Brief summary of Mikhailo Repnin for the reader's diary. A

Prince Mikhailo Repnin

Without rest he feasts with his daring squad
Ivan Vasilich the Terrible near Mother Moscow.

A row of tables glitters with ladles of gold,
The guardsmen are sitting riotously behind them.

From Vespers wine flows onto the royal carpets,
Dashing guslars have been singing to him since midnight,

“Long live the Tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!

Let everyone choose his own identity, friends,
I am the first to open a cheerful round dance,

Follow me, my tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!”

And everyone raised their cups. Only one didn't pick up;
Only one did not raise the cup, Mikhail, Prince Repnin.

“O king! You have forgotten God, you have forgotten your rank, king!
The oprichnina surrounded his throne on the mountain!

Scatter the children of the demonic army with your sovereign word!
Is it for you, the ruler, to dance here in the mashkar!”

But the king, frowning his eyebrows: “In your mind, you know, you have weakened
Or is it too drunk? Be silent, obstinate slave!

Don’t object to a word and put on your mask -
Or I swear that you have lived your last day!”

Then Repnin, the truthful prince, stood up and raised his cup:
“Let the oprichnina perish!” he said, crossing himself.

Long live our Orthodox Tsar forever!
Let men rule as they were of old!

Let the voice despise shameless flattery as treason!
I won’t put on a disguise in my last hour!”

He spoke and trampled the mask with his feet;
From his hands the ringing cup fell to the ground...

“Die, you daring one!” the king cried out, enraged,
And Repnin, the truthful prince, fell, pierced by a rod.

And again the cups are raised, the ladles sound again,
At the long tables the guardsmen are noisy,

And their laughter is heard, and the feast is in full swing again,
But the clinking of ladles and cups does not amuse the king:

“I killed, I killed in vain a faithful servant,
Now I can no longer taste the fun!”

In vain wine is poured on the royal carpets,
The dashing guslars sing to the king in vain,

They sing the joys of war, the deeds of bygone times,
And the capture of Kazan, and Astrakhan captivity.

<1840-е годы>

Notes

The source of the poem is the story about Repnin’s death in “The History of Ivan the Terrible” by the book. A. M. Kurbsky: John “became drunk and began to dance with the buffoons in mashkars, and those who feasted with him; Seeing this outrage, he [Repnin], a deliberate and noble man, began to cry and say to him: “Whoever is unworthy of you, O Christian king, should do such things.” He began to pester him, saying: “Have fun and play with us,” and, taking the mashkara, he began to place it on his face; he rejected him and trampled on him... The king, filled with rage, drove him away from his eyes, and for many days then, on a weekday, all-night vigil I stand for him in the church... I commanded the inhuman and cruel soldiers to kill him, standing near the altar, like an innocent lamb of God.” Meanwhile, in the poem, Grozny kills Repnin with his own hands, and right there at the feast, and not a few days later in church. Tolstoy made these changes for purely artistic reasons: in “Prince Serebryany” (chapter 6) the episode with Repnin is told in accordance with historical data. The ending - Grozny's repentance - also belongs to Tolstoy.

In the poetic mini-poem by Alexei Tolstoy, events develop during a noisy feast at which Ivan the Terrible himself and his guardsmen feast. The author seems to smile at his main characters: while the poor people are starving and languishing in poverty, the rulers are having fun and not doing business. The table is bursting with food, the dishes sparkle with gold, the wine flows like rivers without edges. Drunk guardsmen spoil the carpets and royal chambers with spilled drinks. But all this does not concern Ivan the Terrible.

The Tsar is having fun, he decides to arrange such a masquerade for fun. He demands to be given a mask and becomes a pagan in it, which is completely unacceptable at a Christian feast. Toasts sound, the king orders more loud music. The musicians dutifully strike the strings and keys.

Meanwhile, amid this revelry there is one person - Prince Mikhailo Repnin, who dares to bring the tsar and his revelers to reason. The prince does not hide under any guise and directly declares at the feast that Ivan the Terrible recklessly pushed away Christian faith. And he even described the guardsmen as children of demons.

Ivan the Terrible could not believe his ears and began to clarify who this daredevil was. And is he not drunk, is he out of his mind, allowing such insolence? The king became incredibly angry and threatened the prince with death. “You obstinate slave, put on your mask or die!” - the king demands. And the prince rises to his full height, crosses himself and pronounces speeches cursing the oprichnina.

He says good words addressed to the tsar, but the former tsar - when Ivan the Terrible was fair and generous. The prince turns to the king and calls on him to understand that flatterers and bandits have gathered around him. And then he tramples underfoot the rejected mask, symbolizing the vile deception. Ivan the Terrible cannot tolerate these actions; in blind hatred he beats and kills the prince with a rod.

The cups are filled with wine again. But Repnin's death is not aimless. Alexei Tolstoy at the end of the poem shows that Ivan the Terrible is thinking about his life, as if his eyes are opening to the oprichniki and the oprichnina. Songs and feasts cannot drown out the insights of Ivan the Terrible. The fun isn't the same anymore.

the main idea

The little poem shows how important it is not to adapt to anyone, not to betray oneself... But it also teaches us to understand at what price such a challenge to almighty rulers can be paid. Yes, Prince Mikhailo Repnin will be elevated to a hero - but only posthumously.

You can use this text for reader's diary

Tolstoy Alexey Konstantinovich. All works

Prince Mikhailo Repnin. Picture for the story

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The song begins from ancient ideas

WOLVES

When the villages become empty,
The songs of the villagers will fall silent
And the gray one will turn white
There is fog over the swamp,
From the forests quietly
Through the fields wolf after wolf
Everyone is sent out for mining.

Seven wolves walk boldly.
Ahead of them is
Eighth wolf, white fur;
A mysterious move
Concludes the ninth.
With a bloody heel
He follows them and limps.

Nothing scares them.
Is it their way to the village?
The dog doesn’t even bark at them;
And the man will die,
Seeing them, he will not dare:
He turns pale with fear
And quietly reads a prayer.

Wolves go around the church
Be careful around
They enter the priest's yard
And they wiggle their tail
Near the tavern they lead by ear
And they listen with all ears,
Aren't there sinful speeches going on there?
Their eyes are like candles
She sewed her teeth sharper.

You are thirteen buckshots
Kill with goat hair
And shoot at them boldly,
Before the white wolf collapses,
And others will fall after him.
In the countryside, when sleeping
The rooster will wake everyone up
You will see lying
Nine dead old women.

Ahead of them is a gray-haired woman,
Behind them, limping,
Everything is in the blood... the power of the Lord is with us!

