Konstantin Simonov poem battle on ice. Battle on Lake Peipus, Battle on the Ice - poems
On blue and wet
Chudsky cracked ice
At six thousand seven hundred and fifty
From Creation,
Saturday, April 5th
Raw dawn sometimes
advanced considered
Marching Germans dark system.
On the hats are feathers of cheerful birds,
Helmets have pony tails.
Above them on heavy poles
Black crosses were swinging.
Squires behind proudly
They carried family shields,
Bear muzzles on them,
Weapons, towers and flowers.
Everything was so damn beautiful
As if these gentlemen
Already broken our strength
Went here to play.
Well, let's bring the shelves to the shelves,
We have had enough embassies, betrayals,
Oshyu us Raven Stone
And at our right hand Uzmen.
Below us is ice, above us is the sky,
Our cities are behind us,
No forest, no land, no bread
Never take you again.
All night, crackling with pitch, they burned
Behind us are red bonfires.
We warmed our hands before the fight,
So that the axes do not slip.
Corner forward, especially from everyone,
Dressed in fur coats, in Armenians,
Stood dark with malice
Pskov foot regiments.
The Germans pestered them with iron,
They stole their children and wives,
Their yard is plundered, cattle is slaughtered,
The crops are trampled, the house is burned down.
The prince put them in the middle,
To be the first to take the pressure, -
Reliable in the dark
Man's forged ax!
Prince in front of the Russian regiments
He turned the horse from the flight,
With steel-clad hands
Under the clouds angrily poked.
“Let God judge us with the Germans
Without delay here on the ice
We have swords with us, and come what may,
Let's help God's judgment!"
The prince galloped to the coastal rocks,
Climbing on them with difficulty,
He found a high ledge,
From where you can see everything around.
And looked back. Somewhere behind
Between trees and stones
His regiments are in ambush,
Keeping horses on a leash.
And ahead, on the ringing ice floes
Thundering with heavy scales,
The Livonians are riding in a formidable wedge -
Pig iron head.
The first onslaught of the Germans was terrible.
In the Russian infantry corner,
Two rows of horse towers
They crashed through.
Like angry lambs in a storm,
Among the German cones
Flashing white shirts
Men's lamb hats.
In washed underwear shirts,
Throwing sheepskin coats on the ground,
They rushed into mortal combat,
Gate wide open.
So it's easier to hit the enemy with a swing,
And when you have to die
It's better to have a clean shirt
Dirty with your own blood.
They With open eyes
They marched against the Germans with their bare chest,
Cutting fingers to the bone
Bowed spears to the ground.
And where the spears bent down,
They are in desperate slaughter
They cut through the German system
Shoulder to shoulder, back to back.
Ontsyfor made his way deep into the ranks,
With a crumpled neck and rib,
Spinning and jumping, chopped
Large heavy axe.
Seven times his ax was raised,
Armor warped seven times,
Seven times the Livonian bowed
And with a clang collapsed from the horse.
With the eighth, the last by vow,
Ontsyfror became face to face,
When its ninth on the side
Sword struck on the sacrum.
Ontsyfor silently turned around,
With difficulty, he mustered the rest of his strength,
I rushed at the red-haired German
And cut it down with an axe.
They fell to the ground next to
And they fought for a long time.
Ontsyfor with a clouded look
I noticed a gap in his armor.
Peeling the skin from the palm of your hand,
He climbed all five
Where the helmet is German edge
It was loosely linked to the armor.
And at the last breath
He is in the fingers, hard and thin,
Deadly squeezed goodbye
Fleshy knight's apple.
Already mixed people, horses,
Swords, axes, axes,
And the prince is still calm
Watching the battle from the mountain.
The face is frozen, as if on purpose,
He fastened his helmet to the bridle
And a hat with a wolf trim
He pulled it over his forehead and ears.
His companions were bored
The horses trampled, the fire smoldered.
The old boyars grumbled:
“Is the prince’s sword not sharp?
Not so fought fathers and grandfathers
For your destiny, for your city,
Rushed into battle, looking for victory,
Risking the prince's head!
The prince silently listened to the conversations,
Frowning on a horse, he sat;
Today he did not save the city,
Not a fiefdom, not your lot.
Today by the power of the people
He closed the way for the Livonians,
And the one who risked today -
He risked all Russia.
Let the boyars lie together -
He saw everything, he knew for sure
When the ambush regiments need
Give the agreed signal.
And, only after waiting for the Livonians,
Having mixed ranks, they were drawn into battle,
He, blazing with a sword in the sun,
He led his squad.
Raising swords of Russian steel,
Bending the spear shafts,
They flew out of the forest with a cry
New York regiments.
They flew over the ice with a clang, with thunder,
Leaning towards shaggy manes;
And the first on a huge horse
The prince got into the German system.
And, retreating before the prince,
Throwing spears and shields
The Germans fell from their horses to the ground,
Lifting iron fingers.
The bay horses got excited,
Ashes rose from under the hooves,
Bodies dragged through the snow
Stuck in narrow stirrups.
There was a big mess
Iron, blood and water.
In place of the knights
There were bloody footprints.
Some lay choking
In a bloody ice water,
Others rushed away, crouched,
Cowardly spurring horses.
Under them the horses drowned,
Under them, the ice stood on end,
Their stirrups pulled to the bottom,
The shell did not let them swim.
Brelo under sideways glances
A lot of captured gentlemen,
For the first time with bare heels
Diligently slapping on the ice.
And the prince, barely cooled down from the landfill,
Already watched from under the arm
Like a pitiful remnant of fugitives
He went to the Livonian lands.
I read it to my elder yesterday, I didn’t understand how much I understood, at the same time I checked my memory, it turns out that at least half of the passage I remember exactly from school. thanks to Nina Vasilievna.
On blue and wet
Chudsk O m cracked ice
At six thousand seven hundred and fifty
From the creation of the year,
Saturday the fifth of April
Raw dawn sometimes
advanced considered
Marching Germans dark system.
On the hats - feathers of funny birds,
Helmets have ponytails.
Above them on heavy poles
Black crosses were swinging.
Squires behind proudly
They carried family shields,
Bear muzzles on them,
Weapons, towers and flowers...
Prince in front of the Russian regiments
He turned the horse from the flight,
With steel-clad hands
Under the clouds angrily poked.
“Let God judge us with the Germans
Without delay here on the ice
We have swords with us, and come what may,
Let's help God's judgment!"
The prince galloped to the coastal rocks.
Climbing on them with difficulty,
He found a high ledge,
From where you can see everything around.
And looked back. Somewhere behind
Between trees and stones
His regiments are in ambush,
Keeping horses on a leash.
And ahead, on the ringing ice floes
Thundering with heavy scales,
Livonians are riding in a formidable wedge -
Pig iron head.
The first onslaught of the Germans was terrible.
In the Russian infantry corner,
Two rows of horse towers
They crashed through.
Like angry lambs in a storm,
Among the German cones
Flashing white shirts
Men's lamb hats.
In washed underwear shirts,
Sheepskin coats a throwing the earth
They rushed into mortal combat,
Gate wide open.
So it's easier to hit the enemy with a swing,
And when you have to die
It's better to have a clean shirt
Dirty with your own blood.
They are open-eyed
They marched against the Germans with their bare chest,
Cutting fingers to the bone
Bowed spears to the ground.
And where the spears bent down,
They are in desperate slaughter
They cut through the German system
Shoulder to shoulder, back to back...
Already mixed people, horses,
Swords, axes, axes,
And the prince is still calm
Followed the battle from the mountain...
And, only after waiting for the Livonians,
Having mixed ranks, they were drawn into battle,
He, blazing with a sword in the sun,
He led his squad.
Raising swords of Russian steel,
Bending the spear shafts,
They flew out of the forest with a cry
New York regiments.
They flew over the ice with a clang, with thunder,
Leaning towards shaggy manes;
And the first on a huge horse
The prince got into the German system.
And, retreating before the prince,
Throwing spears and shields
The Germans fell from their horses to the ground,
Lifting iron fingers.
The bay horses got excited,
From under the hooves they raised dust,
Bodies dragged through the snow
Stuck in narrow stirrups.
There was a big mess
Iron, blood and water.
In place of the knights
There were bloody footprints.
Some lay choking
In bloody ice water
Others rushed away, crouched,
Cowardly spurring horses.
Under them the horses drowned,
Under them, the ice stood on end,
Their stirrups pulled to the bottom,
The shell did not let them swim.
Brelo under sideways glances
A lot of captured gentlemen,
For the first time with bare heels
Diligently slapping on the ice.
And the prince, barely cooled down from the landfill,
Already watched from under the arm
Like a pitiful remnant of fugitives
He went to the Livonian lands.
