Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin Bronze Horseman. Analysis of Pushkin’s poem “The Bronze Horseman”

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

BRONZE HORSEMAN

Petersburg story

Preface

The incident described in this story is based on truth. Details of the flood are taken from magazines of the time. The curious can consult the news compiled V. N. Berkhom.

Introduction

On the shore of desert waves
stood He, full of great thoughts,
And he looked into the distance. Wide before him
The river rushed; poor boat
He strove along it alone.
Along mossy, marshy banks
Blackened huts here and there,
Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;
And the forest, unknown to the rays
In the fog of the hidden sun,
There was noise all around.
And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
The city will be founded here
To spite an arrogant neighbor.
Nature destined us here
Open a window to Europe,
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on new waves
All the flags will visit us,
And we’ll record it in the open air.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
There is beauty and wonder in full countries,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamps of blat
He ascended magnificently and proudly;
Where was the Finnish fisherman before?
Nature's sad stepson
Alone on the low banks
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net is now there,
Along busy shores
Slender communities crowd together
Palaces and towers; ships
A crowd from all over the world
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
Islands covered her,
And in front of the younger capital
Old Moscow has faded,
Like before a new queen
Porphyry widow.

I love you, Petra's creation,
I love your strict, slender appearance,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast iron pattern,
of your thoughtful nights
Transparent twilight, moonless shine,
When I'm in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping communities are clear
Deserted streets and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn gives way to another
He hurries, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winter
Still air and frost,
Sleigh running along the wide Neva,
Girls' faces are brighter than roses,
And the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the time of the feast the bachelor
The hiss of foamy glasses
And the punch flame is blue.
I love the warlike liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
Uniform beauty
In their harmoniously unsteady system
The shreds of these victorious banners,
The shine of these copper caps,
Through those shot through in battle.
I love you, military capital,
Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,
When the queen is full
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or, breaking your blue ice,
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.

Show off, city Petrov, and stand
Unshakable like Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and ancient captivity
Let the Finnish waves forget
And they will not be vain malice
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time
The memory of her is fresh...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story will be sad.

Part one

Over darkened Petrograd
November breathed the autumn chill.
Splashing with a noisy wave
To the edges of your slender fence,
Neva was tossing around like a sick person
Restless in my bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily on the window,
And the wind blew, howling sadly.
At that time from the guests home
Young Evgeniy came...
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; been with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname,
Although in times gone by
Perhaps it shone
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It's forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
He shies away from the nobles and does not bother
Not about deceased relatives,
Not about forgotten antiquities.

So, I came home, Evgeniy
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, and lay down.
But for a long time he could not fall asleep
In the excitement of various thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he worked hard
He had to deliver to himself
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him?
Mind and money. What is it?
Such idle lucky ones,
Short-sighted, sloths,
For whom life is much easier!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
She didn’t let up; that the river
Everything was coming; which is hardly
The bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will happen to Parasha?
Separated for two or three days.
Evgeny sighed heartily here
And he daydreamed like a poet:

"Marry? To me? why not?
It’s hard, of course;
But well I'm young and healthy
Ready to work day and night;
He'll arrange it somehow for himself
Shelter humble and simple
And in it I will calm Parasha.
Perhaps a year or two will pass -
I’ll get a place, - Parashe
I will entrust our farm
And raising children...
And we will live, and so on until the grave
We'll both get there hand in hand
And our grandchildren will bury us...”

That's what he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howls less sadly
And let the rain knock on the window
Not so angry...
Sleepy eyes
He finally closed. And so
The darkness of a stormy night is thinning
And the pale day is coming...
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Longing for the sea against the storm,
Without overcoming their violent foolishness...
And she couldn’t bear to argue...
In the morning over its banks
There were crowds of people crowded together,
Admiring the splashes, mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But the strength of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
She walked back, angry, seething,
And flooded the islands
The weather became more ferocious
The Neva swelled and roared,
A cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
She rushed towards the city. In front of her
Everything started running; all around
Suddenly it was empty - suddenly there was water
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured into the gratings,
And Petropol emerged like a newt,
Waist-deep in water.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves, they climb into windows. Chelny
From the run the windows are smashed by the stern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Wrecks of huts, logs, roofs,
Stock trade goods,
The belongings of pale poverty,
Bridges demolished by thunderstorms,
Coffins from a washed-out cemetery
Floating through the streets!
People
He sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will I get it?
In that terrible year
The late Tsar was still in Russia
He ruled with glory. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he went out
And he said: “With God's element
Kings cannot control.” He sat down
And in the Duma with sorrowful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were stacks of lakes,
And in them there are wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Along nearby streets and distant ones
On a dangerous journey through stormy waters
The generals set off
To save and overcome with fear
And there are drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions standing,
On a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clasped in a cross,
Sat motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor thing,
Not for myself. He didn't hear
How the greedy shaft rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face,
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly tore off his hat.
His desperate glances
Pointed to the edge
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the indignant depths
The waves rose there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Debris... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves,
Almost at the very bay -
The fence is unpainted, but the willow
And a dilapidated house: there it is,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream... Or in a dream
Does he see this? or all ours
And life is nothing like an empty dream,
The mockery of heaven over earth?

