Gogol's complete story taras bulba. Read the entire book "Taras Bulba" online - Nikolai Gogol - MyBook. Citizen of the Russian land

I

- And turn around, son! How funny you are! What are these priestly cassocks on you? And so does everyone go to the academy? - With these words old Bulba greeted his two sons, who studied at the Kiev school and came home to their father.

His sons have just dismounted from their horses. These were two stalwart fellows who still looked sullenly like recently graduated seminarians. Their strong, healthy faces were covered with the first fluff of hair that had not yet been touched by a razor. They were very embarrassed by this reception of their father and stood motionless, their eyes downcast to the ground.

- Wait, wait! Let me get a good look at you, ”he continued, turning them,“ what long scrolls you have on you! What scrolls! There have never been such a scroll in the world. And some of you run away! I'll see if he flops to the ground, tangled in the floors.

- Don't laugh, don't laugh, dad! The eldest of them said at last.

- Look how magnificent you are! Why not laugh?

- Yes, even though you are my dad, but as you laugh, then, by God, I will beat you!

- Oh, you, such a son! How, dad? .. - said Taras Bulba, retreating with surprise a few steps back.

- Yes, even though dad. I will not look for an insult and will not respect anyone.

- How do you want to fight with me? fists?

- Yes, on anything.

- Well, come on with your fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!

And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.

- Look, good people: the old one has gone crazy! completely crazy! Said their pale, thin and kind mother, who stood at the threshold and had not yet had time to embrace her beloved children. “The children came home, they hadn’t seen them for more than a year, but he decided to fight with his fists!

- Yes, it beats gloriously! - said Bulba, stopping. - By God, good! - he continued, recovering a little, - so, even if not even try. A good Cossack! Well, great, son! let's break up! - And father and son began to kiss. - Good, son! Beat everyone like that, as he did me; don't let anyone down! And all the same, you have a funny decoration: what kind of rope is hanging? And you, beibass, why are you standing and dropping your hands? - he said, addressing the younger, - why aren't you, son of a dog, pounding me?

- Here's another thing! - said the mother, embracing the younger. - And it will come to mind that the child beats his father. Yes, as if even before that now: a young child, traveled so much way, tired (this child was over twenty years old and exactly a fathom in height), he would now need to sleep and eat something, but he makes him beat!

- Eh, you are a daub, as I see! - said Bulba. - Do not listen, son, mother: she is a woman, she does not know anything. What is your tenderness? Your tenderness is an open field and a good horse: here is your tenderness! Do you see this saber? here is your mother! This is all rubbish that stuff your heads with; and the academy, and all those books, primers, and philosophy - all this ka knowi don't give a damn about it all! - Here Bulba put into the line a word that is not even used in print. - But, it's better, I'll send you to Zaporozhye the same week. That's where science is so science! There is a school for you; there you just pick up your mind.

- And only one week to be at home? Said the thin old mother, pitifully, with tears in her eyes. - And they, the poor, will not be able to take a walk; I will not be able to recognize my own home, and I will not be able to get enough of them!

- Full, full howl, old woman! Kozak is not about messing with women. You would hide both of them under your skirt, and you would sit on them like on chicken eggs. Go, go, and put everything that is on the table as soon as possible. Don’t need donuts, meadoviks, poppy seeds and other pundiks; bring us a whole ram, give us a goat, honey forties! Yes, the burners are bigger, not with the inventions of the burner, not with raisins and all sorts of raisins, but a clean, foamy burner so that it would play and hiss like mad.

Bulba led his sons into the parlor, from where two beautiful maids-servants in monistas of hearts quickly ran out, cleaning the rooms. They, as you can see, were frightened by the arrival of the panic, who did not like to let anyone down, or they simply wanted to observe their female custom: scream and rush headlong when they saw a man, and therefore cover themselves with their sleeve for a long time from strong shame. The Svetlitsa was removed in the style of that time, about which living hints remained only in songs and in folk houses, which are no longer sung in Ukraine by bearded blind elders, accompanied by the quiet tinkling of bandura, in view of the people who surrounded them; in the taste of that abusive, difficult time when the battles and battles in Ukraine for union began to play out. Everything was clean, smeared with colored clay. On the walls there are sabers, whips, nets for birds, seines and guns, a crafted gunpowder horn, a golden bridle for a horse, and fetters with silver badges. The windows in the parlor were small, with round dull glass, such as are now found only in old churches, through which it was impossible to look otherwise than by lifting the sliding glass. There were red bends around the windows and doors. On the shelves in the corners stood jugs, bottles and flasks of green and blue glass, carved silver cups, gilded cups of all kinds of work: Venetian, Turkish, Circassian, who entered Bulba's room in all sorts of ways, through third and fourth hands, which was very common in those distant time. Birch bark benches around the entire room; a huge table under the icons in the front corner; a wide oven with baked goods, ledges and ledges, covered with colorful variegated tiles — all this was very familiar to our two fellows who came home every year for vacation time; who came because they did not have horses yet, and because it was not customary to allow schoolboys to ride. They had only long forelocks, for which any Cossack carrying a weapon could rip them out. Only when they were released did Bulba send them a couple of young stallions from his herd.

Bulba, on the occasion of the arrival of his sons, ordered to convene all the centurions and all the regimental ranks who were present; and when two of them came and the esaul Dmitro Tovkach, his old comrade, he immediately introduced his sons to them, saying: “Look, what good fellows! I'll send them to the Sich soon. " The guests congratulated both Bulba and both young men and told them that they were doing a good deed and that there was no better science for a young man like the Zaporozhye Sich.

- Well, gentlemen, brothers, sit down, wherever anyone is better, at the table. Well, sons! first of all let's drink the burners! - so said Bulba. - God bless! Good luck, sons: you, Ostap, and you, Andrii! God grant that you are always lucky in war! So that the Busurmen would be beaten, and the Turks would be beaten, and the Tatarva would be beaten; when the Poles begin to repair something against our faith, then the Poles would be beaten! Well, substitute your glass; is the burner good? And what is the Latin for a burner? That, son, the Latin were fools: they did not even know if there was a burner in the world. What was the name of the one who wrote Latin verses? I do not really understand literacy, and therefore I do not know: Horace, or what?