CHAPTER ONE 1918
All night the cannonade thundered.
Pskov was surrounded on three sides.
Red Guard detachments
With difficulty they made their way to the platform.
And then in the blink of an eye
With a whistle rushed here
Germans to the very windows
Packed trains.
For no apparent reason
One train went to hell.
One hundred and three German lower ranks,
Three officers were there.
There were puddles of blood on the rails,
Remains of meat and bones.
So unfriendly in Pskov
Uninvited guests were welcomed!
They hid in the houses, the lights were turned off,
The city was dark and prickly.
We did not bring the enemy
The key is on a gilded platter.
To intimidate the population
Was assembled for the Hay parade.
Keeping a fierce balance
The soldiers walked behind the row.
Silent and long like fish
Put on tails;
Leopold of Bavaria himself arrived
Distribute Iron Crosses.
The Germans were in strong helmets,
Numbered inside
And painted on top
Concern "Farben Industry".
And the population was silent,
I looked at each house in silence.
So they look at the enemies first,
To take them by the throat later.
Found in the whole city only
Five sons of bitches
With servility, with feeling, really
Greeted "dear" guests.
Five city landowners
Deciding to snatch a piece,
Considered a good deal
Concoct an address for the Germans.
They humbly asked:
To return their names,
The Germans of half of Russia must
Grab it next month.
One of them in dissenting opinion
I asked Siberia not to forget
He had an estate in those parts
And I didn't want to be a loser.
On an old, faded postcard
Captured that moment:
Dvoryanchik, dry and liquid,
Reads a document to the Germans.
His goatee
(But now he shaved off his beard!)
His manner and gait
(But he changed his gait!)
His chic business card
(But he took off his business card a long time ago!) -
His used now on that postcard
And the photographer himself did not know.
But if he is not dead and wanders
Near the border through the forests,
People like him are found everywhere.
By wolf's faded eyes.
He will not hide them with a mint cap,
He will not hide them under glasses,
Like on a postcard, furtively
Look familiar pupils.
And the German, photographed next to him,
He's in the Gestapo somewhere
And twenty years with the same look
Looks at the Russian land.
CHAPTER TWO 1240 - 1242
Translate more firmly with Nbmtsi Plskovichi
and brought them Tverdilo Ivankovich
with inmi, and yourself often own Plskov
with NЪmtsi, fighting the village of Novgorod.
Novgorod First Chronicle
Two days since Pskov was lost by us,
And you can see for a hundred miles around -
Above the tower is an order banner:
On a white field is a black cross.
In the big chambers,
With a wry smile on your lips,
Sitting Livonian in black armor
With crosses in ten places.
He sits arrogantly, as at a feast,
Putting a black helmet at my feet
And in a businesslike way
Feet in iron shoes.
He won easily
There was pestilence, and famine, and crops.
Novgorod was attacked by the Swedes,
The Tatars were at the gate.
The prince was found to be shabby,
Running from Pskov to the Germans,
He gave them the city in words,
For this table and shelter got.
When Izborsk was taken to starvation
And Pskov itself was burned by a third,
There were traitors who
It did not give the veche a hand to warm.
The past is deprived of honor,
They, in order to regain power,
Not like the Germans - even the devil
Could open the gate...
The Livonian looks down at the veche,
On black floating smoke.
Tverdilo - thief and translator -
I sat down in the chair next to him.
He was in Riga and in Wenden,
Credit is open to him everywhere,
He, flattering the German, about treason
He speaks German with him.
He and his friends asked him
And they ask again: having gathered the army,
The Livonians of half of Russia must
Select next month.
But the red-haired German looks past,
There, where, hanging from the teeth,
Ropes creak beneath them
Five blue dead.
Yesterday, under the wet howl of a snowstorm,
In a back alley Pskov
Three Livonians were attacked,
Don't let them draw their swords.
But an hour later help
Along the narrow streets of Pskov
Walked a bloody road
Trample of the dead and the living.
One blacksmith, Ontsyfor-Cloud,
Made my way to the city wall
And rushed down straight from the steep
On a knightly alien horse.
They chased after him, but did not catch up,
They passed through the city with fire,
Whom they did not finish with a spear,
They took him out with a rope.
They hang. Below them is the shore
Above them is a low moon,
German Komtur Hermann Dering
Watching them from the window.
He is very glad that merciful
Dear knightly lord
Helped to hang impudent smerds,
Raising a hand against the gentlemen.
They are hung securely
He is only saddened by
That the whole city is impossible
Hang along oak walls.
But he will do his best
No wonder there is an ancient law:
Where the knight was let in,
There he will grab the whole verst.
No wonder, proudly arching your neck,
Curves twirling mustaches,
Pskov trample the pavements
His most Christian dogs.
CHAPTER THREE
And inii Plskovichi vbzhasha in Nov
city with wives and children ...
Novgorod First Chronicle
Leaving the Germans a hundred fathoms,
Ontsyfor, dismounting, jumped into the forest,
Through the mud, through the remnants of the crust
With a horse climbed into a deep ravine.
He missed the chase
And the horse did not give out - did not neigh.
No wonder in hard palms
Ontsyfor snoring overwhelmed him.
Rather come to Novgorod!
No rest, at any cost!
Let the long forest echo
Seven days jumping behind!
Before the first night
Noticed someone's blue corpse
And under a stuck cart
Already swollen horse croup.
Then the carts went more and more often,
And people drove ahead
Through the thick forests,
Through the naked wolf windbreak.
They threw the house and belongings and rushed
From Pskov to Novgorod. Is always
Enemies of Russia got
Some empty cities.
On the third day over the ferry
He saw fires, bags
And hundreds of stray carts
By the gray swollen river.
Everyone was waiting here, in the mud and cold,
To carry the ice from the upper reaches.
Ontsyfor took off his weapon,
The horse has a heavy saddle.
Down on the wet stone
He took off his boot, then another
And, crossed wide,
I stepped into the wave with my bare feet.
From the cold, the jaws pounded,
With a horse swam to slippery rocks.
From the other side they shouted
So that he would quickly jump to Novgorod.
I don't remember myself from the cold,
He didn't really hear the words.
But as a sign that everything will be fulfilled,
He waved his wet hat.
Through rain and hail, without drying out,
Oncyfor the rest of the day
I drove to Novgorod without rest,
From the foam of the white horse.
In the evening on a deaf country road
Among the trampled earth
Wolves attacked horse trail
And with a howl they followed the trail.
But the horse did not give out, thank God,
Rode through the woods all night until
Did not collapse on the road in the morning,
On the ground, slamming the rider.
The owner freed his leg
Cursing the damn road
For some reason I touched my fingers
The glassy, wet eye of a horse.
There was a German horse
And it worked well...
And with a staggering step
Ontsyfor went to Novgorod.
Yes, even if your legs are broken,
In rain, mud and darkness
He is two, he is three such roads
He crawled silently on his stomach.
It was lunch hour. Saturday.
The end of trade has come
When through the Spassky Gate
Ontsyfor got to Novgorod.
Screaming left and right
That Pskov was given to the Livonian dogs,
He wandered, staggering, between the shops,
Sheds, forges and trays.
And, hastily wiping your hands,
Hiding chests underground
Locking goods in lari,
Hanging locks on benches
Along all the rows, in a wide crowd,
Merchants moved to the veche,
Smaller people, bakers,
Cloth workers and blacksmiths.
Following the sedate posadnik,
Under the armpits, picking up from the ground,
Up the stairs
Ontsyfor was dragged.
And, rising through the force,
Looking all around,
He screamed, banging on the railing
With a bony black fist:
"There was Pskov - and there is no more Pskov,
It's time to put on the coats
Not that and you'll have to soon
Kiss the German boot!"
CHAPTER FOUR
To the volost in Novgorod
find time Lithuania, Nmtsi, Chud and
catching all the horses and cattle in the Luga, not on
what and yell at the villages ...
Annals of the First Sofia
... send the Novgorodians Spiridon Vladyka
by Prince Alexander Yaroslavlich.
Annals of Abraham
Livonians broke into the depths of Russia,
We reached Luga, Tesov fell.
Near Novgorod itself, boasting,
The Livonian master approached.
Parchment waving ready,
Hanging a round seal
Dad himself is their crusade
Blessed to start soon.
They waged war in the Livonian spirit:
They took everything that can be taken;
Children are dying of hunger
There is nothing to yell at in the villages.
The enemy is at the gate, and the prince is away,
That month was coming to an end
How is he with the whole squad together
In Pereyaslavl he went to his father.
There was a reason for this:
Prince Alexander was nice while
Thug Swede and German
His heavy hand.