And he seems to be bewitched
As if chained to marble,
Can't get off! Around him
Water and nothing else!
And with my back turned to him,
In the unshakable heights,
Above the indignant Neva
Stands with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

PUBLISHING HOUSE "SCIENCE"

Leningrad branch

Leningrad 1978

PREPARED BY N.V. IZMAILOV

A. S. Pushkin. Bust by I. P. Vitali. 1837 Marble.

The publications in the “Literary Monuments” series are addressed to that Soviet reader who is not only interested in literary works as such, regardless of their authors, era, circumstances of their creation, etc., but for whom the personality of the authors, the creative process of creating works, etc. are also not indifferent. their role in historical and literary development, the subsequent fate of monuments, etc.

The increased cultural demands of the Soviet reader encourage him to study more deeply the intent of works, the history of their creation, and the historical and literary environment.

Each literary monument is deeply individual in its connections with readers. In monuments whose significance lies primarily in the fact that they are typical of their time and their literature, readers are interested in their connections with history, with the cultural life of the country, with everyday life. Created by geniuses, monuments are primarily important for readers due to their connections with the personality of the author. In the monuments of translated readers will be interested (among other things) in their history on Russian soil, their impact on Russian literature and participation in the Russian historical and literary process. Each monument requires its own approach to the problems of its publication, commentary, and literary explanation.

Such a special approach, of course, is required when publishing the work of the genius of Russian poetry - A. S. Pushkin, and above all such a central monument to his work as “The Bronze Horseman”.

In Pushkin's works we are interested in their entire creative history, the fate of every line, every word, every punctuation mark, if it has at least some relation to the meaning of a particular passage. “Following the thoughts of a great man is the most interesting science” - these words of Pushkin from the beginning of the third chapter of “Arap Peter the Great” should be perceived by us primarily in relation to the one who wrote them, thinking not about himself, but about the world of geniuses around him.

“The Petersburg Tale” “The Bronze Horseman” is one of the most beloved works of every Soviet person, and the concept of this poem and the ideas hidden in it disturb not only researchers, but also the general reader. “The Bronze Horseman” is a poem that follows the central themes of Pushkin’s work. Its concept has a long prehistory, and the subsequent fate of the poem in Russian literature - in the “Petersburg theme” of Gogol, Dostoevsky, Bely, Annensky, Blok, Akhmatova and many other writers - is absolutely exceptional in its historical and literary significance.

All this obliges us to treat the publication of “The Bronze Horseman” with exceptional care, not to miss any of the smallest nuances in the history of its conception, its drafts, editions, to restore the poem in its creative movement, to display it in the publication not as a fixed literary fact, but as a process the brilliant creative thought of Pushkin.

This is the purpose of the publication that is now offered to the demanding attention of readers of our series. It is this purpose that explains the nature of the article and appendices, the inclusion of a section on variants and discrepancies.

Petersburg story

Preface

The incident described in this story is based on truth. Details of the flood are taken from magazines of the time. The curious can consult the news compiled V. N. Berkhom.

Introduction

The beginning of the first white manuscript of the poem “The Bronze Horseman” - Boldinsky’s autograph (manuscript PD 964).

On the shore of desert waves

He stood, full of great thoughts,

And he looked into the distance. Wide before him

The river rushed; poor boat

He strove along it alone.

Along mossy, marshy banks

Blackened huts here and there,

Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;

And the forest, unknown to the rays

10 In the fog of the hidden sun

There was noise all around.

And He thought:

From here we will threaten the Swede.

The city will be founded here

To spite an arrogant neighbor.

Nature destined us here

Stand with a firm foot by the sea.

Here on new waves

All flags will visit us

20 And we’ll lock it up in the open.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,

There is beauty and wonder in full countries,

From the darkness of the forests, from the swamps of blat

He ascended magnificently and proudly;

Where was the Finnish fisherman before?

Nature's sad stepson

Alone on the low banks

Thrown into unknown waters

Your old net, now there

30 Along busy shores

Slender communities crowd together

Palaces and towers; ships

A crowd from all over the world

They strive for rich marinas;

The Neva is dressed in granite;

Bridges hung over the waters;

Dark green gardens

Islands covered her,

And in front of the younger capital

40 Old Moscow has faded,

Like before a new queen

Porphyry widow.