1840s

* * *

Where the vines bend over the pool,
Where the summer sun is hot,
Dragonflies fly and dance,
A cheerful round dance is performed.

"Child, come closer to us,
We will teach you to fly,
Child, come, come,
Until the mother woke up!

The blades of grass are trembling beneath us,
We feel so good and warm
We have turquoise backs,
And the wings are definitely glass!

We know so many songs
We love you so much for a long time -
Look how sloping the bank is,
What a sandy bottom!”

1840s

MOUND

In the steppe, on the open plain,
The mound stands alone:
Below him is a famous hero
Buried in past centuries.

A funeral feast was held in honor of the knight,
The squad fought for three days,
The priests sacrificed to him at once
All wives and favorite horse.

When was he buried?
And the noise at the grave died down,
The singers promised him fame,
On the golden harp rattling:

“O knight! by your deeds
The great people are proud
Your thunderous name
Centuries will pass!

And if your mound is high
I would be level with an empty field,
That glory, spreading far away,
I would be your mound!”

And now the years have passed,
Centuries have flown by,
Nations replaced nations
The face of the earth has changed.

A mound with a high head,
Where the mighty knight is buried,
Not yet level with the ground,
Still standing proudly.

And the knight is a glorious name
It has not reached our times...
Who was he? what kind of crowns
Has he decorated his forehead?

Whose blood did he shed like a river?
What cities did he burn?
And what death did he die?
And when was it lowered into the ground?

The lonely mound is silent...
The sovereign rider is forgotten,
And funeral feasts in the wide desert
Nobody will do it to him!

Only flashes past the mound
Saiga galloping across the field,
Or suddenly swoops down on him,
The locusts are crackling like wings.

Sometimes a flock of cranes
Having finished the path under the clouds,
Flying up to the mound it makes a noise,
He sits down to rest on it.

The jerboa will sometimes skip
Along it during the flickering of the day,
Or the rider looms high
On it is a daring horse,

And the clouds will shed tears,
Floating in the skies above the steppe,
Yes, the wind only shines flyingly
Ashes from a forgotten mound...

1840s

PRINCE ROSTISLAV

I take it to Prince Rostislav
shut the Dnieper darker than the birch.
"The Tale of Igor's Campaign"
Prince Rostislav in a foreign land
Lies on the river bottom,
Lies in battle chain mail,
With a broken sword.

Dnieper underwater beauty
They love to kiss him
And with the comb of the knight's hair
Comb with gold.
It's in vain day and night
The princess is waiting at home...

His rook sped away -
It won't bring you back!
In a deep forest, in a foreign land,
His shelter is in the river,
God bless him
Prayers are not sung;

But there are underwater beauties with him,
With him are a swarm of merry maidens,
And the knight scratches his hair
Their crest is golden.

When to the shore Whistle
Gray waves are rushing,
A yellow leaf is spinning in the forest,
Furious, Perun thunders,
Then, from sleep at the river bottom
Suddenly waking up
With cloudy eyes all around
The poor prince looks on.

He calls his young wife -
Alas! his wife,
Having waited in vain for a whole year,
Engaged to someone else.

He also calls his brother to him,
I would be glad to hug him -
But, surrounded by a host of gridneys,
My brother is feasting at home.

He calls the Kyiv priests,
Orders himself to sing the funeral service -
But to the homeland there is a weak call
Can't reach.

And he, leaning on the rusty shield,
Heavy sleep again
Sleeps in the circle of young mermaids
Alone at the river bottom...

1840s

VASILY SHIBANOV

Prince Kurbsky fled from the royal wrath,
With him is Vaska Shibanov, the stirrup.
The prince was portly. The exhausted horse fell.
How to be in the middle of a foggy night?

But Shibanov maintains slavish loyalty,
He gives his horse to the governor:
“Ride, prince, until I reach the enemy,
Maybe I won’t be left behind on foot.”

And the prince galloped off. Under the Lithuanian tent
The disgraced governor sits,
The Lithuanians stand around in amazement,
Without hats they crowd at the entrance,
Every Russian knight gives honor;

No wonder the Lithuanian people are amazed,
And their heads are spinning:
“Prince Kurbsky has become our friend.”
But the prince is not pleased with the new honor,
He is filled with bile and malice;

Kurbsky is preparing to read the Tsar
Souls of offended sweetheart:
“What for a long time I melt and carry within myself,
Then I will write everything at length to the king,
I'll tell you straight, without bending,
Thank you for all his caresses.”

And the boyar writes all night long,
His pen breathes vengeance,
He reads it, smiles, and reads it again,
And again he writes without rest,
And he sarcastic the king with evil words,
And so, when the dawn broke,
It's time for his joy
A message full of poison.

But who are the daring prince's words?
Will he take it to Ioanna?
Who doesn't like a head on their shoulders,
Whose heart won't clench in its chest?
Involuntarily, doubts were cast upon the prince...

Suddenly Shibanov enters, sweating and covered in dust:
“Prince, is my service needed?
See, our guys didn’t catch up with me!”
And in joy the prince sends a slave,
Urging him impatiently:
“Your body is healthy and your soul is not weak,
And here are the rubles for the reward!”

Shibanov in response to the gentleman: “Good!
You need your silver here,
And I’ll give it for the torment
Your letter is in the royal hands."

The copper ringing rushes and buzzes over Moscow;
The king in humble clothes rings the bell;
Does it call back the former peace
Or does conscience bury you forever?
But often and regularly he rings the bell,
And the Moscow people listen to the ringing,
And he prays, full of fear,
May the day pass without execution.

In response to the ruler the tower hums,
The fierce Vyazemsky also calls with him,
Pitch darkness rings to the entire oprichnina,
And Vaska Gryaznoy and Malyuta,
And then, proud of his beauty,
With a girlish smile, with a snake soul,
The favorite calls Ioannov,
Basmanov, rejected by God.

The king finished; leaning on the staff, he walks,
And with him all the devious ones gather.
Suddenly a messenger rides, pushes the people apart,
He holds a message above his hat.

And he quickly pulled away from his horse,
A man approaches King John on foot
And he says to him, without turning pale:
“From Kurbsky Prince Andrey!”

And the king’s eyes suddenly lit up:
"To me? From a dashing villain?
Read, clerks, read aloud to me
Message from word to word!
Bring me the letter here, you impudent messenger!”

And a sharp end in Shibanov’s leg
He thrusts his rod,
He leaned on the crutch and listened:
“To the king, glorified of old from all,
But I’m drowning in abundant filth!

Answer, madman, for what sin?
Have you beaten the good and the strong?
Answer, isn’t it them, in the midst of a difficult war,
Are the strongholds of the enemy destroyed without counting?
Aren't you famous for their courage?
And who is their equal in loyalty?

