On the shore 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 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, 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 Alarm last sleep Petra! 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 oneOver 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; 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 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 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 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. Part twoBut 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, anxiety, 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 home is close... What is this?.. He stopped. I went back and came back. He looks... walks... 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 descended upon 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 rented it 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 internal anxiety. And so he is his unhappy age Dragged, neither beast nor man, Neither this nor that, nor the inhabitant of the world, Neither ghost dead… 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 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 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? 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. Analysis of the poem “The Bronze Horseman” by PushkinPoem " Bronze Horseman"is a multifaceted work with a serious philosophical meaning. Pushkin created it in 1833, during one of the most fruitful “Boldino” periods. The plot of the poem is based on real event– the terrible St. Petersburg flood of 1824, which carried away a large number of human lives. The main theme of the work is the confrontation between the authorities and the “little” man who decides to revolt and suffers inevitable defeat. The “Introduction” to the poem enthusiastically describes the “city of Petrov.” “I love you, Petra’s creation” - known string from a poem that is often quoted to express their attitude towards St. Petersburg. The description of the city and its life was made by Pushkin with great love and artistic taste. It ends with a majestic comparison of St. Petersburg with the state itself - “...stand unshakable, like Russia.” The first part contrasts sharply with the introduction. It describes a modest official, a “little” man, burdened by a hard life. Its existence is insignificant against the backdrop of the huge city. Evgeny’s only joy in life is the dream of marriage with his beloved girl. His family future is still vague (“maybe... I’ll get a job”), but the young man is full of strength and hopes for the future. Pushkin proceeds to describe the sudden natural disaster. Nature seems to be taking revenge on man for his self-confidence and pride. The city was founded by Peter on a personal whim; the peculiarities of the climate and terrain were not taken into account at all. In this sense, the phrase that the author attributes to Alexander I is indicative: “Tsars cannot cope with God’s elements.” The fear of losing his beloved leads Eugene to the monument - the Bronze Horseman. One of the main symbols of St. Petersburg appears in its ominous tyrannical appearance. The “Idol on a Bronze Horse” Doesn’t Care About Suffering ordinary people, he revels in his greatness. The second part is even more tragic. Evgeniy learns about the death of his girlfriend. Stricken with grief, he goes crazy and gradually becomes a poor, ragged wanderer. Aimless wanderings around the city lead him to his old place. When looking at the imperturbable monument, memories flash in Eugene’s mind. To him on a short time reason returns. At this moment, Eugene is overcome with anger, and he decides to symbolically revolt against tyranny: “Too bad for you!” This flash of energy finally reduces young man crazy. Pursued throughout the city by the Bronze Horseman, he eventually dies of exhaustion. The "revolt" was successfully suppressed. In the poem “The Bronze Horseman” Pushkin made a brilliant artistic description of St. Petersburg. The philosophical and civic value of the work lies in the development of the theme of relations between unlimited power and the ordinary person.
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 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 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, 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 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, 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 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? 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 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 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 floated up 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 blanket. 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 - Unpainted fence and 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. 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, anxiety, 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 on a discovery; 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 home is close... What is this?.. He stopped. I went back and came back. He looks... walks... 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 descended upon 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 rented it 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 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 are you galloping, proud horse? And where will you put your hooves? O mighty lord of fate! Aren't you above the very 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.
The works of Etienne Maurice Falconet are one of the most famous symbols Northern capital. The first poem about the monument was written a year after its opening, and since then the monumental image has appeared in literature. Let us remember “copper Peter” and his incarnation in Russian poetry. Ermil Kostrov and the “demigod” on the stone strongholdWho is this, exalted on a rocky stronghold, Seated on a horse, stretching out his hand to the abyss, Drawing steep waves to the clouds And shake the stormy whirlwinds with your breath? - That's Peter. With his mind Russia has been renewed, And the universe is filled with his high-profile deeds. He, seeing the foreshadowed fruit of his loins, It will spit joyfully from the highest heights. And the copper that the sight of him on the shore represents, Shows himself to be sensitive to fun; And his proud horse, lifting the lightness of his legs, He wishes that the demigod sitting on him The porphyrogenitus flew to kiss the maiden, Congratulate the Russians on the newly risen day.
