Characteristic of the story frost red nose. “And he will stop a galloping horse, and enter a burning hut” - the image of a Russian woman in Nekrasov’s poem “Red Nose Frost”: arguments for writing an essay

Daria is a peasant woman, the widow of the deceased Proclus. Her image does not immediately appear in the poem "Frost, Red Nose". In Chapter III, Nekrasov talks about the slavish fate of the Russian peasant woman, who has not changed for centuries.

The lyrical hero turns to the peasant woman and promises to reveal to the world her suffering and complaints.

Nekrasov undertakes to describe a special type of peasant woman. This is a majestic Slav who manages to remain regal, despite life's circumstances: “They go the same way as the whole

Our people are coming, but the dirt of the miserable situation does not seem to stick to them.”

Nekrasov gives a collective portrait of such a peasant woman: “The beauty of the world is amazing, blush, slim, tall, beautiful in all clothes ...”. She has heavy hair, beautiful even pearl-like teeth (comparison). The beauty is dexterous at work, endures cold and hunger, is hardworking, knows how to have fun, she is brave and courageous: “She will stop a galloping horse, enter a burning hut.”

The peasant woman's belief that the salvation of her family is in work gives her "the seal of inner strength." Her family is not poor, everyone is healthy, well-fed and happy.

The character of Daria - the widow of Proclus

Such was the widow of Proclus, until grief dried her up. It is compared to a birch in a forest without a peak.

Only in the description of the details of the life and death of Proclus does the name of his wife appear. And this is no coincidence. She thinks of herself only as part of her family, as a helper and protector of her husband, at night for his healing she runs for a miraculous icon to a monastery 10 miles away: “Have I not tried about him?

What did I regret? I was afraid to tell him how I loved him!”

All the way through the forest, Daria, afraid of animals, evil spirits, and most of all - will accept (a hare that crossed the road, a fallen star, a crow on a cross), prayed to the Queen of Heaven. Daria dares to reproach the Lady for not pardoning her fate and her Proclus.

The family of peasants worked day and night: Prokl “lived hard in the summer, did not see children in the winter,” and Daria kept crying at night and wove a long linen thread. They amassed their well-being "by a penny, by a copper penny." After the funeral, Daria has to go to the forest for firewood, taking the children to the neighbors.

Crying and complaints of Daria

In the forest, where there is “dead, grave peace”, Daria gives vent to the tears that she has been holding back for so long. Nekrasov describes her moaning with the help of metaphors: “Moans flowed in the open air, her voice was torn and trembling, the strings of the poor peasant soul were broken.” Nature is indifferent to her grief: the forest listened indifferently, the soulless sun looked indifferently at the torment.

Daria cuts wood (this is her usual occupation), but she cannot forget her husband, she talks to him. In her mind, the reality associated with the death of her husband is confused, and the future life with him as if he were alive. Daria thinks about how she will plow the land alone, how to harvest hay, how to harvest in pain. According to the genre of her lamentations - folk lamentations about the deceased husband.

She recalls a prophetic dream about rye ears that attacked her, which she takes for enemies (a metaphor for her husband's death).

Daria dreams about the future of her children: how Masha will play in a round dance, how Grisha will grow up and get married. With the help of psychological parallelism (the image of a wolf emerging from the forest and a dense black cloud with lightning), Nekrasov conveys Daria's fears that it is her son who will be recruited by the thief-judge.

After weeping and chopping so much firewood that even a cart could not be taken away, Darya stopped at a tall pine. It was then that her meeting with the folklore Frost took place.

Daria and Frost

It is important for Nekrasov to understand what is happening in Daria's soul. Physically quite alive and strong, she loses the will to live: “The soul is exhausted by longing, a calm of sadness has come - an involuntary and terrible peace!” Frost woo Daria, he is an enviable groom: strong and rich. He offers Daria either death or eternal life, promising to make her his queen, who, like Frost, will reign in winter and fall asleep in summer.

Daria resigns herself only when Frost turns into her beloved husband and kisses her. He gifts her for the correct answer to the fabulous question “Are you warm?” sweet dream about summer and warmth. This is the best and happiest memory from Daria's life: hard peasant work among her family, caring for her husband and children.

The last thing that opens up to the reader from Daria's dream is the faces of children in sheaves of rye (a symbol of life) and a song, the words of which the lyrical hero does not say to the reader. The lyrical hero calls not to regret the happy Daria and even envy her. But still gives her a chance to wake up and take care of the children.

The only living creature that did not succumb to the Frost - a squirrel - drops a snowball on Darya. But apparently the peasant woman is already dead.

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Composition

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is rightly called the singer of the people. The people, people's life in all its richness and diversity is reflected in every line of his works. There is probably no other poet who, with such immense love and admiration, would sing the image of a Russian woman - a "majestic Slav". The heroines of Nekrasov's poems and poems exude boundless mental health. One of the most striking female images is Daria from the poem "Frost, Red Nose". With sincere admiration, the author describes a Russian woman:

* Beauty, marvelous to the world,
* Blush, slim, tall.
* In every dress is beautiful,
* Dexterity for any work.

Any work argues in her hands: "I saw how she mows: what a wave - then a shock is ready." Happy holidays come to replace working days - and then she will surprise everyone around with her enthusiasm, prowess, "hearty laughter", songs and dances. No trouble will frighten a Russian woman:

* Stop a galloping horse,
* Will enter the burning hut!

The life of the heroine Nekrasov was not easy, "three heavy shares" fell to her:

* And the first share: to marry a slave.
* The second is to be the mother of the son of a slave,
* And the third - to obey the slave to the grave.