Insane! Or think you are more immortal than us,
Seduced into an unprecedented heresy?
Pay attention! The hour of retribution will come,
Foretold to us by Scripture,
And I, like the blood in constant battles
For thee, like water, lines and lines,
I will appear before the judge with you!”
This is how Kurbsky wrote to John.

Shibanov was silent. From a pierced leg
The scarlet blood flowed like a current,
And the king on the calm eye of the servant
He looked with a searching eye.
A row of guardsmen stood motionless;
The lord's mysterious gaze was gloomy,
As if filled with sadness;
And everyone was silent in anticipation.

And the king said: “Yes, your boyar is right,
And there is no joyful life for me,
Blood of the good and strong legs corrected
I am an unworthy and stinking dog!
Messenger, you are not a slave, but a comrade and friend,
And Kurbsky has a lot of loyal servants,
Why gave you away for nothing!
Go with Malyuta to the dungeon!”

The executioners torture and torment the messenger,
They replace each other:
“You convict Kurbsky’s comrades,
Reveal their dog treason!
And the king asks: “Well, what about the messenger?
Did he finally call the thief his friends?”
“King, his word is all one:
He praises his master!”

The day fades, night time comes,
The gates will hide at the dungeon,
The shoulder masters enter again,
The work began again.
“Well, did the messenger name the villains?”
“Tsar, his end is near,
But his word is all one,
He praises his master:
“Oh prince, you who could betray me
For a sweet moment of reproach,
Oh prince, I pray that God forgives you
I will betray you before your fatherland!

But in the heart there is love and forgiveness,
Have mercy on my sins!

Hear me, God, in my dying hour,
Forgive my master!
My tongue goes numb, and my gaze fades away,
But my word is all one:
For the terrible, O God, king I pray,
For our holy, great Rus',
And I firmly await the desired death!”
This is how Shibanov, the striving one, died.

1840s

PRINCE MIKHAILO REPNIN

Without rest he feasts with his daring squad
Ivan Vasilich the Terrible near Mother Moscow.
A row of tables glitters with ladles of gold,
The guardsmen are sitting riotously behind them.

Vespers wine pours on the royal carpets,
Dashing guslars have been singing to him since midnight,

But the voice of the king’s former glory does not amuse him,
He orders the crook to show himself a guise:
“Long live the Tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!
Fuck a face, friends, let everyone choose,
I am the first to open a cheerful round dance,
Follow me, my tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!”

And everyone raised their cups. Only one didn't pick up;
Only one did not raise the cup, Mikhailo Prince Repnin.
“O king! You have forgotten God, you have forgotten your rank, king!
The oprichnina surrounded his throne on the mountain!
Scatter the children of the demonic army with your sovereign word!
Is it for you, the ruler, to dance here in the mashkar!”

But the king, frowning his eyebrows: “In your mind, you know, you have weakened
Or is it too drunk? Be silent, obstinate slave!
Don’t object to a word and put on your mask -
Or I swear that you have lived your last day!”
Then Repnin, the truthful prince, stood up and raised his cup:
“Let the oprichnina perish! - he said, crossing himself. -
Long live our Orthodox Tsar forever!
Let men rule as they were of old!
Let the voice despise shameless flattery as treason!
I won’t put on a disguise in my last hour!”
He spoke and trampled the mask with his feet;

From his hands the ringing cup fell to the ground...
“Die, you daring one!” - the king screamed, furious,
And Repnin, the truthful prince, fell, pierced by a rod.

And again the cups are raised, the ladles sound again,
At the long tables the guardsmen are noisy,
And their laughter is heard, and the feast is in full swing again,
But the clinking of ladles and cups does not amuse the king:
“I killed, I killed in vain a faithful servant,
Now I can no longer taste the fun!”

In vain wine is poured on the royal carpets,
The dashing guslars sing to the king in vain,
They sing the joys of war, the deeds of bygone times,
And the capture of Kazan, and Astrakhan captivity.

1840s

* * *

The bell, peacefully dozing, was hit by a heavy bomb
It thundered; with a crash, fragments scattered all around;
He shuddered, and to the people mighty copper sounds
They flowed into the distance, indignant, buzzing and calling for battle.

* * *

Arrogance walks, puffing himself up,
Rolling from side to side.
Hubris is about a yard and a quarter tall,
The hat he’s wearing is a whole fathom long,
His belly is all covered in pearls,
The back is gilded.

And Arrogance would go to his father, to his mother,
Yes, the gates are unpainted!
And I would pray for Arrogance in the Church of God,
Yes, the floor has not been swept!
Arrogance walks and sees a rainbow in the sky;
Arrogance turned in the other direction:
It’s not good for me to bend over!

* * *

Oh, if only Mother Volga ran back!
If only we could, brothers, start living again!
Oh, if only the flowers would bloom in winter!
If only we could love and never stop loving!
If only we could get the seabed and measure it!
If only you could, brothers, trust the red girls!
Oh, if only all women were young ladies!
If only there was less water in the half-gar!
If only the glass always reached your mouth!
If only the clerks were on the side, to hell with it!
If only my pockets would always jingle!
If only we, brothers, could have our own caftans!
If only the hungry could have lunch every day!
Yes, if only our king knew the whole truth!

* * *

People gathered at the order gates
Thick;
He says in simplicity what is in his stomach
Empty!
"Fools! - said the clerk, - of you there should be everyone
In body:
Back in the Duma yesterday we had difficulty sturgeon
Ate!”
A man was driving a convoy across the river to the market
Tow;
The little guy, you see, is simple, you know he’s lucky across the bridge,
Is not it?
“See, you fool! - said the clerk, - you have a bridge, tea, a trifle,
Pipes?
You should have taken care of it, because they were swimming across
Ducks!
How a thief stole a gander from Vaska Volchok,
See you!
I rolled it up in a towel and caught the guard,
Nishto!
The clerk said: “Fool! Whose towel is it?
Vaska?
It became, Vaska and the thief, it became, Vaska and give
Task!”
A sick man came to the clerk and said: “Oh, oh, oh,
Dyache!
It really hurts inside, but in the morning
More!
And I can’t lie down, and I can’t sit down, and I can’t eat
So many!"
“See, you fool! - said the clerk, - well, don’t eat on an empty stomach;
Only!"
The plaintiff came to the clerk and said: “You are the father
Poor,
If only you could help me - you see a bag of money
Copper, -
I would pour ten rubles into your hat, by the way,
Joke!"
“A rash now,” said the clerk, exposing his cap, “
Come on!”