“See, what a dad! - thought to himself the eldest son, Ostap, - everything is old, a dog, he knows, but also pretends to be.

“I think the archimandrite would not let you smell the burners,” Taras continued. - And admit it, sons, did they lash you tightly with birch and fresh cherries on your back and on everything that the Cossack has? Or maybe, since you have already become too intelligent, maybe they flogged with webs? Tea, not only on Saturdays, but also on Wednesdays and Thursdays?

“There’s nothing to remember, daddy, what happened,” answered Ostap coolly, “what happened is gone!

- Let him try now! - said Andriy. - Just let someone hook it now. Just let some Tatarva turn up now, she will know what kind of thing a Cossack saber is!

- Good, son! By God, good! Yes, when it comes to that, then I'm going with you! By God, I'm going! What the devil am I waiting for here? So that I become a buckwheat grower, a housekeeper, look after sheep and pigs, and fend for my wife? Damn it: I'm a Cossack, I don't want to! So what if there is no war? So I will go with you to Zaporozhye for a walk. By God, I'll go! And old Bulba, little by little, got excited, got excited, finally got completely angry, got up from the table and, dignified, stamped his foot. - It's time to go! Why postpone! What kind of enemy can we sit here? What do we need this hut for? Why do we need all this? What are these pots for? Having said that, he began to beat and toss pots and flasks.

The poor old woman, already accustomed to such actions of her husband, gazed sadly, sitting on the bench. She dared not say anything; but hearing about such a terrible decision for her, she could not refrain from crying; she looked at her children, with whom she was threatened by such an early separation - and no one could describe all the silent strength of her sorrow, which seemed to tremble in her eyes and in convulsively pressed lips.

Bulba was terribly stubborn. It was one of those characters that could arise only in the difficult 15th century on the half-hovering corner of Europe, when all of southern primitive Russia, abandoned by its princes, was devastated, burned to ashes by the indomitable raids of Mongol predators; when, having lost his house and roof, a man became brave here; when on fires, in view of formidable neighbors and eternal danger, he settled down and got used to looking them directly in the eyes, having forgotten how to know whether there was any fear in the world; when the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit embraced the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit with a swearing flame and the Cossacks started up - a wide, reckless habits of Russian nature - and when all the riverside, transports, coastal gentle and convenient places were dotted with Cossacks, whom no one knew how to count, and their brave comrades had the right to answer the Sultan , who wished to know about their number: “Who knows! we have them scattered all over the steppe: like a bayrak, then a Cossack ”(like a small hillock, there’s a Cossack). It was, indeed, an extraordinary manifestation of Russian power: flint troubles knocked him out of the people's bosom. Instead of the former estates, small towns filled with huntsmen and hunters, instead of small princes that were warring and trading in cities, formidable villages, smoking places and outskirts arose, connected by a common danger and hatred against non-Christian predators. Everyone already knows from history how their eternal struggle and restless life saved Europe from indomitable raids that threatened to overturn it. The Polish kings, who found themselves in place of appanage princes, the rulers of these vast lands, although remote and weak, understood the meaning of the Cossacks and the benefits of such an abusive guardian life. They encouraged them and flattered this disposition. Under their distant rule, the hetmans, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, transformed the outskirts and smokes into regiments and regular districts. It was not a combatant assembled army, no one would have seen it; but in the event of war and general movement in eight days, no more, everyone appeared on horseback, in all his weapons, receiving only one gold piece of payment from the king - and in two weeks such an army was recruited, which would not be able to recruit any recruits sets. The campaign ended - the warrior went into the meadows and arable lands, on the Dnieper transports, fished, traded, brewed beer and was a free Cossack. Modern foreigners then justly marveled at his extraordinary abilities. There was no craft that the Cossack did not know: to smoke wine, to equip a cart, to grind gunpowder, to do blacksmith's and plumbing work, and, in addition, to walk recklessly, drink and drink as much as one Russian can - all this was for him. shoulder. In addition to the raid cossacks, who considered it their duty to appear during the war, it was possible at any time, in case of great need, to recruit whole crowds of hunters: it was only necessary for the Esauls to walk through the markets and squares of all villages and townships and shout at the top of their voice, standing on the cart: “ Hey you brewers, brovars! you have plenty of beer to brew, roll over the baked goods, and feed your flies with your fat body! Go to the glory of knighthood and honor to seek! You, plows, buckwheat, sheep, women lovers! It's full of you to walk behind the plow, and to soil your yellow chebots in the ground, and to get close to the women and destroy the strength of knighthood! It's time to get the Cossack glory! " And these words were like sparks falling on a dry tree. The plowman broke his plow, the browsers and brewers threw their kadis and smashed the barrels, the artisan and the huckster sent the craft and shop to hell, beat the pots in the house. And everything that was, sat on a horse. In a word, the Russian character has received a mighty, wide scope, a hefty appearance.

Taras was one of the indigenous, old colonels: he was all created for abusive alarm and was distinguished by the rude directness of his disposition. Then the influence of Poland was already beginning to appear on the Russian nobility. Many were already adopting Polish customs, starting up luxury, magnificent servants, falcons, hunters, dinners, courtyards. Taras did not like it. He loved the simple life of the Cossacks and quarreled with those of his comrades who were inclined to the Warsaw side, calling them serfs of the Polish lords. Eternally restless, he considered himself the legitimate defender of Orthodoxy. Arbitrarily entered the villages, where they only complained about the harassment of tenants and the increase in new duties on smoke. He himself with his Cossacks performed reprisals against them and made it a rule for himself that in three cases one should always take up the saber, namely: when the commissars did not respect the elders in what and stood before them in hats, when they mocked Orthodoxy and did not honor the ancestral law and, finally, when the enemies were Busurmans and Turks, against whom he considered it in any case permissible to raise arms for the glory of Christianity.

