He looked for hours,
How agile a Circassian is sometimes,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat, burke black,
Leaning towards the bow, on the stirrups
Leaning with a slender leg,
I flew at the will of the horse,
Getting used to the war in advance. (Pushkin, Prisoner of the Caucasus)
When on the hills a veil
The shadow of a moonless night lies,
Circassian on centuries-old roots,
Hangs around on branches
Your battle armor:
Shield, burka, shell and helmet,
Quiver and bow - and into fast waves
Then he rushes after him,
Tireless and silent. (Pushkin, Prisoner of the Caucasus)
Note to the postcard: Avars called Kumyks living in the mountains Tavlintsy.
Bridles of copper rattle,
turn black burki, shining armor,
Saddled horses boil
The whole village is ready for the raid,
And wild pets of scolding
The river gushed from the hills
And gallop along the banks of the Kuban
Collect violent tribute. (Pushkin, Prisoner of the Caucasus)
Everyone is waiting. From sakli at last
The father comes out between the wives.
Two bridles are carried out behind him
On burke cold corpse. (Pushkin, Tazit)
Commander of the 200th Dagestan Permanent Militia Captain Aleksader bek Alypkachev in Dagestan. 1860. Photo by F. Petrov
Jumping off the horse, I wanted to enter the first saklya, but the owner appeared at the door and pushed me away with abuse. I responded to his greeting with a whip. The Turk shouted; the people gathered. My guide, it seems, stood up for me. I was shown a caravanserai; I entered a large saklya, similar to a barn; there was no place where I could spread cloak. (Pushkin, Journey to Arzrum)
You matured like the Terek in a fast run Between the vineyards rustled, Where often, crouching on the shore, Chechen or Circassian sat
Under cloak, with a fatal lasso ... (Pushkin, Prisoner of the Caucasus)
Your horse is ready! By my hand.
A bridle is put on,
And silver scales.
The Kuban notch shines,
AND cloak black belt.
I tied behind the saddle . (Lermontov, Izmail Bay)
He did not know motherly affection:
Not at the chest, under cloak warm,
One spent his infant years;
And the wind rocked his cradle,
And the month of midnight played with him! (Lermontov, Izmail Bay)
Indeed, in Russia they imagine the Caucasus somehow majestically, with eternal virgin ice, turbulent streams, with daggers, burkas, Circassians - all this is something terrible, but, in essence, there is nothing funny about it. (Tolstoy, Woodcutting)
Hadji Murad got up and took cloak and, throwing it over his arm, handed it to Marya Dmitrievna, saying something to the interpreter. The translator said:
- He says: you praised cloak, take
- Why is this? said Marya Dmitrievna, blushing.
- So it is necessary. Adat is so,” said Hadji Murad. (Tolstoy, Hadji Murad)
Having taken off his shoes and performed ablution, Hadji Murad stood with his bare feet on cloak, then sat on his calves and, first plugging his ears with his fingers and closing his eyes, said, turning to the east, the usual prayers. (Tolstoy, Hadji Murad)
Photo from the collection of Timur Dzuganov on Facebook
Dedication to N. N. Raevsky
Accept with a smile, my friend,
Free muse offering:
To you I dedicated the song of the exiled lyre
And inspirational leisure.
When I was dying, innocent, joyless,
And the whisper of slander listened from all sides,
When the dagger of treason is cold
When love is a heavy dream
I was tortured and killed
I still found peace near you;
I rested my heart - we loved each other:
And the storms over me tired the ferocity,
I blessed the gods in the peaceful harbor.In the days of sad parting
My thoughtful sounds
Reminds me of the Caucasus
Where is the cloudy Beshtu, the majestic hermit,
Auls and fields ruler five-headed,
Parnassus was new to me.
Will I forget its flinty peaks,
Thundering springs, withered plains,
Sultry deserts, lands where you are with me
Shared the souls of young impressions;
Where warlike robbery prowls in the mountains
And the wild genius of inspiration
Hiding in silence deaf?
You will find memories here
Maybe sweet days
Contradictions of passions
Dreams are familiar, familiar suffering
And the secret voice of my soul.
We walked differently in life: in the arms of peace
Barely, barely blossomed and after the father-hero
In the bloody fields, under the clouds of enemy arrows,
Chosen baby, you proudly flew.
Fatherland caressed you with tenderness,
Like a sweet sacrifice, like a sure light of hope.
I learned grief early, I was comprehended by persecution;
I am a victim of slander and vindictive ignoramuses;
But, having strengthened the heart with freedom and patience,
I waited nonchalantly for better days;
And the happiness of my friends
I was a sweet consolation.
Part I
In the village, on their thresholds,
Circassians sit idle.
The sons of the Caucasus say
About abusive, disastrous anxieties,
About the beauty of their horses,
About the pleasures of wild bliss;
Remembering the old days
irresistible raids,
Deceptions of cunning bridles,
The blows of their cruel checkers,
And the accuracy of inevitable arrows,
And the ashes of devastated villages,
And the caresses of the black-eyed captives.Conversations flow in silence;
The moon floats in the night fog;
And suddenly in front of them on a horse
Circassian. He's fast on the lasso
Dragged a young prisoner.
"Here's a Russian!" the predator yelled.
The village ran to his cry
Fierce crowd;
But the prisoner is cold and dumb,
With a disfigured head
Like a corpse, he remained motionless.
He does not see the faces of enemies,
He does not hear threats and screams;
A death dream flies over him
And it breathes pernicious cold.And for a long time the prisoner is young
He lay in heavy oblivion.
Already noon over his head
Blazed in a merry radiance;
And the spirit of life woke up in him,
An indistinct groan was heard in the mouth;
warmed by the sun,
The unfortunate man quietly got up;
A weak gaze circles around ...
And sees: impregnable mountains
Above him, a mass rose,
Nest of robber tribes,
Circassian liberty fence.
The young man remembered his captivity,
Like a dream of terrible anxiety,
And hears: thundered suddenly
His shackled legs...
Everything, everything said a terrible sound;
Nature eclipsed before him.
Sorry, sacred freedom!
He is a slave.
Behind the sakly lies
He's at the thorny fence.
Circassians in the field, no supervision,
Everything is silent in the empty village.
Desert plains before him
They lie in a green veil;
There the hills stretch in a ridge
Monotonous peaks;
Between them a solitary path
In the distance is lost gloomy -
And the prisoner of the young chest
I was agitated by a heavy thought ...A long way leads to Russia,
To a country where fiery youth
He proudly started without worries;
Where did he first know joy,
Where he loved a lot
Where he embraced terrible suffering,
Where stormy life ruined
Hope, joy and desire
And memories of better days
In a withered heart concluded.
…………………………………………
…………………………………………He knew people and light
And he knew the price of unfaithful life.
In the hearts of friends found treason,
In the dreams of love, a crazy dream,
Bored of being a victim of being accustomed
For a long time despicable vanity,
And dislike bilingual,
And innocent slander
Renegade of light, friend of nature,
He left his native land
And flew to a distant land
With a cheerful ghost of freedom.Freedom! he is one of you
I also searched in the desert world.
Destroying feelings with passions,
Cold to dreams and to the lyre,
With the excitement of the song he listened,
inspired by you,
And with faith, fiery prayer
Your proud idol embraced.
It happened... the purpose of hope
He sees nothing in the world.
And you, last dreams,
And you hid from him.
He is a slave. Leaning head on the stone
He waits so that with a gloomy dawn
The flame of a sad life went out,
And longs for the canopy of the grave.The sun is already fading behind the mountains;
There was a noisy rumble in the distance;
From the fields people go to the village,
Glittering bright braids.
Came; fires were lit in the houses,
And gradually the noise is discordant
fell silent; all in the shadow of the night
Embraced by a calm bliss;
In the distance the mountain key sparkles,
Escaping from the stone rapids;
Dressed in a veil of clouds
Sleeping peaks of the Caucasus...
But who, in the glow of the moon,
In the midst of deep silence
Is he walking furtively?
The Russian woke up. In front of him,
With gentle and silent greetings,
There is a young Circassian.
At the girl, silently, he looks
And thinks: this is a false dream,
Tired feelings the game is empty.
A little illuminated by the moon
With a smile of pity
On her knees, she
To his lips koumiss is cool
He brings it with a quiet hand.
But he forgot the healing vessel;
He catches with a greedy soul
Pleasant speech sound magical
And the eyes of a young maiden.
He does not understand foreign words;
But the eyes are touching, the heat is deer,
But a gentle voice says:
Live! and the prisoner comes to life.