But, having come to Novgorod with victory,
He pinched the tail of the boyars
And immediately became no better than the Swede
For them - not asked and not nice.
The boyars took over at the veche,
Shutting up the lesser people,
Showed the way to the prince
And escorted to the gate.
Now, when with the Livonian pack
I had to fight hard
We went to the veche quarrels, disputes:
Call back or don't call.
The boyars were sent with the lord,
But besides these mothers,
Lesser elected ambassadors
Slimmer than five.
So that the prince would rather come back,
To make him more accommodating
They sent those military men,
With whom he beat the Swede.
He remembered them - they are at the party
Boyars against all
They raised speeches for the prince
And with axes climbed into an argument.
They sent them, and to them in addition,
So that requests come out hot,
sent at random,
Two rescued Pskovites.
Ontsyfor rode with them;
To Pereyaslavl ten days
Had to forest roads
Whip frozen horses.
For the third day, as the whole embassy
Waiting for an answer, baklusha beats
And, cursing hospitality,
Visiting the prince eats and drinks.
And, rattling boots,
For the third day the embassy house
Takes big steps
Archbishop Spyridon.
The wagon is broken - not a hindrance,
I tucked my cassock into my belt,
He rode a third of the way,
Never taking a breather.
He was a priest of the military fold,
I wore earplugs for seven years
And Novgorod orders
He pointed up to Vyatka.
To him, fed by war,
And now it would be nothing
And replace the surplice with armor
And the shepherd's staff - with a sword.
For three days he endured humiliation,
He beat bows, carried gifts,
Three days, how to reign again
He asked the prince to Novgorod;
The prince is in no hurry to answer -
It leads by the nose, then it is silent ...
The bishop walks until dawn
And the staff knocks on the floor.
Rising at dawn, Ontsyfor is near
With another visiting Pskov
Passed once Shopping near,
Asking what's what.
The goods felt on the shelves,
Heard the bells
I told the merchants of Pereyaslavl,
What is against Pskov, the city is thin.
Let's go back. At the turn
In one of the fortress towers,
Creaking, the gates parted,
And the prince passed through them.
Turning to the creak of constipation,
Seeing the prince's helmet,
Two Pskovs, winking,
He was hit in the forehead.
He lingered, involuntarily
They are crowded with a horse's chest.
"The boyars sent you, didn't they?
Want to pity me?"
The prince was sinewy and hard as a stone,
But not wide and small in stature,
I couldn't believe that he
Broke horseshoes.
Face in the paternal breed,
He carried separately from everything
Big hard chin
And a hooked hard nose.
Sat, ruffled, high
In a huge battle saddle,
Like a small and strong falcon,
Folded wings, on a rock.
Without responding, looking straight ahead
In the notch of the princely armor,
Ontsyfor repeated stubbornly:
"Defend us from the Germans!"
The prince smiled and suddenly,
Whipping the horse with a strap,
Turned it to the west
And shook his fist.
Then he asked angrily, quickly:
How the Germans are armed
Who was appointed to the masters
And strong eh with Denmark friendly.
And prickly in his eyes,
And the way he got angry
Ontsyfor understood - the Germans are better,
Don't wait for him, get out.
Ontsyfor raised his hand to the sky
In burns, in scars, in nodules
And shouted to the whole neighborhood,
For God to hear in the clouds:
"Let the devil take me to hell,
Let thunder break out on the spot
When I'm on the Pskov wall
I won't get in first with an axe.
If I don't die until that moment,
Perhaps you will see me, prince, me!
The prince turned in place abruptly
And silently drove the horse away.
The prince was vindictive. exile
He did not forgive the Novgorodians,
The whole city is crying and moaning
Wouldn't return it back.
Grievances were not forgotten
He could drive the ambassador away
But, covering all grievances,
Hatred of aliens grew.
Sharper than anything, he heard a long time ago
How they crawl to visit us,
More tireless than mice
The Russian border is being gnawed.
They crawl under our roof
Behind each hide a bush,
Where not with swords - there with trade,
Where not with trade - there with a cross.
They crawl. And he will be stupid
Who draws the sword too late
Who, because of their quarrels, will forget
Stop the Livonian plague.
The prince swore once and again swears:
The Livonians cannot see Russia.
He will even return to Novgorod,
To give them a knee in the ass.
CHAPTER FIVE
He is soon the city of Pskov and exile
NЪmets izseѪche, and ineh bandage and hail
free from the godless Germans ...
Pskov Second Chronicle
The prince first took Koporye,
German town broke
German bollards in Lakeland
Who killed, who caught.
Having summoned the troops, having collected the carts,
Waiting for the Suzdal regiments,
In winter, in bitter cold
He suddenly overlaid Pskov.
Clamped by the Great and Pskov,
Oak surrounded by a wall,
Pskov raised his head
Over the entire surrounding area.
And above the high walls
Cutting off the entrance and entrance to the city,
The order banner stuck out -
On a white field is a black cross.
Forming a crane wedge,
Because of the surrounding forest
By noon in the Pskov valley
Russian troops broke in.
The prince himself, putting on a new casing
Over the iron scale
Rode the direct route to Pskov,
ahead of their shelves.
There were Pskovians and Ladoga residents,
Izhorians went, eat and everything,
There were claps, stinks, townspeople -
Here Novgorod gathered all.
Putting aside arshins for a while,
People and merchants went to live,
Of them gathered in a squad
All Novgorod Ends.
Rushed, showing prowess,
Squads on their horses;
Pereyaslavl, Vladimir, Suzdal
They were sent to help.
Happy before the fight
Grey-bearded old wolf
Archbishop behind him
He led his cavalry regiment.
In saddlebags jumping,
Clutching from the habit of the occasion,
The boyars rode separately,
Behind each servant in two rows.
Everyone, even the oldest, fat ones,
long gone to rest,
The prince himself from their vast estates
Iron hand fished out.
Any of them once fought,
Went for Novgorod on a campaign,
Yes, the horse is dead, the campaign is forgotten,
And the sword rusted for a year.
But the prince deprived them of rest -
What to do on the stove,
Isn't it better under the Pskov wall
To fight in an open field?
For a long time the boyars have become
Dislike the prince. their swords,
Their armor of heavy steel,
Their intractable speeches
I preferred military men
In simple chain mail with an ax -
He tested them many times.
And always remembered kindly!
All the way he, with anger
Chasing with everyone equally
He did not let the boyars warm the bones,
Don't take off your armor, don't get off your horse.
.....................................................
The sun was rising. Became visible -
German shields are on fire.
Livonians on the walls are insulting
They speak Basurman.
The prince in the battle saddle bent down,
Ran the frozen horse,
Turned to the squad from the fly
And he waved his whip in the air.
On the towers, knowing every ledge,
Hooks, slits and knots
In silence, the first to attack
Pskov regiments rushed.
The prince saw how bearded
Climb up the tower
Pskov, with whom he once
I spoke in Pereyaslavl.
Ontsyfor crawled higher, higher,
He took out the cornice with his hand,
Slowly climbed onto the roof
And the enemy's banner pulled down.
Torn the cloth to shreds,
He threw them away
And, spitting on the palm of your hand,
Pulled a tree from the roof.
Pskov was recaptured. The walls are everywhere
Dead bodies were lying around.
And blood with a knock, as in dishes,
It flowed along the logs to the ground,
And on the wall, calling for revenge,
Still hanging from the teeth,
Swinging in a row in the old place
Five half-rotted dead.
They're in a fight with an intruder
Here they put their belly
And snow and rain cuts their bones,
And the worm gnaws, and the raven vomits.
Let's bury them in earthly darkness
And we will take an eternal oath -
Livonian dogs and their descendants
We won't give up an inch!
Pskov was devastated by fire,
The entrance to the house is littered with snow -
Knights of Christ for a reason
They hosted here for a year.
Prince Alexander settled down
In the upper room where the commander lived.
As you can see, the commander settled down here -
A whip of bull veins was lying around,
The logs were smoldering in the oven,
Forgotten dog dozed in the warmth
And the unfinished stood
Two fryazh goblets on the table.
The commander himself seemed to have sunk into the water
The blizzard closed all the fetters.
In this damn weather
He won't get far.
Under the battle axes
All the rest fell.
Only three were raked alive
And they brought him to Alexander.
They behaved arrogantly
Pretty sure the prince
Let them all go without fail
Flattered by the ransom of the order.
One of them put his foot down
Chewed his lips proudly
He asked the prince in Russian: is it a lot
Would he like to take them?
The prince was genuinely surprised:
Loving the Livonians since childhood,
He himself would rather strangle himself,
Than let them go.
And so that they live, admiring Pskov,
To make the city more visible from above,
Let any tower be chosen
And he will hang them on her.