Unless they had to “submit to the slave” (Daria and her husband lived in love and harmony), but they had to part with him untimely. A proud woman never uttered a word of pity for her fate in her life. She patiently endures all the hardships of life, hunger, cold, overwork. Moreover, the heroine does not allow herself to sit idle and does not feel pity for idlers and lazy people. It is in work that she sees her salvation - and therefore her family does not know the need. And yet, the lines of the poem dedicated to the unfortunate fate of Daria are riddled with pain and despair. No matter how courageously a woman holds herself in any situation, grief and misfortune knock her down.

In his poem, N. A. Nekrasov showed how hard fate broke the proud Russian beauty. But, reading the work, we constantly feel that the author never ceases to admire the inner strength of the peasant woman, the wealth of her spiritual world, the limitless talents and abilities of the Russian woman. And the author also expresses a firm belief that such a spiritual force is capable of ultimately winning. This idea sounds not only in the poem "Frost, Red Nose", but also in many other works of the poet.

Other writings on this work

You reproached me again
That I became friends with my Muse,
What are the worries of the day
And he obeyed his pleasures.
For worldly calculations and charms
I would not part with my muse,
But God knows if that gift went out,
What used to be friends with her?
But a poet is not yet a brother to people,
And his path is thorny, and fragile,
I knew how not to be afraid of slander,
I myself was not concerned with them;
But I knew whose in the darkness of the night
Heart burst with sadness
And on whose chest they fell like lead,
And to whom they poisoned life.
And let them pass by
The thunderstorms above me,
I know whose prayers and tears
The fatal arrow was withdrawn ...
Yes, and time has gone - I'm tired ...
Let me not be a fighter without reproach,
But I knew the strength in myself,
I deeply believed in many things,
Now it's time for me to die...
Do not then start on the road,
So that in a loving heart again
Awaken fatal anxiety ...

my subdued muse
I myself reluctantly caress ...
I sing the last song
For you - and I dedicate to you.
But it won't be fun
It will be much sadder than before
Because the heart is darker
And the future is even more hopeless...

The storm howls in the garden, the storm breaks into the house,
I'm afraid she won't break
The old oak planted by my father
And the willow that mother planted
This willow that you
Strangely connected with our fate,
On which the sheets faded
The night the poor mother was dying...

And the window trembles and dazzles ...
Chu! how large hailstones jump!
Dear friend, you understood a long time ago -
Here, only stones do not cry ...

Part one

Savraska got stuck in half a snowdrift,
Two pairs of frozen bast shoes
Yes, the corner of a bast-covered coffin
They stick out of poor firewood.

Old woman, in big mittens,
Savraska came down to goad her.
Icicles on her eyelashes
From the cold, I suppose.

The habitual thought of the poet
She is in a hurry to run ahead:
Like a shroud, dressed in snow,
The hut in the village is

In the hut - a calf in the basement,
The dead man on the bench by the window;
His stupid children make noise,
Wife sobs softly.

Stitching with a nimble needle
On shroud pieces of linen,
Like rain, charged for a long time,
She sobs softly.

Three heavy shares had fate,
And the first share: to marry a slave,
The second is to be the mother of the son of a slave,
And the third - to obey the slave to the grave,
And all these formidable shares lay down
On the woman of the Russian land.

Centuries passed - everything strived for happiness,
Everything in the world has changed several times,
Only one God forgot to change
The harsh share of the peasant woman.
And we all agree that the type was grinding
A beautiful and powerful Slav.

Accidental victim of fate!
You deafly, invisibly suffered,
You are the light of the bloody struggle
And she did not entrust her complaints, -

But you will tell me them, my friend!
You have known me since childhood.
You are all fear incarnate
You are all - age-old languor!
He did not carry a heart in his chest,
Who did not shed tears over you!

However, we are talking about a peasant
We started to say
What type of majestic Slav
It is possible to find now.

There are women in Russian villages
With calm gravity of faces,
With beautiful strength in movements,
With a gait, with the eyes of queens, -

Can't the blind see them?
And the sighted one says about them:
“It will pass - as if the sun will shine!
He will look - he will give a ruble!

They go the same way
What all our people go,
But the dirt of the environment is squalid
They don't seem to stick to them. blooms

Beauty, marvelous to the world,
Blush, slim, tall,
Beautiful in every dress
Dexterity for any work.

And endures hunger and cold,
Always patient, even...
I saw how she mows:
What a wave - then a mop is ready!

The handkerchief fell into her ear,
Look, the braids will fall.
Some guy screwed up
And threw them up, fool!

Heavy blond braids
Fell on a swarthy chest,
Bare feet covered her legs,
They prevent the peasant woman from looking.

She took them away with her hands,
He looks angrily at the guy.
The face is majestic, as in a frame,
Burning with embarrassment and anger...

On weekdays, he does not like idleness.
But you don't recognize her
How the smile of fun will drive away
From the face of the labor seal.

Such heartfelt laughter
And songs and dances
Money can't buy. "Joy!"
The men are talking to each other.

In the game, her equestrian will not catch,
In trouble - he will not fail, he will save;
Stop a galloping horse
Will enter the burning hut!

Beautiful straight teeth
What large pearls she has,
But strictly ruddy lips
Keep their beauty from people -

She rarely smiles...
She has no time to sharpen her hair,
She won't dare a neighbor
Grip, ask for a pot;

She does not feel sorry for the poor beggar -
Feel free to walk without work!
Lies on it rigorously
And the seal of inner strength.

It is clear and strong consciousness,
That all their salvation is in work,
And her work is rewarded:
The family does not struggle in need,

They always have a warm house
The bread is baked, the kvass is delicious,
Healthy and well-fed guys
There is an extra piece for the holiday.

This woman is going to dinner
Before the whole family ahead:
Sits like on a chair, two years old
The baby is on her chest

Next to a six year old son
The elegant uterus leads ...
And to the heart of this picture
To all those who love the Russian people!