And he, gathering the rest of his strength,
Submissive to the command of the dear,
I got up and a cup of salutary
Quenched the languor of thirst.
Then he leaned on the stone again
burdened head;
But all to the young Circassian
His fading gaze strove;
And long, long before him
She sat thoughtfully;
As if the participation of the dumb
I wanted to comfort the prisoner;
Mouth involuntarily every hour
With the speech begun, they opened;
She sighed, and more than once
Eyes filled with tears.After days the days passed like a shadow.
In the mountains, chained, by the herd
Conducts a prisoner every day.
Caves dark cool
He hides in the summer heat;
When the horn of the silvery moon
Shines behind the dark mountain,
Circassian, shady path,
Brings wine to the prisoner
Koumiss, and fragrant honeycomb hives,
And snow-white millet;
He shares a secret supper with him;
A tender look rests on him;
Merges with obscure speech
Eyes and signs of conversation;
Sings to him the songs of the mountains,
And the songs of Georgia happy
And an impatient memory
Conveys a foreign language.
For the first time with a virgin soul
She loved, knew happiness;
But Russian life is young
I have long lost my sweetness.
He could not answer with his heart
Infant love, open -
Perhaps a forgotten dream of love
He was afraid to remember.Our youth will not suddenly fade,
Not suddenly raptures will leave us,
And unexpected joy
We will hug more than once;
But you, living impressions,
original love,
Heavenly flame of rapture,
You don't fly back.Seemed like a hopeless prisoner
Get used to a dull life.
Anguish of captivity, rebellious heat
He hid deep in his heart.
Dragging between gloomy rocks
In the hour of early, morning coolness,
He fixed a curious look
To the distant masses
Gray, ruddy, blue mountains.
Great pictures!
Thrones of eternal snows,
Their peaks seemed to the eyes
A motionless chain of clouds,
And in their circle a two-headed colossus,
In a crown of shining ice,
Elbrus is huge, majestic,
White in the blue sky.
When, with a deaf merging rumble,
Forerunner of the storm, thunder rumbled,
How often is a prisoner over the village
Sitting motionless on the mountain!
Clouds were smoking at his feet,
Flying ashes rose in the steppe;
Already a shelter between the rocks
Frightened deer searched;
Eagles rose from the cliffs
And they called to each other in the sky;
The noise of the herds, the lowing of the herds
Already the voice of the storm was muffled ...
And suddenly on the valleys rain and hail
From clouds through lightning erupted;
Waves of a swarm of steepness,
Moving the stones of the ages,
Rain streams flowed -
And the prisoner, from the mountain height,
Alone, behind a thundercloud,
Waiting for the return of the sun
Unreachable by the storm
And storms to the weak howl
He listened with some joy.But Europeans are all the attention
This wonderful people attracted.
A prisoner watched among the highlanders
Their faith, morals, upbringing,
Loved the simplicity of their lives
Hospitality, thirst for battle,
Movements free speed,
And the lightness of the legs, and the strength of the hand;
He looked for hours,
How agile a Circassian is sometimes,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat, in a black cloak,
Leaning towards the bow, on the stirrups
Leaning with a slender leg,
I flew at the will of the horse,
Getting used to the war in advance.
He admired the beauty
Clothes swearing and simple.
The Circassian is hung with weapons;
He is proud of him, comforted by him:
He wears armor, a squeaker, a quiver,
Kuban bow, dagger, lasso
And checker, eternal friend
His labors, his leisure.
Nothing bothers him
Nothing will blur: on foot, on horseback -
He's still the same; all the same look
Invincible, relentless.
Thunderstorm of careless Cossacks,
His wealth is a zealous horse,
Pet of mountain herds,
Comrade faithful, patient,
In a cave or in the deaf grass
An insidious predator lurks with him
And suddenly, with a sudden arrow,
Seeing a traveler, strives;
In an instant true fight
His mighty blow will decide,
And a wanderer in the gorges of the mountains
Already attracts a flying lasso.
The horse strives at full speed,
Filled with fiery courage;
All the way to him: swamp, forest,
Bushes, cliffs and ravines;
A trail of blood runs after him,
There is a clatter in the desert;
A gray stream rustles before him -
He rushes into the depths of the boiling;
And the traveler, thrown to the bottom,
Swallows a muddy wave
Exhausted, asks for death
And he sees her in front of him ...
But his powerful horse is an arrow
It brings foamy to the shore.Or, grasping a horned stump,
Thrown into the river by a thunderstorm,
When on the hills a veil
The shadow of a moonless night lies,
Circassian on centuries-old roots,
Hangs around on branches
Your battle armor:
Shield, cloak, shell and helmet,
Quiver and bow - and into fast waves
Then he rushes after him,
Tireless and silent.
Silent night. The river roars;
A mighty current carries him
Along the secluded shores,
Where on the elevated mounds,
Leaning on spears, Cossacks
They look at the dark run of the river -
And past them, blackening in the mist,
The weapon of the villain floats ...
What are you thinking, Cossack?
Remembering past battles
On the death field your bivouac,
Polkof laudatory prayers
And the homeland?.. An insidious dream!
Excuse me, free villages,
And the house of the fathers, and the quiet Don,
War and red maidens!
A secret enemy moored to the shores,
The arrow comes out of the quiver -
Soared - and the Cossack falls
From the bloodied mound.When with a peaceful family
Circassian in the father's dwelling
Sits in a stormy time
And coals smolder in the ashes;
And, hiding from the faithful horse,
Belated in the desert mountains
A tired stranger will come to him
And timidly sit down by the fire:
Then the owner is kind
Greetings, affectionately, rises
And a guest in a bowl of fragrant
Chikhir is gratifying.
Under a damp cloak, in a smoky sakla,
The traveler enjoys peaceful sleep,
And in the morning he leaves
Overnight shelter hospitable.It used to be in bright Bairan
The young men will gather in a crowd;
The game is replaced by the game:
Then, having completely dismantled the quiver,
They are winged arrows
Pierced in the clouds of eagles;
That from the height of the steep hills
impatient rows,
At this sign, they will suddenly fall,
Like deer, they strike the earth,
The plain is covered with dust
And they run with a friendly clatter.But the boring world is monotonous
Hearts born for war
And often the games of will are idle
The game is cruel embarrassed.
Often checkers menacingly shine
In the insane agility of feasts,
And heads of slaves fly to dust,
And in joy babies splash.But the Russian is indifferently mature
These bloody games.
He loved before the game of glory
And burning with a thirst for death.
Slave of merciless honor,
He saw his end up close,
In fights, hard, cold,
Encountering fatal lead.
Perhaps, immersed in thought,
He remembered that time
When, surrounded by friends,
He feasted with them noisily ...
Did he regret the days gone by
About the days that deceived hope,
Ile, curious, contemplated
The harsh simplicity of fun
And the manners of the wild people
In this faithful mirror I read -
Tail in silence he is deep
The movements of your heart
And on his high forehead
Nothing has changed.
His careless courage
Terrible Circassians marveled,
Spared his young age
And whisper among themselves
They were proud of their booty.
STORY
1820-1821
DEDICATION.
N. N. RAEVSKY.
Accept with a smile, my friend,
Free muse offering:
To you I dedicated the song of the exiled lyre
And inspirational leisure.
When I was dying, innocent, joyless,
And the whisper of slander listened from all sides,
When the dagger of treason is cold
When love is a heavy dream
I was tortured and killed
10 I still found peace near you;
I rested my heart - we loved each other:
And the storms over me tired the ferocity,
I blessed the gods in the peaceful harbor.
In the days of sad parting
My thoughtful sounds
Reminds me of the Caucasus
10 The blows of their cruel checkers,
And the accuracy of inevitable arrows,
And the ashes of devastated villages,
And the caresses of the black-eyed captives.
Conversations flow in silence;
The moon floats in the night fog;
And suddenly in front of them on a horse
Circassian. He's fast on the lasso
Dragged a young prisoner.
“Here is a Russian!” - the predator cried out.
20 Aul ran to his cry
Fierce crowd;
But the prisoner is cold and dumb,
With a disfigured head
Like a corpse, he remained motionless.
He does not see the faces of enemies,
He does not hear threats and screams;
A death dream flies over him
And it breathes pernicious cold.
And for a long time the prisoner is young
30 Lying in heavy oblivion.
Already noon over his head
Blazed in a merry radiance;
And the spirit of life woke up in him,
An indistinct groan in the mouth was heard,
warmed by the sun,
The unfortunate man quietly got up.