Now he consoled himself in advance with the thought of how he would appear with his two sons at the Sich and say: “Look, what fellows I have brought to you!”; how will present them to all the old, battle-hardened comrades; how he would look at their first exploits in military science and martyrdom, which he also considered one of the main virtues of the knight. At first he wanted to send them alone. But at the sight of their freshness, stature, and mighty bodily beauty, his military spirit flared up, and the very next day he decided to go with them himself, although this was necessary only by his stubborn will. He was already busy and giving orders, choosing horses and harness for the young sons, visiting stables and barns, selecting servants who were to go with them tomorrow. Esaul Tovkach handed over his power along with a strong order to appear this very hour with the whole regiment, if only he would send some news from the Sich. Although he was drunk and drunk still fermenting in his head, he had not forgotten anything. He even gave the order to water the horses and put coarse and better wheat into the manger and came tired of his worries.

- Well, children, now we need to sleep, and tomorrow we will do what God will give. Don't make our bed! We don't need a bed. We will sleep in the yard.

The night had just embraced the sky, but Bulba always went to bed early. He sprawled on the carpet, covered himself with a sheep's sheepskin coat, because the night air was quite fresh and because Bulba liked to hide warmly when he was at home. He soon began to snore, and the whole court followed him; everything that lay in different corners of it snored and began to sing; first of all, the watchman fell asleep, because he was most drunk for the arrival of the panic.

One poor mother did not sleep. She clung to the head of her dear sons, who were lying nearby; she combed their young, carelessly tousled curls with a comb and moistened them with her tears; she looked at them all, looked at them with all her senses, all turned into one sight and could not get enough of it. She nurtured them with her own breast, she grew, nurtured them - and only for a moment sees them in front of her. “My sons, my dear sons! what will become of you? what awaits you? " She said, and the tears stopped in the wrinkles that changed her once beautiful face. Indeed, she was pitiful, like every woman of that daring age. For a moment she only lived in love, only in the first fever of passion, in the first fever of youth - and the already stern seducer left her for a saber, for comrades, for a mating. She saw her husband for two or three days a year, and then for several years there was no rumor about him. And when I saw him, when they lived together, what kind of life was her? She endured insults, even beatings; out of mercy, she saw only the caresses rendered; she was some strange creature in this bunch of heartless knights, on whom the riotous Zaporozhye threw its stern coloring. Youth without pleasure flashed before her, and her beautiful fresh cheeks and persians, without kissing, faded and became covered with premature wrinkles. All love, all feelings, all that is tender and passionate in a woman, everything turned into one motherly feeling. She with ardor, with passion, with tears, like a steppe gull, hovered over her children. Her sons, her lovely sons are taken from her, taken in order not to see them ever! Who knows, maybe at the first battle the Tartar will cut off their heads and she will not know where their abandoned bodies lie, which will be pecked by a bird of prey; and for every drop of their blood she would give all of herself. Sobbing, she looked into their eyes, when the omnipotent sleep was already beginning to close them, and thought: “Perhaps Bulba, waking up, will postpone the departure for two days; maybe he thought of going so soon because he drank a lot. "

A month from the height of the sky has long illuminated the entire courtyard, filled with sleeping, a dense heap of willows and tall weeds, in which the palisade that surrounded the courtyard has sunk. She kept sitting in the heads of her lovely sons, never taking her eyes off them for a minute and not thinking about sleep. Already the horses, sensing the dawn, all lay down on the grass and stopped eating; the upper leaves of the willows began to babble, and little by little a babbling stream descended down to the very bottom. She sat until the daylight, was not at all tired and inwardly wished that the night would last as long as possible. From the steppe came the sonorous neigh of a foal; red streaks flashed clearly in the sky.

Bulba suddenly woke up and jumped up. He remembered very well everything he had ordered yesterday.

- Well, lads, sleep full! It's time, it's time! Sing the horses! Where is old? (So \u200b\u200bhe usually called his wife.) Livelier, old, get us ready to eat; the path is great!

The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, sadly trudged off to the hut. While she was tearfully preparing everything that was needed for breakfast, Bulba was giving out his orders, fiddling around in the stables and choosing his best decorations for his children. The bursaks suddenly changed: instead of the old soiled boots, red morocco with silver horseshoes appeared on them; wide trousers the width of the Black Sea, with a thousand folds and with rallies, were pulled over with a golden spectacle; long straps were attached to the spectacle, with tassels and other trinkets for the pipe. The Kazakin of scarlet color, cloth as bright as fire, was girded with a patterned belt; hammered Turkish pistols were pushed into the belt; the saber clanged at his legs. Their faces, still a little tanned, seemed prettier and whitened; the young black mustache now somehow brighter set off their whiteness and the healthy, powerful color of youth; they were fine under black lamb hats with gold tops. When the poor mother saw them, she could not utter a word, and tears stopped in her eyes.

- Well, sons, everything is ready! there is nothing to delay! - finally said Bulba. - Now, according to Christian custom, everyone needs to sit down before the road.

They all sat down, not even turning off the lads who stood respectfully at the door.

- Now bless, mother, your children! - said Bulba. - Pray to God that they fight bravely, that they always defend the honor of the liar, that they always stand for the faith of Christ, otherwise - let them be better off, so that their spirit does not exist in the world! Come, children, to the mother: a mother's prayer both on water and on earth saves.

Mother, weak as a mother, hugged them, took out two small icons, and put them, sobbing, around their necks.

- Let the Mother of God keep you ... Do not forget, sons, your mother ... send at least a message about yourself ... - Then she could not speak.

- Well, let's go, children! - said Bulba.

Saddled horses stood by the porch. Bulba jumped on his Devil, who recoiled madly, feeling a twenty-pound burden on himself, because Taras was extremely heavy and fat.