I love you, Petra's creation,

I love your strict, slender appearance,

Neva sovereign current,

Its coastal granite,

Your fences have a cast iron pattern,

of your thoughtful nights

Transparent twilight, moonless shine,

50 When I'm in my room

I write, I read without a lamp,

And the sleeping communities are clear

Deserted streets and light

Admiralty needle,

And not letting the darkness of the night

To golden skies

One dawn gives way to another

I love your cruel winter

60 Still air and frost,

Sleigh running along the wide Neva,

Girls' faces are brighter than roses,

And the shine and noise and talk of balls,

And at the time of the feast the bachelor

The hiss of foamy glasses

And the punch flame is blue.

I love the warlike liveliness

Amusing Fields of Mars,

Infantry troops and horses

70 Monotonous beauty,

In their harmoniously unsteady system

The shreds of these victorious banners,

The shine of these copper caps,

Shot through and through in battle.

I love you, military capital,

Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,

When the queen is full

Gives a son to the royal house,

Or victory over the enemy

80 Russia triumphs again,

Or, breaking your blue ice,

The Neva carries him to the seas,

And sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.

Show off, city Petrov, and stand

Unshakable like Russia.

May he make peace with you

And the defeated element;

Enmity and ancient captivity

Let the Finnish waves forget

90 And they will not be vain malice

Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time

The memory of her is fresh...

About her, my friends, for you

I'll start my story.

My story will be sad.

Part one

Over darkened Petrograd

November breathed the autumn chill.

Splashing with a noisy wave

100 To the edges of your slender fence,

PART ONE

Over the darkened Petrograd November breathed the autumn chill. Splashing in a noisy wave at the edges of her slender fence, the Neva tossed about like a sick person in her restless bed. It was already late and dark; The rain beat angrily against the window, And the wind blew, howling sadly. At that time, young Evgeniy came home from the guests... We will call our hero by this name. It sounds nice; My pen has been with him for a long time and is also friendly. We don't need his nickname. Although in times gone by It may have shone And under the pen of Karamzin It sounded in native legends; But now it is forgotten by light and rumor. Our hero lives in Kolomna; somewhere he serves, is shy of the nobles and does not worry about deceased relatives, nor about forgotten antiquities. So, when he came home, Evgeniy shook off his overcoat, undressed, and lay down. But for a long time he could not fall asleep, in the excitement of various thoughts. What was he thinking about? that he was poor, that through labor he had to gain himself both independence and honor; That God could give him more intelligence and money. That there are such idle happy people, short-sighted people, lazy people, for whom life is so easy! That he serves only two years; He also thought that the weather was not letting up; that the river kept rising; that the bridges have hardly been removed from the Neva and that he will be separated from Parasha for two, three days. Evgeniy sighed heartily and dreamed like a poet: Marry? Well... why not? It’s hard, of course, But well, he’s young and healthy, Ready to work day and night; He will somehow arrange for himself a humble and simple shelter, and in it he will calm Parasha. Perhaps a year or two will pass - I’ll get a place - I’ll entrust our farm to Parasha And the upbringing of the children... And we’ll begin to live, and so we’ll both reach the grave Hand in hand, And our grandchildren will bury us...” So he dreamed. And he was sad that night, and he wished that the wind would howl less sadly, and that the rain would not knock on the window so angrily... He finally closed his sleepy eyes. And now the darkness of the stormy night is thinning and the pale day is already coming... 3 A terrible day! All night long the Neva was rushing to the sea against the storm, Not having overcome their violent foolishness... And she could not bear to argue... In the morning, crowds of people crowded over its banks, Admiring the splashes, mountains And the foam of the angry waters. But by the force of the winds from the bay, the blocked Neva walked back, angry, seething, and flooded the islands, the weather became even more ferocious, the Neva swelled and roared, bubbling and swirling like a cauldron, and suddenly, like a frantic beast, it rushed towards the city. Everything ran before her, everything around Suddenly became empty - waters suddenly Flowed into the underground cellars, Channels poured into the gratings, And Petropol floated up like a newt, Waist-deep in water. Siege! attack! evil waves, like thieves, climb into the windows. The canoes are hitting the windows with their sterns as they run. Trays under a wet blanket. Fragments of huts, logs, roofs, Goods of thrifty trade, Belongings of pale poverty, Bridges demolished by a thunderstorm, Coffins from a washed-out cemetery Floating through the streets! The people see God's wrath and await execution. Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food! Where will I get it? In that terrible year, the late Tsar still ruled Russia with glory. He went out onto the balcony, sad, confused, and said: “Tsars cannot cope with God’s elements.” He sat down and in thought with sorrowful eyes looked at the evil disaster. There were stacks of lakes, and streets flowed into them like wide rivers. The palace seemed like a sad island. The king said - from end to end, Along the nearby streets and distant ones, The generals set off on a dangerous path among the stormy waters 4 To save the people, overwhelmed with fear And drowning at home. Then, on Petrova Square, Where a new house rose in the corner, Where above the elevated porch With raised paws, as if alive, Two guard lions stand, Astride a marble beast, Without a hat, with his hands clasped in a cross, Eugene sat motionless, terribly pale. He was afraid, poor thing, not for himself. He did not hear how the greedy wave rose, washing away his soles, how the rain whipped into his face, how the wind, howling violently, suddenly tore off his hat. His desperate glances were aimed at one edge and were motionless. Like mountains, From the indignant depths The waves rose there and were angry, There the storm howled, there they rushed, Debris... God, God! there - Alas! close to the waves, Almost at the very bay - An unpainted fence and a willow tree And a dilapidated house: there he is, a widow and a daughter, his parasha, his dream... Or is he seeing this in a dream? or is our whole life nothing but an empty dream, a mockery of heaven over the earth? And he, as if bewitched, As if chained to marble, cannot get off! There is water around him and nothing else! And, with his back turned to him, In an unshakable height, Above the indignant Neva River, the Idol stands with outstretched hand on a bronze horse.