And you marveled at the beauty
She was smart and strong
But grief dried you up
The wife of the sleeping Proclus!

You are proud - you don't want to cry,
Fasten, but the canvas is coffin
Tears involuntarily wet you,
Stitching with a nimble needle.

Tear after tear falls
On your quick hands.
So the ear silently drops
Ripe grains...

In the village, four miles away,
By the church where the wind sways
Storm-beaten crosses
The old man chooses a place;

He is tired, the work is difficult,
Here, too, skill is needed -

So that the cross can be seen from the road,
So that the sun plays around.
In the snow up to the knees of his feet,
In his hands is a spade and a crowbar,

All in hoarfrost hat is big,
Mustache, beard in silver.
Standing still, thinking
An old man on a high hill.

Made up his mind. Marked with a cross
Where will the grave be dug,
It dawned on the cross and began
Shovel the snow.

There were other methods
Cemetery is not like fields:
Crosses came out of the snow
The ground lay in crosses.

Bending your old back
He dug for a long time, diligently,
And yellow frozen clay
Immediately the snow covered.

The crow flew up to him,
Poked her nose, walked:
The earth rang like iron -
The crow got away with nothing ...

The grave is ready for glory, -
“I don’t want to dig this hole!
(The old one let out a word.)
Proclus would not rest in it,

Do not Proclus! .. "The old man stumbled,
A crowbar slipped from his hands
And rolled into a white hole,
The old man took it out with difficulty.

Went ... walking along the road ...
There is no sun, the moon has not risen ...
Like the whole world is dying
Calm, snow, semi-darkness ...

In the ravine, by the river Jaundice,
The old man caught up with his grandmother
And quietly asked the old woman:
“Is the coffin good?”

Her lips whispered a little
In response to the old man: "Nothing."
Then they were both silent
And the firewood ran so quietly,
Like they were afraid of something...

The village has not opened yet
And close - flickering fire.
The old woman made a cross,
The horse shied to the side, -

Without a hat, with bare feet,
With a big pointed stake
Suddenly appeared before them
An old acquaintance Pahom.

Covered with a women's shirt,
The chains on it rang;
The rustic fool tapped
In the frosty ground with a stake,

Then he mumbled angrily,
He sighed and said: “Don't worry!
He worked quite well for you
And your turn has come!

Mother bought a coffin for her son,
His father dug a hole for him
His wife sewed a shroud for him -
He gave you work all the time! .. "

Mumbled again - and without a goal
The fool ran into space.
The chains rang sadly,
And bare calves shone
And the staff scrawled in the snow.

VIII

They left the roof on the house
To a neighbor brought to spend the night
Freezing Masha and Grisha
And they began to dress their son.

Slowly, importantly, severely
A sad thing happened:
No extra word was said
No tears came out.

Fell asleep, working in sweat!
Fell asleep, having worked the earth!
Lies uncared for,
On a white pine table

Lies motionless, stern,
With a burning candle in their heads
In a wide canvas shirt
And in fake new bast shoes.

Large, calloused hands
Having put in a lot of work,
Beautiful, alien to flour
Face - and beard to the hands ...

While the dead man was dressed up,
Did not give out a word of longing
And just avoided looking
To each other in the eyes of the poor.

But now it's over
No need to fight longing
And what boiled in my heart
From the mouth flowed like a river.

Not the wind is buzzing on the feather grass,
Not the wedding train rumbles, -
Relatives on Proclus howled,
According to Proclus, the family is crying:

“You are our gray-winged darling!
Where did you fly away from us?
Pretty, growth and strength
You had no equal in the village,

You were an adviser to your parents,
You were a worker in the field
Guests hospitable and greeting,
You loved your wife and children...

Why did you walk around the world a little?
Why did you leave us, dear?
You thought about this thought
Thought with damp earth, -

Thought - and we stay
Ordered in the world; orphans,
Do not wash with fresh water
Tears burning us!

The old woman will die from the steep,
Not to live and your father,
Birch in the forest without a peak -
Mistress without a husband in the house.

You don't feel sorry for her, poor
Children do not regret ... Get up!
From the strip of his reserved
Harvest in the summer!

Splash, beloved, with your hands,
Look with a hawk's eye
Shake your silk curls
Sugar lips dissolve!

For joy we would cook
And honey, and drunken mash,
They would put you at the table -
Eat, dear, dear!

And on the contrary, they would become -
The breadwinner, the hope of the family! -
Eyes would not be lowered from you,
They would catch your speeches ... "

To these sobs and groans
Neighbors flocked:
Putting a candle at the icon,
Made earthly prostrations
And they walked silently home.

Others took over.
But now the crowd has dispersed,
Relatives sat down to dinner -
Cabbage and kvass with bread.

The old man is a useless bastard
He did not let himself be mastered:
Getting closer to the torch,
He was picking a thin bast shoe.

Sighing long and loud
The old woman lay down on the stove
And Daria, a young widow,
Went to see the kids.

All night, standing by the candle,
The deacon read over the deceased,
And echoed him from behind the stove
A piercing whistle of a cricket.

The blizzard howled severely
And threw snow at the window
The sun rose gloomily:
That morning I witnessed
It is a sad picture.

Savraska, harnessed to a sleigh,
Dejectedly stood at the gate;
No unnecessary speeches, no sobs
The people carried the dead man out.

Well, touch it, savrasushka! touch!
Pull tighter!
You served the master a lot,
Serve for the last time!

In the trading village of Chistopolye
He bought you as a sucker
He raised you in freedom,
And you came out a good horse.

Tried well with the owner
Stored bread for the winter
In the herd, the child was given
I ate grass and chaff,
And the body pretty well kept.

