Alexander Goncharov
08.07.2016 - 22:55
Oh, we don't read Gogol! Forgot. But in vain. Something in Russia and the world has all gone wild in accordance with the devilry, which Nikolai Vasilyevich ridiculed.
Yes, of course, his stories and stories are in the school curriculum. However, a fair number of schoolchildren prefer to study literature not from books, but with the help of numerous "cheat sheets" (I will not name it otherwise!): "Dead Souls" (A summary on four sheets) or "Evenings on a farm near Dikanka" (Accelerated course on one page).
With such an attitude, no one will recognize the real Gogol. However, when you come across advocates of juvenile justice, one gets an involuntary impression that both adult uncles and aunts of the Russian classics at one time “swallowed” the Russian classics, so that the “nasty teacher” would get loose. Fans of the cult of "juvenile" and inveterate violence against the family are the excited spiritual "C grade", absolutely ignorant in Russian literature, history and culture. And nothing else ...
Why do I think so? If only because a person who understood and accepted the meaning of Gogol's "Taras Bulba" would never have been able to even think "about the removal of children" and the passage of the parliamentary law (more precisely, amendments) "on spanking" ...
Taras Bulba begins with an episode of the colonel's meeting with his sons. Gogol writes: “And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.
- Look, good people: the old one has gone stupid! completely crazy! said their pale, thin and kind mother, who stood at the threshold and had not yet had time to hug her beloved children. “The children came home, they hadn’t seen them for more than a year, and he decided to fight with his fists!
- Yes, it beats gloriously! - said Bulba, stopping. - By God, good! - he continued, recovering a little, - so, even if not even try. A good Cossack! Well, great, son! let's break up! - And father and son began to kiss ... "
Oh, I hear the righteous anger of the ministers of the juvenile here: “A father fights with an adult son! Fi! Bad example. And when the children were small and with a whip, apparently, this retrograde and a fool walked on their backs! It is a pity that they did not withdraw ".
But remember also: “Ostap endured torment and torture like a giant. Neither a scream nor a groan was heard even when they began to interrupt the bones on his arms and legs, when a terrible grunt was heard among the dead crowd by distant spectators, when the ladies turned their eyes away, nothing like a groan escaped his lips, his face did not tremble.
Taras stood in the crowd with his head down and at the same time proudly raising his eyes, and only said approvingly: "Good, son, good!"
But when they brought him to the last death throes, it seemed as if his strength began to be fed. And he led his eyes around him: God, all unknown, all strangers! If only someone close to him was present at his death! He would not want to hear the sobbing and crushing of a weak mother or the mad screams of a wife plucking her hair and beating herself in white breasts; he would now like to see a firm husband who would refresh him with a prudent word and comfort him at his death. And he fell down in strength and cried out in spiritual weakness:
- Father! where are you! Can you hear?
- I hear! - was heard in the general silence, and the whole million people at one time shuddered.
Part of the military horsemen rushed to carefully examine the crowds of people. Yankel turned pale as death, and when the horsemen moved a little away from him, he turned back fearfully to look at Taras; but Taras was no longer near him: his trace was gone ".
Whom did Taras Bulba raise?
Ostap dies with dignity for Orthodoxy and the Motherland. The second son, Andriy, who betrayed his comrades-in-arms for the sake of a beautiful Polish girl, allows his father to kill himself without a murmur, because deep in his soul he feels his untruth. In spite of everything, Bulba raised and raised People (with a capital letter!), Able to rise above the requirements of the stomach and everything that is below the navel. Namely, Bulbs, Ostapas and Andriyas (yes, yes, Andriyas!) Built our state, passed from the Urals to the Aleutian Islands.
It can be argued that the times were then barbaric, harsh manners, respectively, and cruel upbringing. Truly! It is not at all the "Golden Age" that Gogol describes, but who said that now there is more pity, patience and love in the world? Where? In Libya, torn apart by riots and bombs? In Serbia? With burnt monasteries and babies crucified in front of their mothers? In Syria? Where entire villages were slaughtered overnight? Or in the foolish Little Russia? Where corpses were lying on the streets of Russian cities, fired upon by mutant punishers.
Oh, this is still far from Russia! So far, far away ... And not very much ... From Belgorod and Voronezh to Donetsk and Lugansk, a military plane flies quickly along the route ...
But this is not near us? Is it in the next house? Is it in your hut or apartment? “I know, it is now a despicable wound on our land; they only think that they should have haystacks of grain, ricks and their horse herds, so that their sealed honeys would be intact in their cellars. They adopt the devil knows what Busurman customs; they abhor their tongue; he doesn't want to talk to his own; sells his own, as they sell a soulless creature in the marketplace. The mercy of a foreign king, and not a king, but the disgusting mercy of the Polish magnate, who beats them in the face with his yellow chebot, is dearer to them than any brotherhood. "
No, Ecclesiastes is a hundredfold right: “What was, will be; and what has been done will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun ".
Let's imagine that a certain modern Taras Bulba finds himself in the face of juvenile justice. Of course, since he is modern, then he does not go “on fists” with his son, but simply tries to raise a Cossack. How will it end? An aunt with a kind face will come: “Oh, you only have bacon in your cellar? Where's the pizza and kiwi? You are raising children wrong. Yes, and they deigned to give a belt on the ass! Withdraw !!! And for you, my dear, the slammer is crying ".
Bulba will resolutely resist, maybe even hit her aunt. Well, and they will put him that way for five years in the appropriate place. Ostap to an orphanage (and will be credited with regular visits to a psychiatrist), and Andriy will be allowed to be educated in "sex culture lessons." And that's all. Who will say in the terrible hour: "There are no bonds holier than comradeship"? ..
But the fact that the Ostaps may disappear is only half the trouble. The abomination of a juvenile is also different. Where did the employees of the "juvenile" and even the judiciary assume that they have the right to dispose of the lives of other people's children?