PART TWO

But now, having had enough of destruction and tired of the insolent riot, the Neva was drawn back, admiring its indignation and carelessly abandoning its prey. So the villain, with his fierce gang, burst into the village, breaks, cuts, crushes and robs; screams, gnashing, violence, abuse, alarm, howl!.. And, burdened with robbery, fearing pursuit, tired, the robbers hurry home, dropping their loot on the way. The water has subsided, and the pavement has opened, and my Evgeny hastens, his soul freezing, in hope, fear and longing, to the barely humbled river. But the victories were full of triumph, The waves were still boiling angrily, As if a fire was smoldering under them, The foam was still covering them, And the Neva was breathing heavily, Like a horse running back from battle. Evgeny looks: he sees a boat; He runs to her as if on a discovery; He calls the carrier - And the carefree carrier willingly takes Him for a ten-kopeck piece through the terrible waves. And for a long time an experienced rower struggled with the stormy waves, And to hide deep between their rows, All the time the boat was ready with the daring swimmers - and finally it reached the shore. The unfortunate man runs along a familiar street to familiar places. He looks, but he can’t find out. The view is terrible! Everything is piled up in front of him; What is dropped, what is demolished; The houses were crooked, others completely collapsed, others were moved by the waves; All around, as if in a battlefield, bodies are lying around. Evgeny Stremglav, not remembering anything, Exhausted from torment, Runs to where Fate awaits him with unknown news, Like a sealed letter. And now he is running through the suburbs, And there is a bay, and the house is close... What is this?.. He stopped. I went back and came back. He looks... he walks... he still looks. This is the place where their house stands; Here is the willow. There was a gate here - it was demolished, apparently. Where is home? And, full of gloomy care, He walks and walks around, Talking loudly to himself - And suddenly, hitting his forehead with his hand, he laughed. The darkness of the night descended on the trembling city; But for a long time the inhabitants did not sleep and talked among themselves about the past day. The morning ray From behind the tired, pale clouds Flashed over the quiet capital And no longer found traces of yesterday's Trouble; The evil was already covered with crimson. Everything returned to the same order. Already the people walked along the free streets with their cold insensibility. Official people, leaving their night shelter, went to work. The brave trader, without despondency, opened the robbed Neva cellar, intending to take out his important loss on his neighbor. Boats were taken from the yards. Count Khvostov, a poet beloved by heaven, already sang in immortal verse the misfortune of the Neva banks. But my poor, my poor Eugene... Alas! his troubled mind could not resist the terrible shocks. The rebellious noise of the Neva and the winds resounded in his ears. Silently full of terrible thoughts, he wandered. He was tormented by some kind of dream. A week passed, a month passed - he did not return to his home. His deserted corner was rented out by the owner to a poor poet when his term expired. Evgeny did not come for his goods. He soon became alien to the world. I wandered around on foot all day, and slept on the pier; I ate a piece served through the window. The shabby clothes he was wearing were torn and smoldering. Angry children threw stones after him. Often the coachman's whips lashed Him, because He never cleared the road; it seemed like he didn't notice. He was deafened by the noise of internal anxiety. And so he dragged out his unhappy life, neither beast, nor man, Neither this nor that, nor an inhabitant of the world, Nor a dead ghost... Once he slept By the Neva pier. The days of summer were turning to autumn. A stormy wind was breathing. The gloomy wave splashed onto the pier, grumbling and beating against the smooth steps, like a petitioner at the door of judges who did not listen to him. The poor man woke up. It was gloomy: The rain was dripping, the wind howled sadly, And with him in the distance in the darkness of the night the sentry called to one another... Eugene jumped up; He remembered vividly the past horror; hastily He stood up; went to wander, and suddenly Stopped, and quietly began to move his eyes around With wild fear on his face. He found himself under the pillars of the Big House. On the porch, With raised paws, guard lions stood, as if alive, And right in the dark heights Above the fenced rock, the Idol with outstretched hand Sat on a bronze horse. Evgeny shuddered. The scary thoughts in him became clear. He recognized the place where the flood played, Where the predatory waves crowded, rioting angrily around him, And the lions, and the square, and the one who stood motionless in the darkness with a copper head, the one whose fatal will the city was founded under the sea... He is terrible in the surrounding darkness! What a thought on the brow! What power is hidden in it! And what fire there is in this horse! Where will you gallop, proud horse, and where will you land your hooves? O mighty lord of fate! Isn’t it so that you, above the very abyss, at a height, raised Russia on its hind legs with an iron bridle? 5 The poor madman walked around the base of the idol and cast his wild gaze on the face of the ruler of half the world. His chest felt tight. His forehead lay against the cold grate, his eyes became foggy, a flame ran through his heart, his blood boiled. He became gloomy Before the proud idol And, gritting his teeth, clenching his fingers, As if overcome by black power, “Good, miraculous builder! “He whispered, trembling angrily, “Too bad for you!” And suddenly he began to run headlong. It seemed to Him that a formidable king, Instantly ignited with anger, His face quietly turned... And he runs across the empty square and hears behind him - As if thunder rumbled - A heavy, ringing galloping Along the shocked pavement. And, illuminated by the pale moon, stretching out his hand on high, the Bronze Horseman rushes after him on a loudly galloping horse; And all night long the poor madman, Wherever he turned his feet, the Bronze Horseman galloped behind him everywhere with a heavy stomp. And from that time, when he happened to walk that square, Confusion was depicted in his face. He hurriedly pressed his hand to his heart, As if to subdue him torment, He took off his worn cap, He did not raise his embarrassed eyes, And he walked aside. Small island visible on the seashore. Sometimes a belated fisherman lands there with a seine and cooks his poor supper, or an official visits, while walking in a boat on Sunday, a deserted island. Not grown up. Not a blade of grass there. The flood brought the dilapidated house there, playing. He remained above the water like a black bush. Last spring they brought him on a barge. It was empty and all destroyed. At the threshold They found my madman, And immediately buried his cold corpse for God's sake.

