The article is on an inaccessible Internet resource, so I duplicate it here.

RUSSIAN BOGATYR, ANCIENT ROMAN GOD AND THE THEME OF MEMORY IN V.T. SHALAMOV "HERCULES"

ANNOTATION. The article analyzes the poetics of V. T. Shalamov's story "Hercules", touches upon such elements of the writer's documentary and artistic world as symbolism, style, prototypes of characters and the connection of the story with the folklore tradition.
SUMMARY. The article is devoted to the poetics of V. T. Shalamovґs short story “Hercules”. The analysis includes such aspects of artistic story-world as symbolism, stylistics, prototypes of personages and elements of folklore ties with the Old Russian epos.

KEYWORDS. Plot, composition, psychological portrait, antihero.
KEY WORDS. Plot, composition, psychological portrait, anti-hero.

"The general with the lieutenant colonel together,
Like chickens, they sit on a perch.

The attitude of the author-narrator to the public, trying in every possible way to please the head of the sanitary department, is clearly expressed in the following phrases and sentences: “the gray-haired hero of the day chirped”; "doctors babbled"; “doctors felt the mighty biceps of the guest of honor with obvious admiration”; "Ladies, snatching fragrant handkerchiefs, rushed to wipe the trousers of the honored guest."
Having defeated gray-haired and bald neurologists, therapists and the chief surgeon in an impromptu arm wrestling, Cherpakov offers the public a new number - tearing off a live rooster's head. After the head of the unfortunate rooster flew off to the side, the hero of the day Sudarin admires the incredible physical strength of his companion, who is used to talking and acting with disenfranchised prisoners with about the same decisiveness: “<...>But power, power. Here it is in Russian. Krak - and you're done. Here Sudarin quotes Cherpakov, who, before tearing off the rooster's head, tells about his incredible strength to the recent owner of the rooster, i.e. Andrei Ivanovich: “I turn my head back to a ram, ram, you understand. Krak and done<…>. And I’ll tear off the head of a living person from this your ... gift, ”he said, admiring the impression he had made. "Where's the rooster?" . The words of Hercules impress the public and are accepted by them with festive and obsequious delight.
Recall that at the very beginning of the story, the gift rooster was received incredibly enthusiastically by everyone - both the couple of the anniversaries and all the guests:
“Ah, Andrey Ivanovich, how by the way,” the gray-haired hero of the day chirped, stroking the rooster.
“A wonderful gift,” the doctors babbled. - And what a beautiful one. It's your favorite, Andrey Ivanovich, isn't it? Yes?" ***. Astute ladies noticed that the rooster presented to the hero of the day was the best of those that Andrei Ivanovich had. Against this background, the ending of the story is much less solemn: the aforementioned Andrei Ivanovich pushed the pet rooster with his head already torn off deeper under the table, out of sight with his foot. The demonstration of the power of Hercules was completed, and the celebration was to continue.
Variations of Cherpakov's unbridled prowess and strength are peculiar climaxes of the story: “as a Russian, and even a northerner, the guest of honor did not use other strong drinks (drinks other than alcohol. - ed.)”; “When the soul-measure has reached the proper degree<…>, switched to the national Russian number ”(Hercules offers to compete with obviously weaker rivals. - ed.); "Guest of Honor Seeks New Tests for His Russian Power". A special prowess and powerful forces awaken in a bored hero after taking a fair amount of alcohol on his chest. It is curious that in the story “The Descendant of the Decembrist”, “in Russian”, Kolympolk leaves the building of the future hospital, which, before leaving, almost completely destroyed the building, so as not to leave it to visitors. However, in another story (“Diamond Map”), Belgian workers are already leaving their homes, who had previously established work in the northern region for the extraction of minerals with great difficulty. Before leaving, they blew up the plant and blast furnaces, and the narrow-gauge railway was completely dismantled, up to the last rail joint. Apparently, Kolyma was quite successfully able to unify the national characteristics of the workers who arrived there.
