Nikolai Nekrasov spent his childhood on the family estate, where he grew up with the children of serfs. Later, the poet recalled that his friends treated him not as a young master, but as an ordinary boy with whom you can go to the forest for mushrooms, swim in the river and arrange fistfights. It was during this period of his life that the future poet was truly free and until the end of his life he remained grateful to the village tomboys for teaching him various peasant wisdom. Having become an adult and independent person, Nekrasov often went to the village in the summer to hunt and go fishing. And each time he could not deny himself the pleasure of watching the rural children, who showed no less interest in him. Subsequently, these observations took shape in a poem called "Peasant Children", published in 1861. In this work, the author sincerely envies his young heroes, who are not yet aware of their low social status and can afford, unlike lordly children, to spend their free time as their heart desires. The poem "Peasant Children" consists of several parts and tells about various life situations that the poet witnessed. In his work, he never ceases to be surprised that even his smallest heroes are harmonious and strong personalities who are able to independently cope with various difficulties and be responsible for their own actions. But children always remain children, and Nekrasov is aware of this and involuntarily wants to protect his heroes from the upcoming trials of life. Therefore, he addresses them with the words: “Play, children! Grow at will! That's why you've been given a red childhood." The author understands that very little time will pass, and the carefree free life of rural kids will end, leaving only in their memories a feeling of happiness and the illusion that they once could independently manage their own destiny.
Nekrasov N - Peasant children.
"Once upon a time in the cold winter time"
an excerpt from the poem is read by M. Ulyanov
Once upon a time in the cold winter time,
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And, marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
Great, boy! - “Go past yourself!”
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - “From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take away.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.)
- Does your father have a big family?
“The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... "...
Nekrasov Nikolai Alekseevich, Russian poet, literary figure.
Mikhail Aleksandrovich Ulyanov (November 20, 1927 - March 26, 2007, Moscow) - Soviet and Russian actor, theater and film director, theater figure, People's Artist of the USSR (1969).
peasant children
Peasant children. Nikolay Alekseevich Nekrasov
Again I am in the village. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy.
Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp,
I wandered into the shed and fell deeply asleep.
Woke up: in the wide cracks of the barn
Cheerful sun rays are looking.
The dove coos; flying over the roof
Young rooks cry
Some other bird is flying -
By the shadow I recognized the crow just:
Chu! some whisper ... but a string
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
They have so much peace, freedom and affection,
There is so much holy goodness in them!
I love the expression of a child's eye,
I always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched the soul ...
Chu! whisper again!
First voice
"Beard!
Second
And the barin, they said! ..
Third
Shut up, damn you!
Second
A bar does not have a beard - a mustache.
The first
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And there on the hat, looking - a watch!
Fifth
Ah, the important thing!
Sixth
And a golden chain...
Seventh
Is tea expensive?
Eighth
How the sun burns!
Ninth
And there is a dog - big, big!
Water runs off the tongue.
Fifth
Gun! look at it: the barrel is double,
Carved clasps…
Third (with fear)
Looks!
Fourth
Shut up, nothing! Let's stand still, Grisha!
Third
Will beat…”
* * *
My spies are afraid
And they rushed away: they heard a man,
So a flock of sparrows fly from the chaff.
I calmed down, squinted - they came again,
The eyes flicker through the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And my verdict was pronounced: -
What a goose like that!
I would lie on the stove!
And you can see not a gentleman: how he was driving from a swamp.
So next to Gavrila ... "He will hear,
shut up!
* * *
Oh dear rascals! Who often saw them
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a "low kind of people" -
I still have to confess openly
What I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
How God forbid your spoiled children.
Happy people! Neither science nor bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I did mushroom raids with them:
He dug up the leaves, ransacked the stumps,
I tried to notice a mushroom place,
And in the morning I could not find anything.
“Look, Savosya, what a ring!”
We both bent down, yes at once and grab
Serpent! I jumped: it hurt!
Savosya laughs: "Caught for nothing!"
For that we then ruined them quite
And they laid them side by side on the railing of the bridge,
We must have been waiting for the feats of glory.
We had a big road.
Working rank people scurried
On it without a number.
Ditch digger Vologda,
Tinker, tailor, wool beater,
And then a city dweller in a monastery
On the eve of the holiday, he rolls to pray.
Under our thick, ancient elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will surround: the stories will begin
About Kyiv, about the Turk, about wonderful animals.