From the poem “Eclogue. Three Graces. For the birthday of Her Highness Grand Duchess Alexandra Pavlovna", 1783
Alexey Melnikov. Unveiling of the monument to Peter I on Senate Square in St. Petersburg. Engraving from 1782 Ermil Kostrov - Russian poet of the 18th century. According to the memoirs of Alexander Pushkin, he served as a poet at Moscow University: he wrote official poems on special occasions. Yermil Kostrov was the first in Russia to translate masterpieces ancient literature- “The Iliad” by Homer and “The Golden Ass” by Apuleius. "Eclogue. Three Graces. On the birthday of Her Highness Grand Duchess Alexandra Pavlovna,” Kostrov wrote when Paul I was born eldest daughter Alexandra. The poem, created in ancient traditions, is structured as a conversation between three graces (goddesses of beauty and joy): Euphrosyne, Thalia and Aglaia. Aglaya speaks about the monument to Peter I and the Tsar himself in the eclogue. It began with Kostrov’s work literary tradition depict copper Peter as the patron of the city, capable of protecting it from harm. The image of the “proud horse” from the eclogue will later appear in “The Bronze Horseman” by Alexander Pushkin. Alexander Pushkin and the Bronze HorsemanBronze Horseman 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 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.
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Alexander Benois. Bronze Horseman. 1903 Some researchers consider the author of the “Bronze Horseman” metaphor to be the Decembrist poet Alexander Odoevsky. His 1831 poem "Saint Bernard" contains the following line: “In the midnight darkness, in the snow, there is a horse and a bronze rider”. However, this expression became stable after the publication of Pushkin’s poem of the same name. The poet wrote the work about Eugene, who lost his beloved after the flood of 1824, during the Boldin autumn of 1833. In 1834, only its first part was published - with censorship edits by Nicholas I. But the entire poem was published only three years later, after the death of Alexander Pushkin. The text was prepared for publication in Sovremennik by Vasily Zhukovsky. “Pushkin is as much the creator of the image of St. Petersburg as Peter the Great was the builder of the city itself.”
Nikolai Antsiferov, Soviet historian and cultural scientist
Composer Reinhold Gliere wrote a ballet based on the plot of The Bronze Horseman. Its fragment - “Hymn to the Great City” - became the anthem of St. Petersburg. Valery Bryusov. “With outstretched hand you fly on a horse”To the Bronze Horseman Isaac turns white in the frosty fog. Peter rises on a snow-covered block. And people pass in the daylight twilight, As if speaking to him for review You also stood here, splashed and in the foam Above the dark plain of troubled waves; And the poor thing threatened you in vain Eugene, Seized by madness, full of rage. You were standing between the screams and the roar The bodies of the abandoned army lay down, Whose blood smoked in the snow and flashed And she couldn’t melt the earth’s pole! Taking turns, the generations made noise around, Houses rose like your crops... His horse trampled the links with mercilessness The curved snake is powerless under him. But the northern city is like a foggy ghost, We humans pass by like shadows in a dream. Only you through the centuries, unchanged, crowned, With outstretched hand you fly on a horse.