When the mother saw that her sons had already mounted their horses, she rushed to the younger one, whose features expressed more tenderness in his features: she grabbed him by the stirrup, she stuck to his saddle and, with despair in her eyes, did not let him out. hands. Two stalwart Cossacks took her carefully and carried her to the hut. But when they rode out the gate, with all the lightness of a wild goat, incongruous to her age, she ran out the gate, with an incomprehensible force she stopped the horse and hugged one of her sons with a kind of mad, insensitive fervor; they took her away again.

The young Cossacks rode vaguely and held back tears, fearing their father, who, for his part, was also somewhat embarrassed, although he tried not to show it. The day was gray; the greens sparkled brightly; the birds chirped somehow at odds. They, having passed, looked back; their farm seemed to have sunk into the ground; only two pipes of their modest little house and the tops of trees were visible above the ground, along the branches of which they climbed like squirrels; only one distant meadow still lay before them - that meadow along which they could remember the whole history of their life, from the years when they rolled on its dewy grass to the years when they waited in it for a black-browed fresh, fast legs. Now only one pole above the well with a cartwheel tied at the top sticks out alone in the sky; already the plain they passed seems from afar like a mountain and has covered everything with itself. - Farewell to childhood, and games, and everything, and everything!

Mirgorod - 2

And turn around, son! How funny you are! What are these priestly cassocks on you? And so does everyone go to the academy? - With these words old Bulba greeted his two sons, who studied at the Kiev school and came home to their father.
His sons have just dismounted from their horses. These were two stalwart fellows who still looked sullenly like recently graduated seminarians. Their strong, healthy faces were covered with the first fluff of hair that had not yet been touched by a razor. They were very embarrassed by this reception of their father and stood motionless, their eyes downcast to the ground.
- Wait, wait! Let me get a good look at you, - he continued, turning them, - what are the long scrolls on you<Свиткой называется верхняя одежда у малороссиян. (Прим. Н.В.Гоголя.)>! What scrolls! There have never been such a scroll in the world. And some of you run away! I'll see if he flops to the ground, tangled in the floors.
- Don't laugh, don't laugh, dad! the eldest of them said at last.
- Look how magnificent you are! Why not laugh?
- Yes, even though you are my dad, but as you laugh, then, by God, I will beat you!
- Oh, you, such a son! How, dad? .. - said Taras Bulba, retreating with surprise a few steps back.
- Yes, even though dad. I will not look for an insult and will not respect anyone.
- How do you want to fight with me? fists?
- Yes, on anything.
- Well, come on with your fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!
And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.
- Look, good people: the old one has gone crazy! completely crazy! said their pale, thin and kind mother, who stood at the threshold and had not yet had time to embrace her beloved children. “The children came home, they hadn’t seen them for more than a year, but he decided to fight with his fists!
- Yes, it beats gloriously! - said Bulba, stopping. - By God, good! - he continued, recovering a little, - so, even if not even try. A good Cossack! Well, great, son! let's break up! - And father and son began to kiss. - Good, son! Beat everyone like that, as he did me; don't let anyone down! And all the same, you have a funny decoration: what kind of rope is hanging? And you, beibass, why are you standing and dropping your hands? - he said, addressing the younger, - why aren't you, son of a dog, pounding me?
- Here's another thing! - said the mother, embracing the younger. - And it will come to mind that the child beats his father. Yes, as if even before that now: a young child, traveled so much way, tired (this child was over twenty years old and exactly a fathom in height), he would now need to sleep and eat something, but he makes him beat!
- Eh, yes you are a daub, as I see! - said Bulba. -Do not listen, son, mother: she is a woman, she knows nothing. What is your tenderness? Your tenderness is an open field and a good horse: here is your tenderness! Do you see this saber? here is your mother! This is all rubbish that stuff your heads with; and the academy, and all those books, primers, and philosophy - all of this as I know, I don't give a damn about all this! - Here Bulba put into the line a word that is not even used in print. - But, it's better, I'll send you to Zaporozhye the same week. That's where science is so science! There is a school for you; there you just pick up your mind.
- And only one week to be at home? said the thin old mother, pitifully, with tears in her eyes.

Editor's Foreword

The question may arise: is an editor at all needed when publishing a work of fiction, one of the masterpieces of the literary work of the great Russian writer N.V. Gogol? Without hesitation, I will answer that you need, you definitely need!

The thing is that for the first time I read the famous story of N.V. Gogol was still in 5-6 grade of the then best secondary school in Buinaksk # 1. But then, already, reading Taras Bulba, the meaning of many words that Nikolai Vasilyevich boldly introduced into his text, I simply did not understand, but only guessed what was being said.

But even in the hands of such a master of translating the works of Russian classics into the Avar language as the Dagestani linguist-avarian and literary critic Sh.I. Mikailov, something required a new edition. The thing is that a whole series of words that N.V. uses in his story. Gogol needs interpretation and explanation. But in 1949 Shikhabudin Ilyasovich Mikailov was intensively engaged in frontal research of Avar dialects and dialects. But this was the speech of the so-called free societies, which did not obey the Khunzakh Nutsals (khans, if you like) at all. These "free societies" (gandalazul bo, karalazul bo, gideril bo) did not even pay taxes to the Khunzakh khans. They lived their own lives, which largely determined the development of their skills for a completely independent life, the creation of their own adats, i.e. customs of internal and external relationships. There is every reason to believe that it is precisely this way of life of these "free societies" that contributed to the widely known multilingualism in Dagestan.

Now it becomes clear to me why Sh.I. Mikailov, who created his own Daghestani school of frontal study of each language in terms of dialectics, turned to this brilliant work of the great Russian writer. The fact is that the life, the internal structure of the Avar free societies were very similar to the life of the freemen, which existed in the Zaporozhye Sich in Ukraine in the developed and late Middle Ages. The end of this "free life" was put by the first Russian autocrat-emperor Peter I in 1700.

In addition to the actual Zaporozhye-Ukrainian words such as "kuren", "outskirts", "pannochka", "gentry", "gentry", many highly specialized terms associated with the Roman Catholic Church demanded an explanation. Here words such as "bursa", "lictor", "rector" and even "pope". I tried to give all the words of this kind in the footnotes in my interpretation.

