice!
And finally I will be happy
I'll leave this world in peace -
And in my gratitude
I’ll forget your slap.”

Canto Four

Every day, when I rise from sleep,
I thank God from the bottom of my heart
Because in our times
There aren't that many wizards.
Besides - honor and glory to them! —
Our marriages are safe...
Their plans are not so terrible
For husbands, young girls.
But there are other wizards
Which I hate:
Smile, blue eyes
And a sweet voice - oh friends!
Don't believe them: they are deceitful!
Be afraid by imitating me,
Their intoxicating poison
And rest in silence.

Poetry is a wonderful genius,
Singer of mysterious visions,
Love, dreams and devils,
A faithful inhabitant of graves and paradise,
And my windy muse
Confidant, mentor and guardian!
Forgive me, northern Orpheus,
What's in my funny story
Now I'm flying after you
And the lyre of the wayward muse
I will expose you in a lovely lie.

My friends, you heard everything,
Like a demon in ancient days, a villain
First he betrayed himself out of sadness,
And there are the souls of the daughters;
Like after a generous alms,
By prayer, faith, and fasting,
And unfeigned repentance
He found an intercessor in the saint;
How he died and how they fell asleep
His twelve daughters:
And we were captivated, terrified
Pictures of these secret nights,
These wonderful visions
This gloomy demon, this divine wrath,
Living sinner's torment
And lovely virgins.
We cried with them, wandered
Around the battlemented castle walls,
And they loved with their hearts touched
Their quiet sleep, their quiet captivity;
Vadim's soul was called upon,
And they saw their awakening,
And often nuns of saints
They escorted him to his father's coffin.
And well, is it possible?.. they lied to us!
But will I tell the truth?..

Young Ratmir, heading south
The impatient running of a horse
I was thinking before sunset
Catch up with Ruslan's wife.
But the crimson day was evening;
In vain is the knight before himself
I looked into the distant mists:
Everything was empty above the river.
The last ray of dawn burned
Above a brightly gilded pine forest.
Our knight past the black rocks
I passed quietly and with my gaze
I was looking for an overnight stay between the trees.
He goes to the valley
And he sees: a castle on the rocks
The battlements elevate;
The towers on the corners turn black;
And the maiden along the high wall,
Like a lonely swan at sea,
It's coming, the dawn is lit;
And the maiden's song is barely audible
Valleys in deep silence.

“The darkness of night falls on the field;
It's too late, young traveler!
Take refuge in our delightful tower.

Here at night there is bliss and peace,
And during the day there is noise and feasting.
Come to a friendly calling,
Come, O young traveler!

Here you will find a swarm of beauties;
Their speeches and kisses are tender.
Come to the secret calling,
Come, O young traveler!

We are for you at dawn
Let's fill the cup goodbye.
Come to a peaceful calling,
Come, O young traveler!

The darkness of night falls on the field;
A cold wind rose from the waves.
It's too late, young traveler!
Take refuge in our delightful mansion.”

She beckons, she sings;
And the young khan is already under the wall;
They meet him at the gate
Red girls in a crowd;
With the noise of kind words
He is surrounded; they don't take him away
They have captivating eyes;
Two girls lead the horse away;
The Young Khan enters the palace,
Behind him is a swarm of sweet hermits;
One takes off her winged helmet,
Another forged armor,
That one takes a sword, that one takes a dusty shield;
Clothes will replace bliss
Iron armor of battle.
But first the young man is led
To a magnificent Russian bathhouse.
Already the smoky waves are flowing
In her silver vats,
And cold fountains splash;
A luxurious carpet is spread out;
The tired khan lies down on it;
Transparent steam swirls above it;
Downcast bliss full gaze,
Adorable, half naked,
In tender and silent care,
There are young maidens around the Khan
They are crowded by a playful crowd.
Another waves over the knight
The branches of young birches,
And the fragrant heat from them plows;
Another juice of spring roses
Tired members are cooling off
And drowns in aromas
Dark curly hair.
The knight intoxicated with delight
Already forgot Lyudmila captive
Recently lovely beauties;
Tormented by sweet desire;
His wandering gaze shines,
And, full of passionate expectation,
He melts his heart, he burns.

But then he comes out of the bathhouse.
Dressed in velvet fabrics,
In the circle of lovely maidens, Ratmir
Sits down to a rich feast.
I am not Omer: in high verses
He can chant alone
Dinners of Greek squads,
And the ringing and foam of deep cups,
Nice, in the footsteps of the Guys,
I should praise the careless lyre
And nakedness in the shadow of the night,
And a kiss of tender love!
The castle is illuminated by the moon;
I see a distant tower,
Where is the languid, inflamed knight
Taste a lonely dream;
His forehead, his cheeks
They burn with an instant flame;
His lips are half open
Secret kisses beckon;
He sighs passionately, slowly,
He sees them - and in a passionate dream
Presses the covers to the heart.
But here in deep silence
The door opened; Paul is jealous
It hides under a hasty foot,
And under the silver moon
The maiden flashed. Dreams are winged,
Hide, fly away!
Wake up - your night has come!
Wake up - the moment of loss is precious!..
She comes up, he lies down
And in voluptuous bliss he slumbers;
His cover slips from the bed,
And the hot fluff envelops the brow.
In silence the maiden before him
Stands motionless, lifeless,
Like the hypocritical Diana
Before your dear shepherd;
And here she is, on the khan's bed
Leaning on one knee,
Sighing, she tilts her face towards him.
With languor, with living trepidation,
And the lucky man's sleep is interrupted
A passionate and silent kiss...

But, others, the virgin lyre
She fell silent under my hand;
My timid voice is weakening -
Let's leave young Ratmir;
I don’t dare continue with the song:
Ruslan should keep us busy,
Ruslan, this unparalleled knight,
A hero at heart, a faithful lover.
Tired of stubborn fighting,
Under the heroic head
He tastes the sweetness of sleep.
But now at the early dawn
The quiet horizon shines;
All clear; morning ray playful
The head's shaggy forehead turns golden.
Ruslan gets up, and the horse is zealous
The knight is already rushing like an arrow.

And the days fly by; the fields are turning yellow;
Decrepit leaves fall from the trees;
In the forests the autumn wind whistles
The feathered singers are drowned out;
Heavy, cloudy fog
It wraps around naked hills;
Winter is coming - Ruslan
Bravely continues his journey
To the far north; every day
Meets new obstacles:
Then he fights with the hero,
Now with a witch, now with a giant,
Then on a moonlit night he sees
As if through a magical dream,
Surrounded by gray fog
Mermaids quietly on the branches
Swinging, the young knight
With a sly smile on your lips
They beckon without saying a word...
But we keep it in secret,
The fearless knight is unharmed;
Desire lies dormant in his soul,
He doesn't see them, he doesn't listen to them,
Only Lyudmila is with him everywhere.

But meanwhile, not visible to anyone,
From the attacks of the sorcerer
I keep it with a magic hat,
What is my princess doing?
My beautiful Lyudmila?
She is silent and sad,
Alone walks through the gardens,
He thinks about his friend and sighs,
Or, giving free rein to your dreams,
To the native Kyiv fields
Flies into the oblivion of the heart;
Hugs his father and brothers,
Girlfriends sees young
And their old mothers -
Captivity and separation are forgotten!
But soon the poor princess
Loses his delusion
And again sad and alone.
Slaves of a villain in love,
And day and night, not daring to sit,
Meanwhile, around the castle, through the gardens
They were looking for a lovely captive,
They rushed about, called loudly,
However, it’s all for nothing.
Lyudmila was amused by them:
Sometimes in magical groves
Suddenly she appeared without a hat
And she called: “Here, here!”
And everyone rushed to her in a crowd;
But to the side - suddenly invisible -
With silent feet she
She ran away from predatory hands.
We noticed everywhere all the time
Her minute traces:
Those are gilded fruits
They disappeared on the noisy branches,
Those are drops of spring water
They fell into the crumpled meadow:
Then the castle probably knew
What does the princess drink or eat?
On the branches of cedar or birch
Hiding at night, she
I was looking for a moment's sleep -
But she only shed tears
My wife and peace were calling,
I was languishing with sadness and yawning,
And rarely, rarely before dawn,
Bowing my head to the tree,
She dozed in a thin drowsiness;
The darkness of the night was barely thinning,
Lyudmila walked to the waterfall
Wash with a cold stream:
Karla himself in the morning
Once I saw from the wards,
As if under an invisible hand
The waterfall splashed and splashed.
With my usual melancholy
Until another night, here and there,
She wandered through the gardens:
Often in the evening we heard
Her pleasant voice;
Often in the groves they raised
Or the wreath thrown by her,
Or scraps of a Persian shawl,
Or a tear-stained handkerchief.