Around circles a weak gaze ...
And sees: impregnable mountains
Above him, a mass rose,
40 Nest of robber tribes,
Circassian liberty fence.
The young man remembered his captivity,
Like a dream of terrible anxiety,
And hears: thundered suddenly
His chained feet ...
Everything, everything was said by a terrible sound;
Nature eclipsed before him.
Sorry, sacred freedom!
50 He's at the barbed fence.
Circassians in the field, no supervision,
Everything is silent in the empty village.
Desert plains before him
They lie in a green veil;
There the hills stretch in a ridge
Monotonous peaks;
Between them a solitary path
In the distance is lost gloomy:
And the prisoner of the young chest
60 ...
95
A long way leads to Russia,
To a country where fiery youth
He proudly started without worries;
Where did he first know joy,
Where he loved a lot
Where he embraced terrible suffering,
Where stormy life ruined
Hope, joy and desire,
And memories of better days
70 In a withered heart concluded.
He knew people and the world,
And he knew the price of unfaithful life.
In the hearts of friends found treason,
In the dreams of love, a crazy dream,
Bored of being a victim of being accustomed
For a long time despicable vanity,
And dislike bilingual,
And innocent slander
Renegade of light, friend of nature,
80 He left his native limit
And flew to a distant land
With a cheerful ghost of freedom.
Freedom! he is one of you
I also searched in the desert world.
Destroying feelings with passions,
Cold to dreams and to the lyre,
With the excitement of the song he listened,
inspired by you,
And with faith, fiery prayer
90 Your proud idol embraced.
It's done ... purpose of hope
He sees nothing in the world.
And you, last dreams,
And you hid from him.
He is a slave. Leaning head on the stone
He waits so that with a gloomy dawn
The flame of a sad life went out,
And longs for the canopy of the grave.
The sun is already fading behind the mountains;
100 In the distance there was a noisy rumble;
From the fields people go to the village,
Glittering bright braids.
They came. The lights were on in the houses
And gradually the noise is discordant
fell silent; all in the shadow of the night
Embraced by a calm bliss;
In the distance the mountain key sparkles,
Escaping from the stone rapids;
Dressed in a veil of clouds
110 Caucasus dormant peaks ...
But who, in the glow of the moon,
In the midst of deep silence
Is he walking furtively?
I woke up Russian. In front of him,
With gentle and silent greetings,
There is a young Circassian.
He silently looks at the girl
And thinks: this is a false dream,
Tired feelings the game is empty.
120 A little illuminated by the moon,
With a smile of pity
On her knees, she
And an impatient memory
Conveys a foreign language.
For the first time with a virgin soul
She loved, knew happiness;
170 But Russian life is young
I have long lost my sweetness.
He could not answer with his heart
Infant love, open -
Perhaps a forgotten dream of love
He was afraid to remember.
Our youth will not suddenly fade,
Not suddenly raptures will leave us,
And unexpected joy
We will hug more than once:
180 But you living impressions,
original love,
Heavenly flame of rapture,
You don't fly back.
Seemed like a hopeless prisoner
Get used to a dull life.
Anguish of captivity, rebellious heat
He hid deep in his heart.
Dragging between gloomy rocks,
In the hour of early, morning coolness,
190 He fixed a curious look
To the distant masses
Gray, ruddy, blue mountains.
Great pictures!
Thrones of eternal snows,
Their peaks seemed to the eyes
A motionless chain of clouds,
And in their circle a two-headed colossus,
In a crown of shining ice,
Elbrus is huge, majestic,
200 White in the blue sky.
When, with a deaf merging rumble,
Forerunner of the storm, thunder rumbled,
How often is a prisoner over the village
Sitting motionless on the mountain!
Clouds were smoking at his feet,
Flying ashes rose in the steppe;
Already a shelter between the rocks
Frightened deer searched;
Eagles rose from the cliffs
210 And they called to each other in heaven;
The noise of the herds, the lowing of the herds
Already the voice of the storm was drowned out ...
And suddenly on the valleys rain and hail
From clouds through lightning erupted;
Waves of a swarm of steepness,
Moving the stones of the ages,
Rain streams flowed -
And the prisoner, from the mountain height,
Alone, behind a thundercloud,
220 I was waiting for the return of the sun,
Unreachable by the storm
And storms to the weak howl
He listened with some joy.
But Europeans are all the attention
This wonderful people attracted.
A prisoner watched among the highlanders
Their faith, morals, upbringing,
Loved the simplicity of their lives
Hospitality, thirst for battle,
230 movements of free speed,
And the lightness of the legs, and the strength of the hand;
He looked for hours,
How agile a Circassian is sometimes,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat, in a black cloak,
Leaning towards the bow, on the stirrups
Leaning with a slender leg,
I flew at the will of the horse,
Getting used to the war in advance.
240 He admired the beauty
Clothes swearing and simple.
The Circassian is equipped with weapons;
He is proud of him, he is comforted by him;
He wears armor, a squeaker, a quiver,
Kuban bow, dagger, lasso
And checker, eternal friend
His labors, his leisure.
Nothing bothers him
Nothing will blur; foot, equestrian
250 He's still the same; still the same look
Invincible, relentless.
Thunderstorm of careless Cossacks,
His wealth is a zealous horse,
Pet of mountain herds,
Comrade faithful, patient.
In a cave or in the deaf grass
An insidious predator lurks with him
And suddenly, with a sudden arrow,
Seeing a traveler, strives;
260 In an instant, a sure fight
His mighty blow will decide,
And a wanderer in the gorges of the mountains
Already attracts a flying lasso.
The horse strives at full speed,
Filled with fiery courage;
All the way to him: swamp, forest,
Bushes, cliffs and ravines;
A trail of blood runs after him,
There is a clatter in the desert;
270 The gray stream before him makes noise -
He rushes into the depths of the boiling;
And the traveler, thrown to the bottom,
Swallows a muddy wave
Exhausted death asks
And sees her in front of him ...
But the powerful horse with his arrow
It brings foamy to the shore.
Or grasping a horned stump,
Thrown into the river by a thunderstorm,
280 When on the hills a veil
The shadow of a moonless night lies,
Circassian on centuries-old roots,
Hangs around on branches
Your battle armor
Shield, cloak, armor and helmet,
Quiver and bow - and in fast waves
Then he rushes after him,
Tireless and silent.
Silent night. The river roars;
290 A mighty current carries him
Along the secluded shores,
Where on the elevated mounds,
Leaning on spears, Cossacks
They look at the dark run of the river -
And past them, blackening in the mist,
The weapon of the villain floats ...
What are you thinking, Cossack?
Remembering past battles
On the death field your bivouac,
300 regiments of laudatory prayers
And homeland? ... Insidious dream!
Excuse me, free villages,
And the house of the fathers, and the quiet Don,
War and red maidens!
A secret enemy moored to the shores,
The arrow comes out of the quiver -
Soared - and the Cossack falls
From the bloodied mound.
When with a peaceful family
310 Circassian in father's dwelling
Sits in a stormy time
And coals smolder in the ashes;
And, hiding from the faithful horse,
Belated in the desert mountains
A tired stranger will come to him
And timidly sit down by the fire:
Then the owner is kind
Greetings, affectionately, rises
And a guest in a bowl of fragrant
320 Chikhir is gratifying.
Under a damp cloak, in a smoky sakla,
The traveler enjoys peaceful sleep,
And in the morning he leaves
The lodging for the night is hospitable.
The young men will gather in a crowd;
Game becomes game.
Then, having completely dismantled the quiver,
They are winged arrows
330 Pierced in the clouds of eagles;
That from the height of the steep hills
impatient rows,
At this sign, they will suddenly fall,
How fallow deer strike the earth,
The plain is covered with dust
And they run with a friendly clatter.
But the boring world is monotonous
Hearts born for war
And often the games of will are idle
340 Embarrassed by the cruel game.
Often checkers menacingly shine
In the insane agility of feasts,
And heads of slaves fly to dust,
And in joy babies splash.
But the Russian indifferently matured
These bloody games.
He loved before the game of glory
And burning with a thirst for death.
Slave of merciless honor,
350 Near he saw his end,
In fights, hard, cold,
Encountering fatal lead.
Perhaps, immersed in thought,
He remembered that time
When, surrounded by friends,
He feasted with them noisily ...
Did he regret the days gone by
About the days that deceived hope,
Ile, curious, contemplated
360 Severe simplicity of fun
And the manners of the wild people
In this faithful mirror I read -
Tail in silence he is deep
The movements of your heart
And on his high forehead
Nothing changed;
His careless courage
Terrible Circassians marveled,
Spared his young age
370 And whisper among themselves
They were proud of their booty.