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Alexander Beggrov. Bronze Horseman. 19th century About 15 St. Petersburg addresses are associated with the name of Osip Mandelstam in St. Petersburg: these are apartments in which different time lived a poet. Many of his works are created in the genre of urban lyrics. The poet wrote about the architecture of St. Petersburg as a man-made fifth element: “We enjoy the dominance of the four elements, / But he created the fifth free man»
("Admiralty")
“….cast iron fence pattern”The architectural appearance of St. Petersburg is unique - its ensembles, embankments, bridges... It reflects the most important stages in the development of Russian architecture of the 18th-20th centuries. An integral part of it is the “cast iron lace”, which is surprisingly varied in design - garden fences, railings of embankments and bridges, balcony grilles, gates, lanterns, flagpoles... Clearly visible against the background of building facades in summer, in frosty conditions in winter, flickering in the light of rainy lanterns autumn evenings, they give the city a special charm. It is no coincidence that A.S. Pushkin, praising the beauty of St. Petersburg, also mentioned the “cast iron fence pattern.” “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..." Around the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, designed by architect A.A. Parlanda created a semicircular fence, executed in 1903-1907. at the enterprise of K. Winkler. A whimsical, beautiful pattern of forged links with large floral ornament characteristic of the early modern era. ![](https://i0.wp.com/img1.liveinternet.ru/images/attach/c/2/73/806/73806033_0_3bc92_6b09b55c_XL.jpg)
The links are located between monumental cylindrical pillars with beautiful decoration. The lower part of the pillar is lined with glazed brick of two tones (ochre and cinnabar). The fence stretches from the Benois building on the embankment of the Griboyedov Canal to the Moika River. ![](https://i1.wp.com/img1.liveinternet.ru/images/attach/c/2/73/806/73806031_0_3bc9a_c0ae1e80_XL.jpg)
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The magnificent fence organically fits into the ensemble of the Mikhailovsky Garden. ![](https://i0.wp.com/img0.liveinternet.ru/images/attach/c/2/73/806/73806032_0_3bc9d_bd5f4425_XL.jpg)
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The most famous is the lattice of the Summer Garden. Despite her size, she looks very elegant, light and slender. Anna Akhmatova wrote about her: “I want to go to the roses, to that only garden, Where the best in the world stands from the fences, ... " ![](https://i0.wp.com/artyx.ru/books/item/f00/s00/z0000015/pic/000325.jpg)
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![](https://i1.wp.com/lh5.ggpht.com/_VPLgcOKJSbM/S_xA_O7cwhI/AAAAAAAABCw/C1e_xqyievI/Gorgona.jpg) fragment of the Summer Garden lattice.
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Fence of the Transfiguration Cathedral In 1832-1833, according to the design of the architect V. Stasov, a fence was built around the cathedral in memory of the victory in the Russian-Turkish War of 1828-1829. It consists of 18- and 24-pound captured bronze gun barrels with a total of 102, donated to the cathedral by order of Emperor Nicholas I and mounted on 34 granite bases, three on each. The barrels of captured Turkish cannons, taken from the walls of the Turkish fortresses of Izmail, Varna, Tulcha, Isakchi, Silistria, as well as those taken during the battle of Kulevchi, are installed with the muzzle down, as a sign that they will never again participate in hostilities. The embossed coats of arms of the Ottoman Empire are preserved on the trunks, and on some of them the names given to them are preserved: “The Wrath of Allah”, “The Sacred Crescent”, “Spewing Thunder”, “I Give Only Death”. All middle trunks are decorated with double-headed eagles with crowns. All groups of tools are connected by massive decorative chains. The doors of the main gate of the cathedral are decorated with shields with bronze images of medals for Russian-Turkish war. Also around the cathedral stood twelve guns and two unicorns (long-barreled guns), which were the property of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. Nicholas I had previously granted them to Poland for the construction in Warsaw of a monument to the Polish King Vladislav III, one of the first in Europe to begin the fight against the Turks in defense of the Slavs. But since the Poles used these guns against the Russian troops during the rebellion of 1831, and our guards took them away during the assault, Nicholas I donated them to the regiment, ordering them to be placed around the entire guard of the Cathedral of Preobrazhensky.
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![](https://i1.wp.com/palmernw.ru/preobr/preobr-018.jpg) An eagle sitting on the barrel of a captured gun.