Wounded by cruel passion,
Overshadowed by vexation, anger,
The sorcerer finally decided
Definitely catch Lyudmila.
So Lemnos is a lame blacksmith,
Having received the marital crown
From the hands of the lovely Cythera,
I spread a net to her beauty,
Revealed to the mocking gods
Cyprids are tender ideas...

Bored, poor princess
In the cool of the marble gazebo
I sat quietly near the window
And through the swaying branches
I looked at the flowering meadow.
Suddenly he hears a call: “Dear friend!”
And he sees faithful Ruslan.
His features, gait, stature;
But he is pale, there is fog in his eyes,
And there is a living wound on the thigh -
Her heart trembled. “Ruslan!
Ruslan!.. he’s definitely!” And with an arrow
The captive flies to her husband,
In tears, trembling, he says:
“You’re here... you’re wounded... what’s wrong with you?”
Already reached, hugged:
Oh horror... the ghost disappears!
Princess in the nets; from her forehead
The hat falls to the ground.
Cold, he hears a menacing cry:
"She is mine!" - and at the same moment
He sees the sorcerer before his eyes.
The maiden heard a pitiful groan,
Fall unconscious - and a wonderful dream
He embraced the unfortunate woman with his wings

What will happen to the poor princess!
O terrible sight: the frail wizard
Caresses with an impudent hand
The youthful charms of Lyudmila!
Will he really be happy?
Chu... suddenly there was a ringing of horns,
And someone calls Karla.
In confusion, pale sorcerer
He puts a hat on the girl;
They blow again; louder, louder!
And he flies to an unknown meeting,
Throwing his beard over his shoulders.

Song five

Ah, how sweet my princess!
Her like is most dear to me:
She is sensitive, modest,
Marital love is faithful,
A little windy... so what?
More the cuter the better she.
Always the charm of the new
She knows how to captivate us;
Tell me: is it possible to compare
Is she and Delphira harsh?
One - fate sent a gift
To charm hearts and eyes;
Her smile, her conversations
Love gives birth to heat in me.
And she is under the skirt of a hussar,
Just give her a mustache and spurs!
Blessed is he who in the evening
To a secluded corner
My Lyudmila is waiting
And he will call you a friend of the heart;
But believe me, blessed is he too
Who is running away from Delphira?
And I don’t even know her.
Yes, but that’s not the point!
But who blew the trumpet? Who's the sorcerer
Did you call me to a flogging?
Who scared the sorcerer?
Ruslan. He, burning with revenge,
Reached the abode of the villain.
The knight is already standing under the mountain,
The calling horn howls like a storm,
The impatient horse is seething
And he digs snow with his wet hoof.
The prince is waiting for Karla. Suddenly he
On a strong steel helmet
Struck by an invisible hand;
The blow fell like thunder;
Ruslan raises his vague gaze
And he sees - right above the head -
With a raised, terrible mace
Karla Chernomor flies.
Covering himself with a shield, he bent down,
He shook his sword and swung it;
But he soared under the clouds;
For a moment he disappeared - and from above
Noisily flies towards the prince again.
The agile knight flew away,
And into the snow with a fatal swing
The sorcerer fell and sat down there;
Ruslan, without saying a word,
Off the horse, he hurries towards him,
I caught him, he grabs me by the beard,
The wizard struggles and groans
And suddenly he flies away with Ruslan...
The zealous horse looks after you;
Already a sorcerer under the clouds;
The hero hangs on his beard;
Flying over dark forests
Flying over wild mountains
They fly over the abyss of the sea;
The stress makes me stiff,
Ruslan for the villain's beard
Holds on with a steady hand.
Meanwhile, weakening in the air
And amazed at the Russian strength,
Wizard to proud Ruslan
He insidiously says: “Listen, prince!
I will stop harming you;
Loving young courage,
I will forget everything, I will forgive you,
I’ll go down - but only with an agreement..."
“Be silent, treacherous sorcerer! —
Our knight interrupted: - with Chernomor,
With his wife's tormentor,
Ruslan doesn't know the contract!
This formidable sword will punish the thief.
Fly even to the night star,
How about you be without a beard!”
Fear surrounds Chernomor;
In frustration, in silent grief,
In vain long beard
Tired Karla is shocked:
Ruslan doesn't let her out
And sometimes it stings my hair.
For two days the sorcerer wears the hero,
On the third he asks for mercy:
“O knight, have pity on me;
I can barely breathe; no more urine;
Leave me life, I am in your will;
Tell me, I’ll go down wherever you want...”
“Now you are ours: yeah, you’re trembling!
Humble yourself, submit to Russian power!
Take me to my Lyudmila."

Chernomor humbly listens;
He set off home with the knight;
He flies and instantly finds himself
Among their terrible mountains.
Then Ruslan with one hand
Took the sword of the slain head
And, grabbing the beard with the other,
I cut her off like a handful of grass.
“Know ours! - he said cruelly, -
What, predator, where is your beauty?
Where is the strength? - and a high helmet
Gray hair knits;
Whistling he calls the dashing horse;
A cheerful horse flies and neighs;
Our knight Karl is barely alive
He puts it in a knapsack behind the saddle,
And he himself, afraid of the moment of waste,
The steep one hurries to the top of the mountain,
Achieved, and with a joyful soul
Flies into magical chambers.
In the distance, seeing a big-haired helmet,
The key to a fatal victory,
Before him is a wonderful swarm of Arabs,
Crowds of fearful slaves,
Like ghosts from all sides
They ran and disappeared. He walks
Alone among the proud temples,
He calls his dear wife -
Only the echo of silent vaults
Ruslan gives his voice;
In the excitement of impatient feelings
He opens the doors to the garden -
He goes and goes and doesn’t find him;
Confused eyes look around -
Everything is dead: the groves are silent,
The gazebos are empty; on the rapids,
Along the banks of the stream, in the valleys,
There is no trace of Lyudmila anywhere,
And the ear does not hear anything.
A sudden chill embraces the prince,
The light is darkening in his eyes,
Dark thoughts arose in my mind...
“Perhaps grief... gloomy captivity...
A minute... waves..." In these dreams
He's immersed. With silent melancholy
The knight bowed his head;
He is tormented by involuntary fear;
He is motionless, like a dead stone;
The mind is darkened; wild flame
And the poison of desperate love
Already flowing in his blood.
It seemed like the shadow of a beautiful princess
Touched trembling lips...
And suddenly, frantic, terrible,
The knight rushes through the gardens;
He calls Lyudmila with a cry,
It tears cliffs from the hills,
Destroys everything, destroys everything with a sword -
Gazebos, groves are falling,
Trees, bridges dive in the waves,
The steppe is exposed all around!
Far away the rumbles repeat
And roar, and crackling, and noise, and thunder;
Everywhere the sword rings and whistles,
The lovely land is devastated -
The mad knight is looking for a victim,
With a swing to the right, to the left he
The desert air cuts through...
And suddenly - an unexpected blow
Knocks off the invisible princess
Chernomor's farewell gift...
The power of magic suddenly disappeared:
Lyudmila has opened up on the networks!
Not believing my own eyes,
Intoxicated with unexpected happiness,
Our knight falls at his feet
Faithful, unforgettable friend,
Kisses hands, tears nets,
Tears of love and delight are shed,
He calls her, but the maiden is dozing,
Eyes and lips are closed,
And a voluptuous dream
Her young breasts rise.
Ruslan doesn’t take his eyes off her,
He is tormented by grief again...
But suddenly a friend hears a voice,
The voice of the virtuous Finn:

“Take courage, prince! On the way back
Go with sleeping Lyudmila;
Fill your heart new strength,
Be true to love and honor.
Heavenly thunder will strike in anger,
And silence will reign -
And in bright Kyiv the princess
Will rise up before Vladimir
From an enchanted dream."