As for the spelling and alphabet, the Epoch Publishing House and I decided to leave them in the form in which this translation was published in 1952.

One of the leading Dagestani literary critics, Doctor of Philology, Honored Scientist of the Russian Federation, Professor SM, spoke best of the significance and significance of such translations into Avar and other Dagestan literary languages, their usefulness and expediency. Khaibullaev. When I asked him: “Sirazhudin! Is it advisable to republish translations of Russian classics today? After all, this is the 21st century! ”Sirazhudin Magomedovich (Avar, a native of the Khunzakh region of the Republic of Dagestan) answered me:“ Kazbek! How can you (we are with him - KM) can say that? After all, you have traveled the entire Accident up and down, and therefore you should know that Avar children, even students in grades 5-6, do not speak Russian very well. They do not understand a lot even from everyday oral Russian speech. I must tell you that people of my generation learned the real Russian language not according to Russian textbooks, not according to the rules that force us to learn and cram, but precisely according to these translations of Russian classics into the Avar language. Look what a good thing the Epoch Publishing House has started. One book contains both Russian text and an excellent translation into Avar. This is very convenient: if a student does not understand something in the Russian version of Taras Bulba, he immediately opens the right place in its Avar counterpart and immediately understands how it is necessary and possible to pronounce this word or sentence in Avar. True, there is one "but" here. Having received this book, some, even many, will decide that this is a trifling matter, and will begin to translate Russian classics into Avar in bulk. But here lies the danger - such people (whether they are linguists or literary scholars) should know and, most importantly, feel not only Russian, but also the Avar language as your father knew it ... ”.

I listened with interest to Sirazhudin Magomedovich, and then I thought: but this book ("Taras Bulba" by N.V. Gogol, translated into Avar by Sh.I. Mikailov) will be of great benefit to Avar schoolchildren who live and study in urban schools. And they are, after all, almost without exception the native languages \u200b\u200bof their parents, i.e. Dagestani languages, they do not know at all. Such translations would help them.

Why not draw the attention of the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Dagestan to the first and very useful experience of the Epoch Publishing House? Why not think about the directorate of the Institute of Pedagogy. Takho-Godi about systematically starting to translate Russian classics (small works) into Dagestan literary languages? Just don't put this business “on stream” in which our own children and grandchildren can drown.

Kazbek Mikailov, linguist-Caucasian specialist

I

- Don't laugh, don't laugh, dad! The eldest of them said at last.

- Look how magnificent you are! Why not laugh?

- Yes, even though you are my dad, but as you laugh, then, by God, I will beat you!

- Oh, you, such a son! How, dad? .. - said Taras Bulba, retreating with surprise a few steps back.

- Yes, even though dad. I will not look for an insult and will not respect anyone.

- How do you want to fight with me? fists?

- Yes, on anything.

- Well, come on with your fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!

And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.

- Eh, yes you are a daub, as I see! - said Bulba. - Do not listen, son, mother: she is a woman, she does not know anything. What is your tenderness? Your tenderness is an open field and a good horse: here is your tenderness! Do you see this saber? here is your mother! This is all rubbish that stuff your heads with; and the academy, and all those books, primers, and philosophy - all of this as I know, I don't give a damn about all this! - Here Bulba put into the line a word that is not even used in print. - But, it's better, I'll send you to Zaporozhye the same week. That's where science is so science! There is a school for you; there you just pick up your mind.

- Full, full howl, old woman! Kozak not to mess with women. You would hide both of them under your skirt, and you would sit on them like on chicken eggs. Go, go, and put everything that is on the table as soon as possible. Don’t need donuts, meadoviks, makovniki and other pundiks; bring us a whole ram, give us a goat, honey forties! Yes, the burners are bigger, not with the inventions of the burner, not with raisins and all sorts of raisins, but a clean, foamy burner so that it would play and hiss like mad.

Bulba led his sons into the parlor, from where two beautiful maids, servants in monists of hearts, quickly ran out, cleaning the rooms. They, as you can see, were frightened by the arrival of the panic, who did not like to let anyone down, or they simply wanted to observe their female custom: scream and rush headlong when they saw a man, and therefore cover themselves with their sleeve for a long time from strong shame. The Svetlitsa was removed in the style of that time, about which vivid hints remained only in songs and in people's thoughts, which are no longer sung in Ukraine by bearded blind elders, accompanied by the quiet tinkling of bandura, in view of the people who surrounded them; in the taste of that abusive, difficult time when the battles and battles in the Ukraine for union began to play out. Everything was clean, smeared with colored clay. On the walls there are sabers, whips, nets for birds, seines and guns, a crafted gunpowder horn, a golden bridle for a horse, and fetters with silver badges. The windows in the parlor were small, with round dull glass, such as are now found only in old churches, through which it was impossible to look otherwise than by lifting the sliding glass. There were red bends around the windows and doors. On the shelves in the corners stood jugs, bottles and flasks of green and blue glass, carved silver goblets, gilded glasses of all kinds of work: Venetian, Turkish, Circassian, who entered Bulba's room in all sorts of ways, through third and fourth hands, which was very common in those distant time. Birch bark benches around the entire room; a huge table under the icons in the front corner; a wide oven with baked goods, ledges and ledges, covered with colorful variegated tiles — all this was very familiar to our two fellows who came home every year for vacation time; who came because they did not have horses yet, and because it was not customary to allow schoolboys to ride. They had only long forelocks, for which any Cossack carrying a weapon could rip them out. Only when they were released did Bulba send them a couple of young stallions from his herd.

- Well, old people, sit down, wherever anyone is better, at the table. Well, sons! first of all let's drink the burners! - so said Bulba. - God bless! Good luck, sons: you, Ostap, and you, Andrii! God grant that you are always lucky in war! So that the Busurmen would be beaten, and the Turks would be beaten, and the Tatarva would be beaten; when the Poles begin to repair something against our faith, then the Poles would be beaten! Well, substitute your glass; is the burner good? And what is a burner in Latin? That, son, the Latin were fools: they did not even know if there was a burner in the world. What was the name of the one who wrote Latin verses? I don't really understand literacy, and that's why I don't know: Horace, or what?