Over darkened Petrograd
November breathed the autumn chill.
Splashing with a noisy wave
To the edges of your slender fence,
Neva was tossing around like a sick person
Restless in my bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily on the window,
And the wind blew, howling sadly.
At that time from the guests home
Young Evgeniy came...
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; been with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname,
Although in times gone by
Perhaps it shone
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It's forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
He shies away from the nobles and does not bother
Not about deceased relatives,
Not about forgotten antiquities.

So, I came home, Evgeniy
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, and lay down.
But for a long time he could not fall asleep
In the excitement of various thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he worked hard
He had to deliver to himself
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him?
Mind and money. What is it?
Such idle lucky ones,
Short-sighted, sloths,
For whom life is much easier!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
She didn’t let up; that the river
Everything was coming; which is hardly
The bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will happen to Parasha?
Separated for two or three days.
Evgeny sighed heartily here
And he daydreamed like a poet:

"Marry? Me? Why not?
It’s hard, of course;
But well I'm young and healthy
Ready to work day and night;
I’ll arrange something for myself
Shelter humble and simple
And in it I will calm Parasha.
Perhaps a year or two will pass -
I’ll get a place, Parashe
I will entrust our family
And raising children...
And we will live, and so on until the grave
We'll both get there hand in hand
And our grandchildren will bury us..."

That's what he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howls less sadly
And let the rain knock on the window
Not so angry...
Sleepy eyes
He finally closed. And so
The darkness of a stormy night is thinning
And the pale day is already coming... (3)
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Longing for the sea against the storm,
Without overcoming their violent foolishness...
And she couldn’t bear to argue...
In the morning over its banks
There were crowds of people crowded together,
Admiring the splashes, mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But the strength of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
She walked back, angry, seething,
And flooded the islands
The weather became more ferocious
The Neva swelled and roared,
A cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
She rushed towards the city. In front of her
Everything ran, everything around
Suddenly it was empty - suddenly there was water
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured into the gratings,
And Petropol emerged like a newt,
Waist-deep in water.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves, they climb into windows. Chelny
From the run the windows are smashed by the stern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Wrecks of huts, logs, roofs,
Stock trade goods,
The belongings of pale poverty,
Bridges demolished by thunderstorms,
Coffins from a washed-out cemetery
Floating through the streets!
People
He sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will I get it?
In that terrible year
The late Tsar was still in Russia
He ruled with glory. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he went out
And he said: "With God's element
Kings cannot control." He sat down
And in the Duma with sorrowful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were stacks of lakes,
And in them there are wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Along nearby streets and distant ones
On a dangerous journey through stormy waters
The generals set off (4)
To save and overcome with fear
And there are drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions standing,
Riding a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clasped in a cross,
Sat motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor thing,
Not for myself. He didn't hear
How the greedy shaft rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face,
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly tore off his hat.
His desperate glances
Pointed to the edge
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the indignant depths
The waves rose there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Debris... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves,
Almost at the very bay -
The fence is unpainted, but the willow
And a dilapidated house: there it is,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream... Or in a dream
Does he see this? or all ours
And life is nothing like an empty dream,
The mockery of heaven over earth?