When did the work end
And frost bound the earth,
With the owner you went
From homemade food to cart.

A lot and got here -
You carried heavy luggage
In a fierce storm it happened
Exhausted, lose the way.

Visible on the sides of your sunken
The whip is not one lane,
But in the courtyards of inns
You ate plenty of oats.

Did you hear in January nights
Blizzards shrill howl
And burning eyes of the wolf
I saw at the edge of the forest,

Tremble, suffer fear,
And there - and again nothing!
Yes, it is clear that the owner made a mistake -
Winter has finished it!

Happened in a deep snowdrift
Half a day he stand,
Then in the heat, then in the chill
Three days to follow the underwater:

The dead man was in a hurry
Deliver the goods to the place.
Delivered, returned home -
No voice, fire in the body!

The old woman doused him
Water from nine spindles
And took me to a hot bath
No, he didn't get better!

Then the prophets were called -
And they drink, and whisper, and rub -
Everything is bad! He was threaded
Three times through a sweaty collar,

They lowered the darling into the hole,
A perch was laid under the chicken ...
He obeyed everything, like a dove, -
And badly - does not drink and does not eat!

Still put under the bear,
So that he kneaded his bones,
Sergachevsky walker Fedya -
Happened here - offered.

But Daria, the mistress of the patient,
Chased the adviser away;
Try other means
The woman thought: and into the night

Went to a remote monastery
(Ten versts from the village),
Where in a certain icon revealed
There was healing power.

She went, returned with an icon -
The patient lay silent,
Dressed as in a coffin, communed.
I saw my wife, moaned

XIII

... Savrasushka, touch,
Pull tighter!
You served the master a lot,
Serve for the last time!

Chu! two death blows!
Priests are waiting - go! ..
Murdered, mournful couple,
Mother and father walked ahead.

Both guys with the dead
Sat, not daring to cry,
And, ruling Savraska, at the tomb
With the reins of their poor mother

Chagall... Her eyes sunk in,
And was not whiter than her cheeks
Worn on her as a sign of sadness
Scarf made of white linen.

For Daria - neighbors, neighbors
There was a sparse crowd,
Interpreting that Proclus children
Now unenviable fate

That Daria's work will arrive,
What awaits her dark days.
“There will be no one to pity her,”
Accordingly they decided...

As usual, they lowered into the pit,
They covered Proclus with earth;
Wept, howled loudly,
The family was pitied, honored
The deceased with generous praise.

He lived honestly, and most importantly: on time,
How did God save you?
Paid the mister dues
And presented to the king!”

Having spent the stock of eloquence,
The venerable man grunted:
“Yes, this is human life!”
Added - and put on a hat.

“He fell off ... but he was in force! ..
Let's fall down ... not a minute for us too! .. "
Still baptized to the grave
And with God we went home.

Tall, gray-haired, lean,
Without a hat, motionless and mute,
Like a monument, old grandfather
He stood on the grave of his own!

Then the old bearded
Moved quietly along it,
Leveling the earth with a shovel
Under the cries of his old woman.

When, leaving the son,
He entered the village with a woman:
“Like drunks, the twist is staggering!
Look at it! .. ”- the people said.

And Daria returned home -
Clean up, feed the kids.
Ay-ay! How the hut got cold!
Hurrying to fire up the oven

But look - not a log of firewood!
The poor mother thought:
It's a pity for her to leave the kids,
I would like to caress them

Yes, there is no time for affection,
A widow brought them to a neighbor,
And immediately on the same savraska
I went to the forest, for firewood ...

Part two

Frosty. The plains turn white under the snow
The forest is blackening ahead,
Savraska trudges neither step nor run,
You will not meet souls on the way.

Around - there is no urine to look,
The plain in diamonds glistens...
Daria's eyes filled with tears -
The sun must be blinding them...

XVII

It was quiet in the fields, but quieter
In the forest and as if lighter.
The farther - the trees are higher,
And the shadows are longer and longer.

Trees and sun and shadows
And dead, grave peace ...
But - chu! mournful songs,
A deaf, crushing howl!

Grief overcame Daryushka,
And the forest listened impassively,
How groans flowed in the open space,
And the voice trembled and trembled,

And the sun, round and soulless,
Like the yellow eye of an owl
Looked from heaven indifferently
To the torment of a widow.

And how many strings broke
The poor peasant soul
Forever hidden remains
In the forest unsociable wilderness.

The great sorrow of the widow
And mothers of little orphans
Free birds overheard
But they did not dare to give out to the people ...

XVIII

It’s not the kennel who trumpets the dubrovushka,
Cackle, daredevil, -
Crying, pricks and cuts
Drova young widow.

Having chopped down, throws on firewood -
Fill them up soon
And she hardly notices
That tears are pouring from the eyes:

Another will break from the eyelashes
And fall on the snow in a big way -
Will reach the very earth,
Will burn a deep hole;

Throw another on a tree
On the die - and look, she
A large pearl will freeze -
Bela, and round, and dense.

And she shines in the eye
An arrow will run on the cheek,
And the sun will play in it ...
Daria is in a hurry to manage

Know, cuts, - does not feel the cold,
He does not hear that his legs are shivering,
And, full of thoughts of her husband,
Calling him, talking to him...

"Dove! our beauty
In the spring in a round dance again
Masha's girlfriends will pick up
And they will swing on the handles!

Will start to swing
throw up,
call poppy,
Shake off Mac!

All ours will blush
Poppy flower Masha
With blue eyes, with a blond braid!

kick and laugh
It will be ... but we are with you,
We admire her
We will, you are my desire! ..

You died, you did not live a century,
Died and buried in the ground!
Like spring to a person,
The sun burns brightly.