“See, what a dad! - thought to himself the eldest son, Ostap, - everything is old, a dog, he knows, but also pretends to be.

“There’s nothing to remember, daddy, what happened,” answered Ostap coolly, “what happened is gone!

- Let him try now! - said Andriy. - Just let someone hook it now. Just let some Tatarva turn up now, she will know what kind of thing a Cossack saber is!

An appeal to historical events always places special, rather stringent requirements on the author and his work. But in his story "Taras Bulba" Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol did not pursue the goal of creating an epic picture of the world of the 17th century, based only on dry facts. It was important for the author to clearly write down and present to the readers' judgment an integral personality, gradually revealing itself against the background of historical reality. Therefore, the writer created his work from 1833 to 1842, constantly making adjustments and additions even after the first publication. For the first time, readers got acquainted with Gogol's story "Taras Bulba" in 1835. Then some revised chapters were printed, and in 1842 the full second version came out. Today it is possible to get acquainted with the original corrected author's version, without any special editorial changes.

The writer should never be accused of neglecting real data. Having familiarized himself in detail with various historical sources, he conveyed the life of the Zaporozhye Cossacks and the Sich as a whole without embellishment, with all the positive and negative aspects. The importance of creating the same reliable heroes pushed Gogol to turn to folk art. Folklore motives are clearly traced in the text of the story, bringing a special cultural flavor to the history of the glorious Cossack colonel and his two sons. The main characters of the book - Taras, Ostap, Andriy - are collective images borrowed from folk songs. But this does not mean that the author simply copied them. Each character is carefully designed and individualized. It is easy for readers to imagine the appearance of the characters, character traits, feelings, to trace the pattern of their actions.

It is immensely interesting to observe the history of the struggle of the people and one particular family for their ideals and freedom, unfolding over 12 chapters. The central storyline is accompanied by beautiful detailed descriptions of landscapes and battles. Against a historical background, Gogol wrote out his view of the eternal tragedy of fathers and children, personal and social. Through fictional events, the author conveyed all the ambiguity and contradictions of real life. After all, Andrii betrayed the interests of his father and the people, but did not betray his feelings. The story "Taras Bulba" can be read online by chapter or downloaded in full on our website.

Wait, wait! Let me get a good look at you, ”he continued, turning them,“ what long scrolls you are wearing! What scrolls! There have never been such a scroll in the world. And some of you run away! I'll see if he flops to the ground, tangled in the floors.

Don't laugh, don't laugh, daddy! the eldest of them said at last.

Look how magnificent you are! Why not laugh?

Yes, so, even though you are my dad, but when you laugh, then, by God, I will beat you!

Oh you, such a son! How, dad? .. - said Taras Bulba, retreating with surprise a few steps back.

Yes, even though dad. I will not look for an insult and will not respect anyone.

How do you want to fight with me? fists?

Yes, on anything.

Well, let's get fists! - Taras Bulba said, rolling up his sleeves, - I'll see what kind of person you are in your fist!

And father and son, instead of greeting after a long absence, began to thrust cuffs into each other's sides, lower back, and chest, now retreating and looking around, now advancing again.

Look, good people: the old one has gone crazy! completely crazy! said their pale, thin and kind mother, who stood at the threshold and had not yet had time to embrace her beloved children. “The children came home, they hadn’t seen them for more than a year, and he decided to fight with his fists!

Yes, it beats gloriously! - said Bulba, stopping. - By God, good! - he continued, recovering a little, - so, even if not even try. A good Cossack! Well, great, son! let's break up! - And father and son began to kiss. - Good, son! Beat everyone like that, as he did me; don't let anyone down! All the same, you are wearing a funny decoration: what kind of rope is hanging? And you, beibass, why are you standing and dropping your hands? - he said, addressing the younger, - why aren't you, son of a dog, pounding me?

Here's another thing! - said the mother, embracing the younger. - And it will come to mind that the child beats his father. Yes, as if even before that now: a young child, traveled so much, tired (this child was over twenty years old and exactly a fathom in height), he would now need to sleep and eat something, but he makes him beat!

Eh, you are a daub, as I see it! - said Bulba. -Do not listen, son, mother: she is a woman, she knows nothing. What is your tenderness? Your tenderness is an open field and a good horse: here is your tenderness! Do you see this saber? here is your mother! This is all rubbish that stuff your heads with; and the academy, and all those books, primers, and philosophy - all this is as you know, I do not care about all this! - Here Bulba put into the line a word that is not even used in print. - But, it's better, I'll send you to Zaporozhye the same week. That's where science is so science! There is a school for you; there you just pick up your mind.

And just one week to be at home? said the thin old woman mother, pitifully, with tears in her eyes. - And they, the poor, will not be able to take a walk; I won't be able to recognize my own home, and I won't be able to get enough of them!

Full, full howl, old woman! Kozak not to mess with women. You would hide both of them under your skirt, and you would sit on them like on chicken eggs. Go, go, and put everything that is on the table as soon as possible. Don’t need donuts, meadoviks, makovniki and other pundiks; bring us a whole ram, give us a goat, honey forties! Yes, there are more burners, not with the inventions of the burner, not with raisins and all sorts of raisins, but a clean, foamy burner, so that it would play and hiss like mad.