You recognized them, maiden of the mountains,
Delights of the heart, sweetness of life;
Your fiery, innocent gaze
He expressed love and joy.
When your friend is in the dark of night
I kissed you with a dumb kiss,
Burning with malice and desire,
You forgot the earthly world
You said: "dear prisoner,
10 Cheer up your dull eyes,
Lean your head on my chest
Forget freedom, forget your homeland.
I'm glad to hide in the desert
With you, king of my soul!
Love me; no one until now
Did not kiss my eyes;
To my lonely bed
Circassian young and black-eyed
Did not sneak in the silence of the night;
20 I am reputed to be a cruel virgin,
Relentless beauty.
I know the lot is ready for me:
My father and brother are stern
They want to sell to someone
In a foreign village at the cost of gold;
But I will beg my father and brother,
Otherwise, I'll find a dagger or poison.
Unfathomable, miraculous power
I am all attracted to you;
30 I love you, dear slave,
Your soul is intoxicated ... “
But he with silent regret
I looked at the passionate girl
And, full of heavy thoughts,
Listened to her words of love.
He forgot. Crowded in it
Memories of past days
And even tears from the eyes
Once they rolled like hail.
40 Lying in the heart like lead,
The anguish of love without hope.
Before the young maiden at last
He poured out his suffering:
"Forget about me; your love
I'm not worthy of your admiration.
Do not waste priceless days with me;
Call another young man.
His love will replace you
My soul is sad cold;
50 He will be faithful, he will appreciate
Your beauty, your sweet look,
And the heat of infantile kisses,
And the tenderness of fiery speeches;
Without rapture, without desire
I wither a victim of passions.
You see the trail of unhappy love,
The trace of a spiritual storm is terrible;
Leave me alone; but have pity
About my mournful fate!
60 Unfortunate friend, why not before
You appeared to my eyes
In those days I believed in hope
And delightful dreams!
But it's too late: I died for happiness,
Hope the ghost has flown away;
Your friend has lost the habit of voluptuousness,
For tender feelings petrified ...
How hard with dead lips
Respond to live kisses
70 And eyes full of tears
Meet with a cold smile!
Exhausted by jealousy in vain,
Falling asleep with an insensible soul,
In the arms of a passionate friend
How hard it is to think about another !..
When so slowly, so gently
You drink my kisses
And for you hours of love
Pass quickly, serenely;
80 Eating tears in silence
Then scattered, dull
Before you, as in a dream,
I see an image forever sweet;
I call him, I strive for him,
I am silent, I do not see, I do not heed;
I surrender to you in oblivion
And I embrace a secret ghost.
I shed tears about him in the desert;
He walks with me everywhere
90 And gloomy melancholy brings
I swear at my soul.
Leave me my glands
solitary dreams,
Memories, sadness and tears:
You cannot separate them.
You heard the confession of the heart;
sorry ... give me your hand - goodbye.
Not long a woman's love
Cold parting saddens;
100 Love will pass, boredom will come,
Beauty will love again."
Opening your mouth, crying without tears,
A young lady sat.
Foggy, fixed gaze
The Silent One expressed reproach;
Pale as a shadow, she trembled;
In the hands of a lover lay
Her cold hand;
And finally love longing
110 In a sad speech poured out:
“Ah, Russian, Russian, for what,
Not knowing your heart
I have given myself over to you!
Not long on your chest
In oblivion the maiden rested;
Not many happy nights
Fate sent her to share!
Will they ever come again?
Has joy gone forever? ..
120 You could, prisoner, deceive
My inexperienced youth
Even if only out of pity,
Silence, feigned caress;
I would delight your lot
Care tender and submissive;
I would guard the minutes of sleep,
The peace of a yearning friend;
You did not want ... But who is she
Your beautiful friend?
130 Do you love Russian? you are loved ?..
I understand your suffering ...
Forgive me and you my sobs,
Do not laugh at my sorrows."
Silenced. Tears and groans
They pressed the poor maiden's chest.
Mouth without words murmured songs.
Without feelings, hugging his knees,
She could hardly breathe.
And a prisoner, with a quiet hand
140 Picking up the unfortunate woman, he said:
"Do not cry: I am also driven by fate,
And I experienced heartache.
No, I did not know mutual love,
Loved alone, suffered alone;
And I go out like a smoky flame,
Forgotten among the empty valleys;
I will die far off the desired shores;
This steppe will be my coffin;
Here on the bones of my exiles
150 The burdensome chain will rust ... “
The lights of the night were eclipsed;
In the distance they were transparent
Masses of snowy mountains;
Head bowed, eyes downcast,
They parted in silence.
A dull prisoner from now on
One wanders around the village.
Dawn on the sultry sky
He builds new days after days;
160 After the night, the night goes after;
He yearns for freedom.
Will the chamois flash between the bushes,
Will the saiga jump in the mist:
He, flashing, rattles with chains,
He is waiting, is the Cossack sneaking,
Night aul destroyer,
Slave is a brave deliverer.
calling ... but everything around is silent;
Only the waves are roaring,
170 And the beast smelling man,
Runs into the dark desert.
One day a Russian prisoner hears
A military call was heard in the mountains:
“To the herd, to the herd!” They run, they make noise;
Bridles of copper rattle,
The cloaks turn black, the armor shines,
Saddled horses boil
The whole village is ready for the raid,
And wild pets of scolding
180 River poured from the hills
And gallop along the banks of the Kuban
Collect violent tribute.
The village calmed down; sleeping in the sun
The saklyas have guard dogs.
Babies swarthy, naked
In free playfulness they make noise;
Their great-grandfathers sit in a circle,
From the pipes, the smoke curls blue.
They are silently young maidens
190 Familiar listen to the chorus,
And old people's hearts are getting younger.
Circassian song
An explosive shaft runs in the river;
In the mountains, silence is night;
The tired Cossack dozed off,
Leaning on a steel spear.
Do not sleep, Cossack: in the darkness of the night
The Chechen walks across the river.
The Cossack is sailing on a canoe,
Dragging along the bottom of the river network.
200 Cossack, you will drown in the river,
How little children drown
Bathing in hot weather:
The Chechen walks across the river.
On the shore of sacred waters
Rich villages bloom;
A cheerful round dance is dancing.
Run, Russian singers,
Hurry, red ones, go home:
The Chechen walks across the river.
210 Thus sang the virgins. Sitting on the shore
Russian dreams of escape;
But the slave's chain is heavy,
fast deep river ...
Meanwhile, fading, the steppe fell asleep,
The tops of the rocks are darkened.
Through the white huts of the village
The pale light of the moon flickers;
The deer slumber over the waters,
The late cry of the eagles fell silent,
220 And deafly echoes the mountains
The distant clatter of herds.
Then someone was heard
The veil of the virgin flashed,
And now - sad and pale
approached him she.
The lips of the beautiful are looking for speech;
Eyes filled with sadness
And fall in black waves
Her hair is on her chest and shoulders.
230 A saw glitters in one hand,
In another dagger her damask;
It seemed as if the maiden was walking
For a secret battle, for a feat of arms.
Look up at the prisoner
“Run,” said the maiden of the mountains:
A Circassian will not meet you anywhere.
hurry up; do not waste the night hours;
Take the dagger: your footprints
No one will notice in the dark."
240 Taking the saw with a trembling hand,
She bowed at his feet;
Iron squeals under the saw,
An involuntary tear rolled down -
And the chain broke and rattles.
“You are free,” the maiden says,
Run!” But her gaze is insane
He depicted a rush of love.
She suffered. noisy wind,
Whistling, her veil swirled.
250 "O my friend! - the Russian cried out, -
I am yours forever, I am yours to the grave.
Let's leave a terrible edge, both
Run with me ... “-“ No, Russian, no!
She disappeared, the sweetness of life;
I knew everything, I knew joy
And everything passed, and the trace disappeared.
Is it possible? you loved another !..
Find her, love her;
What else do I miss?
260 What is my despondency about? ..
Sorry! love blessings
They will be with you every hour.
Forgive me - forget my torment
Give me your hand ... last time".
He stretched out his hands to the Circassian woman,
With a resurrected heart, he flew to her,
And a long kiss of parting
Union of love imprinted.
Hand with hand, despondency is full,
270 Went down to the shore in silence -
And Russian in the noisy depths
Already floating and foaming waves,
Already nasty rocks reached
Already grabbing for them ...