Another walks up, so just hold on -
It will start from Volochok, it will reach Kazan!
Chukhna mimics, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse with a fairy tale, and he will screw a parable:
"Goodbye guys! Try your best
Please the Lord God in everything
We had Vavilo, he lived richer than everyone,
Yes, I once decided to grumble at God, -
Since then, Vavilo has gone bankrupt, ruined,
No honey from bees, harvest from the earth,
And only in one he was happy,
That the hair from the nose grew rapidly ... "
The worker will arrange, spread out the shells -
Planers, files, chisels, knives:
"Look, you little devils!" And the children are happy
How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.
The passer-by will fall asleep under his jokes,
Guys for the cause - sawing and planing!
They step out the saw - you can’t sharpen it even in a day!
They break the drill - and run away in fright.
It happened that whole days flew by here,
What a new passerby, then a new story ...
Wow, it's hot!.. We picked mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just to meet
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
Meadow river: they jumped in a crowd,
And blond heads over the desert river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with both laughter and a howl:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun scorches them with midday heat.
It's time to go home, kids.
Have returned. Everyone has a full basket,
And how many stories! Got scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible one!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots gave him his milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the uterus beats the linen,
Who nurses his two-year-old sister Glashka,
Who drags a bucket of kvass on the harvest,
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Something mysteriously draws in the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one:
I wove myself a glorious wreath,
All white, yellow,
lavender
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
Caught, jumped up and rides on it.
And is she, born under the sun's heat
And in an apron brought home from the field,
To be afraid of your humble horse? ..
Mushroom time did not have time to depart,
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed the oskom: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, walnuts!
A childish cry echoing
From morning to night it rumbles through the forests.
Frightened by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the grouse take off, croaking to the chicks,
Whether a hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a slick wing
It was brought into the bush ... well, the poor thing is bad!
The living are dragged to the village with triumph ...
- Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot
Time to get to work, dear!
But even labor will turn first
To Vanyusha with her elegant side:
He sees how the father fertilizes the field,
Like throwing grain into loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, pours the grain:
The ready harvest will be pruned with sickles,
They will bind them in sheaves, they will take them to the barn,
Dry, beaten, beaten with flails,
The mill will grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he more willingly runs after his father.
Will they wind up the senets: “Climb, little shooter!”
Vanyusha enters the village as a king ...
However, envy in a noble child
We would be sorry to sow.
And so, we must turn around by the way
The other side of the medal.
Let's put the peasant child loose
Growing without learning
But he will grow, if God wills,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows forest paths,
Prancing on horseback, not afraid of water,
But mercilessly eat his midges,
But he was early familiar with the works ...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
- Hello, boy! - “Go past yourself!”
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - “From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take away.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.)
What, does your father have a big family? -
“The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... "
So there it is! What's your name? -
"Vlas".
- And what year are you? - "The sixth passed ...
Well, dead!" shouted the little one in a bass voice,
He jerked the reins and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
As if it was all cardboard
As if in a children's theater
they got me!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow lies up to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadly winter,
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
To whom there is no death - do not push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play on, children! Grow at will!
That's why you have been given a red childhood,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your age-old legacy,
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the bowels of the native land! ..
* * *
Now it's time for us to return to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys have become bolder,
- Hey! thieves are coming! I cried to Fingal:
- Steal, steal! Well, hide quickly! -
Fingalushka made a serious face,
I buried my belongings under the hay,
With special diligence he hid the game,
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
Extensive field of canine science
He was perfectly familiar;
He started throwing things like this
That the audience could not leave the place,
They wonder, they laugh! There is no fear here!
Command themselves! - "Fingalka, die!"
- Don't stop, Sergey! Don't push, Kuzyaha! -
"Look - dying - look!"
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it got dark
In the barn: it gets dark so quickly on the stage,
When the storm is destined to break.
And sure enough: the blow thundered over the barn,
A rain river poured into the barn,
The actor burst into a deafening bark,
And the audience gave an arrow!
The wide door opened and creaked.
Hit the wall, locked again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
Above our theater just.
In the heavy rain, the children ran
Barefoot to their village ...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for great snipes.
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Current page: 1 (total book has 1 pages)
Nikolay Alekseevich Nekrasov
peasant children
Again I am in the village. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy.
Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp,
I wandered into the shed and fell deeply asleep.