In the morning, it was still light,
The prince ordered to blow the horns:
The Russian squads did not fit,
Sitting on the stove, waiting for the enemy.
Hurry! Don't let him wake up
Not letting the wounds lick,
Reaching across the border
Punish the beast in the lair.
The air was full of horse snoring,
An iron clinking bit.
To the west, to the Livonian borders,
The prince led the militia.
And, passing under the Pskov tower,
The troops were seen in the sky,
Like the three rulers of yesterday
They hung silently on the wall.
They looked down at the firs
For hundreds of miles of foreign land,
For everything you want to own
But, to their dismay, they couldn't.
..........................................................
Driving spurs into the sides of horses,
Rode away under the thunder of horseshoes
A Livonian and a princeling who
Pskov was verbally sold to them.
Two friends in Riga for help
Hurry through the dense forests
And grimly squabbled all the way,
How to bite dogs.
Clutching the reins in rage,
The Livonian prince reproached:
"Where is Pskov? Where are the Pskov lands,
What in words did you conquer?
Why did you swear to us in vain
That the Russian troops are bad? .. "
And with a fist, red from the cold,
He shook under the prince's nose.
CHAPTER SIX
And byst with that great Nemtsev and
Chudi...
Novgorod First Chronicle
On blue and wet
Chudsky crackling ice
At six thousand seven hundred and fifty
From the creation of the year,
Saturday, April 5th
Raw dawn sometimes
advanced considered
Marching Germans dark system.
On hats - feathers of birds cheerful,
Helmets have pony tails.
Above them on heavy poles
Black crosses swayed.
Squires behind proudly
They carried family shields,
Bear muzzles on them,
Weapons, towers and flowers.
Everything was so damn beautiful
As if these gentlemen
Already broken our strength
Went here to play.
Well, let's bring the shelves to the shelves,
We have had enough embassies, betrayals,
Oshyu us Raven Stone
And at our right hand Uzmen.
Below us is ice, above us is the sky,
Our cities are behind us,
No forest, no land, no bread
Never take you again.
All night, crackling with pitch, they burned
Behind us are red bonfires.
We warmed our hands before the fight,
So that the axes do not slip.
Angle forward, especially from everyone,
Dressed in fur coats, in Armenians,
Stood dark with malice
Pskov foot regiments.
The Germans pestered them with iron,
They stole their children and wives,
Their yard is plundered, cattle is slaughtered,
The crops are trampled down, the house is burned down.
The prince put them in the middle,
To be the first to take the pressure, -
Reliable in the dark
Man's forged ax!
Prince in front of the Russian regiments
He turned the horse from the flight,
With steel-clad hands
Under the clouds angrily poked.
"Let God judge us with the Germans
Without delay here on the ice
We have swords with us, and come what may,
Let's help God's judgment!"
The prince galloped to the coastal rocks,
Climbing on them with difficulty,
He found a high ledge,
From where you can see everything around.
And looked back. Somewhere behind
Between trees and stones
His regiments are in ambush,
Keeping horses on a leash.
And ahead, on the ringing ice floes
Thundering with heavy scales,
The Livonians are riding in a formidable wedge -
Pig iron head.
The first onslaught of the Germans was terrible.
In the Russian infantry corner
Two rows of horse towers
They crashed through.
Like angry lambs in a storm,
Among the German cones
Flashing white shirts
Men's lamb hats.
In washed underwear shirts,
Throwing sheepskin coats on the ground,
They rushed into mortal combat,
Gate wide open.
So it's easier to hit the enemy with a swing,
And when you have to die
It's better to have a clean shirt
Dirty with your own blood.
They are open-eyed
They marched against the Germans with their bare chest,
Cutting fingers to the bone
Bowed spears to the ground.
And where the spears bent down,
They are in desperate slaughter
They cut through the German system
Shoulder to shoulder, back to back.
Ontsyfor made his way deep into the ranks,
With a crumpled neck and rib,
Spinning and jumping, chopped
Large heavy axe.
Seven times his ax was raised,
Armor warped seven times,
Seven times the Livonian bowed
And with a clang collapsed from the horse.
With the eighth, the last by vow,
Ontsyfor became face to face,
When its ninth on the side
Sword struck on the sacrum.
Ontsyfor silently turned around,
With difficulty, he mustered the rest of his strength,
I rushed at the red-haired German
And cut it down with an axe.
They fell to the ground next to
And they fought for a long time.
Ontsyfor with a clouded look
I noticed a gap in his armor.
Peeling the skin from the palm of your hand,
He climbed all five
Where the helmet is German edge
It was loosely linked to the armor.
And, at the last breath.
He is in the fingers, hard and thin,
Deadly squeezed goodbye
Fleshy knight's apple.
Already mixed people, horses,
Swords, axes, axes,
And the prince is still calm
Followed the battle from the mountain.
The face is frozen, as if on purpose,
He fastened his helmet to the bridle
And a hat with a wolf trim
He pulled it over his forehead and ears.
His companions were bored
Horses trampled, the fire smoldered.
The old boyars grumbled:
"Is the prince's sword not sharp?
Not so fought fathers and grandfathers
For your inheritance, for your city.
Rushed into battle, looking for victory,
Risking the prince's head!"
The prince silently listened to the conversations,
Frowning on a horse, he sat;
Today he did not save the city,
Not a fiefdom, not your lot.
Today by the power of the people
He closed the way for the Livonians,
And the one who risked today -
He risked all Russia.
Let the boyars lie together -
He saw everything, he knew for sure
When the ambush regiments need
Give the agreed signal.
And, only after waiting for the Livonians,
Having mixed ranks, they were drawn into battle,
He flashed his sword in the sun.
He led his squad.
Raising swords of Russian steel,
Bending the spear shafts,
They flew out of the forest with a cry
New York regiments.
They flew over the ice with a clang, with thunder,
Leaning towards shaggy manes;
And the first on a huge horse
The prince got into the German system.
And, retreating before the prince,
Throwing spears and shields
The Germans fell from their horses to the ground,
Lifting iron fingers.
The bay horses got excited,
From under the hooves they raised dust,
Bodies dragged through the snow
Stuck in narrow stirrups.
There was a big mess
Iron, blood and water.
In place of the knights
There were bloody footprints.
Some lay choking
In bloody ice water
Others rushed away, crouched,
Cowardly spurring horses.
Under them the horses drowned,
Under them, the ice stood on end,
Their stirrups pulled to the bottom,
The shell did not let them swim.
Brelo under sideways glances
A lot of captured gentlemen,
For the first time with bare heels
Slapping diligently on the ice.
And the prince, barely cooled down from the landfill,
Already watched from under the arm
Like a pitiful remnant of fugitives
He went to the Livonian lands.
CHAPTER SEVEN 1918
The cannonade did not stop.
The city was semi-surrounded
Red Army detachments
It was pierced from three sides.
The Germans, having abandoned the defense,
Covered in murky darkness,
Wagons were hurriedly marked:
"Nah Deitchland" - therefore, home!
Hurry! Not salty sipped
In the mud, in the dust, they walked to the station
From the land where the past year
They have been fruitless.
And yet, it's not so fruitless.
All that we managed and could
They are from Pskov nobly
They were transferred to their fatherland.
They pulled in a crowd, indiscriminately,
Sheets of iron from the roofs of Pskov,
Set of physical instruments
From two city gymnasiums.
From the warehouse - timber,
From the elevator - grain,
From the hospital - blankets,
From the factory - bread wine.
Having finished all the work of the day,
In the evening a detachment came out
And copper door handles
Filmed from all doors in a row.
Now - already at the retreat -
Herr lieutenant with great difficulty
I was able to resist the urge
Also search every house.
He is bitter, like a cat on lard,
I looked at the door, where, as luck would have it,
The copper latch shone,
Polished like glass.
They no longer threatened
Take Petrograd. Vice versa,
loaded with great haste
And departed from the gate.
Horns of the last echelons,
Rows of closed windows
And on the last of the wagons
Last waylight.
Well, good luck! Let them tell
Like the charms of a foreign land
They liked them so much that even
Others lay down to sleep in it!
Remained at the Pskov cemetery
Big gray rock
She sprawled wide
Under the shadow of the Prussian eagle.
And in rank, with a sense of proportion,
Buried around her
Separately non-commissioned officers,
Separately lower ranks.
I'm sorry soldier. They served
Fighting, not knowing for whom,
Disgracefully laid down their heads
Far from the Rhine.
I'm sorry soldier. But once you arrive
Someone else's order to plant -
You have become an enemy. And whoever it is
Mercy you have no right to wait.