Suddenly the waves crashed
And a distant groan is heard ...
On the wild shore he goes,
Looking back ... the shores cleared
And the plump ones turned white;
280 But there is no young Circassian
Neither near the shores, nor under the mountain ...
Everything is dead ... on the banks of the sleeping
Only the sound of the wind is heard,
And by the moon in the waters splashing
Streamy disappearing circle.
He understood everything. With a parting glance
He embraces for the last time
Empty village with its fence
Fields where the captive herd grazed,
290 Rapids, where he dragged shackles,
The stream where I rested at noon,
When in the mountains the Circassian is severe
Sang a song of freedom.
Thinning deep darkness in the sky,
The day fell on a dark valley,
The dawn has risen. The distant path
The freed prisoner walked;
And in front of him already in the mists
Russian bayonets flashed,
300 And called out on the barrows
Guard Cossacks.
So Muse, an easy friend of Dreams,
I flew to the borders of Asia
And for a wreath I plucked myself
Caucasian wild flowers.
She was captivated by the harsh outfit
Tribes raised in war
And often in this new clothes
The sorceress appeared to me;
Around the deserted villages
10 One wandered over the rocks
And to the songs of orphaned maidens
She listened there;
I loved swearing villages,
Anxiety of the brave Cossacks,
Mounds, quiet tombs,
And the noise, and the neighing of the herds.
Goddess of song and story,
Memories are full
Maybe she will repeat
20 Traditions of the formidable Caucasus;
Will tell the story of distant countries,
Mstislav ancient duel,
Treason, death of Russians
In the bosom of vindictive Georgians;
And I will sing of that glorious hour,
When, sensing a bloody battle,
To the indignant Caucasus
Our two-headed eagle has risen;
When gray-haired on the Terek
30 For the first time the battle thundered
And the roar of Russian drums,
And in the cross section, with a daring brow,
The ardent Tsitsianov appeared;
I will sing to you, hero,
O Kotlyarevsky, scourge of the Caucasus!
Wherever you rushed with a thunderstorm -
Your move is like a black infection
Destroyed, destroyed the tribes ...
You left the saber of revenge today,
40 War does not please you;
Missing the world, in the ulcers of honor,
You taste idle peace
And the silence of domestic valleys ...
But behold - the East raises a howl ...
Hang with your snowy head
Humble yourself, Caucasus: Yermolov is coming!
And the ardent cry of war ceased,
Everything is subject to the Russian sword.
Caucasian proud sons,
50 You fought, you died terribly;
But our blood did not save you,
Nor enchanted armor,
Neither mountains, nor dashing horses,
No wild liberties love!
Like the Batu tribe,
Will change the great-grandfathers of the Caucasus,
Forget the greedy scolding voice,
Leave the arrows fighting.
To the gorges where you nested,
60 A traveler will drive up without fear,
And announce your execution
Traditions are dark rumors.
NOTES.
1 Beshtu, or, more correctly, Beshtau, Caucasian mountain 40 versts from Georgievsk. known in our history.
2 Aul. This is the name of the villages of the Caucasian peoples.
3 Uzden, chief or prince.
4 checker, Circassian sword.
5 Saklya, hut.
6 Kumys made from mare's milk; This drink is in great use among all the mountainous and nomadic peoples of Asia. It is quite pleasant to the taste and is revered as very healthy.
7 The happy climate of Georgia does not reward this beautiful country for all the misfortunes it endures forever. Georgian songs are pleasant and mostly mournful. They glorify the momentary successes of Caucasian weapons, the death of our heroes: Bakunin and Tsitsianov, betrayals, murders - sometimes love and pleasure.
8 Derzhavin, in his excellent ode to Count Zubov, was the first to depict wild pictures of the Caucasus in the following stanzas:
O young leader, having made campaigns,
You passed with the army of the Caucasus,
Ripe horrors, beauties of nature:
As from the ribs of terrible mountains pouring there,
Angry rivers roar into the darkness of the abyss;
As with their people with a roar of snow
Fall, lying whole eyelids;
Like chamois, bowing their horns down,
They see in the darkness calmly under them
The birth of lightning and thunder.
You are mature, as clear at times
There are sunbeams, among the ice,
Among the waters, playing, reflecting,
Magnificent seem the view;
How, in multi-colored scattering
There is a spray, a thin rain is burning;
How bluish-amber there is,
Hanging, looks into the dark forest;
And there is the golden crimson dawn
Through the forest amuses the eye.
Zhukovsky, in his letter to G. Voeikov, also devotes several charming verses to the description of the Caucasus:
You are mature, like Terek in a fast run
Noisy between the vineyards
Where, often hiding on the shore,
A Chechen or a Circassian was sitting,
Under a cloak, with a disastrous lasso;
And far in front of you
Dressed in blue mist
The mountain rose above the mountain
And in the host of their gray-haired giant,
Like a cloud, Elborus is two-headed.
Terrible and majestic
There everything shines with beauty:
Mossy cliffs,
Roaring waterfalls
In the darkness of the abyss from granite rocks;
Forests that sleep from the ages
Neither the sound of the axes, nor the man
The merry voice did not revolt,
In which the gloomy vestibule
The daylight has not yet penetrated,
Where occasionally there are only deer,
Orla heard a terrible cry,
Crowding into the crowd, rustling branches,
And goats with light feet
They run over the rocks.
Everything is there for the eyes
The splendor of creation!
But there, among the solitude
Valleys hidden in the mountains
Both the Balkar and the bang nest,
Both the Abazeh and the Camucinian,
Both Korbulak and Albazin,
Both Checherean and Shapsuk.
Pishchal, chain mail, saber, bow
And a horse, a swift comrade-in-arms -
Their treasures and gods;
Like chamois jumping over the mountains,
Throw death from behind a cliff;
Or along the swampy shores,
In the tall grass in the thicket of the forest
Scattered, they wait for prey;
The rocks of freedom are their shelter.
But the days in their villages wander
On crutches of gloomy laziness:
There their life is a dream; shy in a circle
And in a fraternal pot with tobacco
Sticking chibouks like shadows,
They sit in the swirling smoke
And they talk about murders;
Ile praise well-aimed squeaks,
From which their grandfathers shot;
Or sabers on flint sharpen,
Ready for the kill nova.
9 Chikhir, red Georgian wine .
10 The Circassians, like all wild peoples, are distinguished by their hospitality. The guest becomes a sacred person for them. To betray him or not to protect him is considered among them the greatest dishonor. Kunak(i.e. friend, acquaintance) is responsible for your safety with his life, and with him you can go deep into the very middle of the Kabardian mountains.
11 Bairan or Bayram, the feast of the breaking of the fast. ramadan, Muslim post.
12 Mstislav, son. St. Vladimir, nicknamed daring, specific prince of Tmutarakan (Taman Island). He fought with the Kosogs (in all likelihood, the current Circassians) and in single combat defeated their prince Rededya. Cm. East State. Ross. Volume II.
In the village, on their thresholds,
Circassians sit idle.
The sons of the Caucasus say
About abusive, disastrous anxieties,
About the beauty of their horses,
About the pleasures of wild bliss;
Remembering the old days
irresistible raids,
Tricky Bridles (3) ,
Checkers strikes (4) their cruel ones,
And the accuracy of inevitable arrows,
And the ashes of devastated villages,
And the caresses of the black-eyed captives.
Conversations flow in silence;
The moon floats in the night fog;
And suddenly in front of them on a horse
Circassian. He's fast on the lasso
Dragged a young prisoner.
"Here's a Russian!" the predator yelled.
The village ran to his cry
Fierce crowd;
But the prisoner is cold and dumb,
With a disfigured head
Like a corpse, he remained motionless.
He does not see the faces of enemies,
He does not hear threats and screams;
A death dream flies over him
And it breathes pernicious cold.
And for a long time the prisoner is young
He lay in heavy oblivion.
Already noon over his head
Blazed in a merry radiance;
And the spirit of life woke up in him,
An indistinct groan was heard in the mouth;
warmed by the sun,
The unfortunate man quietly got up;
A weak gaze circles around ...
And sees: impregnable mountains
Above him, a mass rose,
Nest of robber tribes,
Circassian liberty fence.
The young man remembered his captivity,
Like a dream of terrible anxiety,
And hears: thundered suddenly
His shackled legs...
Everything, everything said a terrible sound;
Nature eclipsed before him.
Sorry, sacred freedom!
Behind the sacks (5) lies
He's at the thorny fence.
Circassians in the field, no supervision,
Everything is silent in the empty village.
