The poem "Reflections at the front door" was written by Nekrasov in 1858. From the memoirs of Panaeva, it is known that on one of the rainy autumn days Nekrasov saw from the window how from the entrance in which the Minister of State Property lived, a janitor and a policeman were driving the peasants away, pushing them in the back. A couple of hours later, the poem was ready. The genre scene, which became the basis of the poem, was supplemented by satire and generalizations.
The poem was published by Herzen in the Kolokol magazine without the author's signature.
Literary direction, genre
The poem realistically describes the disease of the entire Russian society. The nobility is lazy and indifferent, others grovel before it, and the peasants are disenfranchised and submissive. The genre scene at the front door is an occasion to reflect on the fate of the Russian people and Russian society. This is a sample of civil lyrics.
Theme, main idea and composition, plot
Nekrasov's poem plot. It can be conditionally divided into 3 parts.
The first part is a description of an ordinary day in the life of the entrance. On solemn days, people come to visit an important person or simply leave a name in a book. On weekdays, the poor come, "the old man and the widow." Not all petitioners get what they ask for.
The second part is dedicated to the "owner of luxurious chambers." It begins with the appeal of the observer - the lyrical hero. The negative characterization of the nobleman ends with a call to wake up and bring back the petitioners. The alleged life and death of the nobleman is described next.
The third part is a generalization and construction of this particular case into a typical one. There is no such place in our native land where the Russian peasant, the sower and guardian of this land, would not suffer. All classes are in a state of spiritual sleep: both the people and the owners of luxurious chambers. There is a way out for the people - to wake up.
The theme of reflections is the fate of the Russian people, the breadwinner - the Russian peasantry. The main idea is that the people will never make their way to the main entrances of the masters, they are residents of different non-intersecting worlds. The only way out for the people is to find the strength to awaken.
Size and rhyme
The poem is written in multi-foot anapaest with an unordered alternation of three-foot and four-foot. Feminine and masculine rhymes alternate, the types of rhyme also change: ring, cross and adjacent. The ending of the poem became a student song.
Paths and images
The poem begins with metonymy combined with metaphor. The city is obsessed with a servile illness, that is, the inhabitants of the city servilely, like serfs, before the nobleman. At the beginning of the poem, petitioners are dryly listed. The narrator pays special attention to the description of men and uses epithets: ugly, tanned faces and hands, thin Armenian, backs bent, meager mite. Expression " They went, burning sun' has become an aphorism. Compassion is poignant detail: the peasants, who were driven away, go with their heads uncovered, showing respect.
The grandee is described with the help of grandiloquent metaphors. He holds earthly thunders in his hands, but heavenly ones do not frighten him. His life runs like an eternal holiday. The sugary epithets of romantic poets describe the heavenly life of a nobleman: serene Arcadian idyll, captivating sky of Sicily, fragrant tree shadow, purple sun, azure sea. The end of the nobleman's life is described with irony and even sarcasm. The hero will be secretly cursed by the fatherland, dear and beloved family is looking forward to his death.
The third part uses metonymy again. The lyrical hero refers to his native land, that is, to all its inhabitants. He opens the life of a groaning people to all classes. Verb groans repeated like a refrain. The song of the people is like a groan (comparison).
After turning to the Russian land, Nekrasov turns to the Volga. He compares the people's grief with the overflowing waters of the Russian river. In this part, Nekrasov again uses the epithets abounding spring, hearty people, endless groaning. The last appeal is a question to the people: will he wake up, or will his spiritual sleep last forever, according to the natural course of things? For the realist Nekrasov, this question is not rhetorical. There is always a choice, reality is unpredictable.
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The poet describes the front entrance of a house owned by an influential and wealthy nobleman. "On solemn days" a lot of people come to him.
Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
They come to remind themselves to the powerful master of the house.
On ordinary, weekdays, life is also in full swing at the entrance: ordinary people crowd - “projectors, searchers for places, and an old man, and a widow”, couriers scurrying with papers. Some petitioners leave satisfied, while others leave with tears in their eyes.
Once the poet saw how peasants, “village Russian people”, approached the entrance and asked the doorman to let them in. Looking around the guests, the porter found them unsightly.
Sunburnt faces and hands
Armenian thin on the shoulders,
By knapsack on the backs bent,
Cross on the neck and blood on the legs
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(Know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
From the depths of the house, the porter was ordered to drive the peasants - the owner "does not like tattered mob." The wanderers untied their wallets, but the porter did not take the “meager mite” and did not let him into the house. The peasants left, scorched by the sun, "spreading their arms hopelessly", and walked for a long time with their heads uncovered. “And the owner of luxurious chambers” at that time was sleeping sweetly.