The sun brightened everything
God's beauty revealed
The plow field requested
Herbs ask for braids,

I got up early, bitter,
I didn’t eat at home, I didn’t take it with me,
Until the night plowed arable land,
At night I riveted a braid,
In the morning I went to mow ...

Stronger you, little legs, stand!
White hands, don't whine!
One has to hurry!

In the field of one, it's nasty,
In the field of one disrespectful,
I will call cute!

Did you plow the field well?
Come out, dear, take a look!
Has the hay been removed dry?
Did you sweep the haystacks right? ..
I rested on a rake
All hay days!

Someone to fix the woman's work!
Some woman to instruct the mind.

The cattle began to get out into the forest,
Mother rye began to rush into the ear,
God sent us a harvest!
Today straw is up to the chest of a man,
God sent us a harvest!
Yes, I did not extend your century, -
Like it or not, hurry up alone! ..

The gadfly buzzes and bites,
Mortal thirst torments
The sun heats the sickle,
The sun blinds the eyes
It burns the head, shoulders,
Legs, little hands burns,
From rye, as if from an oven,
It also gives warmth
The back aches with an effort,
Hands and feet hurt
Red, yellow circles
Before the eyes are...
Live, wait quickly
You see - the grain has flowed ...
Together it would be more difficult
Together it would be better to go ...

XXII

My dream was in hand, dear!
A dream before a saving day.
I fell asleep alone in the field
Afternoon, with sickle;
I see - it leaves me
Strength is an innumerable army, -
Waving his arms ominously
His eyes sparkle menacingly.
I thought to run away
Yes, the legs did not obey.
I began to ask for help
I began to scream loudly.

Hear the earth tremble
The first mother came running
Grasses are torn, noisy -
The children are in a hurry to visit their families.
He doesn't wave without the wind
Mill in the wing field:
Brother goes to lie down
The father-in-law trudges along.
Everyone came running, ran
Only one friend
My eyes didn't see...
I began to call him:
"See, I'm being overwhelmed
Strength is an innumerable army, -
Waving his arms ominously
Eyes gleaming menacingly:
Why don't you go to rescue? .. "
Here I looked around
God! What went where?
What was it with me?
There is no rati here!
These are not dashing people,
Not a busurman army,
These are rye ears,
Ripe grain poured,
Come fight with me!

They wave, they make noise; are coming
Hands, face tickle,
They themselves bend the straw under the sickle -
They don't want to stand anymore!

I began to reap deftly,
I reap, but on my neck
Large grains are poured -
It's like I'm standing under a hail!

Run out, run out overnight
All our mother rye ...
Where are you, Prokl Sevastyanych?
Why aren't you going to help?

My dream was in hand, dear!
Now I'll be alone.

I will reap without a sweetheart,
Snopiki tightly knit,
Shed tears in sheaves!

My tears are not pearly
Tears of a widow,
What do you need the Lord
Why are you dear to him?

XXIII

You are in debt, winter nights,
It's boring without sweet sleep,
If only they didn't cry very much,
I will weave cloths.

I have a lot of cloths,
Subtle good news,
Grow strong and dense
An affectionate son will grow up.

Will be in our place
He is at least a groom,
Get a guy a bride
We will send reliable matchmakers ...

I myself combed the curls for Grisha,
Blood with milk, our first-born son,
Blood and milk and a bride… Go!
Bless the young under the crown! ..

We have been waiting for this day like a holiday.
Do you remember how Grishukha started to walk,
We spent the whole night talking
How are we going to marry him?
They began to save a little for the wedding ...
Here - wait, thank God!

Choo, the bells are talking!
The train came back
Come out to meet quickly -
Pava-bride, falcon-groom! -
Rash on them grains,
Hop on the scree of the young!..

XXIV

A herd in the dark forest wanders,
In the forest, the shepherdess pulls lyki,
A gray wolf emerges from the forest.
Whose sheep will he take away?

Black cloud, thick, thick,
Hanging right above our village,
A thunderous arrow shoots out of the clouds,
Whose house is she in?

Bad news goes among the people,
Guys don't have long to walk free,
Recruitment Coming Soon!

Our young man in a single family,
We all have children - Grisha and daughter.
Yes, our head is a thief -
He will say: a worldly sentence!

The kid will die for nothing.
Stand up, stand up for your dear son!

No! you will not intervene! ..
Your white hands fell
Clear eyes closed forever...
We are bitter orphans!

Didn't I pray to the queen of heaven?
Was I lazy?
At night, alone according to the miraculous icon
I did not hesitate - I went.

The wind is roaring, sweeping snowdrifts.
There is no month - at least a ray!
You look at the sky - some coffins,
Chains and weights come out of the clouds ...

Haven't I tried about it?
What did I regret?
I was afraid to tell him
How I loved him!

Stars will be at night
Will it be brighter for us? ..

The hare jumped out from under the night,
Zainka, stop! don't you dare
Cross my path!

I drove off into the forest, thank God ...
By midnight it got worse,

Hear, evil spirit
zalotoshila, howled,
Voted in the forest.

What do I care about unclean power?
Fuck me! virgin
I bring an offering!

I hear a horse neighing
I hear wolves howling
I hear the chase for me -

Beast don't attack me!
Dashing man don't touch
Our labor penny is dear!

He spent the summer working
Winter did not see the children,
Nights thinking about him
I didn't close my eyes.

He rides, chills ... and I, sad,
From fibrous linen
As if his road is alien,
I pull a long thread.

My spindle is jumping, spinning,
It hits the floor.
The proklushka is walking, it is baptized in a pothole,
He harnesses himself to the cart on the hill.

Summer after summer, winter after winter,
That's how we got the treasury!

