Everything that is rational is real with them and everything that is real is rational, but with us, how lucky. Not a single rational system, including the Hegelian one, is capable of embracing and limiting that vital inner space for us, which can be metaphorically defined as space. Something imperceptible, unsteady, changing meaning and form, depending on our expectations and hopes, lives and endlessly multiplies in it. There is a tradition to enclose this vague something in the speculative concept of the Russian idea; let's take it for granted. Russia is great - and the possibilities lurking in it cannot be counted ... none of which can finally and irrevocably become a reality common to all. Everything that happens goes wrong.
That is why nostalgia is so strong in us - a painfully sweet disappointment in life. In practice, belief in the ideal turns into a distrust of reality. Underneath every useful undertaking is a certain doubt about its expediency, which grows into uncertainty and inner protest along the way. That is why one project after another collapses - if not on its own, then as a result of squabbles and squabbles with which it is overgrown. Because in his shadow, another idea has matured, claiming the same construction site, and more and more dissatisfied with the existing ones are ready to invest their hopes in new utopia... And for starters, take part in the demolition of old walls. Break not build! More often than not, the matter does not go further than withdrawal. But the destruction itself becomes a holiday - a desecration of shrines, beating of priests, overthrowing idols, overthrowing foundations ... a return to the dark origins of history: in lost heaven permissiveness and irresponsibility. Revolt is a revenge of chaos that has broken through the breach of order.
The Russian idea has no rest. All our great literature is an expression of enduring metaphysical anxiety. Or, if you like, this is one tireless spiritual work on the mistakes of being. To survive in Russia, you have to be two-core. And not so much physically stable as morally stable. Russian existence is working hard. But not as an untwisted flywheel of a conscious creative life, but as a kind of pendulum swinging over the abyss of being between inescapable hope and unresolved despair. Dostoevsky explores these mental vacillations as the secret mechanics of rebellion. About this "Demons". And even more about this "The Brothers Karamazov". The cynical debauchery of Karamazov the father is not a secret debauchery, but an open rebellion against the moral law in the heart - senseless and merciless, dragging everything that is nearby into the abyss. His three sons are also rebelling against the world order, each in his own way: Dmitry - from the breadth of nature, Ivan - from the depths of his mind, Alexey - with spiritual trepidation. The rhetorical figure of Smerdyakov is writhing in the pages of the novel as a grotesque shadow of metaphysical rebellion. This is not buffoonery; this is prophecy. If you swing the pendulum from one extreme to the next ... oh well! what kind of pendulum is it? it is a terrible cast-iron ball, suspended on a chain, with which palaces and temples are demolished on a grand scale in order to clear the way ... into the abyss. In accomplishment and destruction, a person is captured and moved by historical inertia, which the soul perceives as fate. Obedient to the hypnotic call, the insurgent man surrenders himself to the will of the revolutionary elements and selflessly creates ... creates lawlessness. Going through yet fresh footsteps Pugachev, Pushkin conjured fate: God forbid to see a Russian rebellion, senseless and merciless. How many times since then this prayer has been repeated with shudder by many and many: God forbid ...
The first rule of social dynamics is that every action is equal to reaction. Arbitrariness directed from top to bottom sooner or later turns into arbitrariness directed from bottom to top. That is, any lawlessness of the authorities corresponds to the unlawful initiative of the masses. But, unlike physics, the response of a social organism to unfavorable conditions is unpredictable and caused by a thousand accidents. V different time it is expressed in different ways. The serfs fled to the Don or huddled in gangs of robberies. The schismatics went into the forests and, in spite of the tsar's satraps, were burned in the sketes. The general drunkenness of the amateur population under socialism was a kind of spontaneous anti-Soviet activity. The masses responded to the total ideological violence with suicidal sabotage - a riot not on their knees, but on all fours. When the truth is replaced by lies in the rhetoric of power, everyday life is expressed with obscenities. Mat is the great and powerful language of senseless and merciless rebellion. All revolutions in Russia are held according to the same unwritten rules and under a single unprintable slogan: eh, ... your mother! Be it at least a copper revolt, even a salt revolt, Pugachev or Makhnovism ... Yes, burn it all with fire! Where is Gulyai-Pole, there is a homeland.
The response of the masses to the lawlessness of the authorities, as a rule, is slow. Injustice accumulates over the years in the pores of society until it reaches a critical mass. No one knows when the spite of the day will reach a dangerous concentration, at which a random spark will be enough for an explosion. It is difficult to discern the measure of the people's patience from above. That's why power so often allows itself to be neglected preventive measures: after us even the deluge. The government, by hook and (more often) by crook, hides from itself the symptoms of social illness and delays therapeutic treatment. Until it's too late. Until surgical intervention becomes inevitable and inevitable. Revolutionary violence is an operation to remove a neglected malignant social tumor, which is performed by a blood-drunk sadist with a butcher's ax.