CONCLUSION 1937
Now, when at the school desk
"Mein Kampf" students cramming
And Nazi fingers on the cards
Russia is divided into pieces,
We will remind them in order -
First a terrible day when
Seven miles Livonians without looking back
They ran away from the Chudskoye ice.
Then we recall the day of the fall
The last order banners,
When the one who gave away all possessions
The Order was abolished by Russia.
Recall the memorable date
When Berlin trembled,
When from a Russian soldier
The great Frederick fled back.
Remind them by old maps
Places where they found their death
Prussian, together with Bonaparte
Looking for foreign land.
Let us remind you not to forget
Like the November cold
We beat away with bayonets
Them in the eighteenth year.
Let's turn the year by year.
Not once, not twice in seven centuries,
Shining with brand new weapons,
Ranks of foreign regiments were advancing towards us.
But, repeating past experience,
They fled from the Russian fields,
Losing weapons on the way
And not burying the dead.
In our museums we have accumulated
For many battles, for seven centuries
Rows covered with old dust
Foreign standards and badges.
How we already beat them,
Let these gentlemen remember
And now we are stronger than we used to be.
And the hour will be terrible when,
Not forgetting, not forgiving
One move forward
Defending your homeland
An angry people will go.
Someday, meeting with friends,
We will remember in many years
What was cut into the ground by the edges
Violent caterpillar track
That crumpled the bread of a soldier's boot,
That we were facing a war
What was once to the west of us
It was a fascist country.
The day will come when freedom
conquered in battle,
Fascism to shake off the people
We will give our hand.
On that day, under joyful cliques
We will praise the whole country
Liberated and great
The people of Germany are native.
We believe in it, it will be so
Not today, tomorrow the battle will crash,
Not today, tomorrow will wake us up
Bugler with a military pipe.
"And if the great thunder strikes
Over a pack of dogs and executioners,
For us, the sun will be the same
Shine with the fire of your rays."
On April 5, 1242, 770 years ago, the Russian prince Alexander Nevsky on the ice of Lake Peipus defeated the knights of the Livonian Order, not allowing them to carry out the “drang nach osten”.
If it weren’t for the prince, who had little tolerance for foreign cultures and customs, then for 700 years they would have been eating sausages with beer.
Raising swords of Russian steel,
Bending the spear shafts,
They flew out of the forest with a cry
New York regiments.
Leaning towards shaggy manes;
And the first on a huge horse
The prince got into the German system ...
History and reconstruction of the Battle of the Ice. Video - texts - 3D-pictures in assortment.
Konstantin Simonov, poem "Battle on the Ice"
On blue and wet
Chudsky cracked ice
At six thousand seven hundred and fifty
From Creation,
Saturday, April 5th
Raw dawn time
advanced considered
Marching Germans dark system.
On caps are feathers of cheerful birds,
Helmets have pony tails.
Above them on heavy poles
Black crosses swayed.
Squires behind proudly
They carried family shields,
Bear muzzles on them,
Weapons, towers and flowers.
Everything was so damn beautiful
As if these gentlemen
Already broken our strength
Went here to play.
Well, let's bring the shelves to the shelves,
We have had enough embassies, betrayals,
Oshyu us Raven Stone
And at our right hand Uzmen.
Below us is ice, above us is the sky,
Our cities are behind us,
No forest, no land, no bread
Never take you again.
All night, crackling with pitch, they burned
Behind us are red bonfires.
We warmed our hands before the fight,
So that the axes do not slip.
Angle forward, especially from everyone,
Dressed in fur coats, in Armenians,
Stood dark with malice
Pskov foot regiments.
The Germans pestered them with iron,
They stole their children and wives,
Their yard is plundered, cattle is slaughtered,
The crops are trampled down, the house is burned down.
The prince put them in the middle,
To be the first to take the pressure, -
Reliable in the dark
Man's forged ax!
Prince in front of the Russian regiments
He turned the horse around,
With steel-clad hands
Under the clouds angrily poked.
"Let God judge us with the Germans
Without delay here on the ice
We have swords with us, and come what may,
Let's help God's judgment!"
The prince galloped to the coastal rocks,
Climbing on them with difficulty,
He found a high ledge,
From where you can see everything around.
And looked back. Somewhere behind
Between trees and stones
His regiments are in ambush,
Keeping horses on a leash.
And ahead, on the ringing ice floes
Thundering with heavy scales,
The Livonians are riding in a formidable wedge -
Pig iron head.
The first onslaught of the Germans was terrible.
In the Russian infantry corner,
Two rows of horse towers
They crashed through.
Like angry lambs in a storm,
Among the German cones
Flashing white shirts
Men's lamb hats.
In washed underwear shirts,
Throwing sheepskin coats on the ground,
They rushed into mortal combat,
Gate wide open.
So it's easier to hit the enemy with a swing,
And when you have to die
It's better to have a clean shirt
Dirty with your own blood.
They are open-eyed
They marched against the Germans with their bare chest,
Cutting fingers to the bone
Bowed spears to the ground.
And where the spears bent down,
They are in desperate slaughter
They cut through the German system
Shoulder to shoulder, back to back.
Ontsyfor made his way deep into the ranks,
With a crumpled neck and rib,
Spinning and jumping, chopped
Large heavy axe.
Seven times his ax was raised,
Armor warped seven times,
Seven times the Livonian bowed
And with a clang collapsed from the horse.
With the eighth, the last by vow,
Ontsyfror became face to face,
When its ninth on the side
Sword struck on the sacrum.
Ontsyfor silently turned around,
With difficulty, he mustered the rest of his strength,
I rushed at the red-haired German
And cut it down with an axe.
They fell to the ground next to
And they fought for a long time.
Ontsyfor with a clouded look
I noticed a gap in his armor.
Peeling the skin from the palm of your hand,
He climbed all five
Where the helmet is German edge
It was loosely linked to the armor.
And at the last breath
He is in the fingers, hard and thin,
Deadly squeezed goodbye
Fleshy knight's apple.
Already mixed people, horses,
Swords, axes, axes,
And the prince is still calm
Watching the battle from the mountain.
The face is frozen, as if on purpose,
He fastened his helmet to the bridle
And a hat with a wolf trim
He pulled it over his forehead and ears.
His companions were bored
Horses trampled, the fire smoldered.
The old boyars grumbled:
"Is the prince's sword not sharp?
Not so fought fathers and grandfathers
For your destiny, for your city,
Rushed into battle, looking for victory,
Risking the prince's head!
The prince silently listened to the conversations,
Frowning on a horse, he sat;
Today he did not save the city,
Not a fiefdom, not your lot.
Today by the power of the people
He closed the way for the Livonians,
And the one who risked today -
He risked all Russia.
Let the boyars lie together -
He saw everything, he knew for sure
When the ambush regiments need
Give the agreed signal.
And, only after waiting for the Livonians,
Having mixed ranks, they were drawn into battle,
He, blazing with a sword in the sun,
He led his squad.
Raising swords of Russian steel,
Bending the spear shafts,
They flew out of the forest with a cry
New York regiments.
They flew over the ice with a clang, with thunder,
Leaning towards shaggy manes;
And the first on a huge horse
The prince got into the German system.
And, retreating before the prince,
Throwing spears and shields
The Germans fell from their horses to the ground,
Lifting iron fingers.
The bay horses got excited,
Ashes rose from under the hooves,
Bodies dragged through the snow
Stuck in narrow stirrups.
There was a big mess
Iron, blood and water.
In place of the knights
There were bloody footprints.
Some lay choking
In bloody ice water
Others rushed away, crouched,
Cowardly spurring horses.
Under them the horses drowned,
Under them, the ice stood on end,
Their stirrups pulled to the bottom,
The shell did not let them swim.
Brelo under sideways glances
A lot of captured gentlemen,
For the first time with bare heels
Slapping diligently on the ice.
And the prince, barely cooled down from the landfill,
Already watched from under the arm
Like a pitiful remnant of fugitives
He went to the Livonian lands.
Lessons from the "Battle on the Ice"
The year 1938 was of particular importance in the life of Konstantin Simonov. Firstly, the Znamya magazine published his poem Battle on the Ice at the very beginning of the year. This thing, addressed like distant antiquity, caused many different conversations in the literary circles of Moscow.
Some believed that the "Battle on the Ice" marked the final turn of the young poet from the Western manner towards traditional Russian values. Others believed that the promising poet had finally ruined his talent and occupied himself with the conjuncture. But the matter never came to establishing the truth. The second event for Simonov was the end Literary Institute, submission of documents to the Moscow Institute of Philosophy, Literature and History and subsequent admission to the Writers' Union. And the third moment concerned his personal life: in 1938, the poet finally broke with Ata Tipot (who was related to Stalin's worst enemy, Trotsky, on his father's side) and connected himself with Evgenia Laskina, who later gave birth to his son Alexei. But first things first.