The poet calls on the nobleman to wake up, to leave "drag and torturing, gluttony, play" and shameless flattery, which he considers his life, and to accept the poor petitioners, because only in them is his salvation. “But the happy are deaf to good” - the thunders of heaven do not frighten the rich man, and earthly power is in his hands.
The rich don't care about the common people. His life is an eternal holiday that does not allow him to wake up and see the people's poverty and sorrow. Yes, and this nobleman does not need it. And without worries about the people's welfare, he will live and die "with glory."
The poet ironically describes how the nobleman lives out his days “under the captivating sky of Sicily”, contemplating the magnificent sunsets over the Mediterranean Sea, and then dies, surrounded by a family impatiently waiting for his death.
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!...
However, such a significant person should not be disturbed "for small people." On the contrary, it is better to “take out the anger” on them - this is both safe and fun. And the peasant habitually endures, as "providence leading us" pointed out to him. Having drunk the last kopecks "in a wretched tavern", the peasants will return home with a groan, "begging along the road."
The poet does not know a place where the Russian peasant, “the sower and the keeper,” would not moan. His groan is heard from everywhere - from fields and roads; from prisons, prisons and mines; from barns and poor houses; from the "entrance of courts and chambers".
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
This groan we call a song -
That barge haulers are towing! ...
The poet compares the people's grief, which "overflowed our land", with the spring flood of the mighty Volga. He asks: what does this endless groan mean? Will the people “full of strength” wake up? Or he has already done everything he could - "created a song like a moan."
Reflections at the Front Door (1858)
The very title of the poem (“Reflections…”) points to the odic traditions of Lomonosov and Derzhavin. However, the traditions are rethought by Nekrasov, Nekrasov's "high" words are not unambiguous, as in Lomonosov's. In the text of the poem, there is a clear echo with Derzhavin's ode "The Nobleman". From the first lines, the poet denounces false solemnity, “the parade of servility, the triumph of servility”:
Here is the front entrance.
On solemn days
Possessed by a servile disease,
A whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Spotlights, place seekers,
And an old man and a widow.
In contrast to Derzhavin's ode (in which petitioners, including a widow, come to the nobleman), Nekrasov has male petitioners - a symbolic image of rural Russia. The poet draws the extreme degree of poverty, grief and humiliation of the peasants. “The cross on the neck and blood on the legs” are a symbol of suffering and asceticism. The porter drives the petitioners away without accepting the "meager contributions."
And they went, burning with the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!"
Spreading hopelessly hands,
And as long as I could see them,
They walked with uncovered heads.
Then the poet introduces the reader into the chambers of a nobleman, immersed in bliss and luxury. In the poem itself, this part is separated, the size and rhyme change dramatically.
You, who consider life enviable
Intoxication with shameless flattery,
red tape, gluttony, game, -
Wake up!
The description of the nobleman's old age, his "Arkadian idyll" contrasts sharply with the general content of the work. The poet does not allow the nobleman to die in his homeland, in which he is not involved:
Lulled by gentle singing,
Mediterranean wave - like a child,
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Looking forward to your death).
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!
The tense lyricism of the poem is resolved by a groan-song, in which a generalized image of the Russian land appears:
… motherland,
Name me a place like this
I didn't see that angle.
Wherever your sower and keeper,
Where would the Russian peasant moan!
At the climax of the poem, the theme of the Volga appears - the eternal heroine of Russian folk songs:
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
That barge haulers go tow.
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water
You don't flood the fields like that
Like the great grief of the people
Our land is full,
Where there are people, there is a groan...
The poem ends with a painful question addressed to the people:
…Eh, hearty!
What does your endless moan mean?
Will you wake up, full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
All that you could, you have already done -
Created a song like a moan
And spiritually rested forever? ..