Ruslan, animated by this voice,
He takes his wife into his arms,
And quietly with the precious burden
He leaves the heights
And he goes down into a secluded valley.

In silence, with Karla behind the saddle,
He went his own way;
Lyudmila lies in his arms,
Fresh as spring dawn
And on the shoulder of the hero
She bowed her calm face.
With hair twisted into a ring,
The desert breeze plays;
How often does her chest sigh!
How often is a quiet face
It glows like an instant rose!
Love and secret dream
They bring Ruslan’s image to her,
And with a languid whisper of lips
The spouse's name is pronounced...
In sweet oblivion he catches
Her magical breath
Smile, tears, gentle moan
And the sleepy Persians are worried...

Meanwhile, across the valleys, across the mountains,
And in broad daylight and at night,
Our knight travels incessantly.
The desired limit is still far away,
And the maiden is sleeping. But the young prince
Burning with a barren flame,
Is it really a constant sufferer?
I was just watching over my wife
And in a chaste dream,
Having subdued the immodest desire,
Have you found your bliss?
The monk who saved
Faithful legend to posterity
About my glorious knight,
We are confidently assured of this:
And I believe! No division
Sad, rude pleasures:
We are truly happy together.
Shepherdesses, the dream of a lovely princess
Wasn't like your dreams
Sometimes a languid spring,
On the grass, in the shade of a tree.
I remember a little meadow
Among the birch oak forest,
I remember a dark evening
I remember Lida’s evil dream...
Ah, love's first kiss,
Trembling, light, hasty,
I didn’t disperse, my friends,
Her patient slumber...
But come on, I'm talking nonsense!
Why does love need memories?
Her joy and suffering
Forgotten by me for a long time;
Now they're getting my attention
Princess, Ruslan and Chernomor.

The plain lies before them,
Where the spruces sprang up occasionally;
And a formidable hill in the distance
The round top turns black
Sky in bright blue.
Ruslan looks and guesses
What comes to the head;
The greyhound horse ran faster;
It’s a miracle of miracles;
She looks with a motionless eye;
Her hair is like a black forest,
Overgrown on the high brow;
The cheeks are deprived of life,
Covered with leaden pallor;
Huge lips are open,
Huge teeth are cramped...
Over half dead head
The last day was already hard.
A brave knight flew to her
With Lyudmila, with Karla behind her.
He shouted: “Hello, head!
I'm here! your traitor is punished!
Look: here he is, our villain prisoner!
And the prince's proud words
She was suddenly revived
For a moment the feeling was awakened in her,
I woke up as if from a dream,
She looked and groaned terribly...
She recognized the knight
And I recognized my brother with horror.
The nostrils flared; on the cheeks
The crimson fire is still born,
And in dying eyes
The final anger was depicted.
In confusion, in silent rage
She ground her teeth
And to my brother with a cold tongue
An inarticulate reproach babbled...
Already her at that very hour
The long suffering is over:
Chela instant flame went out,
Weakly heavy breathing
A huge rolled-up gaze
And soon the prince and Chernomor
We saw the shudder of death...
She fell into eternal sleep.
The knight left in silence;
The trembling dwarf behind the saddle
Didn't dare to breathe, didn't move
And in blackish language
He prayed fervently to the demons.

On the slope of dark shores
Some nameless river
In the cool twilight of the forests,
The roof of the drooping hut stood,
Crowned with thick pine trees.
In a slow river
Near the reed fence
A wave of sleep washed over
And around him there was barely a murmur
With the slight sound of a breeze.
The valley was hidden in these places,
Secluded and dark;
And there seemed to be silence
Has reigned since the beginning of the world.
Ruslan stopped his horse.
Everything was quiet, serene;
From the dawning day
Valley with coastal grove
Through the morning smoke shone.
Ruslan lays his wife down in the meadow,
He sits down next to her and sighs.
With sweet and silent despondency;
And suddenly he sees before him
Humble shuttle sail
And hears the fisherman's song
Over a quiet river.
Having spread the net over the waves,
Fisherman leaning on his oars
Swims towards wooded banks,
To the threshold of the humble hut.
And the good Prince Ruslan sees:
The shuttle sails to the shore;
Runs out of a dark house
Young maiden; slender figure,
Hair, carelessly loose,
A smile, a quiet gaze of eyes,
Both chest and shoulders are bare,
Everything is sweet, everything captivates about her.
And here they are, hugging each other,
They sit by the cool waters,
And an hour of carefree leisure
For them it comes with love.
But in silent amazement
Who is there in the happy fisherman?
Will our young knight find out?
Khazar Khan, chosen by glory,
Ratmir, in love, in bloody war
His opponent is young
Ratmir in the serene desert
Lyudmila, I forgot my glory
And changed them forever
In the arms of a tender friend.

The hero approached, and instantly
The hermit recognizes Ruslan,
He gets up and flies. There was a scream...
And the prince hugged the young khan.
“What do I see? - asked the hero, -
Why are you here, why did you leave?
Anxiety of life combat
And the sword that you glorified?
“My friend,” answered the fisherman, “
The soul is tired of abusive glory
An empty and disastrous ghost.
Believe me: innocent fun,
Love and peaceful oak forests
Dearest to my heart a hundred times.
Now, having lost the thirst for battle,
I stopped paying tribute to madness,
And rich in true happiness,
I forgot everything, dear comrade,
Everything, even Lyudmila’s charms.”
“Dear Khan, I am very glad! —
Ruslan said, “she’s with me.”
“Is it possible, by what fate?
What do I hear? Russian princess...
She's with you, where is she?
Let me... but no, I'm afraid of betrayal;
My friend is sweet to me;
my happy change
She was the culprit;
She is my life, she is my joy!
She returned it to me again
My lost youth
And peace and pure love.
In vain they promised me happiness
The lips of young sorceresses;
Twelve maidens loved me:
I left them for her;
He left their mansion cheerfully,
In the shade of guardian oak trees;
He laid down both the sword and the heavy helmet,
I forgot both glory and enemies.
Hermit, peaceful and unknown,
Left in the happy wilderness,
With you, dear friend, lovely friend,
With you, the light of my soul!

The dear shepherdess listened
Friends open conversation
And, fixing his gaze on the khan,
And she smiled and sighed.

Fisherman and knight on the shores
We sat until the dark night
With soul and heart on your lips -
The hours flew by invisibly.
The forest is black, the mountain is dark;
The moon rises - everything became quiet;
It's time for the hero to hit the road.
Quietly throwing the blanket
On the sleeping maiden, Ruslan
He goes and mounts his horse;
Thoughtfully silent khan
My soul strives to follow him,
Ruslan happiness, victories,
He wants both fame and love...
And the thoughts of the proud, youth
Involuntary sadness revives...

Why is fate not destined
To my fickle lyre
There is only one heroism to sing
And with him (unknown in the world)
Love and friendship of old?
Poet of sad truth,
Why should I for posterity
Reveal vice and malice
And the secrets of the machinations of treachery
Convict in truthful songs?

The princess's seeker is unworthy,
Having lost the hunt for glory,
Unknown, Farlaf
In the distant and calm desert
He was hiding and waiting for Naina.
And the solemn hour has come.
A sorceress appeared to him,
Saying: “Do you know me?
Follow me; saddle your horse!
And the witch turned into a cat;
The horse was saddled and she set off;
Along the dark oak forest paths
Farlaf follows her.