Is Russia, exhausted by a thousand revolts, capable of, but a new historical convulsion? Do not know. I do not think. Something has changed in the essence of the Russian man; wider - Russian. It depends less and less on previous illusions - communality, conciliarity, communality (if it depends on them at all). Today other Russians make up the bulk. They want and can have, but they do not know how to love or even hate. They are somewhat freer and stronger than the previous ones, but they are empty inside and live, as it were, somewhere else. And their seed is fragile, and their time is in vain. They have neither determination nor fieryness. The disunited mass of other Russians is shaky sand, and there is no ideological solution that can rally it in both good and evil. Neither the degenerate communist nor the revived Russian idea has power over their cold minds. And there is no charismatic leader on the horizon who could fool a crowd of lonely people with a new group hallucination. Do not consider, in fact, the leaders of the avantage swindlers like Zhirinovsky and outrageous adventurers like Limonov. Their senselessness and ruthlessness are enough only for a small public scandal. For the revolutionary Zyuganov (not fiery, but barely lukewarm), calling to the bright past, there are only the most persistent remnants of the era. And the march of dissent, led by former prime minister Kasyanov, deeply indignant at what he himself did while in power. This storm is in a glass turbid water... On the eve of parliamentary and presidential elections new excesses should be expected, stimulating activity and simulating rebellion. You shouldn't take them seriously. Dangerous otherwise.
Russia today is a democratic state. But the space of our freedom is safely hidden in the nooks and crannies of legislation. Try to get to the truth ... The minotaur of power in its endless bureaucratic labyrinth is gaining power from the sacrifices made to him. The country responds to the prostitution of politicians and corruption of officials with a gross increase in crime. Criminal statistics, if analyzed without bias, at the end of the last century ascertain the most real Pugachevism, which is dispersed and unprincipled. When legislators become thieves, thieves in law become authorities. Romantic rebellion degenerates into criminal marginality. A sort of mass revolutionary amateur performance ...
The Russian rebellion, senseless and merciless, many times suppressed and never pacified, driven inside like a bad disease, took possession of the collective subconscious and won out on a sly. Chaos prevailed in our souls. The moral law in the heart, which struck Kant's imagination with divine incomprehensibility, has now been overthrown. But a holy place is never empty. Anger, envy and self-interest claim the vacancy of conscience - driving forces permanent rebellion of the individual against society. It can be said differently: if we consider the propensity to rebellion as a social disease, then from an acute form it has passed into a chronic one. Our everyday life, which does not find refuge in a reasonable order, is forcedly subordinate to the law and inevitably illegal. Everyone, at their own peril and risk, conducts their own personal struggle with an imperfect system of things. With varied success. Nothing good for society as a whole can come of this. Everything comes from chaos, but only that which is able to resist it lives.
Actually, this reasoning should have started with the metaphysics of rebellion. As we know from tradition, the first rebel is the devil. An angel who rebelled against God and was cast down from heaven. An angel who became the prince of darkness and the lord of hell. If you keep this mythologeme in mind, then you can appreciate the depth of thought of the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre: Hell is others. Others, possessed by the demon of rebellion. A world in which the rebellion of all against everything becomes a way of life is inevitably plunged into darkness.
Vladimir Ermakov
Russian revolt - senseless and merciless
cm. God forbid to see a Russian revolt, senseless and merciless.
encyclopedic Dictionary winged words and expressions. - M .: "Lokid-Press"... Vadim Serov. 2003.