Bulba led his sons into the parlor, from where two beautiful maids-servants in monistas of hearts quickly ran out, cleaning the rooms. They, as you can see, were frightened by the arrival of the panic, who did not like to let anyone down, or they simply wanted to observe their female custom: to cry out and rush headlong when they saw a man, and therefore for a long time to hide from strong shame with a sleeve. The Svetlitsa was removed in the taste of that time, about which living hints remained only in songs and in people's thoughts, which are no longer sung in Ukraine by bearded blind elders, accompanied by the quiet tinkling of a bandura, in view of the people who surrounded them; in the taste of that abusive, difficult time when the battles and battles in the Ukraine for union began to play out. Everything was clean, smeared with colored clay. On the walls there are sabers, whips, nets for birds, seines and guns, a crafted horn for gunpowder, a golden bridle for a horse and fetters with silver plaques. The windows in the parlor were small, with round dull glass, such as are now found only in old churches, through which it was impossible to look otherwise than by lifting the sliding glass. There were red bends around the windows and doors. On the shelves in the corners stood jugs, bottles and flasks of green and blue glass, carved silver goblets, gilded glasses of all kinds of work: Venetian, Turkish, Circassian, who entered Bulba's room in all sorts of ways, through third and fourth hands, which was very common in those distant time. Birch bark benches around the entire room; a huge table under the icons in the front corner; a wide oven with baked goods, ledges and ledges, covered with colorful variegated tiles — all this was very familiar to our two fellows who came home every year for vacation time; who came because they did not have horses yet, and because it was not customary to let the schoolboys ride. They had only long forelocks, for which any Cossack carrying a weapon could rip them out. Only when they were released did Bulba send them a couple of young stallions from his herd.

Bulba, on the occasion of the arrival of his sons, ordered to convene all the centurions and all the regimental ranks who were present; and when two of them came and the esaul Dmitro Tovkach, his old friend, he immediately introduced his sons to them, saying: "Look, what fellows! I will send them to the Sich soon." The guests congratulated both Bulba and both young men and told them that they were doing a good deed and that there was no better science for a young man like the Zaporozhye Sich.

Well, gentlemen, brothers, everyone, wherever it is better for you, sit at the table. Well, sons! first of all let's drink the burners! - so said Bulba. - God bless! Good luck, sons: you, Ostap, and you, Andrii! God grant that you are always lucky in war! So that the Busurmen would be beaten, and the Turks would be beaten, and the Tatarva would be beaten; when the Poles begin to repair something against our faith, then the Poles would be beaten! Well, substitute your glass; is the burner good? And what is a burner in Latin? So, son, the Latins were fools: they did not even know if there was a burner in the world. What, I mean, was the name of the one who wrote Latin verses? I don't really understand literacy, and that's why I don't know: Horace, or what?

"See, what a dad!" Thought the eldest son, Ostap to himself, "everything is old, a dog, he knows, but also pretends to be."

I think the archimandrite would not let you smell the burners, ”Taras continued. - And admit it, sons, did they lash you tightly with birch and fresh cherries on your back and on everything that the Cossack has? Or maybe, since you have already become too intelligent, maybe they flogged with webs? Tea, not only on Saturdays, but also on Wednesdays and Thursdays?

There is no need, dad, to remember what happened, - answered Ostap coolly, - what happened is gone!

Let him try now! ”Andriy said. - Just let someone hook it now. Just let some Tatarva turn up now, she will know what kind of thing a Cossack saber is!

Good son! By God, good! Yes, when it comes to that, then I'm going with you! By God, I'm going! What the devil am I waiting for here? So that I could become a buckwheat grower, a housekeeper, look after sheep and pigs, and fend for my wife? Damn it: I'm a Cossack, I don't want to! So what if there is no war? So I will go with you to Zaporozhye for a walk. By God, I'll go! - And old Bulba, little by little, got excited, got excited, finally got completely angry, got up from the table and, dignified, stamped his foot. - It's time to go! Why postpone! What kind of enemy can we sit here? What do we need this hut for? Why do we need all this? What are these pots for? Having said that, he began to beat and toss pots and flasks.

The poor old woman, already accustomed to such actions of her husband, gazed sadly, sitting on the bench. She dared not say anything; but hearing about such a terrible decision for her, she could not refrain from crying; she looked at her children, with whom she was threatened by such an early separation - and no one could describe all the silent strength of her grief, which seemed to tremble in her eyes and in convulsively compressed lips.

Bulba was terribly stubborn. It was one of those characters that could arise only in the difficult 15th century on the half-wandering corner of Europe, when all of southern primitive Russia, abandoned by its princes, was devastated, burned to the ground by the indomitable raids of Mongol predators; when, having lost his house and roof, a man became brave here; when on fires, in view of formidable neighbors and eternal danger, he settled and got used to looking them directly in the eyes, having forgotten how to know whether there was any fear in the world; when the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit embraced the anciently peaceful Slavic spirit with a swearing flame and the Cossacks started up - a wide, reckless habits of Russian nature - and when all the riverside, transports, coastal gentle and convenient places were dotted with Cossacks, whom no one knew how to count, and their brave comrades had the right to answer the Sultan , who wished to know about their number: "Who knows! We have them scattered all over the steppe: like a bayrak, then a Cossack" (like a small hillock, there is already a Cossack). It was, indeed, an extraordinary manifestation of Russian power: flint troubles knocked him out of the people's bosom. Instead of the former estates, small towns filled with huntsmen and hunters, instead of small princes that were warring and trading in cities, formidable villages, smoking places and outskirts arose, connected by a common danger and hatred against non-Christian predators. Everyone already knows from history how their eternal struggle and restless life saved Europe from indomitable raids that threatened to overturn it. The Polish kings, who found themselves in place of appanage princes, rulers of these vast lands, although distant and weak, understood the meaning of the Cossacks and the benefits of such an abusive guardian life. They encouraged them and flattered this disposition. Under their distant rule, the hetmans, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, transformed the outskirts and smokes into regiments and regular districts. It was not a combatant assembled army, no one would have seen it; but in the event of war and general movement in eight days, no more, everyone appeared on horseback, in all his weapons, receiving only one gold piece of payment from the king - and in two weeks such an army was recruited, which would not be able to recruit any recruits sets. The campaign ended - the warrior went into the meadows and arable lands, on the Dnieper transports, fished, traded, brewed beer and was a free Cossack. Modern foreigners then justly marveled at his extraordinary abilities. There was no craft that the Cossack did not know: smoke wine, equip a cart, grind gunpowder, do blacksmith's and plumbing work, and, in addition, walk recklessly, drink and drink as much as one Russian can - all this was for him. shoulder. In addition to the raid cossacks, who considered it their duty to appear during the war, it was possible at any time, in case of great need, to recruit whole crowds of hunters: it was only necessary for the Esauls to walk through the markets and squares of all villages and townships and shout at the top of their voice, standing on the cart: " Hey you brewers, brewers! You have a lot of beer to brew, and wallow on baked goods, and feed your fatty body flies! Go to the glory of knighthood and honor to achieve! You, plowers, buckwheat, sheep-herds, women-lovers! You are full of plowing and plowing. land your yellow chebots, but get close to the women and destroy the knightly power! It's time to get the Cossack glory! " And these words were like sparks falling on a dry tree. The plowman broke his plow, the browsers and brewers threw their kadis and smashed the barrels, the artisan and the huckster sent the craft and the shop to the devil, beat the pots in the house. And everything that was, sat on a horse. In a word, the Russian character has received a mighty, wide scope, a hefty appearance.