The quiet valley was dozing,
In the night dressed in fog,
The moon moved across the darkness
From cloud to cloud and mound
Illuminated with an instant brilliance.
Below him in silence is Ruslan
I sat with the usual melancholy
Before the sleeping princess.
He thought deeply,
Dreams flew after dreams,
And sleep blew inconspicuously
Cold wings above him.
At the maiden with dim eyes
In a languid drowsiness he looked
And with a tired head
Bending at her feet, he fell asleep.

And the hero has a prophetic dream:
He sees that the princess
Above the terrible depths of the abyss
Stands motionless and pale...
And suddenly Lyudmila disappears,
He stands alone above the abyss...
A familiar voice, an inviting moan
Flies out of the quiet abyss...
Ruslan strives for his wife;
Flying headlong in the deep darkness...
And suddenly he sees in front of him:
Vladimir, in the high gridnitsa,
In the circle of gray-haired heroes,
Between twelve sons,
With a crowd of named guests
Sits at dirty tables.
And the old prince is just as angry,
Like a terrible day of parting,
And everyone sits without moving,
Not daring to break the silence.
The cheerful noise of the guests has died down,
The circular bowl does not move...
And he sees among the guests
In the battle of the slain Rogdai:
The dead man sits as if alive;
From a foamed glass
He is cheerful, drinks and does not look
To the amazed Ruslan.
The prince also sees the young khan,
Friends and foes... and suddenly
A quick sound of the gusli rang out
And the voice of the prophetic Bayan,
Singer of heroes and fun.
Farlaf joins the grid,
He leads Lyudmila by the hand;
But the old man, without getting up from his seat,
He is silent, bowing his head sadly,
Princes, boyars - everyone is silent,
Soulful movements of the cut.
And everything disappeared - the cold of death
Envelops the sleeping hero.
Heavily immersed in slumber,
He sheds painful tears,
In excitement he thinks: this is a dream!
Languishes, but has an ominous dream,
Alas, he is unable to interrupt.

The moon shines slightly over the mountain;
The groves are enveloped in darkness,
Valley in dead silence...
The traitor rides on a horse.

A clearing opened before him;
He sees a gloomy mound;
Ruslan sleeps at Lyudmila’s feet,
And the horse walks around the mound.
Farlaf looks with fear;
The witch disappears in the fog
His heart froze and trembled,
From cold hands he drops the bridle,
Quietly draws his sword,
Preparing knight without a fight
Cut in two with a flourish...
I approached him. Hero's horse
Sensing the enemy, he began to boil,
He neighed and stamped. The sign is in vain!
Ruslan doesn’t listen; terrible dream
Like a load, it weighed down on him!..
A traitor, encouraged by a witch,
A hero in the chest with a despicable hand
Cold steel pierces three times...
And rushes fearfully into the distance
With your precious spoils.

Unfeeling Ruslan all night
He lay in the darkness under the mountain.
The hours flew by. Blood flows like a river
It flowed from inflamed wounds.
In the morning, opening my misty gaze,
Letting out a heavy, weak groan,
He stood up with effort,
He looked, bowed his head in a scolding manner -
And he fell motionless, lifeless.

Song Six

You command me, oh my gentle friend,
On the lyre, light and careless
The old ones were humming
And dedicate to the faithful muse
Hours of priceless leisure...
You know, dear friend:
Having quarreled with a windy rumor,
Your friend, intoxicated with bliss,
I forgot my solitary work,
And the sounds of the lyre dear.
From harmonic fun
I am intoxicated, out of habit...
I breathe you - and proud glory
I don't understand the call to call!
My secret genius left me
And fictions and sweet thoughts;
Love and thirst for pleasure
Some haunt my mind.
But you command, but you loved
My old stories
Traditions of glory and love;
My hero, my Lyudmila,
Vladimir, witch, Chernomor
And Finn's true sorrows
Your daydreaming was occupied;
You, listening to my easy nonsense,
Sometimes she dozed off with a smile;
But sometimes your tender gaze
She threw it more tenderly at the singer...
I’ll make up my mind: a loving talker,
I touch the lazy strings again;
I sit at your feet and again
I'm strumming about the young knight.

But what did I say? Where is Ruslan?
He lies dead in an open field:
His blood will no longer flow,
A greedy crow flies above him,
The horn is silent, the armor motionless,
The shaggy helmet doesn’t move!

A horse walks around Ruslan,
Hanging my proud head,
The fire in his eyes disappeared!
Doesn't wave his golden mane,
He doesn’t amuse himself, he doesn’t jump
And waits for Ruslan to rise up...
But the prince is in a deep, cold sleep,
And his shield will not strike for a long time.

And Chernomor? He's behind the saddle
In a knapsack, forgotten by the witch,
Doesn't know anything yet;
Tired, sleepy and angry
Princess, my hero
He scolded silently out of boredom;
Without hearing anything for a long time,
The wizard looked out - oh wonder!
He sees the hero killed;
The drowned man lies in blood;
Lyudmila is gone, everything is empty in the field;
The villain trembles with joy
And he thinks: it’s done, I’m free!
But old Karla was wrong.

Meanwhile, inspired by Naina,
With Lyudmila, quietly put to sleep,
Farlaf strives for Kyiv:
Flies, full of hope, full of fear;
The Dnieper waves are already in front of him
There is noise in familiar pastures;
He already sees the golden-domed city;
Farlaf is already rushing through the city,
And the noise in the haystacks rises;
The people are in joyful excitement
It falls behind the rider, crowds in;
They run to please their father:
And here is the traitor at the porch.

Dragging a burden of sadness in my soul,
Vladimir was the sunshine at that time
In his high chamber
I sat, languishing in my usual thoughts.
Boyars, knights all around
They sat with gloomy importance.
Suddenly he listens: in front of the porch
Excitement, screams, wonderful noise;
The door opened; in front of him
An unknown warrior appeared;
Everyone stood up with deaf whispers
And suddenly they became embarrassed and made a noise:
“Lyudmila is here! Farlaf... really?”
Changing his sad face,
The old prince gets up from his chair,
Hastens with heavy steps
To his unfortunate daughter,
Fits; stepfather's hands
He wants to touch her;
But the dear maiden does not heed,
And the enchanted one dozes
In the hands of a killer - everyone is watching
To the prince in vague expectation;
And the old man has a restless look
He stared at the knight in silence.
But, cunningly pressing a finger to his lips,
“Lyudmila is sleeping,” said Farlaf, “
I just found her recently
In the deserted Murom forests
In the hands of the evil goblin;
There the work was accomplished gloriously;
We fought for three days; moon
She rose above the battle three times;
He fell, and the young princess
I fell into my hands sleepily;
And who will interrupt this wonderful dream?
When will the awakening come?
I don’t know - the law of fate is hidden!
And we have hope and patience
Some were left in consolation.”

And soon with the fatal news
Rumors spread throughout the city;
A motley crowd of people
City Square began to boil;
The sad chamber is open to everyone;
The crowd is getting excited and pouring out
There, where on a high bed,
On a brocade blanket
The princess lies in a deep sleep;
Princes and knights all around
They stand sad; the voices of trumpets,
Horns, tambourines, harps, tambourines
They thunder over her; old prince
Exhausted by heavy melancholy,
At the feet of Lyudmila with gray hairs
Drooped down with silent tears;
And Farlaf, pale next to him,
In silent remorse, in frustration
Trembling, having lost his audacity.

Night has come. Nobody in the city
I didn’t close my sleepless eyes
Noisy, everyone crowded towards each other:
Everyone was talking about the miracle;
The young husband to his wife
In the modest room I forgot.
But only the light of the two-horned moon
Disappeared before the dawn,
All Kyiv is in new alarm
Confused! Clicks, noise and howling
They appeared everywhere. Kievans
Crowding on the city wall...
And they see: in the morning fog
The tents are white across the river;
Shields shine like a glow,
Riders flash in the fields,
Black dust rises in the distance;
The marching carts are coming,
Bonfires burn on the hills.
Trouble: the Pechenegs have risen!