Woke up: in the wide cracks of the barn
Cheerful sun rays are looking.
The dove coos; flying over the roof
Young rooks cry
Some other bird is flying -
By the shadow I recognized the crow just:
Chu! some whisper ... but a string
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
They have so much peace, freedom and affection,
There is so much holy goodness in them!
I love the expression of a child's eye,
I always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched the soul ...
Chu! whisper again!First voice
"Beard!Second
And the barin, they said! ..Third
Shut up, damn you!Second
A bar does not have a beard - a mustache.The first
And the legs are long, like poles.Fourth
And there on the hat, looking - a watch!Fifth
Ah, the important thing!Sixth
And a golden chain...Seventh
Is tea expensive?Eighth
How the sun burns!Ninth
And there is a dog - big, big!
Water runs off the tongue.Fifth
Gun! look at it: the barrel is double,
Carved clasps…Third (with fear)
Looks!Fourth
Shut up, nothing! Let's stand still, Grisha!Third
Will beat…”* * *
My spies are afraid
And they rushed away: they heard a man,
So a flock of sparrows fly from the chaff.
I calmed down, squinted - they came again,
The eyes flicker through the cracks.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And my verdict was pronounced: -
What a goose like that!
I would lie on the stove!
And you can see not a gentleman: how he was driving from a swamp.
So next to Gavrila ... "He will hear,
shut up!* * *
Oh dear rascals! Who often saw them
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a "low kind of people" -
I still have to confess openly
What I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
How God forbid your spoiled children.
Happy people! Neither science nor bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I did mushroom raids with them:
He dug up the leaves, ransacked the stumps,
I tried to notice a mushroom place,
And in the morning I could not find anything.
“Look, Savosya, what a ring!”
We both bent down, yes at once and grab
Serpent! I jumped: it hurt!
Savosya laughs: "Caught for nothing!"
For that we then ruined them quite
And they laid them side by side on the railing of the bridge,
We must have been waiting for the feats of glory.
We had a big road.
Working rank people scurried
On it without a number.
Ditch digger Vologda,
Tinker, tailor, wool beater,
And then a city dweller in a monastery
On the eve of the holiday, he rolls to pray.
Under our thick, ancient elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will surround: the stories will begin
About Kyiv, about the Turk, about wonderful animals.
Another walks up, so just hold on -
It will start from Volochok, it will reach Kazan!
Chukhna mimics, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse with a fairy tale, and he will screw a parable:
"Goodbye guys! Try your best
Please the Lord God in everything
We had Vavilo, he lived richer than everyone,
Yes, I once decided to grumble at God, -
Since then, Vavilo has gone bankrupt, ruined,
No honey from bees, harvest from the earth,
And only in one he was happy,
That the hair from the nose grew rapidly ... "
The worker will arrange, spread out the shells -
Planers, files, chisels, knives:
"Look, you little devils!" And the children are happy
How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.
The passer-by will fall asleep under his jokes,
Guys for the cause - sawing and planing!
They step out the saw - you can’t sharpen it even in a day!
They break the drill - and run away in fright.
It happened that whole days flew by here,
What a new passerby, then a new story ...
Wow, it's hot!.. We picked mushrooms until noon.
They came out of the forest - just to meet
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
Meadow river: they jumped in a crowd,
And blond heads over the desert river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with both laughter and a howl:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun scorches them with midday heat.
It's time to go home, kids.
Have returned. Everyone has a full basket,
And how many stories! Got scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible one!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots gave him his milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Who catches leechesOn the lava, where the uterus beats the linen,
Who nurses his two-year-old sister Glashka,
Who drags a bucket of kvass on the harvest,
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Something mysteriously draws in the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one:
I wove myself a glorious wreath,
All white, yellow,
lavender
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
Caught, jumped up and rides on it.
And is she, born under the sun's heat
And in an apron brought home from the field,
To be afraid of your humble horse? ..Mushroom time did not have time to depart,
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed the oskom: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, walnuts!
A childish cry echoing
From morning to night it rumbles through the forests.
Frightened by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the grouse take off, croaking to the chicks,
Whether a hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a slick wing
It was brought into the bush ... well, the poor thing is bad!
The living are dragged to the village with triumph ...- Enough, Vanyusha! you walked a lot
Time to get to work, dear!