See what "Russian revolt - senseless and merciless" is in other dictionaries:
From the story (ch. 13) " Captain's daughter"(1836) A.S. Pushkin (1799 1837). Original: God forbid to see a Russian revolt, senseless and merciless! The same idea, but more detailed, is contained in the "Missed Chapter" of the story, which was not included ... ... Dictionary of winged words and expressions
Riot- - a spontaneously arisen uprising, rebellion. “The Russian revolt is terrible, senseless and merciless” (A. Pushkin). This characteristic of Russian bourgeoisie, given by A.S. Pushkin, is not associated with national characteristics Russian character, and with the age-old ... ... Encyclopedic Dictionary of Psychology and Pedagogy
riot- RUNT1, a, m An event, including a military one, in which military or civilians put up armed resistance government authorities... God forbid to see a senseless and merciless Russian revolt (P.). RUNT2, and, mn riots, ov and ... ... Explanatory dictionary Russian nouns
- - was born on May 26, 1799 in Moscow, on Nemetskaya Street in the Skvortsov house; died on January 29, 1837 in St. Petersburg. From his father's side, Pushkin belonged to an old noble family, descended, according to the legend of genealogies, from a native "from ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia
Pushkin A.S. Pushkin. Pushkin in the history of Russian literature. Pushkin studies. Bibliography. PUSHKIN Alexander Sergeevich (1799 1837) the greatest Russian poet. R. June 6 (according to old style May 26) 1799. P.'s family came from the gradually impoverished old ... ... Literary encyclopedia
List of concepts containing the word "Russian" Contents 1 Classical concepts 2 Foreign concepts 3 New concepts ... Wikipedia
See also: Revolution of 1905 1907 in Russia Change of power in Russia in 1917 1918 ... Wikipedia
Change of power in Russia in 1917 1918 ... Wikipedia
Contents 1 The era of V. I. Lenin 2 The era of I. V. Stalin 3 The era of N. S. Khrushchev ... Wikipedia
This term has other meanings, see. February revolution(values). February Revolution Sentinels guard the arrested tsarist ministers in the Tauride d ... Wikipedia
Books
- Pitchfork, Alexey Ivanov. “God forbid seeing a Russian revolt - senseless and merciless,” wrote Pushkin in “The Captain's Daughter” ... and removed the chapter with these words from the novel. The words are beautiful, but wrong. Russian…
No matter how we are considered Russophobes, we still remember Pushkin, Lermontov and many other poets and writers who are usually called Russians. So, if some of them got into this hour, they probably would have burned most of his works, as Gogol did with his second volume “ Dead souls”. And then to say, as if Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin left his famous "Captain's Daughter", looking at the piles of swarming slugs, which grovel in front of whom it is not clear.
I remember that Pushkin rose above the plot and gave out a phrase that began to live own life, namely: "God forbid to see the Russian revolt, senseless and merciless!" They say that not everything that the author wrote was included in the story, in particular, there is a "Missed Chapter", which again mentioned this phrase. As we remember, the plot of the story revolved around the Pugachev uprising and Pushkin was under the impression of the awakened spirit of the people.
Ironically, the Pugachev times unexpectedly locked themselves in our time and so intertwined the time itself, the place of the event, memory and spirit, that sometimes you begin to believe in mysticism. The fact is that the growing Pugachev uprising Petersburg was already seriously frightened and it was decided to catch the rebel at any cost. This problem was entrusted to Prince Potemkin, and the specific task of destroying Pugachev's troops was assigned to a retired cavalry general, who became the order chieftain of the Don Cossacks. The general gathered 1000 Cossacks and opposed the rebels, who had already decided to march on Voronezh and Moscow. In the end, the general defeated the forces of the rebels and caught Pugachev, who was leaving the pursuit. It cost him all the horses and almost a quarter Cossack troops... Then everything was simple, Emelka was brought to Moscow, where she was executed under the walls of the Kremlin.
This story is connected not only with the place of execution, located next to Putin's residence. Although he may well resume old tradition, for the place of execution remained intact. There is another connection here. The name of the Cossack general was Alexei Ivanovich Ilovaisky. For his services, he was granted lands in the current Donetsk region, and one of the estates received his name - Ilovaiskoye, which eventually became the town of Ilovaisk. It is unnecessary to comment on what Ilovaisk is for us.
But back to Pushkin and the Russian revolt. A modern version of the Russian revolt is unfolding right now. Truckers bravely block the roads and demand the abolition of extortionate extortions. They are harsh and organized people, and therefore they can paralyze the work of vehicles throughout Russia. Moreover, the supply of entire regions depends on their work. In short - here it is a riot, get it and sign it! However, the rebels do not hang bureaucrats and traffic cops on roadside lamps and trees, they riot in a patriotic and patriarchal manner. Their only goal is to get in front of the clear eyes of the tsar-father and beat him with his forehead that the boyars are completely harassing them! They say that they naturally turned to the authorities, “and she took the herring and began to poke me into my mug with her muzzle “* What can you do about it? Civilization relaxed the truckers. And that is to say, instead of something heavy, they took diapers and validol to the riot. So they rebel!