Now he consoled himself in advance with the thought of how he would appear with his two sons at the Sich and say: "Look, what fellows I have brought to you!"; how he will present them to all old, battle-hardened comrades; how he would look at their first exploits in military science and martyrdom, which he also considered one of the main virtues of the knight. At first he wanted to send them alone. But at the sight of their freshness, stature, and mighty bodily beauty, his warrior spirit flared up, and the very next day he decided to go with them himself, although this was necessary only by his stubborn will. He was already busy and giving orders, choosing horses and harness for the young sons, visiting stables and barns, selecting servants who were to go with them tomorrow. Yesaul Tovkach handed over his power along with a strong order to appear this very hour with the whole regiment, if only he would give some news from the Sich. Although he was drunk and drunk still fermenting in his head, he had not forgotten anything. He even gave the order to water the horses and put coarse and better wheat into the manger, and he came tired of his worries.

Well, children, now we need to sleep, and tomorrow we will do what God willing. Don't make our bed! We don't need a bed. We will sleep in the yard.

One poor mother did not sleep. She clung to the head of her dear sons, who were lying nearby; she combed their young, carelessly tousled curls with a comb and moistened them with her tears; she looked at them all, looked with all her senses, all turned into one sight and could not get enough of it. She nurtured them with her own breast, she grew, nurtured them - and only for a moment sees them in front of her. "My sons, my dear sons! What will become of you? What awaits you?" she said, and the tears stopped in the wrinkles that changed her once beautiful face. Indeed, she was pitiful, like every woman of that daring age. For a moment she only lived in love, only in the first fever of passion, in the first fever of youth, and the already harsh seducer left her for a saber, for comrades, for mating. She saw her husband for two or three days a year, and then for several years there was no rumor about him. And when I saw him, when they lived together, what kind of life was her? She endured insults, even beatings; out of mercy, she saw only the caresses rendered; she was some strange creature in this bunch of heartless knights, on whom the riotous Zaporozhye threw its stern coloring. Youth without pleasure flashed before her, and her beautiful fresh cheeks and persians, without kissing, faded and became covered with premature wrinkles. All love, all feelings, all that is tender and passionate in a woman, everything turned into one motherly feeling. She with ardor, with passion, with tears, like a steppe gull, hovered over her children. Her sons, her lovely sons are taken from her, taken in order not to see them ever! Who knows, maybe at the first battle the Tartar will cut off their heads and she will not know where their abandoned bodies lie, which will be pecked by a predatory bird of prey; and for every drop of their blood she would give all of herself. Sobbing, she looked into their eyes, when the omnipotent sleep was already beginning to close them, and thought: "Maybe Bulba, waking up, will postpone the departure for two days; maybe he thought of going so soon that he drank a lot."

Bulba suddenly woke up and jumped up. He remembered very well everything he had ordered yesterday.

Well, lads, sleep well! It's time, it's time! Sing the horses! And where is old? (That is how he usually called his wife.) Livelier, old, prepare us to eat: the road is great!

Well, sons, everything is ready! there is nothing to delay! - finally said Bulba. Now, according to Christian custom, everyone needs to sit down before the road.

They all sat down, not even turning off the lads who stood respectfully at the door.

Now bless your children, mother! - said Bulba. - Pray to God that they fought bravely, that they would always defend the honor of Lytsar, that they would always stand for the faith of Christ, or else - let them be better off, so that their spirit would not be in the world! Come, children, to the mother: a mother's prayer both on water and on earth saves.

Mother, weak as a mother, hugged them, took out two small icons, and put them, sobbing, around their necks.

May the mother of God keep you ... Do not forget, sons, your mother is at ... send at least a message about yourself ... - Then she could not speak.

Well, let's go, children! - said Bulba.

Saddled horses stood by the porch. Bulba jumped on his Devil, who recoiled madly, feeling a twenty-pound burden on himself, because Taras was extremely heavy and fat.

The young Cossacks rode vaguely and held back tears, fearing their father, who, for his part, was also somewhat embarrassed, although he tried not to show it. The day was gray; the greens sparkled brightly; the birds chirped somehow at odds. They, having passed, looked back; their farm seemed to have sunk into the ground; only two pipes of their modest little house and the tops of trees were visible above the ground, along the branches of which they climbed like squirrels; only the distant meadow was still spreading in front of them - that meadow along which they could remember the whole story of their life, from the years when they rolled on its dewy grass to the years when they waited in it for a black-browed cossack, fearfully flying over it with the help of their fresh, fast legs. Now only one pole above the well with a cartwheel tied at the top sticks out alone in the sky; already the plain they passed seems from afar like a mountain and covered everything with itself. - Farewell to childhood, and games, and everything, and everything!

Gogol's complete story taras bulba. Read the entire book "Taras Bulba" online - Nikolai Gogol - MyBook. Citizen of the Russian land

I

Mirgorod - 2

Editor's Foreword

I

The last

You need to know