But even labor will turn first
To Vanyusha with her elegant side:
He sees how the father fertilizes the field,
Like throwing grain into loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, pours the grain:
The ready harvest will be pruned with sickles,
They will bind them in sheaves, they will take them to the barn,
Dry, beaten, beaten with flails,
The mill will grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he more willingly runs after his father.
Will they wind up the senets: “Climb, little shooter!”
Vanyusha enters the village as a king ...
However, envy in a noble child
We would be sorry to sow.
And so, we must turn around by the way
The other side of the medal.
Let's put the peasant child loose
Growing without learning
But he will grow, if God wills,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows forest paths,
Prancing on horseback, not afraid of water,
But mercilessly eat his midges,
But he was early familiar with the works ...Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
- Hello, boy! - “Go past yourself!”
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - “From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take away.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.)
What, does your father have a big family? -
“The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... "
So there it is! What's your name? -
"Vlas".
- And what year are you? - "The sixth passed ...
Well, dead!" shouted the little one in a bass voice,
He jerked the reins and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
As if it was all cardboard
As if in a children's theater
they got me!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow lies up to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadly winter,
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
To whom there is no death - do not push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play on, children! Grow at will!
That's why you have been given a red childhood,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your age-old legacy,
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the bowels of the native land! ..* * *
Now it's time for us to return to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys have become bolder,
- Hey! thieves are coming! I cried to Fingal:
- Steal, steal! Well, hide quickly! -
Fingalushka made a serious face,
I buried my belongings under the hay,
With special diligence he hid the game,
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
Extensive field of canine science
He was perfectly familiar;
He started throwing things like this
That the audience could not leave the place,
They wonder, they laugh! There is no fear here!
Command themselves! - "Fingalka, die!"
- Don't stop, Sergey! Don't push, Kuzyaha! -
"Look - dying - look!"
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it got dark
In the barn: it gets dark so quickly on the stage,
When the storm is destined to break.
And sure enough: the blow thundered over the barn,
A rain river poured into the barn,
The actor burst into a deafening bark,
And the audience gave an arrow!
The wide door opened and creaked.
Hit the wall, locked again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
Above our theater just.
In the heavy rain, the children ran
Barefoot to their village ...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for great snipes.
Did you like the poem? If yes, then what? What do you remember most about her? Why?
In assessing the poem, fifth-graders are unanimous: I liked it very much! I liked the fact that it is about real life, there is both funny and sad in it, that it is written very “well-organized” and the language of the poem is close to folk. Most of all, of course, the children remember the author's meeting with the "little man" in the winter forest, his communication with peasant children, when he, together with them, gives commands to his dog Fingal. These are live scenes where the characters are not only described by the author, but they themselves speak, act, and make their assessments.
Tell me, with what feeling does Nekrasov talk about peasant children? Find words and expressions in the poem that help us feel his attitude towards children. Is it possible to say that the author admires them, loves them?
The poet talks about peasant children with love and even tenderness, this is indicated by words with diminutive suffixes that he uses in their description (“eyes”, “eyes”, “man”, “little”, etc.). Nekrasov calls children "dear rogues", says: I love the expression of a child's eye,
I always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched the soul ...
Who often saw them
He, I believe, loves peasant children ...
He admires the eyes of the children and exclaims:
They have so much peace, freedom and affection,
There is so much holy goodness in them!
The poet describes with pleasure their games, hikes in the forest, admires their spontaneity, openness, curiosity: “The guys will surround: the stories will begin ...”, “How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.” The poet wishes them well: “Play, children! Grow at will"
And how do children initially relate to the poet? Why? What words show this attitude? Find them.
At first, the kids are afraid of an unfamiliar hunter, because he is not very similar to others whom they have seen before: he has a beard, and “a bar does not have a beard - a mustache” (according to the customs of that time, only peasants wore beards, bare beards were shaved), watches for some reason, the stranger has a hat on, he is the owner of an expensive gun: “A gun! look at it: the locks are carved ... "The children saw all these details, watching the hunter through the cracks of the barn, trying to talk in a whisper and fearing that he would hear them and" beat them.
What happened to me - they marveled at everything
And my sentence was pronounced:
“What a goose like that!
I would lie on the stove!
And you can see not a gentleman: how he was driving from a swamp,
So next to Gavrila ...
Why do children call a stranger "goose"? He seems to them an important person, special. That raises some concern.