Education is not a foundation. Among the people who graduated from universities, there are no less foolish people than among the janitors. Is that the wipers do not have much aplomb. Adequate education is not an indulgence. The heart is necessary. Love is important. Wisdom is needed. Does every juvenile have a sim? What will he put at the forefront when he has to solve a problem with a specific child? Your salary or your conscience? Plan fulfilled or honor? In a consumerist society, what will he do first? After all, there is also a spiritual danger here - to ascribe infallibility to oneself and to enjoy the fulfillment of the destinies of “little people”. Pride is fueled by this. The most terrible sin that corrupts the soul of the doer. However, yes, and we will believe in the bright images of opponents of slaps on the ass!
But why is it that in those states where juvenile life is flourishing, there is a crisis with fertility at the same time. So in Germany, and in the Scandinavian countries, and in France (the list goes on easily). A terrible suspicion comes to mind: this order is beneficial to a large circle of people.
In a consumer society, a child is a competitor (God forgive me!) To his parents. Dad should not play computer games after work, but read a fairy tale to the kid. Mom, instead of going to the shops, is to babysit the baby. The time that adults would dream to devote to themselves is running out. That is why few children are born. And a juvenile to help: let someone recommend me how to truly raise children correctly. I will not waste my energy on education. The child is mischievous - no need to punish, he is "indigo" and not disobedient, but special. And the state is still threatening the Criminal Code! .. Ugh, the weight fell from my chest. I will not do anything. And how comfortable I am ...
This is how the family is corrupted ...
Removal of children from the family for their own good. And putting parents behind bars, so as not to bring up future fathers and mothers, warriors and keepers of the holy family hearth. Juveniles thought up well! But this is plagiarism! Let's remember the Ottoman Empire. The Turks took the boys away from their Christian parents. The motives were purely "good": to turn the child away from the "false" faith and instill in the true one, for one thing and get "cool" warriors. Why listen to the opinion of the "infidels", they are already to blame for not wanting to become Muslims. And there were janissaries, without family and tribe, who, during coups, gladly slaughtered the children of the sultans themselves ...
Let's look at the experience of Australia. In the 20th century, the authorities took away from the aborigines approx. 100 thousand children. How! How! Best motives! Raise savages as civilized people! To introduce to the European culture - the most advanced of the advanced! Across the continent, white "civilizers" literally hunted black children. Stupid parents hid them, then they were arrested. And because of hunger, the children themselves went to the "benefactors".
In 2008, the Australian government apologized to the Aboriginal people. Only to the point !? Most of the selected children have already grown up and have tasted the fruits of the "civilized paradise": the number of drug addicts and alcoholics among them is several times higher than among the "wild" ancestors.
Depriving a person of the right to independently raise children is the nation's surest path to a prepared grave. And God forbid that we have an era in Russia when there will be no one to utter the great phrase of Virgil: "Boy, mother, find out and start smiling at her!"
28. Various cases of complication of the structure of a simple sentence.
Complicated Simple sentence containing:
a) isolated turnovers. It was a pale, tiny creature, reminiscent of a flower that had grown without a ray of the sun (Korolenko). The whole world, with foliage, light thunder, with its difficult every day, unique and huge, opened to them for joy (Shch and-pachev). Kuzya, a rider, a master of his craft, drove past us three times (Gorky). Levinson stood a little, listening to the darkness, and, smiling to himself, walked even faster (Fadeev). And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to beat each other (G o g o l);
6) homogeneous members of the proposal. Snow was falling in tatters and was already covering the road, and the roof of the shed, and the trees of the garden, and the entrance (L. Tolstoy);
c) introductory constructions. The lady seemed to be moved (Pushkin). According to the intelligence officer, the main Japanese headquarters was in Yakovlevka (Fadeev);
7) words of reference. Farewell, my comrade, my faithful servant ... (Pushkin).
29. One-piece sentence. Types of one-part sentences in modern Russian. Features of the use and function of one-part sentences in texts of different styles.
The question of one-part sentences has been solved in different ways in the history of Russian syntax. He was the first to single out the one-part sentences of Chess ("Syntax of the Russian language"). Before him, one-piece was explained by the omission for any reason \u003d\u003e the proposal was classified as incomplete.
The basis of Shakhmatov's theory is the psychological concept of a sentence. The psychological basis of a sentence is the act of communication. Communication is the transfer of a combination of ideas to other people, which are brought by the will of the speaker into a predicative connection. (i.e. communication is more than judgment.)
Simple communication is the transmission of two representations, 1 is a psychological subject, 2 is a psychological predicate.
A psychological subject is a representation dominating another representation (predicate).
The subject and the predicate of communication can be found in different relationships between the subject and the predicate.
The dog ran away. ← the idea of \u200b\u200bthe attribute - i.e. predicate.
idea of \u200b\u200bthe subject, i.e. the idea of \u200b\u200bthe subject, which prevails over the predicate.
Types of one-part sentences:(According to Valgina)
1) Definitely personal (the main term is expressed by the form of the verb 1 or 2
persons of the present and future tense in the form of an indicative or
imperative) Going to the cinema.
2) Indefinite personal (the main term is expressed by a verb in the form of 3
plural present or plural
number of the past tense and denotes the action performed
undefined, i.e. unidentified persons) A letter was brought to the hospital.
3) Generalized personal sentences (the main term is mainly expressed by the verb
2 singular present and future tense; designated
verb action in such sentences applies equally to any
a person, that is, the subject of an action is thought of in a generalized way) With whom you lead, from that
and pick up. Having taken off their head, they do not cry for their hair. What we have is not
we keep, having lost - crying. Live and learn.
4) Impersonal (the main member does not allow the designation of the subject of action in
nominative and names a process or state independently
from an active person) Day is breaking. It hurts in the side. Smoke in the hallway. Not a soul around.
5) Infinitive (the main term is expressed by an infinitive that does not depend on any other word in the sentence, by meaning these sentences are modally colored
and express the obligation, urge, necessity, opportunity
and impossibility of action) You can't see a face face to face. Learn, learn and
study again. We should pass the session.
6) Nominative (the main member is expressed by a noun
or the substantive part of speech in the nominative case,
the presence, existence of a phenomenon or object called
main member) Winter. Table. Here is the window. What a stupidity! What a shame! Only
Taras Bulba is the protagonist of the story of the same name by N.V. Gogol. This is an old Zaporozhye Cossack, a Cossack colonel, a "lytsar", the main thing in whose life is Sich, war, Cossack friendship and honor. The scale of his personality is epic. The meaning of his life is serving the Fatherland, the people.