Alexander Sergeevich not only would have burned “The Captain's Daughter”, but also “Eugene Onegin” in addition, because such a rebellion became not meaningless and merciless, but stupid and spineless! Its essence is conveyed more by the title picture by Ilya Repin with a new title "Dalnoboi are Complaining to Putin"
* A.P. Chekhov, "Vanka"
We were approaching the banks of the Volga; Our regiment entered the village ** and stopped there to spend the night. The headman announced to me that on the other side all the villages had rebelled, the Pugachev gangs were roaming everywhere. This news alarmed me greatly. We were supposed to cross the next morning. Impatience took possession of me. My father's village was thirty miles away on the other side of the river. I asked if there was a carrier. All the peasants were fishermen; there were many boats. I went to Grinev and announced my intention to him. “Watch out,” he told me. - It's dangerous to go alone. Wait for the morning. We will be the first to cross and bring 50 hussars to visit your parents, just in case. "
I insisted on my own. The boat was ready. I sat in it with two rowers. They set sail and struck the oars.
The sky was clear. The moon was shining. The weather was calm - the Volga rushed smoothly and calmly. The boat, swaying smoothly, quickly glided over the dark waves. I was immersed in the dreams of the imagination. About half an hour passed. We had already reached the middle of the river ... suddenly the rowers began to whisper among themselves. "What?" - I asked, waking up. “We don’t know, God knows,” answered the rowers, looking in one direction. My eyes took the same direction, and in the dusk I saw something floating down the Volga. An unfamiliar object was approaching. I told the rowers to stop and wait for him. The moon has gone behind a cloud. The floating ghost became even more obscure. He was already close to me, and I still could not distinguish. “Whatever it was,” the rowers said. “A sail is not a sail, masts are not masts ...” - Suddenly the moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated a terrible sight. A gallows, approved on a raft, floated towards us, three bodies hung on the crossbar. A morbid curiosity took possession of me. I wanted to look at the faces of the gallows.
At my order, the rowers hooked the raft with a boat hook, my boat pushed against the floating gallows. I jumped out and found myself between the terrible pillars. The bright moon lit up the disfigured faces of the unfortunate. One of them was an old Chuvash, the other was a Russian peasant, a strong and healthy young man of 20. But, glancing at the third, I was greatly amazed and could not refrain from a plaintive exclamation: it was Vanka, my poor Vanka, foolishly sticking to Pugachev. Above them was a black board, on which white in large letters it was written: "Thieves and rioters." The rowers looked indifferently and waited for me, holding the raft with a boat hook. I got into the boat again. The raft floated down the river. The gibbet blackened for a long time in the darkness. Finally she disappeared, and my boat moored to a high and steep shore ...
I paid generously to the rowers. One of them took me to an elective village near the ferry. I went with him into the hut. The elective, hearing that I was demanding horses, received me rather rudely, but my counselor said a few words to him quietly, and his severity immediately turned into hasty servility. In one minute the troika was ready, I sat down in the cart and ordered myself to be taken to our village.
I rode along the big road past sleeping villages. Ya was afraid of one thing: to be stopped on the road. If my night meeting on the Volga proved the presence of the rioters, then together it was proof of strong opposition from the government. Just in case, I had in my pocket a pass given to me by Pugachev and an order from Colonel Grinev. But no one met me, and by morning I saw the river and the spruce grove, beyond which our village was located. The driver hit the horses, and after a quarter of an hour I drove into **.
The manor house was located at the other end of the village. The horses were racing at full speed. Suddenly, in the middle of the street, the driver began to hold them back. "What?" I asked impatiently. "Outpost, master," answered the coachman, with difficulty stopping his furious horses. Indeed, I saw a slingshot and a sentry with a club. A man came up to me and took off his hat, asking for a pashport. "What does it mean? - I asked him, - why is the slingshot here? Whom are you watching? " - “Yes, we, father, are rebelling,” he answered, scratching himself.
Where are your gentlemen? - I asked with a sinking heart ...
Where are our gentlemen? - repeated the man. - Our gentlemen are in the grain barn.
How is it in anbar?
Yes, Andryukha, the Zemsky, has put them in stocks and wants to take them to the father-sovereign.
My God! Turn away, you fool, the slingshot. What are you yawning for?
The guard hesitated. I jumped out of the cart, cracked it (guilty) in the ear and myself 
pushed back the slingshot. My peasant looked at me with stupid bewilderment. I sat down again in the cart and ordered them to gallop to the master's house. The bread barn was in the yard. At the locked doors were two men, also with clubs. The cart stopped right in front of them. I jumped out and rushed right at them. "Open the doors!" - I told them. Probably my appearance was terrible. By at least both fled, throwing their clubs. I tried to knock down the lock and break the doors, but the doors were oak, and the huge lock is indestructible. At that moment a stately young man came out of the public hut and with an arrogant air asked me how dare I be rowdy. “Where is Andryushka Zemsky,” I shouted to him. - Click it to me.