IS IT TRUE

Oh you goy, mother truth!
You are great, indeed, you stand wide!
You rose by mountains to the skies,
You are spread across the steppes, empress,
You have spilled into blue seas,
The cities were decorated with crowds,
Overgrown with dense forests!

I won't be able to go around you for a hundred years,
Look at you - the hat is falling off!
Seven brothers left,
Seven good fellows left,
Well done guys came out to see
What kind of person is she really like in the world?

And a lot has been said about her,
And a lot has been written about her,
And a lot has been said about her.
Good fellows galloped,
All seven brothers are daring,
And we approached the truth from seven ends,
And they saw the truth from seven sides.

Good fellows looked,
They shook their heads
And returned to their homeland,
And returning to my homeland,
Everyone told the truth in their own way:
Who called it a high mountain,
Who is a crowded trading city,
Some by sea, some by forest, some by steppe.

And the brothers argued among themselves,
And they washed out the damask swords,
And they chopped each other to death,
And, hacking, cursing, swearing,
And brother called brother a deceiver.

Finally they died to a man
All seven brothers are daring:
When dying, each one punished his son,
Rubitsya punished to death,
Lie down for the truth for the truth;
So the son punished his son,
And to this day their grandchildren are hacked,
Everyone is fighting for the truth, for the truth,
To great ruin.

And the parable was not told to condemn,
It was not said as a reproach, but as a lesson,
Good people will understand.

STARITSKY VOIVODA

When the old man's governor was accused,
That, proud of the nobility and antiquity of the family,
He dreams of conferring upon himself the rank of king,
John ordered him to appear before his eyes.

And the rich man brought a crown to the condemned man,
And he clothed himself with a robe of pearls and gold,
And he placed the barmas, and himself on his throne
He erected the culprit over silk carpets.

And, bowing his gaze before him, he fell in the middle of the chamber,
And, bowing to the ground with humility three times,
He said: “Be content in your greatness,
Behold, your servant, I will hit you with my forehead in the kingdom!”

And, straightening up at that very moment with merciless malice,
He thrust a knife into his heart with a greedy hand.

And, bowing his face over the overthrown enemy,
He stepped on a corpse with a patterned boot
And he looked into the eyes of the dead, and with a trembling trembling
The sovereign lips curled with a smile.

* * *

1

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
What do you want to cook in the cauldron?
- Mush, mother, mush,
Mush, madam, mush!

2

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
Where did you get the cereal?
- Over the sea, mother, over the sea,
Over the sea, madam, over the sea!

3

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
Did you not have your own cereal?
- Weedy, mother, weedy,
Weedy, madam, weedy!

4

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
What do you want to do to disturb her?
- With a stick, mother, with a stick,
With a stick, madam, with ardor!

5

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
But the porridge will turn out cool?
- Cool, mother, cool,
Cool, madam, cool!

6

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
But the porridge will be salty?
- Solona, ​​mother, Solona,
Solona, ​​madam, Solona!

7

- Sir, you are our father,
Sovereign Peter Alekseevich,
And who will sort it out?
- Children, mother, children,
Children, madam, children!

ANOTHER'S Grief

In the thicket of the forest, the hero by the moon
Enters in a shiny outfit;
He is in a sharp helmet, in ringed armor
And he whistled carelessly, barreling on his horse:
“What grief do I have!”
And he trots, rattling and ringing,
They only knock on the roots of the hoof;
Suddenly someone jumped onto his horse from an oak tree!

“Hey, who sat behind me there?
Be careful with me, don’t joke!”
And he feels behind his back,
And he fumbles, with annoyance in his eyes;
But the answer heeds: “I’m not a stranger to you,
You, tea, heard about the strife with the prince,
You’re taking Yaroslav, woe!”

“Well, lie to yourself! - the knight thinks, laughing, -
That would truly be a miracle!
What is your connection with Yaroslav?
The Kyiv prince sleeps in the St. Sophia Cathedral,
Is his grief alive?

But further on he rides, rattling and ringing,
No more arguing with my friend:
Suddenly someone jumped on his horse again
And he whispers in his ear: “Take me too,
I, knight, am Tatar grief!

“Well, apparently I didn’t leave at a good hour!
Look, what a parable there is!
What spruce cones are falling here for you!
This is what the knight thinks, bowing his head,
And the horse is already walking.

But it’s hard for him to walk,
And he soon began to stumble,
And then someone jumped into the saddle again!
“What the hell else has it brought?”
“Woe to Ivan Vasilich!”
“Down with you! And there’s no room behind the saddle!
My shoulder was completely crushed!”
“No, knight, we’ve already sat down, we won’t go away!”
And four of them ride on horseback,
And the horse's strength breaks.

“Eh,” the knight thinks, “I wish I could get out of the forest
Yes, in the field, jump in the open air!
And how did I get caught without a fight?
You see, someone else's grief is condemned to drag,
Alien, past grief!

PANTELEY THE HEALER

Tsar Panteley walks across the field,
And flowers and grass are up to his waist,
And all the grass parted before him,
And the flowers all worship him.

And he knows their hidden powers,
All good and all poisonous,
And to all the good herbs, harmless,
He responds with a greeting,
And who grow up guilty,
At that he threatens with a stick.

He collects a leaf from the good ones,
And he fills his bag with them,
And for the sick and poor brethren
He makes a healing potion from them.

Sovereign Panteley!
You have pity on us too
Your wonderful oil
Pour into our wounds,
We have many heart wounds;
There are those among us who are crippled in soul,
There are also those who are seriously ill with their minds,
There are deaf, dumb, blind,
Drunk with evil poisons, -
Help them with your herbs!

And also, sir, -
What didn’t happen in the old days -
And such people come across among us,
That they abhor any kind of treatment.
They do not tolerate the ringing of the guslar,
Give them market goods!

Everything that they cannot weigh, they cannot measure,
That's it, they shout, we need to screw it up;
That's all they say, and really,
What is sensitive to our body;
And their methods are crude,
And their teaching is rather dirty,
And on these people
Sovereign Panteley,
Don't spare the sticks
Bitchy!

February 1866

EARSHKUINIK

The strength and prowess of me, a fine fellow, overcame me,
Not a stranger, our own heroic prowess!
And even the heart cannot accommodate such prowess,
And your heart will burst from the daring!

I’ll go to my father to cry bitterly,
I’ll go to my mother to bow down at her feet,
Let go of your wanked child,
The Novgorod order is unlearned,

Let go and play children's games:
Those convoys beat the grassroots, merchants,
The Urman boats are roaring at sea,
Yes, burn infidel forts on the Volga!