And he seems to be bewitched
As if chained to marble,
Can't get off! Around him
Water and nothing else!
And with my back turned to him,
In the unshakable heights,
Above the indignant Neva
Stands with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

"BRONZE HORSEMAN"

PETERSBURG TALE

PREFACE

The incident described in this story is based on truth. Details of the flood are taken from magazines of the time. The curious can consult the news compiled by V. N. Berkh.

INTRODUCTION

On the shore of desert waves
He stood there, full of great thoughts,
And he looked into the distance. Wide before him
The river rushed; poor boat
He strove along it alone.
Along mossy, marshy banks
Blackened huts here and there,
Shelter of a wretched Chukhonian;
And the forest, unknown to the rays
In the fog of the hidden sun,
There was noise all around.

And he thought:
From here we will threaten the Swede,
The city will be founded here
To spite an arrogant neighbor.
Nature destined us here
Cut a window to Europe, (1)
Stand with a firm foot by the sea.
Here on new waves
All flags will visit us
And we’ll record it in the open air.

A hundred years have passed, and the young city,
There is beauty and wonder in full countries,
From the darkness of the forests, from the swamps of blat
He ascended magnificently and proudly;
Where was the Finnish fisherman before?
Nature's sad stepson
Alone on the low banks
Thrown into unknown waters
Your old net is now there,
Along busy shores
Slender communities crowd together
Palaces and towers; ships
A crowd from all over the world
They strive for rich marinas;
The Neva is dressed in granite;
Bridges hung over the waters;
Dark green gardens
Islands covered her,
And in front of the younger capital
Old Moscow has faded,
Like before a new queen
Porphyry widow.

I love you, Petra's creation,
I love your strict, slender appearance,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast iron pattern,
of your thoughtful nights
Transparent twilight, moonless shine,
When I'm in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping communities are clear
Deserted streets and light
Admiralty needle,
And not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn gives way to another
He hurries, giving the night half an hour. (2)
I love your cruel winter
Still air and frost,
Sleigh running along the wide Neva;
Girls' faces are brighter than roses,
And the shine and noise and talk of balls,
And at the time of the feast the bachelor
The hiss of foamy glasses
And the punch flame is blue.
I love the warlike liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
Uniform beauty
In their harmoniously unsteady system
The shreds of these victorious banners,
The shine of these copper caps,
Through those shot through in battle.
I love you, military capital,
Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,
When the queen is full
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or, breaking your blue ice,
The Neva carries him to the seas,
And, sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.

Show off, city Petrov, and stand
Unshakable like Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and ancient captivity
Let the Finnish waves forget
And they will not be vain malice
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!

It was a terrible time
The memory of her is fresh...
About her, my friends, for you
I'll start my story.
My story will be sad.

PART ONE

Over darkened Petrograd
November breathed the autumn chill.
Splashing with a noisy wave
To the edges of your slender fence,
Neva was tossing around like a sick person
Restless in my bed.
It was already late and dark;
The rain beat angrily on the window,
And the wind blew, howling sadly.
At that time from the guests home
Young Evgeniy came...
We will be our hero
Call by this name. It
Sounds nice; been with him for a long time
My pen is also friendly.
We don't need his nickname,
Although in times gone by
Perhaps it shone,
And under the pen of Karamzin
In native legends it sounded;
But now with light and rumor
It's forgotten. Our hero
Lives in Kolomna; serves somewhere
He shies away from the nobles and does not bother
Not about deceased relatives,
Not about forgotten antiquities.

So, I came home, Evgeniy
He shook off his overcoat, undressed, and lay down.
But for a long time he could not fall asleep
In the excitement of various thoughts.
What was he thinking about? About,
That he was poor, that he worked hard
He had to deliver to himself
And independence and honor;
What could God add to him?
Mind and money. What is it?
Such idle lucky ones,
Mindless sloths,
For whom life is much easier!
That he serves only two years;
He also thought that the weather
She didn’t let up; that the river
Everything was coming; which is hardly
The bridges have not been removed from the Neva
And what will happen to Parasha?
Separated for two or three days.
Evgeny sighed heartily here
And he daydreamed like a poet:

Marry? Well... why not?
It's hard, of course.
But well, he's young and healthy,
Ready to work day and night;
He'll arrange something for himself
Shelter humble and simple
And it will calm Parasha.
"Perhaps another year will pass -
I'll get a place - Parashe
I will entrust our farm
And raising children...
And we will live - and so on until the grave,
We'll both get there hand in hand
And our grandchildren will bury us..."