But at this time the prophetic Finn,
Mighty ruler of spirits,
In your serene desert,
I waited with a calm heart,
So that the day of inevitable fate,
Long foreseen, it has risen.

In the silent wilderness of the flammable steppes
Beyond the distant chain of wild mountains,
Dwellings of the winds, rattling storms,
Where do witches look boldly?
He's afraid to sneak in at a late hour,
The wonderful valley lurks,
And in that valley there are two keys:
One flows like a living wave,
Murmuring merrily over the stones,
It flows like dead water;
Everything is quiet all around, the winds are sleeping,
The spring coolness does not blow,
Centuries-old pines do not make noise,
Birds do not fly, the deer does not dare
In the summer heat, drink from secret waters;
A couple of spirits from the beginning of the world,
Silent in the bosom of the world,
The dense shore guards...
With two empty jugs
The hermit appeared before them;
The spirits interrupted the long-standing dream
And they left full of fear.
Bending down, he immerses
Vessels in virgin waves;
Filled, disappeared in the air
And in two moments I found myself
In the valley where Ruslan lay
Covered in blood, silent, motionless;
And the old man stood over the knight,
And sprinkled with dead water,
And the wounds shone instantly,
And the corpse is wonderfully beautiful
Thrived; then with living water
The elder sprinkled the hero
And cheerful, full of new strength,
Trembling with young life,
Ruslan gets up on a clear day
He looks with greedy eyes,
Like an ugly dream, like a shadow,
The past flashes before him.
But where is Lyudmila? He's alone!
His heart, flaring up, freezes.
Suddenly the knight stood up; prophetic Finn
She calls him and hugs him:
“Fate has come true, oh my son!
Bliss awaits you;
The bloody feast calls you;
Your formidable sword will strike with disaster;
A gentle peace will fall on Kyiv,
And there she will appear to you.
Take the treasured ring
Touch Lyudmila’s brow with it,
And the powers of secret spells will disappear,
Your enemies will be confused by your face,
Peace will come, anger will perish.
Both of you deserve happiness!
Forgive me for a long time, my knight!
Give me your hand... there, behind the door of the coffin -
Not before - we’ll see you!”
He said and disappeared. Intoxicated
With ardent and silent delight,
Ruslan, awakened to life,
He raises his hands after him.
But nothing is heard anymore!
Ruslan is alone in a deserted field;
Jumping, with Karla behind the saddle,
Ruslanov is an impatient horse
Runs and neighs, waving his mane;
The prince is already ready, he is already on horseback,
He's flying alive and well
Through fields, through oak groves.

But meanwhile what a shame
Is Kyiv under siege?
There, with his eyes fixed on the fields,
The people, stricken with despondency,
Stands on towers and walls
And in fear awaits heavenly execution;
Timid moaning in houses,
There is a silence of fear on the haystacks;
Alone, near his daughter,
Vladimir in sorrowful prayer;
And a brave host of heroes
With a loyal squad of princes
Preparing for a bloody battle.

And the day has come. Crowds of enemies
At dawn they moved from the hills;
Indomitable squads
Excitedly, they poured out from the plain
And they flowed to the city wall;
The trumpets thundered in the hail,
The fighters closed ranks and flew
Towards the daring army,
They came together and a fight ensued.
Sensing death, the horses leaped,
Let's go knock swords on armor;
With a whistle, a cloud of arrows soared,
The plain was filled with blood;
The riders rushed headlong,
The horse squads mingled;
A closed, friendly wall
There the formation is cut down with the formation;
A footman fights with a horseman there;
There a frightened horse rushes;
There are shouts of battle, there there is escape;
There a Russian fell, there a Pecheneg;
He was knocked over with a mace;
He was lightly struck by an arrow;
Another, crushed by a shield,
Trampled by a mad horse...
And the battle lasted until dark;
Neither the enemy nor ours prevailed!
Behind the piles of bloody bodies
The soldiers closed their languid eyes,
And their abusive sleep was strong;
Only occasionally on the battlefield
The fallen mournful groan was heard
And Russian knights of prayer.

The morning shadow grew pale,
The wave turned silver in the stream,
A doubtful day was born
In the foggy east.
The hills and forests became clearer,
And the heavens woke up.
Still in inactive repose
The battlefield was dozing;
Suddenly the dream was interrupted: the enemy camp
He rose up with noisy alarm,
A sudden cry of battle broke out;
The hearts of the people of Kiev were troubled;
Running in discordant crowds
And they see: in a field between enemies,
Shining in armor as if on fire,
Wonderful warrior on horseback
It rushes like a thunderstorm, stabs, chops,
Blows a roaring horn while flying...
It was Ruslan. Like God's thunder
Our knight fell on the infidel;
He prowls with Karla behind the saddle
Among the frightened camp.
Wherever a formidable sword whistles,
Wherever an angry horse rushes,
Heads are falling off shoulders everywhere
And with a cry, formation falls upon formation;
In an instant the scolding meadow
Covered with hills of bloody bodies,
Alive, crushed, headless,
A mass of spears, arrows, chain mail.
To the sound of the trumpet, to the voice of battle
Cavalry squads of the Slavs
We rushed in the footsteps of the hero,
They fought... perish, you infidel!
The horror of the Pechenegs is overwhelming;
Pets stormy raids
The names of the scattered horses are
They don’t dare resist anymore
And with a wild cry in a dusty field
They are fleeing from the Kyiv swords,
Doomed to be sacrificed to hell;
The Russian sword executes their hosts;
Kyiv rejoices... But hail
The mighty hero is flying;
In his right hand he holds a victorious sword;
The spear shines like a star;
Blood flows from the copper chain mail;
A beard curls on the helmet;
Flies, filled with hope,
Along the noisy haystacks to the prince's house.
The people, intoxicated with delight,
Crowds around with clicks,
And the prince was revived by joy.
He enters the silent mansion,
Where Lyudmila sleeps in a wonderful dream;
Vladimir, deep in thought,
A sad man stood at her feet.
He was alone. His friends
War led to bloody fields.
But Farlaf is with him, shunning glory,
Far from enemy swords,
In my soul, despising the worries of the camp,
He stood guard at the door.
As soon as the villain recognized Ruslan,
His blood has cooled, his eyes have faded,
The voice froze in the open mouth,
And he fell unconscious on his knees...
Treason awaits a worthy execution!
But, remembering the secret gift of the ring,
Ruslan flies to the sleeping Lyudmila,
Her calm face
Touches with a trembling hand...
And a miracle: the young princess,
Sighing, she opened her bright eyes!
It seemed as if she
I marveled at such a long night;
It seemed like some kind of dream
She was tormented by an unclear dream,
And suddenly I found out - it was him!
And the prince is in the arms of a beautiful woman.
Resurrected by a fiery soul,
Ruslan doesn’t see, doesn’t listen,
And the old man is silent in joy,
Sobbing, he hugs his dear ones.

How will I end my long story?
You will guess, my dear friend!
The old man's wrongful anger faded;
Farlaf in front of him and in front of Lyudmila
At Ruslan's feet he announced
Your shame and dark villainy;
The happy prince forgave him;
Deprived of the power of sorcery,
The king was received into the palace;
And, celebrating the end of disasters,
Vladimir in the high grid
Locked it in with his family.

Things of days gone by
Deep legends of antiquity.