When Gogol published the first volume of Dead Souls, he was immediately declared a Russian Homer. Nikolai Vasilyevich agreed with this statement: he already believed that he had been sent down to show Russia the right path to glory and prosperity and conceived the third volume of the poem, in which he would reveal the secret of the rebirth of the Fatherland ... "Dead Souls" were to become a Russian "Odyssey", but " Taras Bulba ", rewritten by 1842 (the first version - 1835), -" Iliad ".
The protagonist of the Russian Iliad is truly epic. He greets the sons returning from the bursa not with tears and kissing, but with a test, albeit a joke one, beating Ostap on his fists: "And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to plant cuffs on each other ..." Only one night he allows his sons to stay at home: a man's job is to fight.
Taras does not think about his wife, her desires: a real man serves his homeland and comrades. He takes his sons and goes to the Sich - the capital of the Cossacks. This time is approximately 1637 - 1638, when Kiev was under the rule of the Commonwealth, between the Cossacks and Poles constant skirmishes and battles, which grew into an uprising.
Taras incites his comrades to fight against the Poles, and near Dubno, which the Cossacks are holding under siege, the hero loses his son: Andriy goes over to the side of the enemy in order to be near his beloved. In battle, Taras meets his son and kills him with his own hands - there is no forgiveness and reason for betrayal.
And at the same time Ostap, the second son, was taken prisoner by the Poles. To free him, Taras overcomes the border in Yankel's cart under the bricks - no one moved the bricks, did not check, after all, no one could have thought that a person could hide under such a weight.
But Taras could. It seems that he can do anything and is not afraid of anything. He knows no doubts, solid, as if made of a block of marble. When Ostap is tortured, his arms and legs are broken, and "they heard a terrible grunt among the dead crowd," Taras only repeats: "Good, son, good!" And only to Ostap's dying call does the father answer: "I hear!"
This almost biblical scene (parallel: before the execution, Jesus begs to the Father) makes the image of Taras completely epic, integral, embodied in the triumph of the Spirit over flesh and passion.
And after the death of his son, Taras remains a hero worthy of Homer. He gathers an army and mercilessly kills Polish soldiers, lords, does not spare either women or children: "This is for you, enemy Poles, a commemoration for Ostap!" - only Taras said. And he sent such commemorations for Ostap in every village ... "
Taras dies in flames, tied to a tree by the Poles. But even at this moment, he thinks not of himself, but of the salvation of his comrades - he directs the detachment with a shout so that the soldiers can escape from the pursuit.
Characteristics of the hero
Taras Bulba is a hero. In the high and original sense of the word. Each of his actions - gulba, war, raising sons, relations with "warrior friends" - is filled with physical and spiritual power, monumentality, breadth and uncompromising attitude.
He is a folk hero, the personification of an independent, proud spirit. It embodies everything that so attracts people: strength, nobility, intelligence, courage, loyalty to the Motherland and comradeship: "There are no bonds holier than comradeship!"
Nothing is dearer to Taras than Fatherland and faith. Therefore, without a doubt, he leads his sons into battle, without hesitation kills Andrii, who betrayed the shrine - his homeland and comrades.
This image is not new: its ideal version is epic heroes. Why is Gogol addressing him? Does he want to tell us something new, super-epic?
The image of the hero in the work
(- Well, come on with your fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!)
Let us remember that Gogol writes Taras Bulba at the moment of his plans for the continuation of Dead Souls. He needs heroic people capable of changing and transforming Russia. The writer finds them far away, which in the haze of time everything is completely romantic and sublime.
As Gukovsky writes, Gogol “tells him (the reader) ... in you - all the beginnings of Taras and his companions; wake up ... ”Become a patriot, selflessly devoted to your homeland and faith. Apparently, that is why the story "Taras Bulba" has turned out to be so popular now, on a new wave of patriotism and self-awareness of oneself as a part of one's country.
Turn around, son! How funny you are! What are these priests' cassocks on you? And so does everyone go to the academy? - With these words old Bulba greeted his two sons, who studied at the Kiev school and came home to their father.
His sons have just dismounted. They were two stalwart fellows who still looked sullenly, like recently graduated seminarians. Their strong, healthy faces were covered with the first fluff of hair that had not yet been touched by a razor. They were very embarrassed by this reception of their father and stood motionless, with their eyes downcast to the ground.
Wait, wait! Let me get a good look at you, ”he continued, turning them,“ what long scrolls you have on you! What scrolls! There have never been such a scroll in the world. And some of you run away! I'll see if he flops to the ground, tangled in the floors.
Don't laugh, don't laugh, dad! the eldest of them said at last.
Look how magnificent you are! Why not laugh?
Yes so, even though you are my dad, but as you laugh, then, by God, I will beat you!
Oh you, such a son! How, dad? .. - said Taras Bulba, retreating with surprise a few steps back.
Yes, even though dad. I will not look for an offense and I will not respect anyone.
How do you want to fight with me? fists?
Yes, on anything.
Well, come on with your fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!
And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.
Look, good people: the old one has gone crazy! completely crazy! - said their pale, thin and kind mother, who stood at the threshold and had not yet had time to hug her beloved children. “The children came home, they hadn’t seen them for more than a year, and he decided to fight with his fists!
Yes, it beats gloriously! - said Bulba, stopping. - By God, good! - he continued, recovering a little, - so, even if not even try. A good Cossack! Well, great, son! let's break up! - And father and son began to kiss. - Good, son! Beat everyone like that, as he used to beat me; do not let anyone down! And all the same, you are wearing a funny decoration: what kind of rope is hanging? And you, beibass, why are you standing and dropping your hands? - he said, addressing the younger, - why are you, son of a dog, not pounding me?
Here's another thing I invented! - said the mother, hugging the younger. - And it will come to mind that a child beats his father. Yes, even before that now: a young child, traveled so much, tired (this child was over twenty years old and exactly a fathom in height), he would now need to sleep and eat something, but he makes him beat!