Autumn 1870

...I read a new, never published poem by Count A.K. Tolstoy, “Song of the Bogatyr Stream”; Nicholas brought the manuscript from the author and copied it for himself; in form it resembles ancient Russian epics and allegorically represents the Russian people, there is a lot of intelligence and causticity in it, somewhat reminiscent of his “Healer Pantelei”.

POTOK-BOGATYR

1

The song begins from ancient ideas,
From cheerful feasts and dinners.
And from blond braids, and from black curls,
And from those affectionate grandfathers,
That things willingly interfered with fun;
From their time the song now led,
From that old Russian region,
I don’t know how the song ends.

2

Vladimir Solnyshka has a holiday,
There is feasting, rejoicing,
Gridny leads a round dance with the young ladies,
The ringing of the gusli and the clanging of cymbals.
Well done what bright stars are burning,
And under the tramp of soles, and under the song,
Bending, they walk beautifully,
Well done guys perform amazingly.

3

But the Bogatyr Stream surpassed all others:
When he takes a look, it’s as if he’s scattering sparks:
Turns to the right - like a gray eagle,
Turns to the left - what a gyrfalcon;
Moves steadily back and forth,

Then suddenly, shaking his curls,
He shrugs his shoulders.

4

And Vladimir marvels at how slim he has become,
And marvels at the bright eye:
“No one,” he says, “can dance in Rus'
Against the young Stream!
But it’s too late, the prince gets up with the princess,
Bowing to the guests on three sides at the waist,
He wants everyone to be happy -
This means: it's time to part.

5

And the guests go home with bows,
And Vladimir takes the princess away,
Only one remains, the young stream,
He still walks with his arms on his hips,
Now he stamps his foot, now he waves his hat,
He did not notice how the round dance departed,
He didn’t hear Vladimir’s caresses,
He continues to dance as before.

6

It's been a month since the horns appear from behind the forest,
And the beams shrouded in fog,
So Baba Yaga rode in the mortar,
And mermaids splashed in the Dnieper,
In the Trans-Dnieper region the howl of a devil was heard,
The brownie went on patrol through the stables,
On the pipe the witch waves her canopy,
And the Stream dances and dances for itself.

7

Through the Tsargrad windows into the mansion's canopy
The bright stars look, marveling,
Like a heroic shadow on the white walls
Walks back and forth, arms akimbo.
Just before dawn the Stream got tired,
He can no longer feel his frisky legs underneath him,
It falls on the bridge workers like a sheaf,
He falls asleep for half a thousand years.

8

He has many dreams in his five thousand years:
Sees glorious fights and slaughters,
The red maidens receive a warm greeting
And he judges the boyars at the veche;
Or Vladimir sees a polite courtyard,
The cheerful one is having a conversation over the ladles,
Or chattering with the prince while fishing,
Or he argues persistently in the council.

9

The Stream on the Moscow River has awakened,
In front of him he sees an oak mansion;
Under a patterned window, in a secluded flower garden,
The double rose blooms;
The Stream fell in love with a beautiful flower,
And the Stream strives to smell it,
How the princess appeared in the window,
She attacked Potok angrily:

10

“A moron, a fool, an uneducated serf!
May you be twisted into a horn!
Piglet, calf, pig, Ethiopian,
Damn son, unwashed snout!
If only it weren’t for this girlish shame of mine,
What else does he tell me to say,
I'll cheat you, I'm impudent,
And I wouldn’t have scolded you like that!”

11

Potok got scared and got really scared:
“Hurry up and take my feet away!”
Suddenly the tulumbas thunder; there is a guard on duty
Drives people he meets off the road with sticks;
The king rides on a horse, wearing a brocade coat,
And executioners are walking around with axes, -
His mercy is going to amuse,
There is someone to chop or hang.

12

And in anger the Stream grabbed the sword:
“What kind of khan in Rus' is willful?”
But suddenly he hears the words: “The earthly god is coming,
Then our father will deign to execute us!”
And on the street, how many crowds there were,
Governors, boyars, monks, priests,
Men, old men and women -
Everyone in front of him fell on their bellies.

13

He is surprised by the parable of the young stream:
“If he is a prince, or a king in the end,
Why are they sweeping the ground in front of him with their beards?
We honored princes, but not like that!
And that’s it, am I really in Rus'?
God save us from earthly things!
We are strictly commanded by Scripture
Recognize only the heavenly god!”

14

And he tortures the young man he meets:
“Where does the veche meet here, uncle?”
But on that one, out of fear, you can’t see his face:
“Forget me,” he says, “man!”
And he started to run away from the Stream;
His head was spinning,
He falls to the ground like a sheaf,
He still falls asleep for three hundred years.

15

A stream has awakened on another river,
Which one? doesn’t remember the legend.
After walking back and forth in the cold,
He enters a spacious building,
He sees: the judges are sitting and solemnly here
A public trial is carried out over the criminal.
The evidence is undoubted and hard,
The crimes are quite large:

16

He poisoned his father, killed a couple of aunts,
Took someone else's property by forgery
Yes, he strangled two brothers and three daughters -
The jury's decision is awaited.
And the jury enters with a satisfied face:
“Even though he killed,” they say, “he’s not guilty of anything!”
Here they have scarves left and right
The ladies wave and shout: bravo!

17

And the Stream said: “The trial is with the jury
Was common to our world,
But whenever such a jester turns up for us,
He would pay the viru three hundred kunas!”
And the neighbors, looking sideways at him, say:
“Look, what a retrograde has crept in here!
He is retarded, as can be seen from his dress,
He wants to oppress the smaller brothers!”

18

But the Flow will not understand anything from their words,
And he enters another building;
There's some kind of pharmacist, maybe a patriot,
Conducts a teaching in front of a crowd:
That, they say, there is no soul, but only flesh
And what if there really is a Lord?
Then he is only a type of oxygen,
The whole point is the lack of leadership of the people.

19

And, seeing the Stream, looked down on him
The patriot addressed him sternly:
“Tell me, do you respect the man?”
But the Flow asks: “Which one?”
“In general, a man who is great in humility!”
But Potok says: “There is a man and a man:
If he doesn't drink up the harvest,
Then I respect the man!”

20

"Feudal lord! - the patriot shouted at him, -
Know that only salvation lies in the people!”
But the Flow says: “I am also a people,
So why is there an exception for me?
But a patriot came to him: “You are the people, but not the same!
Only black people are called to rule Russia!
According to the old system, everyone is equal,
But according to us, only he has full rights!”

21

Then everyone started screaming, as if they were being pulled by a demon,
They threaten the Stream with disaster.
Heard: soil, humanity, commune, progress.
And that someone is eaten up by the environment.
They squabble among themselves, like chattering
Everyone is shouting about some common matter
And flow with a sarcastic tone
They call him the Baltic Baron.