So, an indifferent inhabitant of the world,
In the bosom of idle silence,
I praised the obedient lyre
Legends of dark antiquity.
I sang and forgot the insults
Blind happiness and enemies,
The betrayals of the windy Dorida
And the gossip of noisy fools.
Carried on the wings of fiction,
The mind flew beyond the edge of the earth;
And meanwhile the invisible thunderstorm
A cloud was gathering over me!..
I was dying... Holy Guardian
Initial, stormy days,
O friendship, tender comforter
My sick soul!
You begged the bad weather;
You have returned peace to my heart;
You kept me free
Idol of boiling youth!
Forgotten by light and rumor,
Far from the banks of the Neva,
Now I see before me
Proud heads of the Caucasus.
Above their steep peaks,
On the slope of stone rapids,
I feed on dumb feelings
And the wonderful beauty of the paintings
Nature is wild and gloomy;
Soul, as before, every hour
Full of languid thoughts -
But the fire of poetry went out.
I search in vain for impressions:
She has passed, it's time for poetry,
It's time for love, happy dreams,
It's time for heartfelt inspiration!
The short day passed in delight -
And disappeared from me forever
Goddess of silent chants...

Notes

Written during 1817-1820, published in 1820. However, the significance of “Ruslan and Lyudmila” is not limited to polemics with reactionary romanticism. The poem amazed contemporaries and now delights readers with the richness and variety of content (albeit not very deep), the amazing liveliness and brightness of the pictures, even the most fantastic, the brilliance and poetry of the language. Apart from the numerous and always unexpected and witty humorous and erotic episodes in “Ruslan and Lyudmila,” we encounter either living, almost “realistic” images of fantastic content seen by the poet (for example, the description of a giant living head in the second song), or shown in several verses historically correct picture ancient Russian life(the wedding feast of Prince Vladimir at the beginning of the poem), although the entire poem does not at all pretend to reproduce historical flavor; sometimes gloomy, even tragic descriptions (Ruslan’s dream and his murder, the death of a living head); finally, a description of the battle of the Kyivans against the Pechenegs in the last song, which is not much inferior in skill to the famous “Battle of Poltava” in the poem “Poltava”. In the language of his first poem, using all the achievements of his predecessors - the accuracy and grace of the story in Dmitriev’s verses, the poetic richness and melodiousness of intonations, the “captivating sweetness of Zhukovsky’s poems, the plastic beauty of Batyushkov’s images - Pushkin goes further than them. He introduces into his text words, expressions and images of popular vernacular, which were resolutely avoided by the secular, salon poetry of his predecessors and were considered rude and unpoetic. Already in “Ruslan and Lyudmila” Pushkin laid the foundation for the synthesis of various linguistic styles, which was his merit in the creation of Russian literary language.
The lyrical epilogue of the poem (“So, an indifferent inhabitant of the world...”) was written by Pushkin later, during his exile to the Caucasus (it was not included in the first edition of the poem and was published separately in the magazine “Son of the Fatherland”). Both the tone and ideological content of the epilogue differ sharply from the playful, carefree tone and cheerful fabulous content poems. They mark Pushkin's transition to a new direction - romanticism.
In 1828, Pushkin published the second edition of his poem, having significantly revised it. He significantly corrected the style, freeing it from some of the awkwardness characteristic of his youthful work; threw out a number of small " lyrical digressions", lacking in substance and somewhat flirtatious in tone (a tribute to the salon style of that era). Yielding to the attacks and demands of criticism, Pushkin shortened and softened some erotic paintings (as well as his poetic polemics with Zhukovsky). Finally, in the second edition, written shortly before by Pushkin, who was closely studying folk art at that time, a “prologue” (“By the Lukomorye there is a green oak…”) appeared - a poetic collection of truly folk fairy-tale motifs and images, with a learned cat walking along a chain , hanging on the branches of an oak tree, sings songs and tells fairy tales). Pushkin now presents his poem about Ruslan and Lyudmila to readers as one of the fairy tales told by a cat.
The appearance in 1820 of “Ruslan and Lyudmila” caused a number of articles in magazines and comments in the private correspondence of poets. Pushkin, in the preface to the 1828 edition, mentioned two negative judgments about the poem by the old poet Dmitriev, who was shocked by the freedom of jokes in “Ruslan and Lyudmila,” and also almost completely cited two negative magazine reviews (see the section “From the early editions”). One (signed NN) expressed the attitude towards Pushkin’s poem from the circle of P. A. Katenin, a poet and critic close to the Decembrists, who whimsically combined in his literary views romantic demands of “nationality” and extreme rationalism characteristic of classicism. The author of this article, in a long series of picky questions, reproached the poet for various kinds of inconsistencies and contradictions, criticizing the humorous and fairy-tale poem according to the laws of classical “plausibility.” Another article came from the opposite, reactionary camp - the journal Vestnik Evropy. Its author, defending the secular, salon character of literature with seminarian clumsiness, is indignant fairy-tale images poems, “common” pictures and expressions (“I’ll strangle”, “in front of my nose”, “sneezed”, etc.)
Pushkin himself in 1830, in the unfinished article “Refutation of Critics,” objecting to accusations of indecency and immorality, saw the main drawback of his youthful poem in the absence of genuine feeling in it, replaced by the brilliance of wit: “No one even noticed,” he wrote, - that she is cold."

From early editions

I. From the first edition of the poem

After the verse “When we do not see a friend in him” in the first edition it continued:

You know that our maiden
Was dressed that night
According to the circumstances, exactly
Like our great-grandmother Eva.
The outfit is innocent and simple!
Dress up of Cupid and nature!
What a pity that it went out of fashion!
Before the amazed princess...

After the verse “And then she continued on her way”:

O people, strange creatures!
Meanwhile, great suffering
They harass you, they kill you,
It's just time for lunch -
And instantly it plaintively informs you
Empty stomach about yourself
And he secretly asks to do it.
What can we say about such a fate?

After the verse “Our marriages are safe...”:

For husbands, young girls
Their plans are not so terrible.
The angry Ferney screamer is wrong!
Everything is for the better: now a sorcerer
Or treats the poor with magnetism
And girls who are thin and pale,
Prophesies, publishes a magazine, -
Deeds worthy of praise!
But there are other wizards.

Verse: “But will I proclaim the truth? in the first edition it read like this:

Do I dare to speak the truth?
Dare I clearly describe
Not a secluded monastery,
Not the timid nuns' cathedral,
But... I'm trembling! confused at heart,
I marvel and lower my gaze.

This place, starting with the verse “O terrible sight! The frail wizard" in the first edition read like this:

O terrible sight! The wizard is frail
Caresses with a wrinkled hand
The young charms of Lyudmila;
To her captivating lips
Clinging to withered lips,
He, despite his years,
Already thinks in cold labors
Pluck this delicate, secret color,
Kept by Lelem for another;
Already... but the burden of later years
The gray-haired shameless one is burdened -
Moaning, decrepit sorcerer,
In his powerless audacity,
He falls before the sleepy maiden;
His heart aches, he cries,
But suddenly there was a sound of horns...

Beginning of the fifth song, originally the fourth:

How I love my princess
My beautiful Lyudmila,
There is silence in the sorrows of the heart,
Innocent passion fire and strength,
Undertakings, frivolity, peace,
A smile through silent tears...
And with this golden youth
All tender delights, all roses!..
God knows, will I finally see
My Lyudmila is an example!
My heart always flies to her...
But I'm looking forward to it
By the fate of the princess destined for me
(Dear friends, not wives,
I don’t want a wife at all).
But you, Lyudmilas of our days,
Believe my conscience
I wish you with an open soul
Just like the groom
Which one am I portraying here?
By the will of a light verse...

After the verse: “Trouble: the Pechenegs have risen!”:

Unlucky city! Alas! Sob,
Your bright land will become empty,
You will become a cursed desert!..
Where is the formidable fiery Rogdai!
And where is Ruslan, and where is Dobrynya!
Who will revive the Sun Prince!