Cherpakov is a Hercules and only a fabulous hero, Ilya Muromets, for example, can be compared with him, about whom so many legendary legends and epics have been composed by the people:
“And the old Cossack, after all, Ilya Muromets, With his staff, he jumped like a staff, He struck like a filthy Udolishche, And then Udolishche and nunka began to be rude.
<…>The old Cossack, after all, Ilya Muromets, Enough of the filthy Udolisch, Ai, the strong, mighty hero, Grabbed him and his legs, And touched him like him and on the brick floor. Whether it was from the blow of the heroic Terem that they staggered here, Crystal outskirts fell down. Here they sing glory to the hero.
The events of the above passage from the once popular epic text fit perfectly into the framework of the triune event outline of V.T. Shalamov: the appearance of the hero, the victory over the enemy, the glorification of the victorious hero-hero. Only the attitude of the narrators towards their heroes in both texts is different: in the heroic epic a real hero is presented (albeit an ideal, exaggerated and even fictional one), in Hercules - an anti-hero, a parody of the hero and Russian power - the Kolyma overweight boss.
The absolute contrast lies not only in the fact that Cherpakov and Hercules are mythological figures as far apart from each other as Cherpakov is from the rest of the ("dishonorable") guests at the wedding ****. In the entire cycle of Kolyma Tales, images of well-fed and self-satisfied camp authorities and disenfranchised, sick prisoners dying of cold, hunger and beatings are contrasted. “Hercules” is one of two stories (the second is “Slanik”) out of thirty-three in the prose cycle of V.T. Shalamov "Kolyma Tales", in which there is no mention of the prisoners, but, without a doubt, they are invisibly present in the story. To all the festive events taking place at the silver wedding, the Kolyma goners-prisoners are shown as a contrast, designed to outline the contradictions of northern wild customs with the greatest relief.
It should be noted that the color scheme of Hercules is dominated by red and its variations, which forms and enhances the semantic field with the “oxymoron” meaning of “festive cruelty”; in addition, the general obsequious and boorish tone of the celebration is accompanied by a sound cacophony that complements this cheerful holiday: the “silver wedding”; “to the clinking of glasses and the discordant rumble of drunken voices of the feasting”; "red-feathered rooster"; "flushed faces of noisy drunken guests"; “the gray-haired hero of the day chirped”; "doctors babbled"; “what a beautiful” (about a rooster); "hoarse thin voice" and "cloudy eyes" (boss); "yellow, swollen face, small gray eyes" (his own); "a tunic with silver epaulettes of a colonel of the medical service"; "sounds of a cracked tenor" (chief); “doctors pink with happiness”; "gray-haired and bald neuropathologists"; "a blush appeared"; "cock's blood".
In the story, subtler matters also contrast with each other - smells: fragrant handkerchiefs of ladies who rushed to wipe the trousers of an honored guest, cologne - on the one hand, and ammonia - on the other. But all this: fragrant handkerchiefs, and cologne, and ammonia, is aimed at one thing - to please the "guest of honor".
In the story “Domino” preceding “Hercules”, one of the main characters is the incredulous, vigilant and angry head of the medical department - the same Major Cherpakov, who will appear in “Hercules” already in the rank of colonel. In Domino, the major prevents the treatment of a severe degree of tuberculosis in a young prisoner doctor, Andrei Mikhailovich, who saved the hero-narrator from certain death (“Andrey Mikhailovich is the person to whom I owe my life. He himself died long ago - tuberculosis and Major Cherpakov did their a business" )*****.
The next rank of Colonel Cherpakov, apparently, was received for impeccable service as head of the sanitary department, as well as for committing not even heroic, but necessary actions for higher authorities and the state in a responsible official position.
So in the story "Hercules", thanks to the author's intention, a caricature and at the same time an ominous image of the Kolyma authorities, far from the concerns of the rest of the powerless "behind the wire" Kolyma population, is created.