22

And the Stream thought: “Already, Lord of the harrows,
Did I wake up too early?
After all, just yesterday, lying on their belly, they
They adored the Khan of Moscow,
And today they tell me to adore the man!
It seems to me that there is such a need to lie down
Now before this, now before this on the belly
Is it based on yesterday’s spirit?”

23

He entered the third house, and fear seized him:
He sees in a long, smelly room,
Everyone has their hair cut round, wearing frock coats and glasses,
The beauties gathered in a bunch.
About some women's rights arguing,
They do it by rolling up their sleeves,
The notorious common cause:
They're disemboweling someone's dead body.

24

The stream is horrified and runs away from the beauties,
And they exclaim sarcastically:
“Oh, what a vulgar man he is! how undeveloped he is!
Modernity is not visible at all!”
But Potok says, finding himself in the yard:
“The same thing happened with us on Bald Mountain,
Only witches are at least naked and barefoot,
But at least they have braids!”

25

And what he happened to see and hear:
And that judgment, and the teaching about God,
And the man in the radiance, and the girls without braids -
Everything leads him to the conclusion:
“There are many different miracles in the world!
I don't know what any progress means
But until the healthy Russian veche
You still have a long way to go, sirs!”

26

And so he became disgusted and sick,
That he falls to the ground like a sheaf
And under the word progress, as if in fumes and smoke,
He still falls asleep for another two hundred years.
We will now wait for his awakening;
What, when he wakes up, he sees, that’s what we’ll sing about,
Until he wakes up,
It’s not good for us to sing at random.

Beginning 1871

...Fyodor Mikhailovich (Dostoevsky) read Nekrasov’s “Vlas” - and how he read it! The hall trembled with applause when he finished reading. But the public did not want to part with the famous reader yet and asked him to read something else. Fyodor Mikhailovich did not take long to ask this time either; he himself, apparently, was greatly electrified by the enthusiasm of the public and did not yet feel tired. He read a short poem by Count A.K. Tolstoy “Ilya Muromets” and at the same time charmed his listeners with an artistic rendering of the complete epic simplicity of the grumbling of an old, honored Kyiv hero-nobleman, who was offended by Prince Vladimir the Red Sun for somehow encircling him by the spell of wine at the feast, who through this left his brilliant courtyard and was now riding off on his “forelock” to his native outback, through the dense forest. When Fyodor Mikhailovich read the final verses of the poem:

And the old man has a stern face
Enlightened again
According to his guts he is healthy
Breathe air;
The wild will blows again
There's room for him
And resin and strawberries
It smells like dark forest...

his animation seemed to have reached highest degree, because final words“and the dark forest smells of resin and strawberries...” were uttered by him with such amazing power of expression in his voice that the illusion of a truly artistic reading was complete: it seemed to everyone that in the hall of the “Noble Lady” there really was a smell of resin and strawberries... The audience was dumbfounded, and, Thanks to this circumstance, a deafening thunder of applause was heard only when Fyodor Mikhailovich folded the book and stood up from his chair.

M. A. Alexandrov

ILYA MUROMETS

1

Under armor with a simple set,
Chewing a piece of bread,
On a hot afternoon it rides like a boron
Grandfather Ilya;

2

It drives through the forest, you can only hear it,
How the armor rattles,
The lush fern tramples
Bogatyrsky horse.

3

And Ilya grumbles angrily:
“Well, Vladimir, what then?
I'll take a look, without Ilya
How will you live?

4

Your courtyard is no wonder to me, prince!
I don’t hold on to feasts!
I'm an unpretentious man
I wish I had a bite of bread!

5

But you put a spell around me
In my turn -
So go, my dark haired one,
Take Ilya away!

6

There are enough others without me:
They sit down - the table is full!
Only the delicacies are too painful,
They love the female gender!

7

All your heroes
So, youth;
Without old Ilya
How will you live!

8

That's why I'm worth more than them,
What did the women forget?
And when I crack you with a mace,
So not weak yet!

9

To tell the truth, for the prince
I'm not fit for the yard;
Walk around the world again
It's time without that!

10

I can’t stand rich hallways,
Marble slabs;
From Tsargrad from smoking
My head hurts!

11

It’s stuffy in Kyiv, what’s in the screenshot,
The blood will only turn sour!
Empress-desert
I will bow again!

12

I will experience again, old man,
My will -
Come on, come on, go ahead, dark haired one,
Take Ilya away!”

13

And the old man has a stern face
Enlightened again
According to his guts he is healthy
Breathe air;

14

The wild will blows again
There's room for him
And resin and strawberries
It smells like dark forest.

May 1871

* * *

1

Sometimes Merry May
Through the meadow of the helicopter city,
Walking among the flowers,
Sam-friend there are two frets.

2

He is wearing a scarlet murmur,
Sewn with stones,
Gilded braid
The legs are entwined across;

3

She's young
All in silver fabric;
They ring on it, sparkling,
Faceted monista,

4

The inlaid crown shines,
And you understood her tail,
The rustling of a patterned veil,
Sweeps the grass behind her.

5

She's having fun, bride
“Oh dear! - says to a friend, -
Isn't it cool for us to be together?
Walk through the meadow in flowers?

6

And he met her gaze,
And the flexible figure embraced her.
“Oh dear! - answered
With a passionate smile, -

7

Here is real paradise with you!
Truly everything is ridiculous!
But this garden is blooming
They’ll soon sow turnips!”

8

“How can there be such misfortune! -
The bride exclaimed,
Is it really in the garden?
No room for turnips?

9

And he: “My lada!
There is a place for turnips, for sure,
But the garden needs to be ruined
Because it’s floral!”

10

She came to him: “What will happen?
With bear bushes,
Where he wakes you up every morning
Is the nightingale roaring us?”

11

“Those bushes need to be pulled out
With all their roots,
Turkeys are here, oh yeah
They want to feed you worms!”

12

Lifting your eyelashes,
The bride asked:
"A snare for this bird
Is there no room in the chicken coop?

13

“How could this place not be!
But Soloviev, oh well,
Rather exterminate
For uselessness!"

14

“And the grove, where in the shadows we
Hiding from the heat
I hope she passes
Will such punishment pass?

15

“They’ll chop her up, okay,
On a building like this
Where are the fatty beef?
We ate roast food;

16

Or it might even be easier
O my life, o lada,
And it will be in this grove
A herd of pigs is grazing.”

17

“Oh my one and only friend! -
The bride asked here, -
Really for that beast
Is there no other place?

18

"There's a lot of space, okay,
But our shelter is shady
Then you have to mess it up
What’s fresh and clean about it!”