Desert plains before him
They lie in a green veil;
There the hills stretch in a ridge
Monotonous peaks;
Between them a solitary path
In the distance is lost gloomy -
And the prisoner of the young chest
I was agitated by a heavy thought ...
A long way leads to Russia,
To a country where fiery youth
He proudly started without worries;
Where did he first know joy,
Where he loved a lot
Where he embraced terrible suffering,
Where stormy life ruined
Hope, joy and desire
And memories of better days
In a withered heart concluded.
................................................
He knew people and light
And he knew the price of unfaithful life.
In the hearts of friends found treason,
In the dreams of love, a crazy dream,
Bored of being a victim of being accustomed
For a long time despicable vanity,
And dislike bilingual,
And innocent slander
Renegade of light, friend of nature,
He left his native land
And flew to a distant land
With a cheerful ghost of freedom.
Freedom! he is one of you
I also searched in the desert world.
Destroying feelings with passions,
Cold to dreams and to the lyre,
With the excitement of the song he listened,
inspired by you,
And with faith, fiery prayer
Your proud idol embraced.
It's done... the goal of hope
He sees nothing in the world.
And you, last dreams,
And you hid from him.
He is a slave. Leaning head on the stone
He waits so that with a gloomy dawn
The flame of a sad life went out,
And longs for the canopy of the grave.
The sun is already fading behind the mountains;
There was a noisy rumble in the distance;
From the fields people go to the village,
Glittering bright braids.
Came; fires were lit in the houses,
And gradually the noise is discordant
fell silent; all in the shadow of the night
Embraced by a calm bliss;
In the distance the mountain key sparkles,
Escaping from the stone rapids;
Dressed in a veil of clouds
Sleeping peaks of the Caucasus...
But who, in the glow of the moon,
In the midst of deep silence
Is he walking furtively?
The Russian woke up. In front of him,
With gentle and silent greetings,
There is a young Circassian.
At the girl, silently, he looks
And thinks: this is a false dream,
Tired feelings the game is empty.
A little illuminated by the moon
With a smile of pity
On her knees, she
To his lips koumiss (6) is cool
He brings it with a quiet hand.
But he forgot the healing vessel;
He catches with a greedy soul
Pleasant speech sound magical
And the eyes of a young maiden.
He does not understand foreign words;
Live! and the prisoner comes to life.
And he, gathering the rest of his strength,
Submissive to the command of the dear,
I got up and a cup of salutary
Quenched the languor of thirst.
Then he leaned on the stone again
burdened head;
But all to the young Circassian
His fading gaze strove;
And long, long before him
She sat thoughtfully;
As if the participation of the dumb
I wanted to comfort the prisoner;
Mouth involuntarily every hour
With the speech begun, they opened;
She sighed, and more than once
Eyes filled with tears.
After days the days passed like a shadow.
In the mountains, chained, by the herd
Conducts a prisoner every day.
Caves dark cool
He hides in the summer heat;
When the horn of the silvery moon
Shines behind the dark mountain,
Circassian, shady path,
Brings wine to the prisoner
Koumiss, and fragrant honeycomb hives,
And snow-white millet;
He shares a secret supper with him;
A tender look rests on him;
Merges with obscure speech
Eyes and signs of conversation;
Sings to him the songs of the mountains,
And songs of Georgia happy (7)
And an impatient memory
Conveys a foreign language.
For the first time with a virgin soul
She loved, knew happiness;
But Russian life is young
I have long lost my sweetness.
He could not answer with his heart
Infant love, open -
Perhaps a forgotten dream of love
He was afraid to remember.
Our youth will not suddenly fade,
Not suddenly raptures will leave us,
And unexpected joy
We will hug more than once;
But you, living impressions,
original love,
Heavenly flame of rapture,
You don't fly back.
Seemed like a hopeless prisoner
Get used to a dull life.
Anguish of captivity, rebellious heat
He hid deep in his heart.
Dragging between gloomy rocks
In the hour of early, morning coolness,
He fixed a curious look
To the distant masses
Gray, ruddy, blue mountains.
Great pictures!
Thrones of eternal snows,
Their peaks seemed to the eyes
A motionless chain of clouds,
And in their circle a two-headed colossus,
In a crown of shining ice,
Elbrus is huge, majestic,
White in the blue sky (8).
When, with a deaf merging rumble,
Forerunner of the storm, thunder rumbled,
How often is a prisoner over the village
Sitting motionless on the mountain!
Clouds were smoking at his feet,
Flying ashes rose in the steppe;
Already a shelter between the rocks
Frightened deer searched;
Eagles rose from the cliffs
And they called to each other in the sky;
The noise of the herds, the lowing of the herds
Already the voice of the storm was drowned out ...
And suddenly on the valleys rain and hail
From clouds through lightning erupted;
Waves of a swarm of steepness,
Moving the stones of the ages,
Rain streams flowed -
And the prisoner, from the mountain height,
Alone, behind a thundercloud,
Waiting for the return of the sun
Unreachable by the storm
And storms to the weak howl
He listened with some joy.
But Europeans are all the attention
This wonderful people attracted.
A prisoner watched among the highlanders
Their faith, morals, upbringing,
Loved the simplicity of their lives
Hospitality, thirst for battle,
Movements free speed,
And the lightness of the legs, and the strength of the hand;
He looked for hours,
How agile a Circassian is sometimes,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat, in a black cloak,
Leaning towards the bow, on the stirrups
Leaning with a slender leg,
I flew at the will of the horse,
Getting used to the war in advance.
He admired the beauty
Clothes swearing and simple.
The Circassian is hung with weapons;
He is proud of him, comforted by him:
He wears armor, a squeaker, a quiver,
Kuban bow, dagger, lasso
And checker, eternal friend
His labors, his leisure.
Nothing bothers him
Nothing will blur: on foot, on horseback -
He's still the same; all the same look
Invincible, relentless.
Thunderstorm of careless Cossacks,
His wealth is a zealous horse,
Pet of mountain herds,
Comrade faithful, patient,
In a cave or in the deaf grass
An insidious predator lurks with him
And suddenly, with a sudden arrow,
Seeing a traveler, strives;
In an instant, a sure fight
His mighty blow will decide,
And a wanderer in the gorges of the mountains
Already attracts a flying lasso.
The horse strives at full speed,
Filled with fiery courage;
All the way to him: swamp, forest,
Bushes, cliffs and ravines;
A trail of blood runs after him,
There is a clatter in the desert;
A gray stream rustles before him -
He rushes into the depths of the boiling;
And the traveler, thrown to the bottom,
Swallows a muddy wave
Exhausted, asks for death
And he sees her in front of him ...
But his powerful horse is an arrow
It brings foamy to the shore.
Or, grasping a horned stump,
Thrown into the river by a thunderstorm,
When on the hills a veil
The shadow of a moonless night lies,
Circassian on centuries-old roots,
Hangs around on branches
Your battle armor:
Shield, cloak, shell and helmet,
Quiver and bow - and into fast waves
Then he rushes after him,
Tireless and silent.
Silent night. The river roars;
A mighty current carries him
Along the secluded shores,
Where on the elevated mounds,
Leaning on spears, Cossacks
They look at the dark run of the river -
And past them, blackening in the mist,
The weapon of the villain floats...
What are you thinking, Cossack?
Remembering past battles
On the death field your bivouac,
Polkof laudatory prayers
And the homeland?.. An insidious dream!
Excuse me, free villages,
And the house of the fathers, and the quiet Don,
War and red maidens!
A secret enemy moored to the shores,
The arrow comes out of the quiver -
Soared - and the Cossack falls
From the bloodied mound.
When with a peaceful family
Circassian in the father's dwelling
Sits in a stormy time
And coals smolder in the ashes;
And, hiding from the faithful horse,
Belated in the desert mountains
A tired stranger will come to him
And timidly sit down by the fire:
Then the owner is kind
Greetings, affectionately, rises
And a guest in a bowl of fragrant
Chikhir (9) is gratifying.
Under a damp cloak, in a smoky sakla,
The traveler enjoys peaceful sleep,
And in the morning he leaves
Hospitable shelter for the night (10) .
It used to be in bright Bairan (11)
The young men will gather in a crowd;
The game is replaced by the game:
Then, having completely dismantled the quiver,
They are winged arrows
Pierced in the clouds of eagles;
That from the height of the steep hills
impatient rows,
At this sign, they will suddenly fall,
Like deer, they strike the earth,
The plain is covered with dust
And they run with a friendly clatter.