As soon as the first issue of the Znamya magazine for 1938 with Simonov's poem "Battle on the Ice" entered the kiosks and libraries, the master of Soviet poetry Vladimir Lugovskoy came up with the idea to discuss a new thing of his favorite in the Writers' Union at a meeting of the sector for working with young writers. The meeting was scheduled for January 31st.
Anticipating the discussion, Simonov gave some explanations. He noted:
“The poem mainly refers to 1240-1242 - by the time of the battle on the ice itself, and its first and last chapters refer to 1918, when the Germans occupied Pskov. In 1240, Pskov was also captured by the Germans. Throughout its centuries-old history, Pskov was twice ruled by the Germans. This allowed me to draw some parallel "
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, sheet 1).
Then Simonov's former classmates at the Literary Institute and invited participants from some Moscow literary associations spoke. Their names then did not say anything to anyone (with the exception of perhaps Ksenia Nekrasova, Adeline Adalis and maybe, V. Livshits). But the unknown did not prevent young people from performing extremely hard.
Set the tone Zakharova. For her, an example of historical poetry was the “Song of prophetic Oleg". Therefore, she wanted, first of all, to understand whether Simonov could not only surpass the classical model, but at least come close to it. The conclusion was not in favor of the young author.
Zakharova said:
“In general, my impression of the poem: the first part of the poem, which refers to 1918 (maybe because we modern people, we are accustomed to easily memorize images and pictures that we ourselves experienced, observed ourselves and about which we repeatedly read), I was deeply engraved in my memory. This picture flashes before my eyes even now.
In the second part, which speaks of 1242, as far as my memory serves me, the events unfold from June until winter, before this famous battle on the ice. I especially liked the struggle for the liberation of Pskov. This picture is well engraved in the memory, its individual images are perfectly imprinted.
What else did you like? Preparing for the battle on Lake Peipus. Personally, I got the impression about this training, about banners with crosses, about German knights, about the superiority of their weapons, about their recklessness, to put it in a modern way. All this is etched into my memory. But I expected more from the end of the fight. In my imagination, there was Lake Peipsi, covered with blood to such an extent that the ice turned red. There they chopped down 5 hundred knights, a whole mess. I expected this picture to be more vividly reproduced. We know about it from history, and this picture could be shown with brighter helmets.
Unfortunately, I didn't get that impression about the outcome of this fight.
What are the flaws in the poem?
What I especially did not like was the individual turns of speech, when people use a whole range of terms that are characteristic XIII century when they use the Church Slavonic language, and suddenly slip into their speech modern words: "devilish beauty", "risk".
As far as I know, in my opinion, such words were not used then. These are words of later origin. Moreover, it should be taken into account that Russia in those years was just seized by a religious dope. We know that the Christian religion was introduced in the 10th century, and in the 12th century it reached its peak, so that such expressions as "devilish beauty" could not then exist.
These individual expressions create the impression (sorry for the harshness) that a man came to Novgorod and Pskov, examined the monuments of antiquity, he never attended the veche (laughter in the hall), he learned about the veche from very, very stingy descriptions that it was at "eftom" place, and on the basis of this inspection wrote.
It seems to me that more should be said about the veche, because the Novgorod veche, as is known from history, managed internal state affairs and resolved military issues. The Novgorod prince was subordinate to the veche, but he did not lead the veche. There are some mixed responsibilities here.
Here are my comments. I think that the "oldies" will support me in this regard"
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, ll. 2-4).
But some of the "oldies" did not agree with Zakharova's assessments. First objected Kedrov. He drew attention to the fact that before Simonov, no one in the literature had yet studied the confrontation between the Slavs and Germans in the first half of the thirteenth century in the Pskov region. Therefore, already for one appeal to this topic, the poet, according to Kedrov, deserved every encouragement. In addition, Kedrov highly appreciated Simonov's approach to historical material, the choice of size. It was not by chance that the poet relied on iambic. “In this poem,” the speaker emphasized, “there was no that Western manner, the Kiplingian manner, in which many of his [Simonov. - V.O.] poems ”(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, d. 69, l. 7).
The discussion then revolved around two points. Alone (as Myamlichev and Livshits) argued about the extent to which Simonov's poem corresponded to the principle of historicism. Others (particularly Vsevolodov) the emphasis was on issues of artistry. The same Vsevolodov was embarrassed, for example, by the length in the poem.
The people argued to the point of hoarseness. Myamlichev convinced everyone that the poet distorted many historical moments and weakly presented the figure Alexander Nevsky. The poem, the speaker argued, “does not show the enthusiasm of the Russian battle, the courage of Alexander Nevsky, the courage of the Russian people” (RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, d. 69, l. 13).
Myamlichev sharply objected Mountain. In his opinion, the poet, starting from real historical facts, achieved the main thing: aroused patriotic feelings in his readers.
“I think,” Gornykh emphasized, “that he set himself the goal of conveying this patriotism on the basis of historical facts, igniting people's hearts with it. And he gives a conclusion: we beat the Germans on Lake Peipsi more than once. We beat them in 1918, we beat them before, in 1242. In the end, 1929, the events on the Chinese Eastern Railway, could also be included here, although we did not deal with the Germans there). It must be said that all these events inspire us and kindle the patriotic spirit in our Soviet people. I think that this poem is valuable. Tov. Simonov made a very, very big contribution to our Soviet poetry in this respect. My personal opinion: we don't have much to say. The poem is well written. It will live, both adults and our youth will read it with pleasure.
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, sheet 14).
He supported Gornykh and Livshits. He argued with pathos that the poem "Battle on the Ice" in its impact on the reader was not inferior to newspaper editorials. If there was anything to reproach Simonov, then, according to Livshits, for a shift in emphasis. In Livshits' presentation, the emphasis should not have been on Antsifera, but on Alexander Nevsky.
Speaking about the poem, Livshits stated:
“The people nominated Alexander Nevsky. Until he nominated him, until then the people themselves did nothing. In any case, the figure of Alexander Nevsky came out very faded. If we talk about opposition, in general, if we can talk about opposition, then the figure of Antsifer is more sharply drawn than the figure of the leader Alexander Nevsky. The people nominated Alexander Nevsky, not Antsifer. It was said here that it was very unfortunate that Antsifer was killed extremely early. I think that's what happened luck, that such a reaction is created. It's death without a fight. It's a shame he died. This is the vitality of Antsifer. This is Simonov's luck. This poem is very successful in its findings and conclusions applied to it. Lines from The Internationale are very successfully applied in it. The poem is very good, and we must give it a ticket"
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, sheet 21).
Livshits tried to fix Shchedrin. It seemed to him that the image of Alexander Nevsky, on the contrary, was given by the poet very brightly, convexly. In his opinion, the poet generally created a new genre for himself, combining the pamphlet with a strict realistic poem.
The audience was grounded by Ksenia Nekrasova, who even then was perceived by many as a person not of this world. She wondered what the argument was about. Is this the main thing - did Simonov correctly reflect the events of 1240-1242 or did he deviate in some way from historical truth. She was worried about something else - the spiritual and mental development of the new generation. Nekrasova protested against narrow-mindedness. But the audience didn't get it. She's used to straightness. Nekrasova was required to speak specifically on the poem "Battle on the Ice". Yielding to the onslaught of the audience, the poetess modestly remarked that she generally liked Simonov's work itself. But it looks like it was a scam.
It should be noted that for the time being, the discussion was dominated by emotions. No one even tried to deeply analyze the text itself, analyze the characters in detail, trace the evolution in Simonov's work. The first one dared to Sarra Stutt. She believed that the central problem in Simonov's poetry was always the problem of a strong hero. And in the poem, the criticess did not feel a really strong hero. Isn’t that why Stutt made a very sharp conclusion: “In this poem, the main characters are given unsuccessfully, palely, and, consequently, the people are also unsuccessfully given. The thing didn’t work out” (RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, d. 69, l. 22).
Adalis spoke even more sharply. She noted:
“In my opinion, “Battle on the Ice” is not a finished and not completely edited thing - this is the first thing. Secondly, this is not such a milestone in the work of Simonov. Much more could be expected from Simonov in historical terms. Thirdly, this thing is bad in many ways. Her patriotism is not the patriotism we need.
It seems to me that "Battle on the Ice" is a popular popular thing. The image of Alexander Nevsky, Antsifer in particular, is a somewhat popular image. I am very sorry to Simonov, whom I respect and love, but I will have to make a sharp comparison. Once upon a time, during the imperialist war, such popular literature was in circulation about the victors who raised twenty Germans to the peak. Fairy tales were painted in very bright colors. It's not good that we have this lubok in the poem"
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, sheet 26).