Eh, you are a daub, as I see it! - said Bulba. -Do not listen, son, mother: she is a woman, she does not know anything. What kind of tenderness are you? Your tenderness is an open field and a good horse: here is your tenderness! Do you see this saber? here is your mother! This is all rubbish that stuff your heads with; and the academy, and all those books, primers, and philosophy - all this is as you know, I do not care about all this! - Here Bulba has put into the line a word that is not even used in print. - But, better, I'll send you to Zaporozhye the same week. That's where science is, so science! There is a school for you; there you just pick up your mind.
And just one week to be at home? said the thin old woman mother, pitifully, with tears in her eyes. - And they, the poor, will not be able to take a walk; I will not be able to recognize my own home, and I will not be able to get enough of them!
Full, full howl, old woman! Kozak is not about messing with women. You would hide both of them under your skirt, and you would sit on them like on chicken eggs. Go, go, and put everything that is on the table as soon as possible. Don’t need pampushkas, meadoviks, poppy seeds and other pundiks; bring us a whole ram, give us a goat, forty-year-old honeys! Yes, the burners are bigger, not with the inventions of the burner, not with raisins and all sorts of raisins, but a clean, foamy burner, so that it would play and hiss like mad.
Bulba led his sons into the parlor, from where two beautiful maids-servants in monistas of hearts ran out nimbly, tidying up the rooms. They, as you can see, were frightened by the arrival of the panic, who did not like to let anyone down, or they simply wanted to observe their female custom: scream and rush headlong when they saw a man, and therefore for a long time cover themselves with a sleeve from strong shame. The Svetlitsa was removed in the style of that time, about which living hints remained only in songs and in people's thoughts, which are no longer sung in Ukraine by bearded blind elders, accompanied by the quiet tinkling of bandura, in view of the people who surrounded them; in the taste of that abusive, difficult time when the battles and battles in the Ukraine for union began to play out. Everything was clean, smeared with colored clay. On the walls are sabers, whips, nets for birds, seines and guns, a crafted horn for gunpowder, a golden bridle for a horse, and fetters with silver badges. The windows in the parlor were small, with round dull glass, which are now found only in ancient churches, through which it was impossible to look otherwise than by lifting the sliding glass. There were red bends around the windows and doors. On the shelves in the corners stood jugs, bottles and flasks of green and blue glass, carved silver cups, gilded glasses of all kinds of work: Venetian, Turkish, Circassian, who entered Bulba's room in all sorts of ways, through third and fourth hands, which was very common in those distant time. Birch bark benches around the entire room; a huge table under the icons in the front corner; a wide oven with baked goods, ledges and ledges, covered with colorful variegated tiles — all this was very familiar to our two fellows who came home every year for vacation time; who came because they did not have horses yet, and because it was not customary to let the schoolboys ride. They had only long forelocks, for which any Cossack carrying a weapon could rip them out. Only when they were released did Bulba send them a couple of young stallions from his herd.
Bulba, on the occasion of the arrival of his sons, ordered to convene all the centurions and all the regimental ranks who were present; and when two of them came and the esaul Dmitro Tovkach, his old comrade, he immediately introduced his sons to them, saying: “Look, what good fellows! I'll send them to the Sich soon. " The guests congratulated both Bulba and both young men and told them that they were doing a good deed and that there was no better science for a young man like the Zaporozhye Sich.
Well, gentlemen, brothers, everyone, wherever it is better for you, sit at the table. Well, sons! first of all let's drink the burners! - so said Bulba. - God bless! Be healthy, sons: you, Ostap, and you, Andrii! God grant that you are always lucky in war! So that the Busurmen would be beaten, the Turks would be beaten, and the Tatarva would be beaten; when the Poles begin to repair something against our faith, then the Poles would be beaten! Well, substitute your glass; is the burner good? And what is the Latin for a burner? That, son, the Latins were fools: they did not even know if there was a burner in the world. What was the name of the one who wrote Latin verses? I do not really understand literacy, and therefore I do not know: Horace, or what?
“See, what a dad! - thought to himself the eldest son, Ostap, - everything is old, a dog, he knows, but also pretends to be.
I think the archimandrite would not let you smell the burners, ”Taras continued. - And admit it, sons, did they lash you tightly with birch and fresh cherries on the back and on everything that the Cossack had? Or maybe, since you have already become too intelligent, maybe you flogged with webs? Tea, not only on Saturdays, but also on Wednesdays and Thursdays?
There is no need, daddy, to remember what happened, - answered Ostap coolly, - what happened is gone!
Let him try now! ”Andriy said. - Just let someone hook it now. Just let some Tatarva turn up now, she will know what kind of thing a Cossack saber is!
Good son! By God, good! Yes, when it comes to that, then I'm going with you! By God, I'm going! What the devil am I waiting for here? So that I can become a buckwheat grower, a housekeeper, look after sheep and pigs, and fend for my wife? Damn it, I’m a Cossack, I don’t want to! So what if there is no war? So I'll go with you to Zaporozhye for a walk. By God, I'll go! - And old Bulba, little by little, got excited, got excited, finally got completely angry, got up from the table and, dignified, stamped his foot. - It's time to go! Why procrastinate! What kind of enemy can we sit here? What do we need this hut for? Why do we need all this? What are these pots for? Having said that, he began to beat and toss pots and flasks.
The poor old woman, already accustomed to such actions of her husband, gazed sadly, sitting on the bench. She dared not say anything; but hearing about such a terrible decision for her, she could not refrain from crying; she looked at her children, with whom she was threatened by such an early separation - and no one could describe all the silent strength of her grief, which seemed to tremble in her eyes and in convulsively compressed lips.