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Here is the front entrance. On solemn days, Possessed by a servile illness, A whole city with some kind of fright Drives up to the cherished doors; Having written down their name and rank, The guests go home, So deeply satisfied with themselves, What do you think - that is their calling! And on ordinary days this magnificent entrance is besieged by wretched faces: Projectors, searchers for places, And an old man, and a widow. From him and to him then know in the mornings All couriers with papers are jumping. Returning, another sings "tram-tram", And other petitioners cry. Once I saw, the peasants came up here, Russian village people, Prayed at the church and stood in the distance, Dangling their blond heads to their chests; The doorman showed up. "Let me," they say With an expression of hope and anguish. He looked at the guests: they are ugly to look at! Tanned faces and arms, A thin Armenian girl on her shoulders, On a knapsack on her backs bent, A cross on her neck and blood on her feet, Shod in homemade bast shoes (To know, they wandered for a long time From some distant provinces). Someone shouted to the porter: "Drive! Ours does not like tattered mob!" And the door slammed shut. After standing, The pilgrims untied the purse, But the porter did not let him in, not taking a meager mite, And they went, burning with the sun, Repeating: "God judge him!" And the owner of luxurious chambers Still was deeply embraced by sleep... You, who consider life enviable Intoxication with shameless flattery, Drag and go, gluttony, game, Wake up! There is another pleasure: Bring them back! you are their salvation! But the happy ones are deaf to good... The thunders of heaven do not frighten you, And you hold the earthly ones in your hands, And these unknown people carry Inexorable grief in their hearts. What is this crying sorrow to you, What is this poor people to you? With an eternal holiday, the fast-running Life does not let you wake up. And why? You call the people's good fun as fun; Without him you will live with glory And you will die with glory! Serene Arcadian idyll Old days will roll. Under the captivating sky of Sicily, In the fragrant tree shade, Contemplating how the purple sun Dive into the azure sea, With stripes of its gold, - Lulled by the gentle singing of the Mediterranean wave - like a child You will fall asleep, surrounded by the care of Dear and beloved family (Waiting for your death with impatience) ; Your remains will be brought to us, To honor us with a funeral feast, And you will descend into the grave ... a hero, Secretly cursed by your homeland, Exalted with loud praise! Shouldn't we take out our anger on them? - It's safer ... It's even more fun To find solace in something. .. It doesn't matter that the peasant will endure: So the providence leading us Indicated ... yes, he's used to it! Behind the outpost, in a wretched tavern, the poor will drink everything to the ruble And they will go, begging along the road, And they will groan ... Native land! Name me such a monastery, I have never seen such a corner, Where would your sower and keeper, Where would a Russian peasant not moan? He groans in the fields, along the roads, He groans in prisons, in prisons, In mines, on an iron chain; He groans under a barn, under a stack, Under a cart, spending the night in the steppe; Moaning in his own poor house, God's light of the sun is not happy; Groans in every remote town, At the entrance of courts and chambers. Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard Over the great Russian river? We call this groan a song - Then barge haulers go tow! .. Volga! Volga!.. In the high-water spring You flood the fields not so, As our land overflowed with great grief of the people, - Where the people, there is a groan ... Oh, hearty! What does your endless moan mean? Will you wake up, full of strength, Or, obeying the law of fate, You have already done everything you could, - Created a song like a groan, And spiritually rested forever? ..
Notes: The poem, according to Panaeva's memoirs, “was written by Nekrasovwhen he was in a blues. He then lay all day on the sofa, ate almost nothing and did not take anyone to him. [...] The next morning I got up early and, going to the window, became interested in the peasants who were sitting on the steps of the stairs of the front entrance in the house where the Minister of State Property lived (M. N. Muravyov.- V. Korovin). It was deep autumn, the morning was cold and rainy. In all likelihood, the peasants wanted to submit some kind of petition and came to the house early in the morning. The porter, sweeping the street, drove them away; they took cover behind the ledge of the entrance and shifted from foot to foot, pressing against the wall and getting wet in the rain. I went to Nekrasov and told him about the scene I had seen. He went to the window at the moment when the janitors of the house and the policeman were driving the peasants away, pushing them in the back. Nekrasov pursed his lips and nervously pinched his mustache; then he quickly moved away from the window and lay down again on the sofa. About two hours later he read me the poem "At the front door." Nekrasov completely reworked real life material, introducing the themes of universal evil, biblical associations, the motives of the highest court and retribution. All this gave the poem a generalized symbolic meaning. The idea of "salvation among the people" is combined with reflections on the tragic fate of the people. Many motifs of the poem go back to the "satirical ode"
Here is the front entrance. On solemn days
Possessed by a servile disease,
A whole city with some kind of fright
Drives up to the cherished doors;
Writing down your name and rank,
Guests are leaving home
So deeply satisfied with myself
What do you think - that is their calling!
And on ordinary days, this magnificent entrance
Poor faces besiege:
Spotlights, place seekers,
And an old man, and a widow.
From him and to him then know in the morning
All couriers with papers are jumping.
Returning, another sings "tram-tram",
And other petitioners are crying.
Once I saw the men came here,
Village Russian people
We prayed to the church and stood away,
Dangling blond heads to the chest;
The doorman showed up. "Let it go," they say
With an expression of hope and anguish.
He looked at the guests: they are ugly to look at!
Sunburnt faces and hands
Armenian thin on the shoulders,
By knapsack on the backs bent,
Cross on the neck and blood on the legs
Shod in homemade bast shoes
(Know, they wandered for a long time
From some distant provinces).
Someone shouted to the porter: “Drive!
Ours does not like ragged mob!