I am Andrei Afanasevich myself, not Andryushka, - he answered me, proudly turning his arms around. - What is needed?
Instead of answering, I grabbed him by the gate and, dragging him to the doors of the anbar, ordered them to be unlocked. Zemsky was obstinate, but the paternal punishment had an effect on him too. He took out the key and unlocked the anbar. I dashed across the threshold and in a dark corner, dimly lit by a narrow hole cut in the ceiling, I saw my mother and father. Their hands were tied, stocks were stuffed on their feet. I rushed to hug them and could not utter a word. Both looked at me in amazement - three years of military life had changed me so much that they could not recognize me. Mother gasped and burst into tears.
Suddenly I heard a sweet familiar voice. “Petr Andreevich! It is you!" I was dumbfounded ... I looked around and saw in another corner Marya Ivanovna, also tied up.
My father looked at me in silence, not daring to believe himself. Joy shone on his face. I hastened to cut the knots of their ropes with my saber.
Hello, hello, Petrusha, - my father said to me, holding me to his heart, - thank God, they waited for you ...
Petrusha, my friend, said my mother. - How the Lord brought you! Are you healthy?
I was in a hurry to get them out of confinement, but when I went to the door, I found it locked again. "Andryushka," I shouted, "open it!" - "How not so," the Zemsky answered from behind the door. - Sit here yourself. Let us teach you how to row and drag the sovereign officials by the gates! "
I began to inspect the anbar, looking to see if there was any way to get out.
Don't bother, - the father told me, - I am not such a master, so that it would be possible to enter and leave my barn with thieves' loopholes.
Mother, for a moment delighted by my appearance, fell into despair, seeing that I had to share the death of the whole family. But I was calmer since I was with them and with Marya Ivanovna. With me was a saber and two pistols, I could still withstand the siege. Grinev was supposed to arrive in time in the evening and release us. I told all this to my parents and managed to calm my mother down. They gave themselves up quite to the joy of a meeting.
Well, Peter, - my father said to me, - you have been rather mischievous, and I was quite angry with you. But there is nothing to remember about the old. I hope that now you are corrected and mad. I know that you have served like an honest officer. Thanks. Consoled me, old man. If I owe you my deliverance, then life will be twice as pleasant for me.
I kissed his hand with tears and looked at Marya Ivanovna, who was so delighted by my presence that she seemed completely happy and calm.
At about noon we heard an extraordinary noise and screams. "What does this mean," said the father, "was it not your colonel that arrived in time?" “Impossible,” I replied. "He won't be there until evening." The noise multiplied. They sounded the alarm. Horsemen galloped around the yard; At that moment Savelich's gray-haired head poked through a narrow hole cut in the wall, and my poor uncle said in a plaintive voice: “Andrei Petrovich, Avdotya Vasilievna, you are my father, Pyotr Andreich, mother Marya Ivanovna, trouble! the villains entered the village. And do you know, Pyotr Andreevich, who brought them? Shvabrin, Alexey Ivanovich, take him hard! " Hearing the hated name, Marya Ivanovna threw up her hands and remained motionless.
Listen, - I said to Savelich, - send someone on horseback to * the ferry, towards the hussar regiment; and led to let the colonel know about our danger.
But who to send, sir! All the boys are rebelling, and the horses are all captured! Ahti! It's already in the yard - they get to the anbar.
At this time, several voices were heard outside the door. I silently signaled to mother and Marya Ivanovna to retire to a corner, drew my saber and leaned against the wall near the door. The priest took the pistols and cocked the hammers on both of them and stood beside me. The lock rattled, the door opened, and the head of the Zemsky appeared. I struck her with my saber, and he fell, blocking the entrance. At the same moment, the priest shot at the door with a pistol. The crowd besieging us ran back with curses. I dragged the wounded man over the threshold and locked the door with an internal hinge. The courtyard was full of armed men. Between them I recognized Shvabrin.
Don't be afraid, ”I told the women. - There is hope. And you, father, do not shoot any more. Let's save the last charge.
Mother silently prayed to God; Marya Ivanovna stood beside her, with an angelic 
calmly awaiting the decision of our fate. Threats, curses and curses were heard outside the doors. I stood in my place, preparing to hack the first daredevil. Suddenly the villains fell silent. I heard Shvabrin's voice calling my name.
I'm here, what do you want?
Surrender, Bulanin, resist in vain. Have pity on your old people. You cannot save yourself by stubbornness. I'll get to you!
Try it, traitor!