Bulba was terribly stubborn. It was one of those characters that could arise only in the difficult 15th century on the half-wandering corner of Europe, when all southern primitive Russia, abandoned by its princes, was devastated, burned to ashes by the indomitable raids of Mongol predators; when, having lost a house and a roof, a man became brave here; when on fires, in view of formidable neighbors and eternal danger, he settled down and got used to looking them directly in the eyes, having forgotten how to know whether there was any fear in the world; when the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit embraced the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit with a swearing flame and the Cossacks started up - a wide, riotous habits of Russian nature - and when all the riverside, transports, coastal gentle and convenient places were dotted with Cossacks, whom no one knew how to count, and their brave comrades had the right to answer , who wished to know about their number: “Who knows! we have them scattered all over the steppe: like a bayrak, then a Cossack ”(like a small hillock, there’s a Cossack). It was, indeed, an extraordinary manifestation of Russian power: flint troubles knocked him out of the people's bosom. Instead of the former estates, small towns filled with huntsmen and hunters, instead of small princes that were warring and trading in cities, formidable villages, smoking places and outskirts arose, connected by a common danger and hatred against non-Christian predators. Everyone knows from history how their eternal struggle and restless life saved Europe from indomitable raids that threatened to overturn it. The Polish kings, who found themselves in place of appanage princes, rulers of these vast lands, although remote and weak, understood the meaning of the Cossacks and the benefits of such an abusive guardian life. They encouraged them and flattered this disposition. Under their distant rule, the hetmans, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, transformed the outskirts and smokes into regiments and regular districts. It was not a combatant assembled army, no one would have seen it; but in the event of war and general movement in eight days, no more, everyone appeared on horseback, in all his weapons, receiving only one gold piece of payment from the king - and in two weeks such an army was recruited, which would not be able to recruit any recruits sets. The campaign ended - the warrior went into the meadows and arable lands, on the Dnieper transports, fished, traded, brewed beer and was a free Cossack. Modern foreigners then justly marveled at his extraordinary abilities. There was no craft that the Cossack did not know: smoke wine, equip a cart, grind gunpowder, do blacksmith's and plumbing work, and, in addition, walk recklessly, drink and drink as much as one Russian can - all this was for him. shoulder. In addition to the raid Cossacks, who considered it their duty to appear during the war, it was possible at any time, in case of great need, to recruit whole crowds of hunters: it was only necessary for the Esauls to walk through the markets and squares of all villages and towns and shout at the top of their voice, standing on the cart: “ Hey you brewers, brovars! you have plenty of beer to brew, roll over the baked goods, and feed your flies with your fat body! Go to the glory of knighthood and honor to seek! You, plows, buckwheat, sheep-herders, women-lovers! It's full of you to walk behind the plow, and your yellow chebots in the ground, and to get close to the women and destroy the knight's strength! It's time to get the Cossack glory! " And these words were like sparks falling on a dry tree. The plowman broke his plow, the brothels and brewers threw their kadis and smashed the barrels, the artisan and the huckster sent the craft and shop to the devil, beat the pots in the house. And everything that was, sat on a horse. In a word, the Russian character got here a mighty, wide scope, a hefty appearance.
Taras was one of the indigenous, old colonels: he was all created for abusive alarm and was distinguished by the rude directness of his disposition. Then the influence of Poland was already beginning to appear on the Russian nobility. Many already adopted Polish customs, started up luxury, magnificent servants, falcons, hunters, dinners, courtyards. Taras did not like it. He loved the simple life of the Cossacks and quarreled with those of his comrades who were inclined to the Warsaw side, calling them serfs of the Polish lords. Eternally restless, he considered himself the legitimate defender of Orthodoxy. I arbitrarily entered the villages, where they only complained about the harassment of tenants and the increase in new duties on the smoke. He himself punished them with his Cossacks and made it a rule for himself that in three cases one should always take up the saber, namely: when the commissars did not respect the elders in what and stood before them in hats, when they mocked Orthodoxy and did not honor the ancestral law and, finally, when the enemies were the Busurmans and Turks, against whom he considered it in any case permissible to raise arms for the glory of Christianity.
Now he consoled himself in advance with the thought of how he would appear with his two sons at the Sich and say: “Look, what fellows I have brought to you!”; how he will present them to all his old, battle-hardened comrades; how he would look at their first exploits in military science and martyrdom, which he also revered as one of the main virtues of the knight. At first he wanted to send them alone. But at the sight of their freshness, stature, and mighty bodily beauty, his military spirit flared up, and the very next day he decided to go with them himself, although this was necessary only by his stubborn will. He was already busy and giving orders, choosing horses and harness for young sons, visiting stables and barns, selecting servants who were to go with them tomorrow. Yesaul Tovkach handed over his power along with a strong order to appear this very hour with the whole regiment, if only he would send some news from the Sich. Although he was drunk and drunk was still fermenting in his head, he had not forgotten anything. He even gave the order to water the horses and put coarse and better wheat into the manger, and he came tired of his worries.
Well, children, now we need to sleep, and tomorrow we will do what God willing. Don't make our bed! We don't need a bed. We will sleep in the yard.
The night had just embraced the sky, but Bulba always went to bed early. He sprawled on the carpet, covered himself with a sheep's sheepskin coat, because the night air was quite fresh and because Bulba liked to hide warmly when he was at home. He soon began to snore, and the whole court followed him; everything that lay in its various corners snored and began to sing; first of all, the watchman fell asleep, because he got drunk most of all for the arrival of the panic.
One poor mother did not sleep. She clung to the head of her dear sons, who were lying nearby; she combed their young, carelessly tousled curls with a comb and moistened them with her tears; she looked at them all, looked with all her senses, all turned into one sight and could not get enough of it. She nurtured them with her own breast, she grew, nurtured them - and only for a moment sees them in front of her. “My sons, my dear sons! what will become of you? what awaits you? " she said, and the tears stopped in the wrinkles that changed her once beautiful face. Indeed, she was pitiful, like every woman of that daring age. For a moment she only lived with love, only in the first fever of passion, in the first fever of youth - and already the stern seducer left her for a saber, for comrades, for a mating. She saw her husband for two or three days a year, and then for several years there was no rumor about him. And when I saw him, when they lived together, what kind of life was her? She endured insults, even beatings; out of mercy, she saw only the caresses rendered, she was some strange creature in this gathering of dead knights, on whom the riotous Zaporozhye threw its stern color. Youth without pleasure flashed before her, and her beautiful fresh cheeks and percy, without kissing, faded and became covered with premature wrinkles. All love, all feelings, all that is tender and passionate in a woman, everything turned into one motherly feeling. She with ardor, passion, with tears, like a steppe gull, hovered over her children. Her sons, her lovely sons are taken from her, taken in order not to see them ever! Who knows, maybe at the first battle the Tartar will cut off their heads and she will not know where their abandoned bodies lie, which will be pecked by a predatory bird of prey; and for every drop of their blood she would give all of herself. Sobbing, she looked into their eyes, when the omnipotent dream was already beginning to close them, and thought: “Perhaps Bulba, waking up, will postpone the departure for two days; maybe he thought of going so soon because he drank a lot. "
A month from the height of the sky has long illuminated the entire courtyard, filled with sleeping, a dense heap of willows and tall weeds, in which the palisade that surrounded the courtyard has sunk. She kept sitting in the heads of her lovely sons, never taking her eyes off them for a minute and not thinking about sleep. Already the horses, sensing the dawn, all lay down on the grass and stopped eating; the upper leaves of the willows began to babble, and little by little a babbling stream descended down them to the very bottom. She sat until the daylight, was not at all tired and inwardly wished that the night would last as long as possible. From the steppe came the sonorous neigh of a foal; red streaks flashed clearly in the sky.