And why do children cease to be afraid of a stranger? As a result, they found a common
tongue with him?
The children felt his kindness, the hunter began to play with them, and a hunting dog helped him, who knew perfectly "dog science":
He started throwing things like this
That the audience could not leave the place.
They wonder, they laugh! There is no fear here!
Command themselves! - Fingalka, die!
“Don’t stop, Sergey! Don't push, Kuzyaha!
Look - it's dying - look!
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
Their noisy fun.
Can all parts of the poem be called funny? Why? And what are possible?
No, the whole poem cannot be called a comedy. It is not at all funny when the author talks about a six-year-old child who “during the cold winter season” carries brushwood from the forest.
It’s not funny when we hear bitter words that a peasant child “works early” and nothing prevents him from “bending” ... We laugh when Nekrasov talks about how his children looked at him, how the dogs rejoiced at the tricks, how they accepted the snake for a ring. So the name "Children's Comedy" would not quite correspond to the content of the poem. The title "Peasant Children" is broader and more precise: after all, the poem tells not only about the episode of the poet's meeting with peasant children, but also about other moments of his life) includes memories of childhood and reflections on the life and fate of peasant children.
We turn to the analysis of the main part of the poem. Nekrasov paints a collective portrait of peasant children. At the same time, he uses many artistic techniques, and one of his favorite and expressive ones is comparison.
Find in the poem those comparisons with which he creates this collective portrait.
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
***
My spies are afraid
And they rushed away: they heard a man,
So a flock of sparrows fly from the chaff.
***
And Russ" heads over the desert river
Where do you get all these comparisons? What unites them? (All comparisons are from the natural world.)
Why does Nekrasov use comparisons from the natural world to describe peasant children?
Peasant children grow up and live among meadows) fields) forests, they know mushrooms, berries, herbs, birds well:
Ooh, it's hot! .. Picked mushrooms until noon)
Here they came out of the forest - just towards
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
Meadow river: jumped off in a crowd
And blond heads over the desert river.
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howling:
A fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun scorches them with midday heat.
Home, kids! it's time to dine.
They returned: everyone has a basket full,
And how many stories! Got scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible one!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots gave him his milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the uterus beats the linen,
Who nurses his sister, two-year-old Glashka)
Who drags a bucket of kvass on the harvest;
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Something mysteriously draws in the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one
I wove myself a glorious wreath:
All white, yellow, lavender,
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket:
Caught, jumped up and rides on it.
Comparisons help to make the portrait of the children very lively, vivid, and memorable.
What else allows us to see these kids? (Description of their actions, fun, activities, live conversational speech.)
Find in their speech such words and expressions that we do not use, and those that convey the flavor of folk speech. (“Look at it”, “tea”, “out”, “trunk”, “such and such a goose really like hunting”, “just”, “very well”, “don’t catch”, etc.)
What are the children like before us?
They are inquisitive and curious, they love interesting stories, they know forest paths, plants and inhabitants of the forest well, they are cheerful, independent, they work together with their parents.
How are the portraits of these boys similar?
We see both of them working together with their parents. Can we prove that work for them is not a punishment, not a duty, that they are proud of their participation in the work of their parents?
Vanyusha closely follows the work of his parents in the field, tries to help them:
He sees how the father fertilizes the field,
Like throwing grain into loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours grain.
The ready harvest will be pruned with sickles,
They will knit them in sheaves, they will take them to the barn,
Dry, beaten, beaten with flails,
The mill will grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he more willingly runs after his father.
Explain the expression "Vanyusha enters the village as a king."
The boy, apparently, was at the hayfield with his parents. Now they are returning home with a convoy of hay, on top of which Vanyusha sits. He is proud that he helped his parents, he rejoices that now he is above everyone else, and therefore he “enters the village as a king”.
And the “man with a fingernail” feels like a full participant in adult labor:
“Father, you hear, he cuts, and I take him away.” Why does Nekrasov say that the boy is not
walks, but walks? Explain the words: and marching importantly, in serenity,
a man leads a horse by the bridle ...
The boy feels the importance and necessity of his participation in the preparation of brushwood: the warmth in the hut depends on this. He is proud that he was entrusted with such an important task, and therefore he does not go, but marches, as important persons, statesmen, kings march. In this sense, they are similar to Vanyusha.
What strikes the poet in the figure of the boy he met in the winter forest?