19

“But who are these people?”
The bride exclaimed,
Wanting like children
Is it someone else’s place to crap?”

20

“They are strangers, oh well,
Not much is considered:
When do they need what?
They drag and grab.”

21

“Or are they materialists,”
The bride asked again,
Which ones have chimney sweeps?
The essence is higher than Raphael?

22

“Their names are many,
My silver angel
They are also demagogues,
They are also anarchists.

23

Crowds of them are all squabbling,
Only they will open their own forum,
And separately everyone swears
In verba leader.

24

There is only one thing everyone agrees on:
If others have property
You will take it and divide it,
Lust will begin.

25

They want to smooth out the whole world
And thus bring equality,
That everyone wants to make a mess
For common bliss!

26

“Tell me, no jokes aside,”
The bride asked here, -
Im in a madhouse
Is there really no room?

27

“Oh my beloved light!
My soul, you, lada!
It’s too extensive for them
We need to build a house!

28

Question: in what manner
Should they build a house like this?
Allow engineers -
It will cost a lot;

29

And provide the zemstvo
At their own expense,
That would mean leaving
Construction without moving!

30

“Oh friend, what should we do?
So as not to perish the region?
“Such a remedy, okay,
I think I know:

31

So that the Russian state
I escaped from their idea,
Hang Stanislav
On the necks of all the leaders!

32

Then everything will go smoothly
And everything will fall into place!”
“But this remedy is disgusting!” -
The bride exclaimed.

33

“It’s not disgusting at all, okay,
On the contrary, excellent:
People without money,
The treasury is very profitable.”

34

“But this remedy is bad!” -
The maiden said in anger.
“But this remedy is true!” -
The groom answered the maiden.

35

“How immoral you are, really! -
The maiden said in her hearts, -
Go to your right
And I’ll go left!”

36

And both, raising their hands,
We parted angry
She is in silver fabric,
He is wearing a scarlet murmur.

37

“What’s your ballad for?” -
Another maiden will ask.
- Oh my life, oh lada,
Hey, not for the chorus!

38

No, full of a different feeling,
I believe realists:
Art for art's sake
I equalize with a bird whistle:

39

I, a new learner
Surrendering without division,
I want you to sing
It always came through.

40

Serve the cause, strings!
Quiet the idle murmur!
Russian commune,
Take my first experience!

A.K. Tolstoy: pages of biography. Ballads “Vasily Shibanov”, “Prince Mikhailo Repnin”
From literature of the 19th century century

During the lesson you will be able to get acquainted with the biography of A.K. Tolstoy and learn about his passion for history. Comparative analysis A. Tolstoy’s ballads “Vasily Shibaev” and “Prince Mikhailo Repnin” will help to determine their main idea and problematics, as well as to understand the author’s concept in depicting the era of Ivan the Terrible. Particular attention in the lesson is paid to the artistic features of ballads.

Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy was born on September 5, 1817 in St. Petersburg. His father came from an old and famous Tolstoy family (Leo Tolstoy on this line is Alexei second cousin). On his mother's side, he is the great-grandson of Kirill Razumovsky, the last hetman of Ukraine, president Russian Academy Sci.

After the birth of their son, the couple separated; his mother took him to Little Russia to live with her brother A. A. Perovsky, known in literature under the name of Anthony Pogorelsky. Here, on the Pogoreltsy and Krasny Rog estates, Tolstoy spent his childhood. His uncle was involved in raising the future poet; he encouraged his artistic inclinations in every possible way and composed specially for him famous fairy tale"The Black Hen, or the Underground Inhabitants."

Alexey Konstantinovich himself recalled his childhood as follows: : “My childhood was very happy and left me with only bright memories. The only son, who had no playmates and was endowed with a very vivid imagination, I very early became accustomed to daydreaming, which soon turned into a pronounced inclination towards poetry. From the age of six I started making paper and writing poetry.”

Perovsky regularly traveled abroad with his nephew, introducing him to famous people, once even introduced him to Goethe. The famous German poet gave the boy a fragment of a mammoth tusk, decorated with a handmade drawing.

Rice. 1. A.K. Tolstoy ()

Until his death, his uncle remained the main adviser in the pupil’s literary experiments. He also showed the young man’s works to Zhukovsky and Pushkin, with whom he was on friendly terms, and there is
evidence that they have been approved.

Rice. 2. Alexander II with his sister Maria ()

Also, thanks to his uncle, while still a child, Alexey Tolstoy was introduced to the heir to the throne, the future Emperor Alexander II, and was among the children who came to the Tsarevich on Sundays to play.

Subsequently, the warmest relations remained between them. Friendship with the future emperor will help Tolstoy make a dizzying court career from chamber cadet to court master of ceremonies.

For the first time Alexey Tolstoy enters literary world at 24, when the world saw him fantastic story"Ghoul". Imitating his uncle, the writer publishes under the pseudonym Krasnorogsky (from the name of the Krasny Rog estate).

During the same period, Alexey Konstantinovich’s interest in history was noted. Subsequently, the historical ballad became one of the main genres of his poetic work.

Ballad- a lyric-epic work, that is, a story presented in poetic form, of a historical, mythical or heroic nature. The plot of a ballad is usually borrowed from folklore.

The ballad genre was extremely popular in the era of romanticism and is found in the works of many representatives of literature of the first half of the 19th century (Goethe, Zhukovsky, Pushkin).

Turning to the ballad genre is associated with the search for an unusual plot, which is very important in romanticism, and, of course, with the author’s interest in history.

In their historical ballads ah Alexei Tolstoy often refers to the era of Ivan the Terrible.

Rice. 3. Ivan the Terrible. Hood. V. M. Vasnetsov ()

The figure of this king is certainly colorful and popular. It is no coincidence that people dedicated many historical songs to him.

How the Orthodox Tsar lives in the mansion:

Orthodox Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich:

He is formidable, father, and merciful,

He pardons for truth, hangs for untruth.

The years have come that are angry with the Moscow people,

Just like the Orthodox Tsar became more formidable than before.

He carried out cruel executions for truth and untruth.

The image of Tsar Ivan the Terrible is central in M. Yu. Lermontov’s work “The Song of the Merchant Kalashnikov.” Just like Lermontov, Alexei Tolstoy tries to give his ballads a folklore stylization, thereby bringing the reader as close as possible to that era.

Comparative analysis of ballads by A. K. Tolstoy

It should be noted that, using historical data, the poet brings a share of fiction. Tolstoy believed that the writer and poet have every right to do this.

Conclusion. The ballads are united stylistically and thematically. In the images of Vasily Shibanov and Prince Repnin, the author embodied the idea of ​​just popular anger, indignation at the bloody policies of Ivan the Terrible. Both heroes die, but do not change their life principles.