In fact, Adalis knocked out Simonov. The public was confused. Most of the poet's associates did not know what to do. It was no longer possible to build Simonov's defense on pathos alone. And no one had any weighty arguments in favor of the poet.
Simonov was rescued by a young critic Anatoly Tarasenkov. In love with poetry Boris Pasternak, he, of course, understood that Simonov's poem is, of course, not poetry at all, but just exercises in literature. But in this case, it was not aesthetic predilections that played a certain role for the critic. Tarasenkov proceeded from the fact that Simonov is not just his own person, close to him both in character and in views. In Simonov, he saw one of the leaders, if not of his entire generation, then of the team to which he attributed himself personally. For him, Simonov, as it were, personified the commander. And the commander had to be protected. Using his polemical gift, Tarasenkov tried not only to reject all the arguments of Stutt and Adalis, but to ostracize all Simonov's critics. He noted:
“If you compare Simonov’s thing with a lubok, then you need to compare it with the luboks of 1914. At that time, all kinds of private publishing houses, various generals Mikhei and other hacks were engaged in luboks. But if we compare it with Terentyev's luboks, with Napoleon's luboks, with luboks made by the people, intelligibly, then there was nothing bad and vulgarizing art in this. These were bright colors, a sharp caricature, a pamphlet, from which the realistic qualities of a thing in artistically did not suffer at all. These were artistically interesting luboks, they had great ideological content. And in this sense, Simonov's thing can be compared with a popular print, in my opinion. According to the relief of the characteristics, this thing is an agitation. If Simonov's poem is called lubok, then Mayakovsky's best works, I agree, can also be called lubok. After all, we took many of Mayakovsky's poems for the windows of Growth. This thing reminded me of luboks of that time. I believe that in this sense, Simonov has such a splint, for which he should be praised, and not scolded "
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, ll. 29-30).
Rejected Tarasenko and all claims to the language of the poem.
“Here they talked about,” he noted, “that Simonov’s language is unfavorable, that all kinds of words stick out too much:“ devilish beauty ”,“ risk ”and other words. It seems to me that it would be wrong to style the entire language. This would be a crude naturalistic approach to historical material. In my opinion, the introduction of such words, the presence of repetitive associations does not violate the detail of the narrative. All this is done quite legally. Why is it possible to compare two knights riding and arguing among themselves - Livonian dogs with two thieves, one of whom is boneing the other for an unsuccessful theft? In my opinion, a parallel can be drawn between the German Livonian knights and contemporary figures of Hitler. For this he must be commended. Why it is impossible to allow the merging of two language streams into modern language? Russian spoken language is quite possible to use. Basically, the poem is written in this style. This is the first note.
Second note. Some comrades spoke of the Russian language of the 13th century as a Church Slavonic language. I think that this is a big mistake and simply ignorance of the difference that existed between the spoken Russian language and Church Slavonic. If we take the chronicle, if we take at least such a wonderful monument of verbal Russian art as "The Tale of Igor's Campaign" and compare it with Mayakovsky's poems and Shestakov's history textbook (I take things of the same genre), we will feel big difference. If we compare colloquial 13th century with the spoken language of our time - we will not feel a particularly big difference. I guarantee that the Novgorodians of the 13th century will understand the Muscovites of the 20th century. This is evidenced by Russian epics written many centuries ago, which retained the elements of the Church Slavonic language characteristic of written culture. But these elements were almost never included in Russian live colloquial.
Of course, comrades, this is not at all because the epics were written down much later, but because the Russian spoken language depended very little on the Church Slavonic language. The Russian spoken language was based on the Bulgarian language. That's why there was such a big difference.
Therefore, Simonov, who writes in good pure Russian of the 12th century, is doing quite the right thing. Nothing needs to be added here. Those comrades who compared the poem "Battle on the Ice" with the poem about Nikolai Ostrovsky are wrong. That thing is calm, familiar, it adheres to our certain traditions, it is on the average poetic level. This thing is a certain poetic literacy. It may be that "Battle on the Ice" in some part of it abuses verbal rhyme, which some comrades attacked here. Maybe individual places could be given more smoothly. Maybe they are less perfect and smooth than the poem "Battle on the Ice" - a thing ten times more original and original"
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, ll. 30-32).
But Tarasenkov only had enough strength to object to Stutt and Adalis. And this was not enough. Therefore, the general conclusion of the critic (the poem "Battle on the Ice" is Simonov's strongest thing, revealing elements of the new realistic style that did not yet exist) did not sound very convincing.
It remained to be seen how Simonov took the criticism. And he, alas, chose the wrong tactics and began to justify himself. The poet agreed that he smeared the veche in the poem. And why? As it turned out, primarily because he did not understand the problem. “I,” the poet admitted, “I must honestly say that I read a lot about it [about the Veche], but I didn’t get a clear picture. This is a confusing question. They don’t really know how the veche took place; not a single historian has a vivid idea of \u200b\u200bit about it. I do not have clear historical data” (RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, d. 69, pp. 33-34). But what did that mean? Firstly, Simonov did not read those historians. And secondly, he personally signed for the lack of artistic intuition. No clear data? Where is the artist's flair? Why didn't the writer do his own research? What did the logic of other events suggest to him?
Justifying himself on other points of the accusations made during the discussion, Simonov at some point flogged himself. He admitted that he did not write a historical poem, but only an agitation. “I,” the poet said, “I love this word “agitation”. It is good. The poet exists in order to hammer into the heads of the masses, to agitate. This agitation is based on historical material” (RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, d. 69, l. 35). That is why Simonov took as a basis not the battle with the Swedes, but with the Germans. Anticipating the development of events, he wanted to prepare in advance, in his words, a poetic mobilization. “We,” Simonov argued, “must be prepared for the fact that we will have to give new windows to Rost, that we will have to work at the front<…>The first and main thing that I always want after I read a poem is for people to feel that a war is on the way, that behind them is the centuries-old struggle of the Russian people for their national liberation, for their independence ”(RGALI, f. 631 , op. 17, file 69, ll. 35-36).
This is the reason for the main artistic failure of Simonov's poem "Battle on the Ice". The author mixed two concepts: agitation and literature. The purpose of any agitation is to arm society with facts and set it in a certain way. The task of literature is somewhat different. It not only creates a mood, but also in many ways forms beliefs and educates.
And what happened to Simonov? He, in his own words, messed up something in the facts due to the lack of reliable sources of information, and the images of the main characters crumpled up, did not hold out. But instead of admitting his artistic failure, the poet preferred to hide behind pathos.
In the same vein, Simonov built his polemic with Adalis. He emphasized:
“You see, what a thing, I will not argue on the main issues raised by you. It would be a long conversation. Actually, I don't agree with you. But I want to talk about one particular issue now. Maybe I feel uncomfortable talking about Pavlenko's scenario. Although there is a lot of good in this scenario, I absolutely do not like it and did not like it for this reason. You reproached me for anti-historicism, but Pavlenko's script is absolutely anti-historical. The image of Alexander Nevsky is the hundredth Chapaev, and the role of Petka is played by Vasilisa, who is waving shafts. He plays the role of Kozma Kryuchkov. I did not seek to make Alexander Nevsky a charming prince. He was a decent pig. Alexander Nevsky was the kind of person who, when the Novgorodians revolted against Pskov, came and cut out the noses and ears of fifteen hundred Novgorodians. I believe that I gave the image of A. Nevsky correctly.
(ADALIS - It was necessary to give the Russian people in Antsifer.)
SIMONOV - I wanted to show that he was going to Novgorod not because he was native to him, not because he found out that the Germans were there. He rode in spite of the fact that the Novgorodians beat him, that they kicked him out. He was a strong personality, but not charming, and therefore I do not make him charming. I think it's better to give. This is the meaning of this image. A. Nevsky was not up to the struggle of the Novgorodians with the Suzdalians. This matter did not concern him. However, this was smart man, it was the first prince who felt Russia as something whole, as something united.
(From the spot: You don't have it.)
He felt it in the face of an external enemy. Just the external enemy - the Livonians in the west and the Tatars in the east - are described. This contributed to the manifestation of Russia's national identity. In this regard, I gave A. Nevsky correctly, and Pavlenko - incorrectly, because Chapaev cannot be mechanically transferred to the 13th century. I came closer in this case to the historical fact.
ADALIS - You went against your own plan.
SIMONOV - I didn't want to create lubok, I didn't want to give it to wonderful and courageous people.
Concerning the image of Antsifer. To put it bluntly, I think that the image of Antsifer did not work out for me. I succeeded in the details, I like how he travels from Pskov to Novgorod, how he strangles a German by the Adam's apple, but in general this image can be done much better.