I will not meddle myself in an empty way, nor will I waste my people. And I will order you to set fire to the anbar and then we'll see what you will do, Don-Kishot Belogorsky. Now it's time for lunch. For now, sit and think at your leisure. Goodbye, Marya Ivanovna, I am not apologizing to you: you are probably not bored in the dark with your knight.
Shvabrin withdrew and left the guard at the Anbar. We were silent. Each of us thought to himself, not daring to communicate his thoughts to the other. I imagined everything that the embittered Shvabrin was able to do. I hardly cared about myself. Should I confess? And the fate of my parents did not terrify me so much as the fate of Marya Ivanovna. I knew that mother was adored by the peasants and courtyard people, the father, despite his severity, was also loved, for he was just and knew the true needs of the people subject to him. Their rebellion was a delusion, an instant drunkenness, and not an expression of their indignation. Here, mercy was likely. But Marya Ivanovna? What fate was a depraved and shameless person preparing for her? I did not dare to dwell on this terrible thought and was preparing, God forgive me, to kill it rather than see it again in the hands of a cruel enemy.
Another hour passed. Songs of drunks were heard in the village. Our guards envied them and, annoyed with us, cursed and frightened us with torture and death. We expected consequences for Shvabrin's threats. Finally there was a great movement in the yard, and we again heard Shvabrin's voice.
What, have you thought about it? Do you voluntarily surrender yourself into my hands?
Nobody answered him. After waiting a little, Shvabrin ordered straw to be brought. A few minutes later, a fire broke out and illuminated the dark shed and smoke began to break through from under the cracks in the threshold. Then Marya Ivanovna came up to me and quietly, taking my hand, said:
Enough, Pyotr Andreevich! Do not ruin yourself and your parents for me. Let me out. 
Shvabrin will listen to me.
No way, ”I shouted with my heart. - Do you know what awaits you?
I will not survive the dishonor, - she answered calmly. “But maybe I will save my deliverer and my family, which so generously welcomed my poor orphanhood. Goodbye, Andrey Petrovich. Goodbye, Avdotya Vasilievna. You were more than benefactors to me. Bless me. Forgive you too, Pyotr Andreevich. Be sure that ... what ... - then she began to cry ... and covered her face with her hands ... I was like crazy. Mother was crying.
Completely lie, Marya Ivanovna, - said my father. - Who will let you go alone to the robbers! Sit here and be quiet. To die, so die together. Listen, what else do they say?
Are you giving up? Shvabrin shouted. - See? in five minutes you will be roasted.
Let's not surrender, villain! - Father answered him in a firm voice.
His face, covered with wrinkles, was enlivened by an amazing vigor, his eyes sparkled menacingly from under his gray eyebrows. And, turning to me, he said:
Now is the time!
He unlocked the doors. Fire burst in and soared over the logs covered with dry moss. The priest fired his pistol and stepped over the flaming threshold, shouting: "All behind me." I grabbed my mother and Marya Ivanovna by the hand and quickly led them out into the air. At the threshold lay Shvabrin, shot through by my father's decrepit hand; the crowd of robbers, fleeing from our unexpected sortie, immediately cheered up and began to surround us. I managed to deliver a few more blows, but the brick, successfully thrown, hit me right in the chest. I fell and fainted for a minute. When I came to, I saw Shvabrin sitting on the bloody grass, and in front of him our whole family. I was supported by the arms. A crowd of peasants, Cossacks and Bashkirs surrounded us. Shvabrin was terribly pale. He pressed his wounded side with one hand. His face portrayed anguish and anger. He slowly raised his head, looked at me and said in a weak and indistinct voice:
Hang him ... and everyone ... except her ...
Immediately a crowd of villains surrounded us and, with a shout, dragged us to the gate. But suddenly they left us and fled; Grinev drove into the gate, followed by a whole squadron with sabers bald.
The rioters fled in all directions; the hussars pursued them, chopped them down and captured them. Grinev dismounted from his horse, bowed to Father and Mother, and shook my hand firmly. “By the way, I arrived in time,” he told us. - A! here is your bride. " Marya Ivanovna blushed up to her ears. The priest came up to him and thanked him with an air of calm, albeit moved. Mother hugged him, calling him a deliverer angel. “You are welcome to us,” the priest said to him and took him to our house.
Passing Shvabrin, Grinev stopped. "Who is this?" he asked, looking at the wounded man. "This is the leader himself, the head of the gang," my father answered with some pride, denouncing the old warrior, "God helped my decrepit hand to punish the young villain and avenge him for the blood of my son."
This is Shvabrin, - I said to Grinev.