The image of the king in ballads is contradictory. In the ballad “Vasily Shibanov,” the tsar highly praised the servant’s devotion and courage, but his sentence was harsh:

Messenger, you are not a slave, but a comrade and friend,

And Kurbsky has a lot of loyal servants,

Why gave you away for nothing!

Go with Malyuta to the dungeon!"

In the ballad “Prince Mikhailo Repnin,” the tsar in anger kills the rebellious boyar, and then bitterly repents of his deed:

And their laughter is heard, and the feast is in full swing again,

But the clinking of ladles and cups does not amuse the king:

"I killed, I killed in vain a faithful servant,

Now I can no longer taste the fun!”

Difficult, controversial image Tsar Ivan the Terrible will run like a red thread through all the works of A.K. Tolstoy. In 1863, the author will write a historical novel about this era, “Prince Silver.” Then a historical trilogy will appear - the tragedies “The Death of Ivan the Terrible” (1866), “Tsar Fyodor Ioannovich” (1868), “Tsar Boris” (1870). main topic All three works are a tragedy of power.

A. Tolstoy himself had a special relationship with the authorities. We have already noted the writer’s friendship with the future emperor and his impetuous career. However, this not only did not please the writer, but over the years it became a burden. He resigns and in 1861 receives his long-awaited freedom. It is now that he is experiencing a creative upsurge, writes a lot and publishes:

In the midst of a world of lies, in the midst of a world that is alien to me,

My blood has not cooled forever;

The time has come, and you have risen again,

My old anger and my old love!

The fog cleared and, thank God,

I'm on the old road!

1. Didactic materials on literature grade 7. Author - Korovina V.Ya. - 2008
2. Homework on literature for grade 7 (Korovina). Author - Tishchenko O.A. - year 2012
3. Literature lessons in 7th grade. Author - Kuteinikova N.E. - year 2009
4. Textbook on literature 7th grade. Part 1. Author - Korovina V.Ya. - year 2012
).
5. World history in faces. Ivan groznyj ().

1. Compare the image of Ivan the Terrible, created by A. Tolstoy, with the image from Lermontov’s work “The Song of the Merchant Kalashnikov.”
2. What is the author's attitude towards the heroes of the ballads?
3. What is the significance of the historical ballads of A.K. Tolstoy?

To the question URGENTLY. SUMMARY AK Tolstoy Mikhailo Repnin Please give me the link or. Write, I didn’t find the one given by the author on the Internet Evangelinochka the best answer is Tsar Ivan the Terrible feasts with the guardsmen, remembering past victories in Kazan and Astrakhan. The wine flows like a river, the guslar players play. The king decides to hold a masquerade and orders everyone to put on disguises, that is, masks. Prince Mikhailo Repnin does not like this fun, he does not accept or respect the oprichnina and the oprichniki and refuses to put on a mask, for which Ivan the Terrible kills him. The fun continues, but the king has no time for it, because he realizes that he has killed a faithful and devoted servant.
Indeed, Evangelinochka, it only takes 5 minutes to read.)
Mikhailo Repnin.
Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy.
Without rest he feasts with his daring squad
Ivan Vasilich the Terrible near Mother Moscow.
A row of tables glitters with ladles of gold,
The guardsmen are sitting riotously behind them.
From Vespers wine flows onto the royal carpets,
Dashing guslars have been singing to him since midnight,


But the voice of the king’s former glory does not amuse him,
He orders the crook to show himself a guise:
“Long live the Tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!
Let everyone choose his own identity, friends,
I am the first to open a cheerful round dance.
Follow me, my tiuns, my guardsmen!
Strike the strings louder, nightingale accordions!”
And everyone raised their cups. Only one didn't pick up;
Only one did not raise the cup, Mikhailo Prince Repnin.
“O king! You have forgotten God, you, king, have forgotten your rank
The oprichnina surrounded his throne on the mountain!
Scatter the children of the demonic army with your sovereign word!
Is it for you, the ruler, to dance here in the mashkar!”
But the king, frowning his eyebrows: “In your mind, you know, you have weakened,
Or is it too drunk? Be silent, obstinate slave!
Don’t object to a word and put on your mask -
Or I swear that you have lived your last day!”
Then Repnin, the truthful prince, stood up and raised his cup:
“Let the oprichnina perish!” he said, crossing himself.
Long live our Orthodox Tsar forever!
Let men rule as they were of old!
Let the voice despise shameless flattery as treason!
I won’t put on a disguise in my last hour!”
He spoke and trampled the mask with his feet;
From his hands the ringing cup fell to the ground...
“Die, you daring one!” - the king screamed, furious,
And Repnin, the truthful prince, fell, pierced by a rod.
And again the cups are raised, the ladles sound again,
At the long tables the guardsmen are noisy,
And their laughter is heard, and the feast is in full swing again,
But the clinking of ladles and cups does not amuse the king:
“I killed, I killed in vain a faithful servant,
Now I can no longer taste the fun!”
In vain wine is poured on the royal carpets,
The dashing guslars sing to the king in vain,
They sing the joys of war, the deeds of bygone times,
And the capture of Kazan, and Astrakhan captivity.
nina baslanova
Higher intelligence
(224428)
You're welcome.) Try it. Stand in front of the mirror and express yourself as if you are entering the acting department and in front of you is a commission of famous and beloved actors. Not only will you read it playfully, but you will also flip through the dictionary to understand the meaning of unfamiliar words.)

Answer from Neuropathologist[guru]
Which summary?! The poem has 46 lines.

Answer from Welfare[guru]
The source of the poem is the story about Repnin’s death in “The History of Ivan the Terrible” by the book. A. M. Kurbsky: John “became drunk and began to dance with the buffoons in the mashkars, .. seeing this outrage, he [Repnin], a deliberate and noble man, began to cry and say to him: “Whoever is not worthy of you, O Christian king, should do such things.” “. He began to pester him, saying: “Have fun and play with us,” and, taking the mashkara, he began to put it on his face; he rejected him and trampled on him... The king, filled with rage, drove him away from his eyes, and many days later, on a weekday, at the all-night vigil I stood for him in the church... he commanded the inhuman and fierce soldiers to slaughter him, standing near the altar itself, like the innocent lamb of God." Meanwhile, in the poem, Grozny kills Repnin with his own hands, and right there at the feast, and not a few days later in church. Tolstoy made these changes for purely artistic reasons: in “Prince Serebryany” (chapter 6) the episode with Repnin is told in accordance with historical data. The ending - Grozny's repentance - also belongs to Tolstoy.