Pushkin's preface to the second edition of the poem
The author was twenty years old when he killed Ruslan and Lyudmila. He began his poem while still a student at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum, and continued it in the midst of his most distracted life. This can to some extent excuse its shortcomings.
When it appeared in 1820, the magazines of that time were filled with more or less lenient critics. The most extensive written by Mr. V. and placed in “Son of the Fatherland”. Following her came questions from the unknown. Let's list some of them.
“Let's start with the first song. Commençons par le commencement.
Why did Finn wait for Ruslan?
Why does he tell his story, and how can Ruslan, in such an unfortunate situation, greedily listen to the stories (or stories in Russian) of the elder?
Why does Ruslan whistle when he sets off? Does this show a distressed person? Why did Farlaf, with his cowardice, go to look for Lyudmila? Others will say: then, in order to fall into a dirty ditch: et puis on en rit et cela fait toujours plaisir.
Is the comparison, page 46, which you praise so much, fair? Have you ever seen this?
Why did the little dwarf with a big beard (which, by the way, is not funny at all) come to Lyudmila? How did Lyudmila come up with the strange idea of grabbing the sorcerer’s hat (however, what can’t you do when you’re scared?) and how did the sorcerer allow her to do it?
How did Ruslan throw Rogday like a child into the water when

They grappled on horseback;
Their members are cramped with malice;
Embraced, silent, stiff, etc.?
I don't know how Orlovsky would have drawn this.

Why does Ruslan say, having seen the battlefield (which is a perfect hors d'oeuvre, why does he say:

Oh field, field! who you
Strewn with dead bones?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Why, O field, have you fallen silent?
And overgrown with the grass of oblivion?..
Time from eternal darkness,
Perhaps there is no salvation for me either! etc.?

Is this what the Russian heroes said? And is Ruslan, speaking about the grass of oblivion and the eternal darkness of time, similar to Ruslan, who a minute later exclaims with angry gravity:

Shut up, empty head!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Although the forehead is wide, the brain is not enough!
I'm going, I'm going, I'm not whistling,
And once I get there, I won’t let you go!
. . . . Know ours! etc.?

Why did Chernomor, having taken out a wonderful sword, put it on the field, under his brother’s head? Wouldn't it be better to take it home?
Why wake up twelve sleeping maidens and settle them in some steppe, where, I don’t know how, Ratmir ended up? How long did he stay there? Where did you go? Why did you become a fisherman? Who is his new girlfriend? Is it likely that Ruslan, having defeated Chernomor and despaired of not finding Lyudmila, waved his sword until he knocked the hat off his wife lying on the ground?
Why didn’t Karla get out of the murdered Ruslan’s knapsack? What does Ruslan's dream portend? Why are there so many dots after the verses:

Are the tents white on the hills?

Why, when analyzing Ruslan and Lyudmila, talk about the Iliad and Aeneid? What do they have in common? How to write (and, it seems, seriously) that the speeches of Vladimir, Ruslan, Finn, etc. can they be compared with the Omerovs? These are the things that I don't understand and that many others don't understand either. If you explain them to us, we will say: cujusvis hominis est errare: nullius, nisi insipientis, in errore perseverare (Philippic, XII, 2).”
Tes pourquoi, dit le dieu, ne finiront jamais.
Of course, many of the accusations in this interrogation are solid, especially the last one. Someone took the trouble to answer them. His anti-criticism is witty and funny.
However, there were reviewers with a completely different analysis. For example, in the Bulletin of Europe, No. 11, 1820, we find the following well-intentioned article.
“Now I ask you to draw your attention to a new terrible object, which, like Camões’s Cape of Storms, emerges from the depths of the sea and appears in the middle of the ocean of Russian literature. Please print my letter: perhaps the people who threaten our patience with a new disaster will come to their senses, laugh, and abandon their intention to become inventors of a new kind of Russian works.
The point is this: you know that we received from our ancestors a small, poor inheritance of literature, that is, fairy tales and folk songs. What can I say about them? If we take care of ancient coins, even the most ugly ones, then shouldn’t we carefully preserve the remains of the literature of our ancestors? Without any doubts. We love to remember everything related to our infancy, to that happy time of childhood when some song or fairy tale served us as innocent fun and constituted the entire wealth of knowledge. You see for yourself that I am not averse to collecting and researching Russian fairy tales and songs; but when I found out that our wordsmiths took the ancient songs from a completely different side, they shouted loudly about the greatness, smoothness, strength, beauty, and richness of our ancient songs, began to translate them into German and, finally, fell in love with fairy tales and songs so much that in the poems of the 19th century, Yeruslans and Bovs shone in a new manner; then I am your humble servant.
What good can be expected from repeating more pitiful than funny babble?.. What can we expect when our poets begin to parody Kirsha Danilov?
Is it possible for an enlightened or even slightly knowledgeable person to tolerate being offered a new poem written in imitation of Eruslan Lazarevich? Please take a look at issues 15 and 16 of “Son of the Fatherland.” There, an unknown person gives us an example of an excerpt from his poem Lyudmila and Ruslan (isn’t it Eruslan?). I don’t know what the whole poem will contain; but a sample will drive at least someone out of patience. Piit brings to life a peasant as big as a fingernail, and a beard as long as an elbow, gives him an endless mustache (“S. Ot.”, p. 121), shows us a witch, an invisible cap, and so on. But here’s what’s most precious: Ruslan comes across a beaten army in a field, sees a hero’s head, under which lies a treasure sword; my head rants and fights with him... I vividly remember how I used to hear all this from my nanny; now, in his old age, he was honored to hear the same thing again from the poets of the present time!.. For greater accuracy, or to better express all the charm of our ancient hymnology, the poet in expressions became like Eruslanov’s storyteller, for example:

...You're joking with me -
I will strangle you all with my beard!

What's it like?..

...Got my head spinning
And he stood silently in front of his nose.
Tickles the nostrils with a spear...

I'm driving, driving, not whistling;
And when I get there, I won’t let go...

Then the knight hits him on the cheek with a heavy mitten... But excuse me from a detailed description and let me ask: if in Moskovskoe Noble Assembly Somehow (I assume the impossible is possible) a guest with a beard, in an overcoat, and bast shoes, came in and shouted in a loud voice: great, guys! Would they really admire such a prankster? For God's sake, let me tell the old man, through your magazine, to the public to squint their eyes every time such oddities appear. Why allow the shallow jokes of old to reappear among us! A rude joke, not approved by enlightened taste, is disgusting, and not at all funny or amusing. Dixie."
The duty of sincerity also requires mentioning the opinion of one of the crowned, first-class Russian writers, who, after reading Ruslan and Lyudmila, said: I don’t see any thoughts or feelings here; I see only sensuality. Another (or perhaps the same) crowned, first-class Russian writer greeted this first experience of the young poet with the following verse:

The mother tells her daughter to spit on this fairy tale.

A.S. Pushkin

There is a green oak near the Lukomorye

From the poem "Ruslan and Lyudmila"

There is a green oak near the Lukomorye;
Golden chain on the oak tree:
Day and night the cat is a scientist
Everything goes round and round in a chain;
He goes to the right - the song starts,
To the left - he tells a fairy tale.
There are miracles there: a goblin wanders there,
The mermaid sits on the branches;
There on unknown paths
Traces of unseen beasts;
There's a hut there on chicken legs
It stands without windows, without doors;
There the forest and valley are full of visions;
There the waves will rush in at dawn
The beach is sandy and empty,
And thirty beautiful knights
From time to time clear waters emerge,
And their sea uncle is with them;
The prince is there in passing
Captivates the formidable king;
There in the clouds in front of the people
Through the forests, across the seas
The sorcerer carries the hero;
In the dungeon there the princess is grieving,
And the brown wolf serves her faithfully;
There is a stupa with Baba Yaga
She walks and wanders by herself,
There, King Kashchei is wasting away over gold;
There's a Russian spirit... it smells like Russia!
And there I was, and I drank honey;
I saw a green oak by the sea;
The scientist cat sat under him
He told me his fairy tales.