Be merciful to the poor peasant,
God! we give everything
What's for a penny, for a copper penny
We put together hard! ..

XXVI

All you, forest path!
The forest is over.
In the morning a golden star
From god's heaven
Suddenly broke - and fell,
God blew on her
My heart trembled:
I thought, I remembered
What was on my mind then
How did the star roll?
I remembered! steel scissors,
I try to go, but I won't!
I thought it was hardly
I will find Proclus alive ...

No! the queen of heaven will not allow!
A wonderful icon will give healing!

I made a sign of the cross
And she ran...

The strength in him is heroic,
God bless you, don't die...
Here is the wall of the monastery!
The shadow already reaches my head
to the monastery gates.

I bowed down to the ground
She got on her feet, look -
A raven sits on a gilded cross,
Heart beat again!

XXVII

They kept me for a long time -
The sister's schemer was buried that day.

Matins went on
Quietly the nuns walked around the church,
Dressed in black robes
Only the deceased in white was:
Sleeping - young, calm,
He knows what will happen in paradise.
I also kissed, unworthy,
Your white hand!
I looked into the face for a long time:
You are all younger, smarter, sweeter,
You are like a white dove between sisters
Between gray, simple pigeons.

The rosary blackens in the pens,
Written aureole on the forehead.
Black cover on the coffin -
So meek angels!

Say, my killer whale,
God with holy lips
So that I don't stay
A bitter widow with orphans!

They carried the coffin in their arms to the grave,
They buried her with singing and weeping.

XXVIII

The holy icon moved in peace,
The sisters sang, seeing her off,
Everyone leaned towards her.

Much to the mistress was honored:
Old and young quit their jobs
They followed her from the villages.

The sick and the wretched were brought to her ...
I know, mistress! I know: many
You dried a tear...
Only you showed no mercy to us!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
God! how much wood I chopped!
You will not take away on a cart ... "

XXIX

Finishing the usual
I put firewood on the firewood,
I took up the reins and wanted to
Set off on the road widow.

Yes, I thought again, standing,
I took the ax automatically
And quietly, intermittently howling,
I approached a tall pine tree.

Barely holding her legs
The soul is tired of longing,
The calm of sadness has come -
Involuntary and terrible peace!

It stands under a pine tree a little alive,
No thought, no moan, no tears.
In the forest, the silence of the grave -
The day is bright, the frost is getting stronger.

It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains,
Frost-voivode patrol
Bypasses his possessions.

Looks - good blizzards
Forest paths brought
And are there any cracks, cracks,
Is there any bare ground anywhere?

Are the tops of the pines fluffy,
Is the pattern on oak trees beautiful?
And are the ice floes tightly bound
In great and small waters?

Walks - walks through the trees,
Cracking on frozen water
And the bright sun plays
In his shaggy beard.

The road is everywhere to the sorcerer,
Chu! comes closer, gray-haired.
And suddenly he was over her,
Above her head!

Climbing on a large pine tree,
Hits the branches with a club
And I delete myself,
Boastful song sings:

XXXI

"Look, young lady, bolder,
What a governor Frost!
You probably have a stronger guy
And it turned out better?

Blizzards, snow and fog
Always submissive to frost
I'll go to the sea-okiyany -
I will build palaces of ice.

I think - the rivers are big
For a long time I will hide under oppression,
I will build bridges of ice
Which the people will not build.

Where fast, noisy waters
Recently flowed freely -
Pedestrians passed today
The convoys with the goods have passed.

I love in deep graves
Row the dead in frost,
And freeze the blood in your veins,
And the brain freezes in the head.

On the mountain unkind thief,
At the fear of the rider and the horse,
I love in the evening
Start a chatter in the forest.

Babenki, singing to the goblin,
They run home quickly.
And drunk, and horseback, and foot
It's even more fun to fool around.

I'll whiten my face without chalk,
And the nose is on fire
And I'll freeze my beard like that
To the reins - even cut with an ax!

I'm rich, I don't count the treasury
And everything does not lack good;
I take away my kingdom
In diamonds, pearls, silver.

Come into my kingdom with me
And be you queen in it!
We will reign gloriously in winter,
And in the summer we will fall asleep deeply.

Come in! I'll take a nap, I'll warm
I will take the blue palace ... "
And became the governor over her
Swing an ice mace.

XXXII

"Are you warm, young lady?" -
From a tall pine she screams.
- Warmly! - the widow answers,
She is cold, trembling.

Frosty went down lower,
Again waved the mace
And whispers to her softer, quieter:
“Is it warm?..” - Warm, golden!

Warm - and she stiffens.
Frost touched her:
Breath blows in her face
And sows thorny needles
From a gray beard to her.

And here he sank in front of her!
"Is it warm?" - said again
And he suddenly turned to Proklushka,
And he began to kiss her.

In her mouth, in her eyes and in her shoulders
The gray-haired sorcerer kissed
And the same sweet words to her,
What a dear about the wedding, he whispered.

And did she like it that way?
Listen to his sweet words,
That Daryushka closed her eyes,
Dropped the ax at my feet

The smile of the bitter widow
Plays on pale lips
Fluffy and white eyelashes
Frosty needles in the eyebrows...

XXXIII

Dressed in sparkling frost,
It's worth it, she's getting cold,
And she dreams of a hot summer -
Not all rye has been brought yet,

But compressed, it became easier for them!
The men carried sheaves,
And Daria was digging potatoes
From adjacent lanes by the river.

Her mother-in-law is right there, old woman,
Worked; on a full bag
Beautiful Masha
Sitting with a carrot in her hand.

The cart, creaking, drives up, -
Savraska looks at her
And Proklushka walks big
Behind a cartload of sheaves of gold.