He is amazed that “in the cold winter season”, in “hard frost” he meets a child in the forest:
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In large mittens ... and he himself with a fingernail!
All the clothes are clearly not for him (it means that he simply does not have his own!), He is tiny, but is already engaged in hard work. Find in the poem the words-synonyms that the boy is called. (“Man with a fingernail”, “lad”, “man”, “little”, “child”)
Which of these synonyms express admiration? And in what synonym is the assessment of oneself a boy expressed?
The address boy sounds ironic, the word peasant conveys the author’s admiration for the boy’s independence, the little one conveys the poet’s sympathy for the child. But the child himself calls himself a peasant, as an adult: “... yes, two people / All the peasants, something: my father and me ...” This is how a six-year-old sees and evaluates himself
boy.
What helps us understand this synonymous series?
Thanks to him, we understand that a small child should not do hard physical labor in the winter forest, that he does it not from a good life, but because there is no one else to do it, and at the age of six the boy feels like an adult, he becomes independent early .
Why does Nekrasov's picture, which he saw at the edge of the forest, evoke a feeling of something unreal, theatrical?
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
It's like it was all cardboard.
As if I were in a children's theater.
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, And a light horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian…
The child is too small, his appearance in his father's boots and short fur coat is too ridiculous,
somehow it doesn’t fit in my head that such a crumb should carry brushwood from the forest in a “hard frost” ...
What thoughts does this meeting give rise to in the poet?
Those honest thoughts that have no share,
To whom there is no death - do not press,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
What makes the poet suffer? Why can't you get rid of "honest thoughts"? Why in these thoughts, along with anger and pain, "so much love"?
The poet is made to suffer by the unjust structure of society, which can allow child labor. And there is no getting away from these thoughts, because childhood is given to children for joy, so that they grow up “in the wild”. And the pain of the poet is born of love for peasant children, pure in soul, direct, inquisitive, hardworking.
Let's think about the following lines:
Play on, children! Grow at will!
That's why you have been given a red childhood,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your age-old legacy
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the bowels of the native land! ..
What do children from the “red childhood” take with them into adulthood?
From childhood, they learn to love their native land, to cultivate it, they learn to love "their working bread."
Why do you think the poet chose the epithet meager to characterize his native land, which the field represents?
Meager means barren, emaciated, poor. Such a field requires especially a lot of care and work. It is easy to love a fertile field with rich soil, but the one in which you invest more labor and effort (in this case, the "meager field"), and you love more, it becomes a part of you.
The poet calls the "meager field" the "age-old inheritance" of children. What does he mean?
This is the land of the ancestors, this is the motherland, it keeps the traditions, culture, history of the family, the people ... The ashes of the ancestors rest in it, and those who are now playing in the wild will also leave in it. The main thing is that they love this land, no matter what, teach their children to love it. This is the only way to preserve the clan, the people, the homeland.
Analysis of Nekrasov's poem "Peasant Children"
2.4 (47.5%) 8 votesAgain I am in the village. I go hunting
I write my verses - life is easy.
Yesterday, tired of walking in the swamp,
I wandered into the shed and fell deeply asleep.
Woke up: in the wide cracks of the barn
Cheerful sun rays are looking.
The dove coos; flew over the roof
Young rooks cry;
Some other bird is flying -
I recognized the crow by the shadow;
Chu! some whisper ... but a string
Along the slit of attentive eyes!
All gray, brown, blue eyes -
Mixed like flowers in a field.
They have so much peace, freedom and affection,
There is so much holy goodness in them!
I love the expression of a child's eye,
I always recognize him.
I froze: tenderness touched the soul ...
Chu! whisper again!
Second
And the barin, they said! ..
Third
Shut up, damn you!
Second
A bar does not have a beard - a mustache.
The first
And the legs are long, like poles.
Fourth
And there on the hat, look, it's a watch!
Fifth
Hey, important stuff!
Sixth
And a golden chain...
Seventh
Is tea expensive?
Eighth
How the sun burns!
Ninth
And there is a dog - big, big!
Water runs off the tongue.
Fifth
Gun! look at it: the barrel is double,
Carved clasps…
Third
(with fear)
Looks!
Fourth
Shut up, nothing! Let's stand still, Grisha!
Third
Will beat…
My spies are afraid
And they rushed away: they heard a man,
So a flock of sparrows fly from the chaff.