Shvabrin! I am glad. Hussars! Take it! Yes, tell our doctor to bandage his wound and take care of it like the apple of his eye. Shvabrin must certainly be submitted to the secret Kazan commission. He is one of the main criminals, and his testimony should be important.
Shvabrin opened a languid gaze. On his face nothing was depicted, except for physical torment. The hussars carried him on a cloak.
We entered the rooms. I looked around me with trepidation, remembering my childhood years. Nothing in the house changed, everything was in the same place. Shvabrin did not allow him to be plundered, retaining in his very humiliation an involuntary disgust from dishonest greed. The servants appeared in the hallway. They did not participate in the revolt and rejoiced from the bottom of their hearts at our deliverance. Savelich was triumphant. It is necessary to know that during the alarm caused by the attack of the robbers, he ran to the stable where Shvabrina's horse stood, saddled it, led it out quietly and, thanks to the commotion, imperceptibly galloped to the ferry. He met the regiment, which was already resting on this side of the Volga. Grinev, having learned from him about our danger, ordered us to sit down, ordered a march, a march at a gallop - and, thank God, galloped up on time.
Grinev insisted that the head of the Zemsky be put on a pole at the tavern for several hours.
The hussars returned from the pursuit, capturing several people. They were locked in the same barn in which we withstood the memorable siege.
We went each to his own rooms. The old people needed rest. Not having slept the whole night, I threw myself on the bed and fell fast asleep. Grinev went to make his orders.
In the evening we joined in the drawing-room near the samovar, merrily talking about the past danger. Marya Ivanovna was pouring tea, I sat down beside her and took care of her exclusively. My parents seemed to look favorably on the tenderness of our relationship. Until now, this evening lives on in my memory. I was happy, completely happy, but are there many such minutes in a poor human life?
The next day, the priest was reported that the peasants had come to the master's yard with a confession. The father went out to them on the porch. When he appeared, the men knelt down.
Well, fools, ”he said to them,“ why did you decide to rebel?
We are to blame, our sir, - they answered in a voice.
That's it, we are to blame. They will mischief, and they themselves are not happy. I forgive you for the joy that God has brought me to see my son Pyotr Andreich. Well, good: the sword does not cut a guilty head. - Guilty! Of course we are to blame. God gave a bucket, it's time to remove the hay; and you fools, what have you been doing for three whole days? Headman! Dress up for haymaking; but look, you red-haired beast, so that by Ilyin's day I have all the hay in heaps. Get out.
The peasants bowed and went to the corvee as if nothing had happened. 
Shvabrin's wound was not fatal. He was escorted to Kazan. I saw from the window how they put him in a cart. Our eyes met, he lowered his head, and I hurriedly walked away from the window. I was afraid to pretend that I was triumphant over the misfortune and humiliation of my enemy.
Grinev was supposed to go further. I decided to follow him, despite my desire to stay for a few more days in the middle of my family. On the eve of the campaign, I came to my parents and, as was the custom of that time, bowed at their feet, asking for their blessing for the marriage with Marya Ivanovna. The old men lifted me up and expressed their consent in joyful tears. I brought Marya Ivanovna to them, pale and trembling. We were blessed ... I will not describe what I felt. Those who have been in my position will understand me anyway; those who have not been, I can only regret and advise, while the time has not yet passed, fall in love and receive a blessing from their parents.
The next day the regiment gathered, Grinev said goodbye to our family. We were all confident that hostilities would soon end; in a month I was hoping to be a husband. Marya Ivanovna, saying goodbye to me, kissed me in front of everyone. I sat astride. Savelich followed me again - and the regiment left.
For a long time I looked at the farmhouse, which I was leaving again. A gloomy foreboding troubled me. Someone whispered to me that not all misfortunes were over for me. My heart sensed a new storm.
I will not describe our trip and the end Pugachev war... We passed through the villages devastated by Pugachev, and inevitably took away from the poor inhabitants what was left to them by the robbers.
They didn't know who to obey. The board was terminated everywhere. The landlords took refuge in the woods. Bands of robbers were all over the place. The leaders of individual detachments sent in pursuit of Pugachev, who was then already running to Astrakhan, arbitrarily punished the guilty and the innocent ... The state of the entire region, where the fire was raging, was terrible. God forbid seeing a Russian revolt - senseless and merciless. Those who are plotting impossible coups in our country are either young and do not know our people, or they are hard-hearted people, for whom a stranger's little head is half, and a penny of their own.
Pugachev fled, pursued by Yves. Yves. Michelson. Soon we learned about the perfect breaking of it. Finally, Grinev received from his general the news of the capture of the impostor, and together with the order to stop. Finally I could go home. I was delighted; but a strange feeling darkened my joy.