ADALIS - I do not stand for A. Nevsky, but I stand for Antsifer.
SIMONOV - Regarding the battle, the war with the Germans. I tried to emphasize. It is not by chance that I stick out this battle when A. Nevsky stands among the Pskov peasants. I deliberately took in the center of the massacre not the place where the victorious Novgorod regiments fly in, putting the last point in the battle, but the place where Russian peasants in only shirts, with axes converge with Germans clad in iron. The center of the massacre is there. The center of the poem is right there. The main meaning of A. Nevsky: he is not fighting for his Novgorod and his patrimony, but for the purification of all Russia ”
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, ll. 36-37).
Summed up the results of the discussion Vladimir Lugovskoy. In his opinion, Simonov, of course, achieved good luck, although he made a number of mistakes. An experienced master noted:
Simonov's thing is an interesting thing<…>It somehow peculiarly combines a historical poem with a historical pamphlet. This combination is a real success, but all the shortcomings of the poem come from here.<…>
In essence, this is a real patriotic thing. I cannot understand how one can say that this is not a completely patriotic thing, or that this is not a thing with our patriotism. I myself do not like this retreat by 1918 very much. I spoke with Simonov about this from the very beginning. I don't like it very much. The scene when the lieutenants and soldiers are walking is extremely well done stylistically, but I don’t like the fact that they have white hands, because the German army was a formidable army, serious, and the impression of this dissipates<…>
It should be noted that in this poem we even have some severity, a masculine feeling, this is a masculine poem.
I am very sorry that Simonov in this poem gives so little of the country for which its heroes are fighting. Note that in the poem there is no landscape, hills, forests, great rivers. This landscape would justify a lot. It is necessary that he be in the poem, he would give warmth to this poem. For some reason, Simonov does not like the landscape just as he does not like female images either. They are almost non-existent in his work. It would be nice to introduce the image of a Russian woman. This against the backdrop of harsh men in boots and beards would be very good.
Do you remember the picture before the fight. Before the battle, Russia was felt, its northern edges. Do you remember how the night before the Battle of Kulikovo was painted: the swans were screaming. The Russian land is shown there. This is not in Simonov's poem. It's a pity.< …>
Now for the heroes. Is the image of A. Nevsky historical? I will argue with Comrade Adalis here. The fact is that a number of authors have developed a kind of drunken passion for all sorts of princes and other characters when they write historical things. A. Nevsky from priestly circles. He barked about everything. He was by no means a saint, as some tried to portray him. He was a man of intelligence and great will. It was a strong personality. He, starting from the Swedish battles, really understood the need to clear the Russian land. He realized that he must first rush to the west and stop the invasion from there, and then turn to the east and defeat the Tatars. The political line is very interesting and complex. Pavlenko also speaks about this, but I do not agree with how he interprets it. There, statehood in the east is felt much more prominently when they pass through Russian soil. This is the shortcoming of Simonov's poem. Here it would be better to describe the statehood of A. Nevsky.
It seems to me that Simonov held back his hero, A. Nevsky, somewhat. Antsifer Simonov did not hold out. It turned out to be dual. Antsifer personifies the Russian people. He had to be shown for real, and not just like that he fights, breaks the banner, etc.
For me, the warmest thing in the poem was the following. Not a pamphlet scene, but a scene when Antsifer goes to A. Nevsky. The bishop is well given. The city is well felt here, then the description of the messengers from Novgorod is good. They behave well, subtly. It turns out a real psychologism, serious and deep.
Antsifer is very straightforward in his actions. This is a brave man who was robbed by the Germans. He goes to avenge his losses. He takes revenge severely, courageously and straightforwardly.
I would like the poem to have a landscape, so that a whole range of features of a Russian person is given in it: quick wit, quick wit, some kind of spiritual breadth, responsiveness, etc.
I noticed that many comrades were talking about the fact that the end of the battle is weakened. This remark is correct. I would like to feel the end of the battle more picturesquely, imagine completely bloody ice, piles of bodies, rising wounded, etc. Here it would be great to give, but Simonov limited himself to showing how the Livonians run away, and that's it.
Antsifer dies unnoticed, but I would stand for a heroic death. The German grabbed on the sacrum. He fell, crawled up and began to strangle the German. Still, this death is enlightening, from which rays come.
The comrades said that in the death of Antsifer, nationality was given. Nationality is not in this, not in the fact that a person dies and everyone cries. And this is where dualism comes in.
As an honest writer, he did not want to make the image leafy, but at the same time, he did not reach the end of the image of A. Nevsky.
Still, in spite of this, I must say that the thing turned out to be real, strong, manly-sounding "
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 17, file 69, ll. 38-41).
While Simonov's poem was being discussed in the Writers' Union, the editors of the Literaturnaya Gazeta ordered a review by a young critic for the Battle on the Ice Zoya Kedrina. On the whole, she assessed the new work of the graduate of the Literary Institute quite well, although she made a number of comments. Kedrin, in particular, was not quite satisfied with the image of Alexander Nevsky. In her opinion, Simonov found this far-sighted politician to be deprived of a realistically written environment in which he could fully unfold. She also found rhymes a weak point in the poem. Kedrina noted: “Here the poet is inexcusably careless. He not only abuses verbal rhyme, but even allows the consonance of words with the same root.
Perhaps, due to the abundance of reproaches, the editors at the last moment wrapped Kedrina's review. After all, the literary generals already then began to sculpt some kind of icon from Simonov. Therefore, he needed only flattery, and not an objective analysis of his work.
Already on September 3, 1938, literary functionaries raised the question of Simonov's admission to the Writers' Union. At the presidium of this Union, the poet was introduced by Vladimir Lugovskoy, who was then considered a classic without five minutes. Lugovskoy said:
“I have known Simonov for 3 years already and during this time I have completely followed his work. He is a very talented, capable poet who has worked a lot during this time. Simonov wrote the poem "Pavel Cherny", which was published as a separate book (an unimportant thing), then the poem "The Winner" about Nikolai Ostrovsky, the poem "Battle on the Ice", which created his well-known popularity. Good clever thing, written on historical materials. The man himself went to Pskov, rummaged through the archives. Then he has a whole series of poems, now combined in a separate book of poems. Among them are such good ones as "On General Lukash" and others. In addition, 2 more of his poems are now appearing. Then, together with Matusovsky, he wrote 2 poems and prose about Lugansk, about the Donbass, for Comrade Voroshilov.
For Comrade. Simonov, not to mention the fact that it is talented person, is still very characteristic high degree diligence and honest attitude to writing. He travels, collects materials, he can sometimes completely rework a poem, a whole poem, if necessary. He puts a lot of work into his works, and for this we respect him.
Interesting is his desire not only for prose, but also for journalism, for criticism. A number of his articles appeared in Literaturnaya Gazeta. In any case, a person lives a versatile literary life. As a poet, he is characterized by very courageous intonations, a desire to find a strong, courageous, strong-willed hero. This is his constant theme, so he really takes on people who make life, fight. And this courageous intonation marks his work. He really has his own voice, his own manner. Therefore, I believe that Com. Simonov is quite worthy of being accepted as a member of the Union "
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 15, file 265, ll. 34-35).
Fadeevsuggested not to arrange a long discussion. He noted:
“Comrades, comrade. Everyone knows Simonov well, so there is no need to talk about him in detail. This is one of the representatives of the young generation of poets, one of the groups of our most talented youth. I am more familiar with his poem dedicated to the "Battle of the Ice" - about Alexander Nevsky. The poem is written in a good poetic manner, then the question is posed historically correctly. There were some minor mistakes that he corrected. His verse is convex, chased, simple. Everything he writes is tangible, visible.
Then I read his translations of Azerbaijani classics. As poetic works, these translations are wonderful. In general, I think that Comrade. Simonov should have been accepted a long time ago. He, too, is a person who has sat too long and is essentially a poet, no worse than many of the very first rows in our Union of Soviet Writers.
(RGALI, f. 631, op. 15, file 265, sheet 35).
Truth, Kataev nevertheless, he could not resist and asked Simonov to read one of his poems before voting. The young poet did not balk and even read not one, but two poems: "The General" and "The Story of the Hidden Weapon." After that, all members of the Presidium of the Writers' Union unanimously voted for the reception of Simonov.
But what has time shown? Simonov's poem "Battle on the Ice" was quickly forgotten. Like all agitation, it turned out to be appropriate only for a while. To linger in the popular consciousness, the poem had to hook: with heroes, action, feelings, or something else. And Simonov limited himself to one agitation. But he turned out to be a serious politician and organizer. It is no coincidence that after the war for several years he was Fadeev's right hand in the Writers' Union.
Vyacheslav OGRYZKO