I calmed down, squinted - they came again,
The eyes flicker through the cracks.
What happened to me - marveled at everything
And my sentence was pronounced:
- Such a goose, what a hunt!
I would lie on the stove!
And you can see not a gentleman: how he was driving from a swamp,
So next to Gavrila ... - "Hears, be silent!"
_______________
O dear rascals! Who often saw them
He, I believe, loves peasant children;
But even if you hated them,
The reader, as a "low kind of people" -
I still have to confess openly
What I often envy them:
There is so much poetry in their lives,
How God forbid your spoiled children.
Happy people! Neither science nor bliss
They do not know in childhood.
I did mushroom raids with them:
He dug up the leaves, ransacked the stumps,
I tried to notice a mushroom place,
And in the morning I could not find anything.
“Look, Savosya, what a ring!”
We both bent down, yes at once and grab
Serpent! I jumped: it hurt!
Savosya laughs: “Caught for nothing!”
But then we ruined them pretty much
And they laid them side by side on the railing of the bridge.
We must have been waiting for the feats of glory.
We had a big road.
Working rank people scurried
On it without a number.
Ditch digger Vologda,
Tinker, tailor, wool beater,
And then a city dweller in a monastery
On the eve of the holiday, he rolls to pray.
Under our thick ancient elms
Tired people were drawn to rest.
The guys will surround: the stories will begin
About Kyiv, about the Turk, about wonderful animals.
Another walks up, so just hold on -
It will start from Volochok, it will reach Kazan'
Chukhna mimics, Mordovians, Cheremis,
And he will amuse with a fairy tale, and he will screw a parable:
"Goodbye guys! Try your best
To please the Lord God in everything:
We had Vavilo, he lived richer than everyone,
Yes, I once decided to grumble at God, -
Since then, Vavilo has gone bankrupt, ruined,
No honey from bees, harvest from the earth,
And only in one he was happy,
That the hair from the nose grew rapidly ... "
The worker will arrange, spread out the shells -
Planers, files, chisels, knives:
"Look, you little devils!" And the children are happy
How you saw, how you tinker - show them everything.
The passer-by will fall asleep under his jokes,
Guys for the cause - sawing and planing!
They step out the saw - you can’t sharpen it even in a day!
They break the drill - and run away in fright.
It happened that whole days flew by here, -
What a new passerby, then a new story ...
Wow, it's hot!.. We picked mushrooms until noon.
Here they came out of the forest - just towards
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
meadow river; jumped off,
And blond heads over the desert river
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with laughter and howling:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun scorches them with midday heat.
- Home, kids! it's time to dine.-
Have returned. Everyone has a full basket,
And how many stories! Got scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible one!
The hedgehog is offered both flies and boogers,
Roots gave him his milk -
Doesn't drink! retreated...
Who catches leeches
On the lava, where the uterus beats the linen,
Who nurses his sister, two-year-old Glashka,
Who drags a bucket of kvass on the harvest,
And he, having tied a shirt under his throat,
Something mysteriously draws in the sand;
That one got into a puddle, and this one with a new one:
I wove myself a glorious wreath,
All white, yellow, lavender
Yes, occasionally a red flower.
Those sleep in the sun, those dance squatting.
Here is a girl catching a horse with a basket -
Caught, jumped up and rides on it.
And is she, born under the sun's heat
And in an apron brought home from the field,
To be afraid of your humble horse? ..
Mushroom time did not have time to depart,
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed the oskom: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, walnuts!
A childish cry echoing
From morning to night it rumbles through the forests.
Frightened by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the grouse take off, croaking to the chicks,
Whether a hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a slick wing
It was brought into the bush ... well, the poor thing is bad!
The living are dragged to the village with triumph ...
Enough, Vanya! you walked a lot
It's time for work, dear!
But even labor will turn first
To Vanyusha with her elegant side:
He sees how the father fertilizes the field,
Like throwing grain into loose earth,
As the field then begins to turn green,
As the ear grows, it pours grain;
The ready harvest will be pruned with sickles,
They will bind them in sheaves, they will take them to the barn,
Dry, beaten, beaten with flails,
The mill will grind and bake bread.
A child will taste fresh bread
And in the field he more willingly runs after his father.
Will they wind up the senets: “Climb, little shooter!”
Vanyusha enters the village as a king ...