Bulba suddenly woke up and jumped up. He remembered very well everything he had ordered yesterday.
Well, lads, sleep well! It's time, it's time! Sing the horses! And where is old? (This is how he usually called his wife.) Livelier, old, prepare us to eat: the road is great!
The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, sadly trudged off to the hut. While she was tearfully preparing everything that was needed for breakfast, Bulba gave out his orders, fiddled around in the stable and chose his best decorations for his children. The bursaks suddenly changed: instead of the old soiled boots, red morocco with silver horseshoes appeared on them; wide trousers the width of the Black Sea, with a thousand folds and with rallies, were pulled over with a golden spectacle; to the spectacle were attached long straps, with tassels and other trinkets, for the pipe. A scarlet Kazakin, a cloth as bright as fire, was girded with a patterned belt; hammered Turkish pistols were pushed into the belt; the saber clanged at his legs. Their faces, still a little tanned, seemed prettier and whitened; the young black mustache now somehow brighter set off their whiteness and the healthy, powerful color of youth; they were fine under black lamb hats with gold tops. When the poor mother saw them, she could not utter a word, and tears stopped in her eyes.
Well, sons, everything is ready! there is nothing to delay! - finally said Bulba. - Now, according to Christian custom, everyone needs to sit down before the road.
They all sat down, not even turning off the lads who stood respectfully at the door.
Now bless your children, mother! - said Bulba. - Pray to God that they fought bravely, that they would always defend the honor of the knights, that they always stand for the faith of Christ, otherwise - let them be better off, so that their spirit would not be in the world! Come, children, to your mother: a mother's prayer saves you both on water and on earth.
Mother, weak as a mother, hugged them, took out two small icons, and put them, sobbing, around their necks.
May the Mother of God keep you ... Do not forget, sons, your mother is at ... send at least a piece of news about yourself ... - Then she could not speak.
Well, let's go, children! - said Bulba.
Saddled horses stood by the porch. Bulba jumped on his Devil, who recoiled madly, feeling a twenty-pound burden on himself, because Taras was extremely heavy and fat.
When the mother saw that her sons had already mounted their horses, she rushed to the younger one, whose features expressed more tenderness in his features: she grabbed him by the stirrup, she stuck to his saddle and, with despair in her eyes, did not let him out. hands. Two stalwart Cossacks took her carefully and carried her to the hut. But when they rode out the gate, with all the lightness of a wild goat, incongruous for her age, she ran out the gate, with an incomprehensible force she stopped the horse and hugged one of her sons with a kind of mad, insensitive fervor; they took her away again.
The young Cossacks rode vaguely and held back tears, fearing their father, who, for his part, was also somewhat embarrassed, although he tried not to show it. The day was gray; the greens sparkled brightly; the birds chirped somehow at odds. They, having passed, looked back; their farm seemed to have sunk into the ground; only two pipes of their modest house and the tops of trees were visible above the ground, along the branches of which they climbed like squirrels; only the distant meadow was still spreading in front of them - that meadow along which they could remember the whole story of their life, from the years when they rolled on its dewy grass to the years when they waited in it for a black-browed cossack, fearfully flying over it with the help of their fresh, fast legs. Now only one pole above the well with a cartwheel tied at the top sticks out alone in the sky; already the plain they passed seems from afar like a mountain and has covered everything with itself. - Farewell to childhood, and games, and everything, and everything!
LITERATURE OF THE COSSACK CLUB SKARB
ARTICLES
How the Cossacks fought on their fists
Yes, on anything.
N.V. Gogol "Taras Bulba"
"- How do you want to fight with me? Is it fists?
Yes, on anything.
Well, come on with your fists! - said Taras Bulba,
roll up your sleeves. - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!
And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence,
They began to put cuffs on each other both in the sides and in the lower back,
And in the chest, then retreating and looking around, then again advancing. "
N.V. Gogol "Taras Bulba"
Perhaps it is difficult to find such a person who would not have been familiar with these lines from school, which amazed us with why this father suddenly greets his eldest son so severely. But few people thought that this colorful scene, which opens a story about the heroic seventeenth century, was taken by Gogol from the life of the people in the nineteenth century, when fist and wall fights were still commonplace not only in the lands of Slobozhanshchina, but also in the entire Left-Bank Ukraine. And if today you rarely surprise anyone with Russian hand-to-hand combat, then almost nothing is known about his Little Russian counterpart. Meanwhile, the tradition of the so-called assault combat was widespread among the Ukrainian settlers, leaving quite generous information about itself in literature and folklore. So, reading into the yellowed pages of books, talking with ancient old people, collecting, as they say, from the world on a string, gradually restored this original system. The path, in general, is known to all researchers of Slavic martial arts. The most amazing thing is that I didn't have to think out, compose, reconstruct anything - just the pieces of the mosaic themselves formed a complete picture ...