God help! And where is Grisha?
Father casually said.
“In peas,” said the old woman.
- Grishukha! - father shouted,

He looked up at the sky: “Tea, isn’t it too early?”
Drink to ... - The hostess gets up
And Proclus from a white jug
He serves kvass to get drunk.

Grishukha, meanwhile, responded:
Peas entangled in a circle,
The nimble little boy seemed
Running green bush.

Runs! .. y! .. runs, little shooter,
The grass is burning underfoot!
Grishukha is as black as a jackdaw,
Only one head is white.

Screaming, running up squatting
(Pea collar around the neck).
Treated grandmother, uterus,
Little sister - spinning like a loach!

From the mother to the young man affection,
The boy's father pinched;
Meanwhile, Savraska did not doze:
He pulled his neck and pulled,

Reached, - baring his teeth,
Peas chew appetizingly,
And soft kind lips
Grishukhino's ear takes...

XXXIV

Mashutka shouted to her father:
- Take me, daddy, with you!
Jumped off the bag - and fell,
Her father raised her. "Don't howl!

Killed - no matter! ..
I don't need girls
Another shot like this
Give birth to me, hostess, by spring!

Look! .. ”The wife was ashamed:
- Enough with you one! -
(And I knew it was beating under my heart
Child ...) "Well! Mashuk, nothing!”

And Proklushka, standing on the cart,
I planted a car with me.
Grishukha jumped up with a run,
And with a roar the cart rolled.

The flock of sparrows has flown
From sheaves, soared over the cart.
And Daryushka looked for a long time,
Shielding from the sun,

How the children and father approached
To his smoking barn,
And they smiled at her from the sheaves
Ruddy faces of children ...

Soul flying away for the song,
She gave herself completely...
There is no sweeter song in the world
Which we hear in a dream!

About what she - God knows her!
I couldn't catch the words
But it soothes the heart
There is a limit to her happiness.

There is a gentle caress of participation in it,
Vows of love without end...
A smile of contentment and happiness
Daria does not leave her face.

XXXV

Whatever the price
Oblivion to my peasant woman,
What needs? She smiled.
We will not regret her.

No deeper, no sweeter peace
Which forest sends us
Still, standing still
Under the cold winter skies

Nowhere so deep and free
Tired chest does not breathe,
And if we live enough,
We can't sleep anywhere!

XXXVI

Not a sound! Soul dies
For grief, for passion. standing
And you feel how conquers
Her dead silence.

Not a sound! And you see blue
The vault of the sky, yes the sun, yes the forest,
In silver-matt hoarfrost
Dressed up, full of miracles,

Attracting an unknown mystery,
Deeply impassive... But here
A random rustle was heard -
The tops of the protein goes.

Whom the snow she dropped
On Daria, jumping on a pine tree,
And Daria stood and froze
In your enchanted dream...

Daria is a peasant woman, a young widow who died of a fever Proclus... She is a real woman - a loving wife and mother. Hardworking "and her work is rewarded: the family does not struggle in need."

Nekrasov describes her external beauty and rich inner world as "a type of majestic Slav". And despite all the hardships of peasant life, "the dirt of the miserable situation does not seem to stick to them." Daria is hardy and patient, she resignedly goes to the forest for firewood in severe frost. Her fearlessness can be envied, for the sake of saving her husband, she went ten miles to the monastery in order to get a miraculous icon.

But, alas, the beauty and strength of the peasant woman is dried up by grief. The last thing she has left is her pride. The widow gives free rein to her feelings only in a quiet, silent forest, where “free birds, but they didn’t dare to give out to the people ...” are witnesses of her tears.

In the process of chopping wood, she is puzzled not only by her future, but by her children. But something in Daria is changing, a breakdown occurs “the soul is exhausted by longing” and she is spellbound “without thought, without groaning, without tears.” In her anguish and grief, the peasant woman forgets about the children, her thoughts are captured by her husband, and she submits to frosty oblivion, which gives her a feeling of peace and happiness. A young widow falls into a dream in which she sees a sultry day, her happy family with a living husband. Fate gives Daria a chance to wake up from an obsession, but she is better off "in her enchanted dream ...". The author asks not to be sad about her, because she went into oblivion happy with a smile on her face.

In his works, N. A. Nekrasov denounced not only serfdom, but also global social injustice, which made the life of the people an unbearable burden. Due to the lack of social support from the state, the peasants lived for a very short time, many of them died in their prime, without waiting for medical help. The family of the deceased breadwinner was also doomed to an early death. It is about this problem that the author speaks in the poem "Frost, Red Nose".

The harsh truth of the life of a peasant was well known to Nekrasov, who grew up in the family of a landowner, and who spent all his childhood closely communicating with the children of serfs. The theme of the heavy lot of peasants and their families runs like a red line through all his work. He devoted many poems to the difficult fate of a simple Russian serf peasant woman. He developed this theme in the poem "Frost, Red Nose", which he wrote in 1863 and dedicated to his sister Anna.

One of the factors that influenced the creation of the poem was the unstable political situation in the country, which shook the spirit of the democratically minded Russian intelligentsia. In order to raise the patriotic spirit of his compatriots, Nekrasov created a work in which he not only described the share of a Russian woman, but also admired her beauty and moral strength. This image of the "dignified Slav" forever remained in Russian literature as the standard of the Russian woman.

Genre, direction and size

The work is written in amphibrach meter, has a paired rhyme. Genre - poem.

N. A. Nekrasov positioned himself as a poet of a realistic direction. His work was greatly influenced by the "natural" school, following the traditions of which the poet described the life and work of a peasant in great detail.