Note
This chapter was not included in the final relaxation of the story and was preserved only in the form of a draft manuscript. In it, Grinev is called Bulanin, and Zurin is called Grinev.
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Pushkin collected historical material about Emelyan Pugachev for a long time. As you know, he was vividly worried about the question of the largest Russian history popular uprising... In the story "The Captain's Daughter" historical material clarifies the fate of Russia and the Russian people. The work is notable for its deep philosophical, historical and moral content.
home story line the story is, of course, the uprising of Yemelyan Pugachev. The rather peaceful course of the author's narration in the first chapters (the birth of love, the difficulties associated with this) is suddenly interrupted. The fate of the main characters is no longer determined by the love and will of the parents, but much more. horrible power, whose name is "Pugachevschina". The Pugachev revolt is the most terrible and widespread revolt in the history of the Russian people. Pushkin plunges us into the atmosphere that reigned then in our country.
At first, the image of a rebellious people emerges very vaguely - only from snatches of conversation. However, events are developing quite rapidly. Very soon, what were only guesses, hints, events distant in time, suddenly appears distinctly and clearly when Captain Mironov receives a letter about the beginning of the revolt.
The people at that Time of Troubles worried, murmured, but this murmur could not find a way out. It was during this period that Pugachev appeared, posing as the emperor. Peter III... He was in the right place and in the right time... Naturally endowed with the qualities of a leader, Pugachev was able to lead huge masses of the people.
Pushkin very vividly describes the entry of Pugachev into the city after the capture of the Velogorskaya fortress. The people with "bread-salt" came out to meet him, bowed to the ground; the bells rang. The leader of the rebels was greeted like a real emperor. Then the author tells about the scene of the punishment of the impostor with two old honored officers and the defenseless Vasilisa Yegorovna. The people do not condemn this murder. Although neither the Mironovs nor Ivan Ignatievich are to blame for anything, although they were known, appreciated and respected by many, no one showed a single drop of sympathy or compassion for them. last minute... Nobody regretted either: *. They were forgotten a minute after death, rushing after Pugachev; The people accepted the massacre of the Mironovs as legal and necessary measure... This event emphasizes with particular force the cruelty and mercilessness of the uprising.
This is followed by the scene of Pugachev's "drinking party" with his comrades, in which Grinev is present. In this scene, the author asserts and clearly illustrates a very important idea: among the rebels there are strong relationships, camaraderie, they are united common goal and self-confidence.
Subsequently, Grinev will again become a witness interpersonal relationships rebels, when he will be present at the "council", which was attended by Pugachev, Beloborodov and the fugitive convict Khlopusha. Pugachev here manifests himself as a decisive and principled person, a defender of the people. Clapping - like an intelligent, calculating and far-sighted politician, not devoid of peculiar ideas about honesty (he always "destroyed the opponent" only in an open duel). Beloborodov, on the other hand, shows himself to be an ardent hater of the nobility. He proposes to execute all people of noble origin who fell into their hands, regardless of the personal qualities of these nobles.
Creating images of the three leaders of the uprising, Pushkin showed them as bright personalities with their own individual features. But they are all united by a common understanding of what justice is, all three bear a huge responsibility for the outcome of the uprising.
An interesting song is being sung by the rebels. This song reveals the wonderful traits of the Russian person (these traits are also characteristic of the participants in the uprising): fearlessness, the ability not to betray comrades, courage in the face of death and the executioner.
Of course, the clearest understanding of what is popular revolt, gives the image of its leader, that is, Emelyan Pugachev. There is already something frightening in the description of his appearance: maybe a black beard, but most likely sparkling eyes. He, a native of the people, is realized in the struggle, protest against hostile circumstances.
The tragedy of Pugachev's fate and the doom of the uprising are emphasized in the chapter where Pugachev talks about his plan to go to Moscow. He confesses to Grinev that he is afraid of his people, because they can betray him at any moment. This is important for understanding Pushkin's idea: Pugachev sees the hopelessness of the struggle, but does not consider it senseless. In Pugachev, the people's character was clearly manifested, because he is the spokesman for the aspirations and hopes of the people.
Even if rebellion is doomed to failure, it is natural and cannot be avoided. After all, the truth of history is on the side free man... A freedom-loving people must fight for their rights. Pushkin not only does not condemn the rebels, but also admires them, emphasizing the poetry of the revolt. However, it is important to remember that for all this, Pushkin is quite realistic. He does not hide dark sides uprisings: petty robberies, the possibility of betrayal in the ranks of the rebels, cruel reprisals, the senselessness of some acts, such as the murder of Vasilisa Yegorovna.