That's what he dreamed. And it was sad
Him that night, and he wished
So that the wind howls less sadly
And let the rain knock on the window
Not so angry...
Sleepy eyes
He finally closed. And so
The darkness of a stormy night is thinning
And the pale day is already coming... (3)
Terrible day!
Neva all night
Longing for the sea against the storm,
Without overcoming their violent foolishness...
And she was unable to argue...
In the morning over its banks
There were crowds of people crowded together,
Admiring the splashes, mountains
And the foam of angry waters.
But the strength of the winds from the bay
Blocked Neva
She walked back, angry, seething,
And flooded the islands.
The weather became more ferocious
The Neva swelled and roared,
A cauldron bubbling and swirling,
And suddenly, like a wild beast,
She rushed towards the city. In front of her
Everything ran; all around
Suddenly it was empty - suddenly there was water
Flowed into underground cellars,
Channels poured into the gratings,
And Petropol emerged like a newt,
Waist-deep in water.

Siege! attack! evil waves,
Like thieves, they climb into windows. Chelny
From the run the windows are smashed by the stern.
Trays under a wet veil,
Wrecks of huts, logs, roofs,
Stock trade goods,
The belongings of pale poverty,
Bridges demolished by thunderstorms,
Coffins from a washed-out cemetery
Floating through the streets!
People
He sees God's wrath and awaits execution.
Alas! everything perishes: shelter and food!
Where will I get it?
In that terrible year
The late Tsar was still in Russia
He ruled with glory. To the balcony
Sad, confused, he went out
And he said: "With God's element
Kings cannot control." He sat down
And in the Duma with sorrowful eyes
I looked at the evil disaster.
There were hundreds of lakes
And in them there are wide rivers
The streets poured in. Castle
It seemed like a sad island.
The king said - from end to end,
Along nearby streets and distant ones
On a dangerous journey through stormy waters
The generals set off (4)
To save and overcome with fear
And there are drowning people at home.

Then, on Petrova Square,
Where a new house has risen in the corner,
Where above the elevated porch
With a raised paw, as if alive,
There are two guard lions standing,
On a marble beast,
Without a hat, hands clasped in a cross,
Sat motionless, terribly pale
Eugene. He was afraid, poor thing,
Not for myself. He didn't hear
How the greedy shaft rose,
Washing his soles,
How the rain hit his face,
Like the wind, howling violently,
He suddenly tore off his hat.
His desperate glances
Pointed to the edge
They were motionless. Like mountains
From the indignant depths
The waves rose there and got angry,
There the storm howled, there they rushed
Debris... God, God! there -
Alas! close to the waves,
Almost at the very bay -
The fence is unpainted, but the willow
And a dilapidated house: there it is,
Widow and daughter, his Parasha,
His dream.... Or in a dream
Does he see this? or all ours
And life is nothing like an empty dream,
The mockery of heaven over earth?
And he seems to be bewitched
As if chained to marble,
Can't get off! Around him
Water and nothing else!
And my back is turned to him
In the unshakable heights,
Above the indignant Neva
Stands with outstretched hand
Idol on a bronze horse.

PART TWO.

But now, having had enough of destruction
And tired of insolent violence,
The Neva was drawn back,
Admiring your indignation
And leaving with carelessness
Your prey. So villain
With his fierce gang
Having burst into the village, he breaks, cuts,
Destroys and robs; screams, gnashing,
Violence, swearing, alarm, howling!....
And burdened with robbery,
Afraid of the chase, tired,
The robbers are hurrying home,
Dropping prey on the way.

The water has subsided and the pavement
It opened, and Evgeny is mine
He hurries, his soul sinking,
In hope, fear and longing
To the barely subdued river.
But victories are full of triumph
The waves were still boiling angrily,
It was as if a fire was smoldering underneath them,
The foam still covered them,
And Neva was breathing heavily,
Like a horse running back from battle.
Evgeny looks: he sees a boat;
He runs to her as if he were on a find;
He calls the carrier -
And the carrier is carefree
Willingly pay him for a dime
Through terrible waves you are lucky.