And the door slammed shut. after standing,
The pilgrims untied the bag,
But the porter did not let me in, without taking a meager mite,
And they went, burning with the sun,
Repeating: "God judge him!",
Spreading hopelessly hands,
And as long as I could see them,
They walked with their heads uncovered ...
And the owner of luxurious chambers
Another dream was deeply embraced ...
You, who consider life enviable
Intoxication with shameless flattery,
red tape, gluttony, game,
Wake up! There is also pleasure:
Take them back! you are their salvation!
But the happy are deaf to good...
The thunders of heaven do not frighten you,
And you hold earthly things in your hands,
And these people are unknown
Inexorable grief in the hearts.
What is this crying sorrow to you,
What are these poor people to you?
Eternal holiday fast running
Life won't let you wake up.
And why? Clickers fun
You call the people's good;
Without him you will live with glory
And die with glory!
Serene arcadian idyll
The old days will roll:
Under the captivating skies of Sicily,
In fragrant tree shade,
Contemplating how the sun is purple
Dive into the azure sea
Stripes of his gold, -
Lulled by gentle singing
Mediterranean waves - like a child
You will fall asleep, surrounded by care
Dear and beloved family
(Waiting for your death with impatience);
Your remains will be brought to us,
To honor with a funeral feast,
And you will go to the grave ... hero,
Secretly cursed by the motherland,
Exalted with loud praise!
However, why are we such a person
Worrying for small people?
Shouldn't we take our anger out on them? -
Safer…More fun
Find some solace...
It does not matter that the peasant will suffer;
So the providence that guides us
Indicated ... yes, he's used to it!
Behind the outpost, in a poor tavern
The poor will drink everything to the ruble
And they will go, begging the road,
And they will groan... Native land!
Name me a place like this
I didn't see that angle.
Wherever your sower and keeper,
Where would a Russian peasant not moan?
He groans through the fields, along the roads,
He groans in prisons, prisons,
In mines, on an iron chain;
He groans under the barn, under the stack,
Under the cart, spending the night in the steppe;
Moaning in his own poor little house,
The light of God's sun is not happy;
Moaning in every deaf town,
At the entrance of courts and chambers.
Come out to the Volga: whose groan is heard
Over the great Russian river?
We call this moan a song -
That barge haulers are towing! ..
Volga! Volga! .. In the spring of high water
You don't flood the fields like that
Like the great grief of the people
Our land is full,
Where there are people, there is a groan... Oh, my heart!
What does your endless moan mean?
Will you wake up, full of strength,
Or, fate obeying the law,
Everything that you could, you have already done, -
Created a song like a moan
And spiritually rested forever? ..
Analysis of the poem "Reflections at the front door" by Nekrasov
"Civil singer" Nekrasov became famous for his accusatory poems. The poet defended the principles of realism in his work. Very often his works were based on scenes and situations from real life. In 1858, Nekrasov wrote the poem “Reflection at the front door”, witnessing how the doorman drives a group of peasants away from the entrance of an influential minister. The work has become iconic. Starting from an everyday event that repeats every day throughout the country, the author unfolds a large-scale picture of general lawlessness.
The poem begins with a description of the main entrance, which on holidays is besieged by endless visitors in a hurry to confirm their, in fact, servile position. The rotten state system has made this stupid and humiliating custom the norm.
On weekdays, the owner is busy with work. Couriers and all kinds of petitioners flock to the entrance. Nekrasov emphasizes that the highest measure of justice is not the law, but the interests and desires of one person who imagines himself to be the vicar of God. The decision of the issue depends on the size of the bribe of the petitioner. The tragedy of Russia is that such a situation is considered normal. The poor peasants, who have come a long way, do not even have a chance to see the "lord". Here the poet raises another problem that exists in our time. Reverence changes the psyche of the whole society. Possession of at least some minimal power allows a person to consider himself "king" in his miserable corner. The porter looks like a "minister" at the entrance. He himself decides who can be admitted to the owner, and drives the peasants away. Humiliated, "with uncovered ... heads," poor petitioners set off on their way back.
The expulsion of the peasants is replaced by a contrasting description of the serene life of the nobleman. He lives in his full pleasure, mired in all sorts of vices. No one can condemn the minister, since the law is in his hands. He is completely indifferent to other people and does not understand the significance of the people's good. A comfortable existence is overshadowed only by the critical remark of the author that a loving family is waiting, can not wait for his death.
From a specific situation, Nekrasov proceeds to a large-scale description of Mother Russia, on which the great Russian groan does not stop. People, whose forces create all the wealth of Russia, and on whose shoulders its power rests, are exhausted under the weight of life. The multi-million groan merges into one "great sorrow" and becomes a song. The work ends with a rhetorical question from the author: is this song the final meaning of the life of the Russian people? Or in the distant future, his suffering will end, and the "endless groan" will finally stop.