![](https://i2.wp.com/palmernw.ru/preobr/preobr-023.jpg) Image embossed on a captured gun.
Lattice of the Baby Palace
![](https://i2.wp.com/spbfoto.spb.ru/foto/data/media/12/malutki.jpg) Introduction On the shore of desert waves He stood, full of great thoughts, And looked into the distance. The River rushed wide before him; the poor boat strove along it alone. Along the mossy, swampy banks there were black huts here and there, a shelter for a wretched Chukhon; And the forest, unknown to the rays In the fog of the hidden sun, made noise all around. And he thought: From here we will threaten the Swede, Here the city will be founded to spite the arrogant neighbor. Here we are destined by nature to cut a window into Europe, to stand with a firm foot by the sea. Here on the new waves All the flags will visit us, And we will lock them in the open air. A hundred years have passed, and the young city, full of beauty and wonder, From the darkness of the forests, from the swamps of cronyism, Ascended magnificently, proudly; Where once the Finnish fisherman, Nature's sad stepson, Alone on the low shores Threw His decrepit net into unknown waters, now there Along the busy shores Slender communities crowd Palaces and towers; ships in crowds from all over the world rush to rich piers; The Neva is dressed in granite; Bridges hung over the waters; The islands were covered with Her dark green gardens, And before the younger capital Old Moscow faded, Like a Porphyry-bearing widow before the new queen. I love you, Peter’s creation, I love your strict, slender appearance, the sovereign flow of the Neva, its granite shoreline, your cast-iron pattern of fences, your brooding nights, transparent twilight, moonless shine, when I write in my room, read without a lamp, and the sleeping communities are clear Deserted streets, and the Admiralty needle is bright, And, not letting the darkness of the night into the golden skies, One dawn is in a hurry to replace another, giving the night half an hour. I love your cruel winter, the motionless air and frost, the running of sleighs along the wide Neva, girls’ faces brighter than roses, and the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls, and at the hour of a single feast, the hissing of foamy glasses and the blue flame of punch. I love the warlike liveliness of the amusing fields of Mars, the infantry armies and horses, the monotonous beauty, in their harmoniously unsteady formation, the rags of these victorious banners, the radiance of these copper caps, through those shot through in battle. I love, military capital, Your stronghold is filled with smoke and thunder, When the full-fledged queen bestows a son on the royal house, Or Russia again triumphs over the enemy, Or, having broken its blue ice, the Neva carries it to the seas And, sensing spring days, rejoices. Show off, city of Petrov, and stand unshakably like Russia, May the defeated element make peace with you; Let the Finnish waves forget their enmity and their ancient captivity, And let not vain malice disturb Peter’s eternal sleep! It was a terrible time, The memory of it is fresh... About it, my friends, for you I will begin my story. My story will be sad. 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: “Getting married? To me? why not? It’s hard, of course; But well, I’m young and healthy, I’m ready to work day and night; I’ll somehow arrange a shelter for myself, humble and simple, and in it I’ll calm Parasha. Perhaps a year or two will pass - I’ll get a place, I’ll entrust our family to Parasha And the upbringing of the children... And we’ll begin to live, and so we’ll both reach the coffin 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... A terrible day! All night long the Neva was rushing to the sea against the storm, Not having overcome their violent foolishness... And it became impossible for her 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 - the 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 veil, Wrecks 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 To save the people overwhelmed by 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 the debris rushed... God, God! there - Alas! close to the waves, Almost at the very bay - An unpainted fence, and a willow 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 he were on a find; He calls the ferryman - And the carefree ferryman willingly carries 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 here is the bay, and the house is close... What is this?.. He stopped. I went back and came back. He looks... walks... 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 concern, 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 - 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 a resident of the world, nor a dead ghost... Once he slept at 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 haze! 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 true that you, above the very abyss, at a height, raised Russia on its hind legs with an iron bridle? The poor madman walked around the base of the idol and turned 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, playing, brought the dilapidated house there. 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.
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