* The special symbolic role of the “finger” is marked by a number of other stories by Shalamov: “At the Presentation”, “The First Tooth”, “Ivan Fedorovich”].
** The mythological god and hero Hercules is endowed with excellent epithets and definitions, depending on who praised him: he was considered invincible, was the god of victory, the prototype of an ideal king, the antipode of a tyrant, a sage who defeated monsters with the power of reason and knowledge, was considered an intermediary between gods and people.
*** A fragment of a letter from V.T. Shalamova B.L. Pasternak dated January 8, 1956, in which the former convict recalls the Kolyma camp everyday life: “A drunken boss boasts strength on a name day - he tears off his head from a living rooster (there in Kolyma. - approx. Aut.) All the authorities keep 50-100 chickens, eggs 120 rub. ten is a solid help). A state of exhaustion, when several times a day a person returns to life and goes into death.
**** Although in the latter case, everyone, in general, looks the same, the difference is only in the social hierarchy of the camp ranks.
***** About the real doctor Andrei Maksimovich Pantyukhov, the prototype of Andrei Mikhailovich, V.T. Shalamov writes in the chapter "Susuman" of his "Memoirs (of Kolyma)". A mention of Andrei Maksimovich can be found in Comrade V.T. Shalamov in Kolyma paramedic B.N. Lesnyak: “In the winter of 1946, Shalamov got to the stage in the Indigirka administration, perhaps the most disastrous, harsh place in this region. On the way to Indigirka, the convoy spent the night in Susuman, in the transit zone of the commandant's camp. The imprisoned doctor Andrei Maksimovich Pantyukhov, with whom we came together from Upper At-Uryakh to Belichi, removed Shalamov from the stage, and soon sent him to paramedic courses organized at the SVITL hospital near Magadan.

BIBLIOGRAPHY
1. Dombrovsky Yu.O. Collected works: in 6 volumes / Ed.-comp. K. Turumova-Dombrovskaya. M.: TERRA, 1993. T. 6. 384 p.
2. Shalamov V.T. Collected works: in 4 volumes / Comp., prepared. text and notes. I. Sirotinskaya. M.: Artist. lit.; Vagrius, 1998. Vol. 1. 127-130 p.
3. Uspensky B. A. Poetics of composition. St. Petersburg: Azbuka, 2000. 352 p.
4. Shtaerman E.M. Hercules. Mythological Dictionary / Ch. ed. E. M. Meletinsky. M.: Soviet Encyclopedia, 1990. S. 150.
5. Shalamov V. T. Collected works: in 4 volumes / Comp., prepared. text and notes. I. Sirotinskaya. M.: Artist. lit., 1998. T. 4. 494 p.
6. Epics / Enter. Art., prep. text and notes by B.N. Putilov. L.: Soviet writer, 1957. 487 p.
7. Lesnyak B.N. I came to you! Magadan: MAOBTI, 1998. 296 p.

______________

Ch.A.Gorbachevsky, cand. philol. Sciences, Assoc. Department of Russian Language and Literature, South Ural State University (Chelyabinsk).
Published in Bulletin of the Tyumen State University, 2011, 1, Philology.

The last belated guest at the silver wedding of the head of the Sudarin hospital was the doctor Andrey Ivanovich Dudar. He carried in his hands a basket woven from wicker, tied with gauze, decorated with paper flowers. To the clinking of glasses and the discordant rumble of the drunken voices of those feasting, Andrei Ivanovich brought the basket to the hero of the day. Sudarin weighed the basket on his hand.

What's this?

You will see there.

They removed the gauze. At the bottom of the basket lay a large red-feathered rooster. He calmly turned his head, looking at the flushed faces of noisy drunken guests.

Ah, Andrey Ivanovich, by the way, - the gray-haired hero of the day chirped, stroking the rooster.

A wonderful gift, the doctors babbled. - And what a beautiful one. It's your favorite, Andrey Ivanovich, isn't it? Yes?

The hero of the day shook Dudar's hand with feeling.

Show me, show me,” a hoarse thin voice suddenly rang out.

In a place of honor at the head of the table, on the right hand of the owner, sat a noble visiting guest. It was Cherpakov, the head of the sanitary department, an old friend of Sudarin, who had driven in his personal Pobeda from a regional town six hundred miles away to his friend's silver wedding in the morning.

A basket with a rooster appeared before the cloudy eyes of a visiting guest.

Yes. Nice rooster. Yours, right? - The finger of the guest of honor pointed to Andrei Ivanovich.

Now mine, - the hero of the day reported smiling.