In addition, the author was a fan of the talent of Zhukovsky and Lermontov. Traces of romanticism can also be traced in the poem "Frost, Red Nose". As you know, the main genre of romantic poetry is the ballad. Its key features can also be seen in Nekrasov's poem: it is mystery, mysticism, fantastic elements of the other world. The plot itself is very reminiscent of the classic ballad plot: far from people and cities, a person falls under the power of magical spells, and this phenomenon often brings him suffering or death. The poem "Frost, Red Nose", thus, bears the features of two literary trends at once: realism and romanticism.

Images and symbols

The main characters of the poem are the peasant woman Daria and the lord of winter - Frost the governor. First, the narrator talks about the hard life of a Russian peasant woman, and then turns to the image of Daria, the widow of the peasant Proclus, who was left with small children without a family breadwinner.

1. Daria- a real Russian woman who with dignity endures all life's hardships, cold and hunger. She believes that the salvation of a person consists in honest work and family values, she devotes herself to her husband and children. After the death of her beloved, the heroine is forced to take on all the male duties, including the replenishment of firewood. In the forest, she meets another central character of the poem.
2. Frost Governor- this is a fantastic creature, which in folklore is the lord of the cold and the winter season. The image of this character is familiar to us from the fairy tale "Morozko". In the poem, Frost is represented by a majestic and indomitable force that controls the destinies of people who have fallen into its power and severely punishes disobedience. Testing Daria with cold, the hero sees how strong her will is, and, taking pity on her, frees her from the torments of this life with an icy breath. This makes him the savior of the main character, but makes readers worry about the fate of her children, left without a mother and father. As you can see, the image of Frost is ambiguous and is closely connected with the folklore tradition that permeates the entire poem. If in fairy tales the almighty magician grants happiness to those who have passed the test, then in this work he rewards the woman with death. No, it's not about cruelty. It’s just that for Daria there is no happiness in the world, since there is no beloved husband in the world. Therefore, the cause of her suffering is not an evil stepmother, but life itself in solitude. Frost kills her so she can be reunited with her husband.

Themes, issues and mood

The main theme of the poem is the terrible fate of the Russian peasant woman. “Frost, Red Nose” is a poem about a mother, “a woman of the Russian land”, who has incomparable fortitude. With her help, she withstands all the tests that evil fate sends. This is how he describes them

Three heavy shares had fate,
And the first share: to marry a slave,
The second is to be the mother of the son of a slave,
And the third - to obey the slave to the grave,
And all these formidable shares lay down
On the woman of the Russian land.

Nekrasov sought to show the reader that on the shoulders of a peasant woman lies hard and exhausting work, which only a person of incredible willpower can endure. Having overcome the difficulties of the life of a widow with many children, the main character does not break even before the onslaught of elemental, mystical power in the person of Frost the governor. Dying, Daria remembers her husband Proclus and in the last moments of her life she resurrects in her memory all the good things that diluted her working days. The peasant woman is devoted to her love to the last, so in the poem we can safely single out this topic as important. With all her worries, with all her lack of rights, she finds in herself warmth and affection for her husband, care for her children. This is the greatness of her soul.

The theme of death sounds in every line of the work. This motif sounds especially clear in the first part of the poem, which tells about the death of Proclus. This episode is intended to show the reader how much grief and suffering the death of a parent brings to a peasant family. Describing the tragedy of one family, Nekrasov pointed to the hard lot of the entire ordinary Russian people.

Many problems have been touched upon, the range of problems is rich. The author writes about the lack of qualified medical care for the peasants (and this is the largest social group in the country), about the exhausting work that kills people, about the terrible working conditions. Ordinary people are left to the mercy of fate: if no one goes for firewood in the cold, then the whole family will freeze to death, and no one will help. The evil irony of the situation lies in the fact that the poor workers do more than anyone else for the country, but at the same time they are the least protected class. In fact, they live as slaves, that is, without rights.

main idea

The meaning of the poem is that the spirit of a Russian woman cannot be broken by any adversity. The poet took upon himself the task of creating the image of a real Russian beauty, a “majestic Slav”, and endowed his heroine with high moral ideals. Behind the entire tragedy of Darya, we clearly see the author's message that Russian peasant women carry the whole of Russia on their shoulders, despite the indifference of the authorities and cruel injustice. Their faces reflect the true image of all Rus'.

“Frost, Red Nose” is also a poem about the tragedy of many peasant families left without a breadwinner, families in which the mother is forced to shoulder all the hard work. At the same time, Daria's love for Proclus is drawn by the author as a thread that connects the characters even after death. Love in the poem is a deep and strong feeling that is the very essence of a Russian woman. In this unshakable emotional upsurge, which allows the heroine to overcome pain, cope with difficulties, lies the greatness of the Russian soul. The main idea of ​​the poet is to show this soul in all its glory and call on people of their circle to protect it.

Means of artistic expression

In order to emphasize the folk flavor, Nekrasov makes extensive use of folk poetic vocabulary, words and expressions referring to the folklore tradition. “Natural” metaphors and comparisons are widely represented in the text: “pava-bride”, “falcon-groom”; “black as a little jackdaw”, “falcon eye”, etc. The layer of folk poetic vocabulary is also represented by a large number of epithets, one way or another connected with folklore: “burning tears”, “gray-winged”, “desired”, etc. .

Beauty, marvelous to the world,
Blush, slim, tall ...

We can also notice a large number of words with diminutive petting suffixes that refer us to folk song motifs: “back”, “Savrasushka”, “Daryushka”, “zimushka”, “dubrovushka”, “friends”, “legs”, “cat ".

It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains,
Frost-voivode patrol
Bypasses his possessions.

Thus, using the example of the poem "Frost, Red Nose", we can trace how the folk-poetic layer of linguistic culture is organically woven into the fabric of the narrative, emphasizing the national Russian flavor of the poem with bright colors.