Http://www.lukoshko.net/pushk/pushk2.shtml

Reviews

Pushkin describes real events of the past. Lukomorye is the shore of the White (Russian) Sea to the east of Arkhangelsk. The golden chain is a chain of bright events that took place in the zone of action of the oak biofield and recorded in annual rings (flash drive) cyclically, i.e. recording occurs only in the summer, when the oak is green. A learned cat is a psychic (sorcerer) who reads this information and reveals it to RUSSIANS who are thirsty for knowledge, a mermaid (do not confuse it with a thirsty, thirsty alcoholic, a thirsty, drunkard). There's a guy wandering nearby, a lazy guy - he doesn't need knowledge, he's superfluous there, that is, he's a goblin.
And then he sets out pictures of the past,
There's a hut there on chicken legs
stands without windows without doors - This is KRODA. It was like this: the coffin with the body of the deceased was placed on two nearby tree trunks, cut down at a level of 1.5 m from the ground and burned in order to free the human essence from the connection (etheric, astral, mental) with the deceased body and facilitate the transition, thereby preserving potential until the next incarnation in this family (if you're lucky). The trees were not sawed again, because the trunks were charred and the roots were exposed from repeated events. And so on....

The daily audience of the portal Stikhi.ru is about 200 thousand visitors, who in total view more than two million pages according to the traffic counter, which is located to the right of this text. Each column contains two numbers: the number of views and the number of visitors.

Well, it’s not so straightforward that the free-thinking writer Alikhanov, the Leningrad miserable, Dovlatov’s alter ego, was crucified on a cross made of weather-beaten, on the gusset of a Pskov croaker. He is half-crucified - but not to death. In the 1970s, many people lived this way. But Alexander Borovsky’s set for “The Reserve” is still clearly cruciform. Two designs, two incompatible lives, two centuries, two different Russias are combined in it. An Empire bridge is horizontally curved on top, as in Trigorskoe. Below, closer to life, boardwalks abut the ramp over the pond in the village of Sosnovo. There is a separate entrance to the “tenant’s” annex, but it is boarded up. But through the cracks in the floor, Alikhanov is visited by stray dogs. And in the sink with circles of chipped enamel, pasta always floats.

However: here both the “village” and the “estate” are completely neglected. Not painted since 1916. That’s why they easily form a single space (no matter how one of the “top” characters of the district swaggers around!). At the crossroads of the worlds, a hero wanders - or sits, numb.

There is darkness at the back of the stage. And Pushkin’s white death mask shines from it. And in the foyer of the theater, an enormous aunt in a lace headdress and bright lipstick is selling dry wine on tap from a white leaven tank - a revived good fairy of the 1970s. Let the 0.1 liter glass vodka “bastards” sparkle on the New Year tree.

The premiere of the “Studio of Dramatic Art” is a benefit performance by Sergei Kachanov, one of Zhenovach’s best actors. The gray-haired man with a crew cut does not seem visually similar to the 37-year-old Dovlatov-Alikhanov in the story. They definitely wouldn’t have mistaken him for Peter the Great in the beer line!

But this only expands the plot. After all, Dovlatov’s “Reserve” is not so much an autobiography as it is a memorial to a whole army of people who were not needed in the blissful nature reserve of the USSR in the late 1970s. Approximately those whose appearance Berdyaev predicted in the 1920s, even before the deportation. He wrote: if freedom of enterprise and book publishing is abolished in Russia, “ Only the freedom of the disembodied human spirit will remain conceivable. And the human spirit will disincarnate.”

Half a century later, this came true. Stormy, with an exit, with a twist, with bubbles of disembodied spirit on top of the duckweed. Dovlatov’s “reserve” is seething with these bubbles: luxurious, iridescent!

And an ideologically consistent tour of the Pushkin Mountains (“Autocracy by the hand of high-society Skoda…”) is worth a dissident tour here. On the last one for twenty kopecks from the nose - they show real Pushkin's grave, hidden by the Bolsheviks in the forest from the people. Tourists pay, because in the USSR of the 1970s everyone understood: the Bolsheviks would hide something from the people.

By the way, it seems to me that the USSR perished from the “non-embodiment” of the forced laborers, which reached its limit in the third generation. Then the reserve somehow suddenly became a forest where everyone eats everyone.

But on the stage there is a still undaunted biocenosis of the 1970s: tractor drivers, photographers, writers, Druzhba chainsaw operators, romantic girls in gypsy shawls, accordion players who have drunk six years under Art. 92 of the Criminal Code, district representatives of the KGB. And they drink together.

In the play "STI" the male part of the bestiary crowds around Alikhanov on the walkway. Extracts from dirty water(the pond near the ramp is part of Borovsky’s set) new half-liters, pushing away the garbage. It puts the viewer in a gloss with Dovlatov's text. Everyone - from the major to the criminal - understands that there is not long left to live behind the chain-link fence. Everyone dreams of escaping in the most unimaginable ways.

But no one will move because there is no land for them outside the reserve.

In the second act the female choir enters. Priestesses and vestals A.S.P., methodologists and junior researchers, mass entertainers, shock workers of the Pushkin cult. Virgils in skirts - during trade union excursions, capable of asking why Pushkin and Lermontov had a duel. The heroic workers of the 1970s - all of them, obviously, with diplomas from the Faculty of Philology. The picture of their roles... um... is full of grotesque.

They pose on the Empire bridge - the locums of the Osipov-Wulf, Anna Kern and the Larin sisters. Curls, challahs and bouffants, crepe de chine, crimplein and flannel, gray jackets with modest laureate medals, office and coquetry are very recognizable.

In the reserve, every deer for those over thirty is ready to hide from the writer Alikhanov with a laugh and secret hope. Mikhailovsky’s dummy (the real manor house was burned down in 1918) was inhabited by a new tribe... Dovlatov was not very kind to him. But Zhenovach is perhaps tougher.

The gentle STI actresses are hardly recognizable in their evil cameos. Especially Olga Kalashnikova in the jacket of the senior priestess, guardian Victoria Albertovna. Eleven young actors and actresses, recent graduates of Sergei Zhenovach’s workshop, play alongside them as the population of the reserve. But the female part of the biocenosis is also given a second hypostasis. It looks like they are walking in their sleep. And sleepwalkingly, in white shirts, with candles in their hands, they climb onto the Empire bridge to read Pushkin: “The Talisman”, “Poems Composed at Night During Insomnia.”

Then the essence emerges. Something kept secret, unconscious, deep in the woods of the 1970s. Something like “the real grave of Pushkin, hidden by the Bolsheviks from the people.” And in this sleepwalking dream, the great-granddaughters of the Larin sisters appear in the strict crimple maidens.

And what is keeping the writer Alikhanov in the reserve, behind a chain-link fence? After all, the nerve of the story is the hero’s refusal to emigrate. His wife and daughter are leaving. But the St. Petersburg miserable is not ready yet.

Sergei Kachanov plays the entire gamut of responses subtly and accurately. “The poor greatness and the delayed honor” of the only one who thinks and feels. The only one for whom Pushkin’s mask shines from afar.

But also belonging to the tribe of the reserve, drunk from a white barrel with dry draft water. The same madness and idleness, the plague spirit of week-long binges, the same disembodiment.

And the feeling of language as the only homeland. The hope that among the babble and clericalism a line, a gesture, a silhouette will flash on the path - and this plague booth will momentarily become Mikhailovsky.

Here he sits on a chain and walks along the chain. The chain is from The Bronze Horseman. And a number of other texts.

In the finale, dozens of Pushkin's death masks on chains fall out from under the grate. They are almost decorated with Swarovski rhinestones. The roar was as if a fence had finally fallen in a nature reserve.

This is a different time. The local KGB commissioner, Major Belyaev, predicted as much, drinking half a liter with the dissident Alikhanov: “ A new Tatar-Mongol yoke will come. Only this time - from the West." However, the major will probably turn out: he will go to the Baskaks.

It will be more difficult for museum priestesses in shawls, drinking tractor drivers and other biocenoses.

But already in the 1990s, Dubrovsky’s eroplane will fly above them under the control of B.G. On the way to Mikhailovskoye, a group of Alikhanov writers will erect a monument to the Hare, who saved Aleksan Sergeich in 1825. The cult will be indestructible. The reserve will sober up a little. But it will stand!

And somewhere in the depths of these forests - no matter how you litter them (or, conversely, how you clean them) - Pushkin’s real grave will forever flicker.