Almost until the beginning of the 20th century, the original custom of wall fighting survived in the villages of the steppe Ukraine, which, however, had much in common with the Russian wall. On Sundays and holidays, most often in winter, when the head did not hurt from worries about their daily bread, the villagers converged on a valiant fun inherited from their grandfathers-great-grandfathers. They converged on the trampled maidan (site), dividing into two lavas (parties), each of which was led by a head, or chieftain. They fought according to the same rules as in Russia, fought by agreement or just like that. It happened that on an ordinary Sunday for fun, for the sake of early morning, the boys began to arrange a wall, fought, fiddled in the snow, split with willow twigs instead of sabers. Then older lads pulled themselves up, fought most often because of the girls, the lower street against the upper one, the left bank side against the right bank, one youth community (community) against the other. And when the sun was already high, lavas converged, throwing jackets and hats on the snow, dashing plump mustaches, rewarding each other with weighty cuffs in the chest, and in the shoulders, and in the sides. Sometimes the fun escalated into a mass slaughter, the lavas lost their harmony and mixed the ranks, where each fighter scattered blows to the right and to the left, not sorting out his own and others in excitement. At such moments, exclamations were often heard: "What kind of beast, godfather, ty woman me in trishia?" or: "Well, well, enemy blue, lupish me, like a sheaf on the current?" And the godfathers, recognizing each other, slowly got out of the dump, grunting and rubbing the bruised places ...
Confirmation that the custom of wall fighting was widespread in the Left-Bank Ukraine is provided by the unique work of the famous Ukrainian historian A. I. Markevich "Measures against Vechernitsa and Fistfights in Little Russia", published in the almanac "Kievskaya Starina" for 1894. and has not been reprinted since then. But besides him, A. Abramov, A. Hrachev, I. Popko, F. Shcherbina and other researchers of antiquity, whose works were once labeled as Ukrainian bourgeois nationalism, were interested in this issue. So the most valuable monuments of folk thought lie in the archival dust, lie and wait in the wings. But the situation is not so hopeless, especially recently, when reprints of previously inaccessible works began to appear. Let us turn to the monumental study of Zaporozhye antiquities, the three-volume book by Dmitry Ivanovich Yavornytsky "The History of the Zaporozhye Cossacks":
“On ordinary holidays, the Zaporozhye Cossacks often entertained themselves with fist fights: for this purpose they gathered in the evening on the Sichev square, divided into two lavas or parties, one of which was made up of the upper, the other - from the lower kurens, and entered into battle; In battles, they often became so bitter that they inflicted terrible injuries on each other and even killed one another. "
Earlier lines by A. Skalkovsky from The History of the New Sich, published in 1885 in Odessa, echo with this message:
"On Sundays and holidays there were fistfights in the Sich between the Cossacks of the upper and lower kurens, which caused great fights and murders, and there were no penalties for this."
It would seem, at first glance, to describe the most trivial fight. However, in the Ukrainian language, a fight is denoted by a rather disrespectful word biyka, while the Cossacks entertained themselves with fist fights, which were carried out according to certain rules. The very notion of wall, or hand-to-hand, combat sounds in Ukrainian like an assault rifle 6th. What is behind the term "assault rifle"? And if the second part of this word is more than understandable, then to explain the first one will have to make a small digression. The names of the blows of the wall fight are still alive in the people's memory. Our grandparents will never confuse, say, a slap or a punch, a poke or a splash. Of course, the technique of strikes in Russian hand-to-hand combat is far from the filigree sophistication of the techniques of oriental martial arts (although in real life it is the more primitive techniques that turn out to be the most effective), but the fact of the existence of striking technique is obvious. In Ukrainian speech, there is a fairly large stock of words to denote various blows, many of which are given colorful names with truly Little Russian humor. Such are, for example, "lyash", "lyapas", "pomordas", "bukhan", "tovchenik", "dukhopelik". In the limited space of the wall, where there was no opportunity for a swing, punches with a fist were mostly straight or short side strikes. The most widespread blow was, perhaps, "tusan" (stusan), which has the same semantics as the Russian poke (with a poke), as well as a root close to the roots in the words "tuzit", "mutuzit", "butuzit". Almost an absolute synonym for the word "stusan" is "shturkhan". As a matter of fact, the Ukrainian words "stusuvati" and "shturkhati" mean the infliction of powerful straight-line blows, and not only with a fist or palm, but also with a foot and even a stick. That
and were straight or short lateral. The most common blow was, perhaps, "tusan" (stusan), which has the same semantics as the Russian poke (with a poke), as well as a root close to the roots in the words "tuzit", "mutuzit", "butuzit". Almost an absolute synonym for the word "stusan" is "shturkhan". As a matter of fact, the Ukrainian words "stusuvati" and "shturkhati" mean the infliction of powerful straight-line blows, and not only with a fist or palm, but also with a foot and even a stick. Thus, the term "barreling" bears not only the reading of a certain manner of striking, but also the peculiar rules of fist play. Actually, this is a wall fight, in which blows to the face and below the belt, leading to injuries, are prohibited.
Assault fighting had other names in Ukraine, such as "hand-to-hand combat", "hand-to-hand combat", "Navkulachki". Mentions about him can be found not only in oral legends recorded later by researchers, but also in charming Ukrainian songs dating back to the era of the Cossacks. In them, a fist fight was placed next to a slash, a wheelhouse, a saber fight, which speaks for itself. Many folk songs have these words:
"Oh, you will become a shabelka,
And I am with fists,
Oh schob the glory is not lost
Promіzh by the Cossacks ... "
In general, this poetic formula wandered from song to song and was played up each time in its own way. When the Russian regular army, on the orders of Catherine II, surrounded the Zaporizhzhya Sich, the seasoned catchers begged the chieftain Kalnishevsky to repulse the soldiers, if not with sabers and lances, then at least with fists. To which the Koshevoy refused: "... there is one shelter, christianska, we will be spilled ...", and the Sich was surrendered without a fight. These or those traces of fist fights are generously scattered in Ukrainian literature. Who from childhood is not familiar with the sayings "bore the chest" and "do not take care of the lying person" (ie, defend with the chest and do not touch the lying person)? Who is not familiar with the phraseological phrases that came from the vocabulary of fist fighters: "scratch the ribs", "nadsaditi bebekhiv", "by the way on the mustache" and others? And the wide prevalence in the old days of the nicknames Krivonos and Perebeinos itself leads to certain reflections. But the most original monument that involuntarily captured the traditions of Ukrainian fist fun is, oddly enough, not an ethnographic or historical work, but a work of art, more precisely, the poem by Ivan Petrovich Kotlyarevsky, first published in 1798 in St. Petersburg under the title "Aeneid , transformed into the Little Russian language ". What is unique about this poem? It would seem that there is nothing original in it - another satirical reworking of the Virgilian epic, saturated with everyday details from the life of the Ukrainian village. But behind all the seemingly ridiculous tricks of the ancient heroes, written out in the image of the Zaporozhye Cossacks, there is a longing for the old Azak glory and liberties, for the bygone days of the Hetmanate and the Zaporozhye Sich. It is thanks to the huge number of details subtly noted by the author that Kotlyarevsky's "Aeneid" is often called the encyclopedia of Ukrainian ethnography. And to this day, you are surprised to read the descriptions of the fistfights, drawn by the poet with lively juicy strokes:
"They pushed and let themselves go,
Rutults rushed to the shaft,
Trojans, yak chorty, got angry,
Rutults_v was beaten on the spot.