However, envy in a noble child
We would be sorry to sow.
So, we have to wrap up by the way
The other side of the medal.
Let's put the peasant child loose
Growing without learning
But he will grow, if God pleases,
And nothing prevents him from bending.
Suppose he knows forest paths,
Prancing on horseback, not afraid of water,
But mercilessly eat his midges,
But he was early familiar with the works ...
Once upon a time in the cold winter time,
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And, marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
- Great, boy! - “Go past yourself!”
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - “From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take away.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.)
- Does your father have a big family?
“The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... "
- So there it is! And what is your name? - "Vlas".
- And what year are you? - “The sixth passed ...
Well, dead!" - shouted the little one in a bass voice,
He jerked by the bridle and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
As if it was all cardboard
It's like I was in a children's theater!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadly winter,
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
To whom there is no death - do not push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
Play on, children! Grow at will!
That's why you have been given a red childhood,
To forever love this meager field,
So that it always seems sweet to you.
Keep your age-old legacy,
Love your labor bread -
And let the charm of childhood poetry
Leads you into the bowels of the native land! ..
_______________
Now it's time for us to return to the beginning.
Noticing that the guys have become bolder, -
"Hey, the thieves are coming!" I cried to Fingal: -
Steal, steal! Well, hide quickly!
Fingalushka made a serious face,
I buried my belongings under the hay,
With special diligence he hid the game,
He lay down at my feet and growled angrily.
Extensive field of canine science
He was perfectly familiar;
He started throwing things like this
That the audience could not leave the place.
They wonder, they laugh! There is no fear here!
They command themselves! - “Fingalka, die!”
- Don't stop, Sergey! Don't push, Kuzyaha, -
"Look - dying - look!"
I myself enjoyed lying in the hay,
Their noisy fun. Suddenly it got dark
In the barn: it gets dark so quickly on the stage,
When the storm is destined to break.
And sure enough: the blow thundered over the barn,
A rain river poured into the barn,
The actor burst into a deafening bark,
And the audience gave an arrow!
The wide door opened, creaked,
Hit the wall, locked again.
I looked out: a dark cloud hung
Above our theater just.
In the heavy rain, the children ran
Barefoot to their village ...
Faithful Fingal and I waited out the storm
And they went out to look for great snipes.
Analysis of the poem "Peasant Children" by Nekrasov
Nekrasov's childhood was spent surrounded by peasant peers. He grew up on his father's estate and was able to feel for himself all the charm of free life, which is very different from urban life. The child did not immediately realize his master's position and treated other children as equals. Subsequently, he liked to watch the peasant children. The poet expressed his impressions in the poem "Peasant Children" (1861).
The author describes his hunting in the village. As he rests in the barn, he notices children stealthily watching him. The poet listens to their conversation. Before him opens a huge mysterious world that exists only in the minds of children. They already understand their difference from the master, but so far they do not see humility and humiliation in him. The master appears to them as a mysterious creature living some kind of special life. He is surrounded by mysterious objects that you will never find in the village.
Nekrasov is touched by these naive childish looks. He begins to think about the peasant children. Representatives of high society considered them to be inferior beings who could only replenish the army of obedient and downtrodden servants. The poet recalls vivid incidents from his life that he spent surrounded by peasant children. They are no different, and even make a more favorable impression, in comparison with the pampered barchuks. All children are equal from birth. They are endowed with a rich inner world. Even the monotonous village life becomes a source of vivid impressions for them.
Peasant children grow up in the bosom of nature. All of their games are played outdoors. Any activity, for example, picking mushrooms, becomes a whole event full of various adventures.
Nekrasov knows that a peasant child starts working from a very early age. For some, this becomes another fun idea. More serious children immediately understand that in such "undertakings" their whole future life will pass. - a textbook passage that vividly illustrates the hard life of a village child. A noble six-year-old kid is even forbidden to go outside, and in the village he independently manages a horse.
Nekrasov admired the peasant children. He sees in them the true expression of the national healthy spirit. The poet appeals to them with an appeal to fully enjoy a carefree childhood, while there is still such an opportunity.
At the end of the poem "Peasant Children" the author returns to reality. After making the children laugh with the antics of his dog, he goes hunting. With this neutral episode, the poet wants to emphasize that he cannot change anything in the position of serf children. Fleeting childhood happiness will melt without a trace, a harsh working life will come.