The guest of honor was noticeably younger than the bald and gray-haired neuropathologists, surgeons, therapists and phthisiatricians around him. He was forty years old. An unhealthy, yellow, swollen face, small gray eyes, a dandy tunic with silver epaulettes of a colonel in the medical service. The tunic was clearly cramped for the colonel, and it was clear that it had been sewn back when the abdomen was not yet clearly marked and the neck did not yet lean on the standing collar. The face of the guest of honor kept a bored expression, but every glass of alcohol he drank (as a Russian, and even a northerner, the guest of honor did not use other intoxicants), it became more and more animated, and the guest looked more and more often at the medical ladies around him and more and more often intervened in conversations. , invariably subsided at the sounds of a cracked tenor.

When the soul-measure reached the proper degree, the guest of honor got out from behind the table, pushed some doctor who had not had time to move away, rolled up his sleeves and began to lift heavy larch chairs, grabbing the front leg with one hand, then right, then left alternately, demonstrating the harmony of his physical development.

None of the admiring guests could lift the chairs that the guest of honor lifted so many times. From chairs he moved on to armchairs, and success still followed him. While other chairs were being lifted, the guest of honor, with his mighty hand, attracted young doctors, pink with happiness, and forced them to feel their tense biceps, which the doctors performed with obvious admiration.

After these exercises, the guest of honor, inexhaustible in inventions, moved on to the national Russian number: with his hand placed on his elbow, he pressed the opponent's hand, placed in the same position, to the table. The gray-haired and bald neuropathologists and therapists could not offer serious resistance, and only the chief surgeon held out a little longer than the others.

The guest of honor was looking for new tests for his Russian power. After apologizing to the ladies, he took off his tunic, which was immediately picked up and hung on the back of a chair by the mistress of the house. From the sudden animation of his face, it was clear that the guest of honor had thought of something.

I am a ram, a ram, you know, I turn my head back. Krak - and you're done. - The guest of honor caught Andrei Ivanovich by the button. - And this is your ... gift - I'll tear off the head of a living one, - he said, admiring the impression made. - Where is the rooster?

The rooster was removed from the home chicken coop, where he had already been let in by a zealous mistress. In the North, all the chiefs keep in apartments (in winter, of course) several dozen hens; single bosses or married - in all cases, chickens are a very, very profitable article.

The guest of honor stepped into the middle of the room, holding a rooster. Andrei Ivanovich's favorite lay still as calmly, with both legs folded and his head hanging to one side, Andrei Ivanovich dragged him like this for two years in his lonely apartment.

Powerful fingers grabbed the cock by the neck. A blush appeared on the face of the guest of honor through the impure thick skin. With a movement that unbends horseshoes, the guest of honor tore off the rooster's head completely. Cock blood spattered his pressed trousers and silk shirt.

The ladies, snatching fragrant handkerchiefs, rushed to wipe the trousers of the guest of honor.

Cologne.

Ammonia.

Wash with cold water.

But power, power. Here it is in Russian. Krak - and it's ready, - the hero of the day admired.

The guest of honor was dragged into the bathroom to wash himself.

We will dance in the hall, - the hero of the day fussed. Well, Hercules...

Got a gramophone. The needle hissed.

Andrei Ivanovich, getting out from the table to take part in the dance (the guest of honor liked everyone to dance), stepped on something soft with his foot. Leaning down, he saw the dead cock's body, the headless corpse of his pet.

Andrei Ivanovich straightened up, looked around, and with his foot pushed the dead bird deeper under the table. Then he hurried out of the room - the guest of honor did not like it when people were late for the dance.

The last belated guest at the silver wedding of the head of the Sudarin hospital was the doctor Andrey Ivanovich Dudar. He carried in his hands a basket woven from wicker, tied with gauze, decorated with paper flowers. To the clinking of glasses and the discordant rumble of the drunken voices of those feasting, Andrei Ivanovich brought the basket to the hero of the day. Sudarin weighed the basket on his hand.

- What is it?

- You'll see it there.

They removed the gauze. At the bottom of the basket lay a large red-feathered rooster. He calmly turned his head, looking at the flushed faces of noisy drunken guests.

“Ah, Andrey Ivanovich, how by the way,” the gray-haired hero of the day chirped, stroking the rooster.

“A wonderful gift,” the doctors babbled. - And what a beautiful one. It's your favorite, Andrey Ivanovich, isn't it? Yes?