Cracked bones, ribs, sides,
The teeth flew, the cheeks were swollen,
3 noses and mouths yushila shelter;
Hto crustaceans liz, and hto said goodbye,
Hto buv shkerebert, hto swaying,
Hto biv, hto pіzav, hto kolov.
The envy of all was disgraced,
I fought every one to the grave. "
"Blow, squeezed mіtsno, tіtno,
Blow, and win quickly.
Abor lie down with a corpse.
Trojans attacked hard
I squeezed their enemies,
More than once the Latin characters were banned
To the city walls themselves.
Latin also recovered
I were defeated by Trojans,
One of the other tovk to the dust;
Yak pivni fiddled around the combs,
Fists were on the teeth. "
"Pisli kulachni nakarpasi,
In the whiskey and in the teeth of the stusani ... "
Or, for example:
"The soul pushed the soul into the hips,
I chirped, magpies;
That pkhavs, that tucked in, іnshy lіz ... "
The entire text is literally dotted with such bright lines, and there is no way to quote them all in this summary. Sometimes Kotlyarevsky displays not just vivid images of violent fighters, but real masters of their craft, those same ringleaders who acted as their "head" in the lavas and often decided the outcome of the entire wall battle. These professionals were known in Ukraine under various names: "fighter", "perebієts", "yarun", "fist", and for many of them hand-to-hand combat was a lifelong affair. Such fighters often walked from village to village, competed with local lads in wrestling "in Turkish" (ie for the belt, in the girth) or fought "navkulachki". One of these fights on his own, or "hertz", is also captured on the pages of the "Aeneid":
"Already the axis has come and gone,
Clean it up like that, yak company,
I called the young man Dares;
On fists becoming viclicati
I interruption of the visit
Shouting, mov dog stew:
"Hey, how can you fight with me,
Pokushtuvati stusan_v?
Would you like to dabble with a smear?
Who doesn't feel sorry for their teeth?
Well, nut, nut, go shvidshe
Sit on fists leash closer!
I will pressure you bebekhiv;
I will insert eyepieces into my eyes,
Come on, you bastard-bakalyars!
I will reduce everyone's forehead. "
Nobody responded to the call except "siromakhi" (the poor man) Entell:
"Putting your hat on the ground,
Elbow-deep
I, tsupko fists knocked,
Dares beat the visit.
I gritted my teeth from my heart,
Blunt feet on the ground
I nailed to Dares. "
It is curious that the described beginning carries approximately the same functional load as ritual breaking and booze; some elements of such movements have survived to this day in the Ukrainian folk dance "trepak" (tropak, dropak). Dares, frightened by this turn of events, at first refused to fight, but in the end the fight begins:
"Dares recovered from fear
A colorful, not without a sense of humor, description of fist battles would be incomplete without mentioning one essential detail. The poem was published at the end of the 18th century, that is, in the very period when a number of decrees of the Russian autocrats followed on the prohibition of mass slaughter. So how stable the tradition of fist fun should be, if even in a time of prohibitions and persecutions, it boiled over with its full-blooded life! A story about the traditions of fist fighting of the Little Russian Cossacks would be incomplete without mentioning one more system, which is different from both "assault fighting" and from "one-on-one" fights. It's about the skill of a single fighter to fight multiple opponents at once. There is an interesting legend about how the Cossacks chose their foremen. In order to curb the violent Sich fraternity, more weighty arguments were required than just words; and therefore the foreman could only be the one who keeps his subordinates, as they say, in a fist. The applicant for this title passed, scattering blows to the right and left, through the line of Cossacks, like punishment with gauntlets. The brothers, too, thoroughly gave such a daring man with cuffs and kicks, and if he came out of this test with honor, then he became a foreman. The lines of the unforgettable Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol from The Lost Letter from The Missing Letter echo in a curious way with this Zaporozhye legend: “The late grandfather was not exactly a cowardly man; it happened that he would meet a wolf and grab it right by the tail; walk with fists between the Cossacks - that's all like pears will fall to the ground. "
But here we come close to the unusual and amazing world of Zaporozhye scouts, full of mysterious legends and mysteries. And this is already a topic for another story, which tells about the military system, which is fundamentally different from the democratic assault combat. All of the above once again confirms the close relationship between Russians and Ukrainians, no matter how hard they try to drive a wedge of enmity between our peoples.
Notes:The Ukrainian letters "i", "ї", "є", "e", "and" should be read in Russian as "i", "yi", "e", "e", "y", respectively. The quotes retained the original author's spellings "Cossacks" and "Sichevye" instead of "Cossacks" and "Sich". Zhenesh - you persecute; shabla - saber; natisnuti - to press; shkerebert - upside down; to nasadu - to exhaustion; mitsno - hard; півні - roosters; nakarpasi - tricks, tricks; ubrabiy - dressed; pokustuvati - to try; smear - here: blood; shvidshe — faster; eyepieces - glasses; bakalyari - here: schoolchildren; tsupko - firmly; to give cibulki - here: break the nose; flood - hit hard; chmel_v rumors - here: in the ear rang.
R.V. Miskin