And long with stormy waves
An experienced rower fought
And hide deep between their rows
Every hour with daring swimmers
The boat was ready - and finally
He reached the shore.
Unhappy
Runs down a familiar street
To familiar places. Looks
Can't find out. The view is terrible!
Everything is piled up in front of him;
What is dropped, what is demolished;
The houses were crooked, others
Completely collapsed, others
Shifted by waves; all around
As if in a battlefield,
Bodies are lying around. Eugene
Headlong, not remembering anything,
Exhausted from torment,
Runs to where he is waiting
Fate with unknown news,
Like with a sealed letter.
And now he’s running through the suburbs,
And here is the bay, and the house is close...
What is this?...
He stopped.
I went back and came back.
He looks... he walks... he still looks.
This is the place where their house stands;
Here is the willow. There was a gate here -
Apparently they were blown away. Where is home?
And full of gloomy care
He keeps walking, he walks around,
Talks loudly to himself -
And suddenly, hitting him on the forehead with his hand,
I started laughing.
Night haze
She came down to the city in trepidation
But the residents did not sleep for a long time
And they talked among themselves
About the day gone by.
Morning ray
Because of the tired, pale clouds
Flashed over the quiet capital
And I haven’t found any traces
Yesterday's troubles; purple
The evil was already covered up.
Everything returned to the same order.
The streets are already free
With your cold insensibility
People were walking. Official people
Leaving my night shelter,
I went to work. Brave trader
Not discouraged, I opened
Neva robbed basement,
Collecting your loss is important
Place it on the nearest one. From the yards
They brought boats.
Count Khvostov,
Poet beloved by heaven
Already sang in immortal verses
The misfortune of the Neva banks.

But my poor, poor Evgeniy...
Alas! his confused mind
Against terrible shocks
I couldn't resist. Rebellious noise
The Neva and the winds were heard
In his ears. Terrible thoughts
Silently full, he wandered.
He was tormented by some kind of dream.
A week passed, a month - he
He did not return to his home.
His deserted corner
I hired him out when the deadline passed,
The owner of the poor poet.
Evgeniy for his goods
Didn't come. He'll be out soon
Became alien. I wandered on foot all day,
And he slept on the pier; ate
A piece served into the window.
His clothes are shabby
It tore and smoldered. Angry children
They threw stones after him.
Often coachman's whips
He was whipped because
That he didn't understand the roads
Never again; it seemed he
Didn't notice. He's stunned
Was the noise of internal anxiety.
And so he is his unhappy age
Dragged, neither beast nor man,
Neither this nor that, nor the inhabitant of the world
Not a dead ghost...
Once he was sleeping
At the Neva pier. Days of summer
We were approaching autumn. Breathed
Stormy wind. Grim Shaft
Splashed on the pier, grumbling fines
And hitting the smooth steps,
Like a petitioner at the door
Judges who don't listen to him.
The poor man woke up. It was gloomy:
The rain fell, the wind howled sadly,
And with him far away, in the darkness of the night
The sentry called to each other....
Evgeny jumped up; remembered vividly
He is a past horror; hastily
He got up; went wandering, and suddenly
Stopped - and around
He quietly began to move his eyes
With wild fear on your face.
He found himself under the pillars
Big house. On the porch
With a raised paw, as if alive
The lions stood guard,
And right in the dark heights
Above the fenced rock
Idol with outstretched hand
Sat on a bronze horse.

Evgeny shuddered. cleared up
The thoughts in it are scary. He found out
And the place where the flood played,
Where the waves of predators crowded,
Rioting angrily around him,
And lions, and the square, and that,
Who stood motionless
In the darkness with a copper head,
The one whose will is fatal
A city was founded under the sea....
He is terrible in the surrounding darkness!
What a thought on the brow!
What power is hidden in it!
And what fire there is in this horse!
Where are you galloping, proud horse?
And where will you put your hooves?
O mighty lord of fate!
Aren't you above the abyss?
At the height, with an iron bridle
Raised Russia on its hind legs? (5)

Around the foot of the idol
The poor madman walked around
And brought wild glances
The face of the ruler of half the world.
His chest felt tight. Chelo
It lay down on the cold grate,
My eyes became foggy,
A fire ran through my heart,
Blood boiled. He became gloomy
Before the proud idol
And, clenching my teeth, clenching my fingers,
As if possessed by black power,
"Welcome, miraculous builder!"
He whispered, trembling angrily, -
Already for you!..." And suddenly headlong
He started to run. It seemed
He is like a formidable king,
Instantly ignited with anger,
The face quietly turned...
And its area is empty
He runs and hears behind him -
It's like thunder roaring -
Heavy ringing galloping
Along the shaken pavement.
And, illuminated by the pale moon,
Stretching out your hand on high,
The Bronze Horseman rushes after him
On a loud galloping horse;
And all night long the poor madman.
Wherever you turn your feet,
Behind him is the Bronze Horseman everywhere
He galloped with a heavy stomp.

And from the time when it happened
He should go to that square,
His face showed
Confusion. To your heart
He hastily pressed his hand,
As if subduing him with torment,
A worn out cap,
Didn’t raise embarrassed eyes
And he walked aside.

Small Island
Visible at the seaside. Sometimes
Lands there with a seine
Late fisherman fishing
And the poor man cooks his dinner,
Or an official will visit,
Walking in a boat on Sunday
Deserted island. Not an adult
There's not a blade of grass there. Flood
Brought there while playing
The house is dilapidated. Above the water
He remained like a black bush.
His last spring
They brought me on a barge. It was empty
And everything is destroyed. At the threshold
They found my madman,
And then his cold corpse
Buried for God's sake.