But the boring world is monotonous
Hearts born for war
And often the games of will are idle
The game is cruel embarrassed.
Often checkers menacingly shine
In the insane agility of feasts,
And heads of slaves fly to dust,
And in joy babies splash.
But the Russian is indifferently mature
These bloody games.
He loved before the game of glory
And burning with a thirst for death.
Slave of merciless honor,
He saw his end up close,
In fights, hard, cold,
Encountering fatal lead.
Perhaps, immersed in thought,
He remembered that time
When, surrounded by friends,
He feasted with them noisily...
Did he regret the days gone by
About the days that deceived hope,
Ile, curious, contemplated
The harsh simplicity of fun
And the manners of the wild people
In this faithful mirror I read -
Tail in silence he is deep
The movements of your heart
And on his high forehead
Nothing has changed.
His careless courage
Terrible Circassians marveled,
Spared his young age
And whisper among themselves
They were proud of their booty.
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2.3 SYNTAX FEATURES OF THE POEM
No less significant than poetic vocabulary, the area of study of expressive means is poetic syntax. The study of poetic syntax consists in analyzing the functions of each of artistic techniques selection and subsequent grouping of lexical elements into single syntactic constructions. If in the immanent study of the vocabulary of a literary text, words act as the analyzed units, then in the study of syntax, sentences and phrases. If the study of vocabulary establishes the facts of deviation from the literary norm in the selection of words, as well as the facts of the transfer of the meanings of words (a word with figurative meaning, i.e. trope, manifests itself only in the context, only in the semantic interaction with another word), then the study of syntax obliges not only a typological consideration of syntactic unities and grammatical connections words in a sentence, but also to revealing the facts of correction or even change in the meaning of the whole phrase with the semantic correlation of its parts (which usually occurs as a result of the use of the so-called figures by the writer).
The archaic syntactic feature of the poem is the use in the poem "Prisoner of the Caucasus" of agreed definitions expressed short adjectives and sacraments. It is known that a short semi-predicative adjective has lost its defining function and acts in a sentence, as a rule, as a nominal part of a compound nominal predicate. Therefore, this usage is perceived by the modern reader as obsolete.
And long, long before him
She,thoughtful , sat.
The horse strives at full speed,
Fulfilled fiery courage.
….and infast waves
then follows him.
rememberingformer battles...
palena like a shadow, she trembled.
Dawn on the sultry sky
Behind the daysnew raises days.
abundance homogeneous members in the sentences of the poem they contribute to expressiveness, completeness of the image:
You will find herememories ,
Maybe sweet days
Contradictions of passions ,
dreams acquaintances, acquaintancessuffering
And secretthe voice of the soul mine.
The sons of the Caucasus say
ABOUT abusive, disastrousanxieties ,
About beauty their horses,
About pleasures wild bliss;
Remembering the old days
irresistibleraids ,
deceptions cunning bridles,
blows their cruel checkers,
And accuracy inevitable arrows,
And ashes devastated villages,
And caresses black-eyed captives.
Characteristic of the poem is the abundance separate definitions and applications that often play the role of paraphrase:
The horse strives at full speed,
Fulfilled fiery courage.
Warmed by the sun ,
The unfortunate man quietly got up;
Where is the cloudy Beshtu, majestic hermit,
Auls and fields ruler five-headed;
He left his native land
And flew to a distant land
With a cheerful ghost of freedom.
A little illuminated by the moon
With a smile of pity
On her knees, she
To his lips koumiss 6 is cool
Brings with a quiet hand
The most common syntactic poetic device used by Pushkin is various kinds of inversions (Latin inversio - permutation). It manifests itself in the arrangement of words in a phrase or sentence in an order that is different from the natural one. In Russian, for example, the order ";subject + predicate";, ";definition + defined word"; or ";preposition + noun in case form";, and unnatural - the reverse order.
Inverted words can be placed in a phrase in different ways. With contact inversion, the adjacency of words is preserved ("; Like a tragedian in the province of Shakespeare's drama ..."; by Pasternak), with distant inversion, other words are wedged between them ("; An old man obedient to Perun alone ..."; by Pushkin). In both cases, an unusual position single word affects its intonation. As noted by B.V. Tomashevsky, "; in inverted constructions, words sound more expressive, more weighty"; .
In the text of the poem, such types of inversion are very common. The inversion of the word being defined and the agreed definition is especially common:
Insad days separation
My thoughtful sounds
Reminds me of the Caucasus...
Deserts are sultry , the edges,
where are you with me Delil
souls young impressions;
Dreams are familiar , familiar suffering
And the secret voice of my soul;
INthe fields are bloody , under clouds of enemy arrows,
Chosen baby , you proudly flew.
Fatherland caressed you with tenderness,
Howsweet sacrifice like a sure light of hope.
In the village, on their thresholds,
Circassians are idle are sitting.
reminisceold days
irresistible raids,
Deceptions of cunning bridles ...
Butcold and dumb prisoner ,
With a disfigured head
Like a corpse, he remained motionless.
And the accuracy of inevitable arrows,
And the ashes of devastated villages,
And caressesblack-eyed captives .
Already noon over his head
Blazed in a merry radiance;
A death dream flies over him
And deadly cold breathes.
The young man remembered his captivity,
Howterrible sleep anxiety...
ANDyoung prisoner breast
For a long time despicable vanity,
ANDdislike bilingual ,
And simple slander...
The flame of a sad life went out,
And cravescanopy of the grave .
Came; fires were lit in the houses,
And graduallythe noise is discordant
fell silent; all in the shadow of the night
embracedcalm bliss ;
WITHhello gentle and mute ,
Costsyoung Circassian .
He silently looks at the girl
And thinks: this is a false dream,
Tired feelingsthe game is empty .
To his lipskoumiss cool
He brings it with a quiet hand.
But he forgothealing vessel ;
He catches with a greedy soul
Have a nice speechthe sound is magical
And the eyes of a young maiden.
He does not understand foreign words;
Buttouching look , the heat roams,
Live! and the prisoner comes to life.
Command dear obedient,
Got up - andwholesome cup
Quenched the languor of thirst.
But everythingto the young Circassian
His fading gaze sought ...
She sat thoughtfully;
As ifdumb participation
I wanted to comfort the prisoner;
When will the hornsilvery moon
Shines behind the dark mountain,
Circassian,shady path ,
Brings the prisoner wine ...
And songshappy Georgia ,
ANDimpatient memory
Transmitsforeign language .
But Russianyoung life
I have long lost my sweetness
He could not answer with his heart
Infant love , open ,
Perhaps a dreamforgotten love
He was afraid to remember...
It seemedhopeless prisoner
Get used to a dull life.
The longing of bondagefever rebellious
He hid deep in his heart.
Great pictures!
Thrones eternal snow,
Their peaks seemed to the eyes
A motionless chain of clouds...
Already a shelter between the rocks
Frightened deer looking for...
shiftingage-old stones ,
Teklirain streams ,
And the prisoner, from the mountain height,
One,behind a cloud of thunder ,
Solar return waiting...
And in their circledouble-headed colossus ,
Vcrown shiningicy ,
Elbrus is huge, majestic
Belel onthe sky is blue .
He looked for hours,
Like sometimesCircassian agile ,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat,black burka ,
Leaning towards the bow, on the stirrups
Leg slender leaning,
I flew at the will of the horse.
He admired the beauty
Clothes of abusive and simple ...
He's still the same; all the sameview
Invincible, relentless.
Thunderstorm of careless Cossacks,
His wealth iszealous horse ,
Pet of mountain herds,
Comrade faithful, patient ,
In a cave or indeaf grass
An insidious predator lurks with him ...
Circassian onancient roots ,
Hangs around on branches
Theirbattle armor …
A mighty current carries him
Alongsecluded shores …
The above examples of inversions are contact.
Distant inversions are a very expressive option, when the word being defined and the agreed definition following it are broken by some member of the sentence, for example: dagger treasoncold ; blows their checkerscruel ; Vgave is lostsullen; , boringa victim behabitual ; Vcrown shiningicy; in an instant, a sure fight will decidehit hismighty; hid insilence Hedeep; and onbrow hishigh .
The text also contains combinations of the word being defined and the agreed definition preceding it, between which verbs or other members of the sentence are wedged, for example:
And the prisoner of the young chest
Heavy excited thought ...
A long way leads to Russia,
He proudly started without worries;
Wherehe first knew joy …
Watchedfor whole hours ,
How agile a Circassian is sometimes,
Wide steppe, mountains,
In a shaggy hat, in a black cloak ...