The hero of the day shook Dudar's hand with feeling.

“Show me, show me,” a hoarse thin voice suddenly rang out.

In a place of honor at the head of the table, on the right hand of the owner, sat a noble visiting guest. It was Cherpakov, the head of the sanitary department, an old friend of Sudarin, who had driven in his personal Pobeda from a regional town six hundred miles away to his friend's silver wedding in the morning.

A basket with a rooster appeared before the cloudy eyes of a visiting guest.

- Yes. Nice rooster. Yours, right? - The finger of the guest of honor pointed to Andrei Ivanovich.

“Now it’s mine,” the hero of the day reported smiling.

The guest of honor was noticeably younger than the bald and gray-haired neuropathologists, surgeons, therapists and phthisiatricians around him. He was forty years old. An unhealthy, yellow, swollen face, small gray eyes, a dandy tunic with silver epaulettes of a colonel in the medical service. The tunic was clearly cramped for the colonel, and it was clear that it had been sewn back when the abdomen was not yet clearly marked and the neck did not yet lean on the standing collar. The face of the guest of honor kept a bored expression, but every glass of alcohol he drank (as a Russian, and even a northerner, the guest of honor did not use other intoxicants), it became more and more animated, and the guest looked more and more often at the medical ladies around him and more and more often intervened in conversations. , invariably subsided at the sounds of a cracked tenor.

When the soul-measure reached the proper degree, the guest of honor got out from behind the table, pushed some doctor who had not had time to move away, rolled up his sleeves and began to lift heavy larch chairs, grabbing the front leg with one hand, then right, then left alternately, demonstrating the harmony of his physical development.

None of the admiring guests could lift the chairs that the guest of honor lifted so many times. From chairs he moved on to armchairs, and success still followed him. While other chairs were being lifted, the guest of honor, with his mighty hand, attracted young doctors, pink with happiness, and forced them to feel their tense biceps, which the doctors performed with obvious admiration.

After these exercises, the guest of honor, inexhaustible in inventions, moved on to the national Russian number: with his hand placed on his elbow, he pressed the opponent's hand, placed in the same position, to the table. The gray-haired and bald neuropathologists and therapists could not offer serious resistance, and only the chief surgeon held out a little longer than the others.

The guest of honor was looking for new tests for his Russian power. After apologizing to the ladies, he took off his tunic, which was immediately picked up and hung on the back of a chair by the mistress of the house. From the sudden animation of his face, it was clear that the guest of honor had thought of something.

- I turn my head back to a ram, ram, you understand. Krak - and you're done. - The guest of honor caught Andrei Ivanovich by the button. - And this your ... gift - I'll tear off the head of a living one, - he said, admiring the impression made. - Where is the rooster?

The rooster was removed from the home chicken coop, where he had already been let in by a zealous mistress. In the North, all the chiefs keep in apartments (in winter, of course) several dozen hens; single bosses or married - in all cases, chickens are a very, very profitable article.

The guest of honor stepped into the middle of the room, holding a rooster. Andrei Ivanovich's favorite lay still as calmly, with both legs folded and his head hanging to one side, Andrei Ivanovich dragged him like this for two years in his lonely apartment.

Powerful fingers grabbed the cock by the neck. A blush appeared on the face of the guest of honor through the impure thick skin. With a movement that unbends horseshoes, the guest of honor tore off the rooster's head completely. Cock blood spattered his pressed trousers and silk shirt.

The ladies, snatching fragrant handkerchiefs, rushed to wipe the trousers of the guest of honor.

- Cologne.

- Ammonia.

- Wash with cold water.

But power, power. Here it is in Russian. Krak - and it's ready, - the hero of the day admired.

The guest of honor was dragged into the bathroom to wash himself.

“We will dance in the hall,” the hero of the day fussed. Well, Hercules...

Got a gramophone. The needle hissed.

Andrei Ivanovich, getting out from the table to take part in the dance (the guest of honor liked everyone to dance), stepped on something soft with his foot. Leaning down, he saw the dead cock's body, the headless corpse of his pet.

Andrei Ivanovich straightened up, looked around, and with his foot pushed the dead bird deeper under the table. Then he hurried out of the room - the guest of honor did not like it when people were late for the dance.