Opening your mouth, crying without tears,
A young maiden sat
Foggy, fixed gaze
Silent expressed reproach .
They are silently young maidens
Familiar listen to the chorus .
Another kind of reverse word order is characteristic of the poetic language of A.S. Pushkin and is vividly presented in the poem "Prisoner of the Caucasus". These are structures in which inconsistent definition, expressed, as a rule, by the nominal part of speech, is in preposition to the word being defined, which can sometimes be separated by any members of the sentence. Here are examples of such syntactic constructions:
Delilsouls young impressions …
I dedicated to youexiled lyre singing
And inspirational leisure.
When the dagger of treason is cold
Whenlove heavy dream
I was tortured and killed
I'm still close to you
I found peace;
Where is the cloudy Beshtu the majestic hermit,
Auls and fields ruler five-headed,
Parnassus was new to me.
And sees: impregnable mountains
Above him rosebulk,
Nest of robber tribes,
Circassianliberties fence .
Already noon over his head
Blazed in a merry radiance;
ANDlife spirit woke up in it
The young man remembered his captivity,
Howsleep of terrible anxiety ,
And hears: thundered suddenly
His shackled legs...
Between them a solitary path
In the distance is lost gloomy:
ANDcaptive young chest
I was agitated by a heavy thought ...
He knew people and light
And knew wronglife price .
He waits so that with a gloomy dawn
Gone sadlife flame …
Dressed in a veil of clouds
Caucasus dormant peaks ...
He silently looks at the girl
And thinks: this is a false dream,
Tiredfeelings game empty.
He catches with a greedy soul
Have a nicespeech sound magic
And the eyes of a young maiden.
caves wetcool
He hides in the summer heat;
Brings wine to the prisoner
Kumis, andhoneycomb hives fragrant,
And snow-white millet;
Merges with obscure speech
Eyes and signs of conversation ;
But Russianlife young
long lostvoluptuousness...
ButEuropeans all attention
This wonderful people attracted ...
loved themsimplicity of life ,
Hospitality, thirst for battle,
Movements free speed …
Remembering past battles
On the death field your bivouac,
Polkof laudatory prayers
And the homeland?.. An insidious dream!
And in the morning he leaves
Shelter for the night hospitable.
harshsimplicity of fun ,
and wildpeople's morals …
It is known that according to the rules of direct word order, the object is after the word being defined. Gives expressiveness to the poem and focuses the reader's attention on the use of direct and indirect objects in preposition to the verb. In the following contexts, the direct object is prepositive or simultaneously distant:
When love is a heavy dream
I was tortured and killed
I'm still close to you
I found peace ;
I rested my heart
- we loved each other
And the storms above me
ferocity tired ,
I'm in a peaceful harbor
God bless.
faces enemieshe does not see ,
Threats and screams Hedoes not hear …
A long way leads to Russia,
To a country where fiery youth
He proudlybegan no worries ;
The use of the predicate in preposition to the subject, and especially the presence of one or more other members of the sentence separating them, is also of great stylistic importance, since it contributes to the expressiveness of speech. So, here are a few cases of using such a phrase construction:
thundered all of a sudden
His chainedlegs…
Faces of enemieshe does not see ,
He does not hear threats and screams ...
Over itflies mortaldream
And it breathes pernicious cold.
eclipsed in front of himnature.
Sorry, sacred freedom!
He is a slave.
For saklilies
He at the thorny fence.
Circassians in the field, no supervision,
Everything is silent in the empty village.
Renegade of light, friend of nature,
He left native limit...
Alreadythe sun is fading over the mountains
awayresounded noisyhum …
get dressed a veil of clouds
Caucasus sleeping peaks...
Russian woke up . In front of him,
With gentle and silent greetings,
There is a young Circassian.
He couldn't answer with your heart
Love infantile, open;
Perhaps a forgotten dream of love
He was afraid remember...
Ochamseemed theirpeaks
A motionless chain of clouds...
Love will pass, boredom will come ,
Beauty will love again…
Interphrase conjunctions are often found in the text of the poem "Prisoner of the Caucasus", which contribute to the formation of the integrity of the narrative:
AND long captive young
He lay in heavy oblivion.
Already noon over his head
Blazed in the radiance of cheerful.
AND the spirit of life woke up in him,
An indistinct groan was heard in the mouth;
warmed by the sun,
The unfortunate man quietly got up;
A weak gaze circles around ...
AND sees: impregnable mountains
A mass rose above him.
Pushkin masterfully uses syntactic devices to convey descriptive context. Let's illustrate this with the following text fragment:
Conversations flow in silence;
The moon floats in the night fog
And suddenly in front of them on a horse is a Circassian.
He's fast on the lasso
Dragged a young prisoner.
Background, the descriptive context of this passage is expressed by the use of imperfective verbs, present tense ( flowing, floating). Then a sudden change of events: And suddenly in front of them on a horse is a Circassian. He quickly dragged the Young Prisoner on the lasso, - transmitted lexically - adverb all of a sudden and using the past tense verb.
In the poem "Prisoner of the Caucasus" there are often descriptive text fragments in the form of union-free constructions with connective-enumerative relations, the laconism and simplicity of which contribute to the semantic capacity and integrity of the picture and the impression created. Among such complex syntactic integers, constructions of a descriptive and narrative type are noted.
He is a slave. Behind the sakly lies
He's at the thorny fence.
Circassians in the field, no supervision,
Everything is silent in the empty village.
Desert plains before him
They lie in a green veil;
There the hills stretch in a ridge
Monotonous peaks;
Between them a solitary path
In the distance is lost sullen.
The sun is already fading behind the mountains;
There was a noisy rumble in the distance;
From the fields people go to the village,
Glittering bright braids.
They came, the lights were lit in the houses,
And gradually the noise is discordant
fell silent; all in the shadow of the night
Embraced by a calm bliss;
In the distance the mountain key sparkles,
Escaping from the stone rapids;
Dressed in a veil of clouds
Sleeping peaks of the Caucasus...
An indistinct groan was heard in the mouth;
warmed by the sun,
The unfortunate man quietly got up;
A weak gaze circles around ...
Opening her mouth, crying without tears,
A young lady sat.
Foggy, fixed gaze
The Silent One expressed reproach;
Pale as a shadow, she trembled:
In the hands of a lover lay
Her cold hand
Silenced. Tears and groans
They pressed the poor maiden's chest.
Mouth without words murmured songs.
Without feelings, hugging his knees,
She could hardly breathe.
The lights of the night were eclipsed;
In the distance they were transparent
Masses of snowy mountains;
Head bowed, eyes downcast,
They parted in silence.
In the poem, such an expressive stylistic device is noted - nominative themes. According to E. S. Skoblikova, the “nominative topic” “is a separate unit of communication, with a specific communicative purpose and a broad general content”, that is, in fact, she recognizes them as sentences, and indicates the proximity of the “nominative topic” “to the usual nominative proposals. “The “understatement” characteristic of it is determined by the fact that its use is characterized by a direct installation on the subtext: it aims to cause reflection, to induce the interlocutor to comprehend the properties and role of the named object.”
And flew to a distant land
With a cheerful ghostfreedom.
Liberty ! he is one of you
I also searched in the desert world ...
The expressive means of poetic syntax in the poem "Prisoner of the Caucasus" is a rhetorical question. A rhetorical question is a rhetorical figure that is a question, the answer to which is known in advance, or a question to which the questioner himself answers. In essence, a rhetorical question is a question to which an answer is not required or expected due to its extreme obviousness. In any case, an interrogative statement implies a well-defined, well-known answer, so a rhetorical question is, in fact, a statement expressed in an interrogative form.
Will I forget its flinty peaks,
Thundering springs, withered plains,
Sultry deserts, lands where you are with me
Shared the souls of young impressions;
Where warlike robbery prowls in the mountains,
And the wild genius of inspiration poems Document
Symbols in progress analysis novel by V.V. Nabokov ... life stories. To content E.P. Chernova, Russian teacher... for linguistic and pedagogical sciences to content V.Yu. ... struck poem « Caucasianprisoner". In this poem M.Yu. Lermontova caucasian plot...
The complexity of understanding any text is largely due to the variety
Bibliographic index2006. CONTENT Foreword ………………………………………………………… ... gave psychol. analysis split consciousness. ... romantic. - "southern" poems « Caucasianprisoner" (1820-1821 ... Caucasiancaptive). Brullon - Obsolete. Draft... ; RAS, Inst. linguistic research. - St. Petersburg. ...
