“Frost, Red Nose” Nekrasov in brief
In the peasant’s hut, a terrible sorrow: the owner and breadwinner Prokla Sevastyanich died. The mother brings a coffin for her son, the father goes to the cemetery to hollow out the grave in the frozen ground. The widow of the peasant, Daria, sews the shroud to her late husband.
Destiny has three heavy parts: to marry a slave, be the mother of a slave’s son, and submit to a slave before the sepulcher-they all fell on the shoulders of a Russian peasant woman. But despite the suffering, “there are women in the Russian villages,” to which the mud of a miserable situation does not stick. These beauties blossom the world with wonder, patiently and evenly enduring both hunger and cold, remaining beautiful in all sorts of clothes and dexterous to any work. They do not like idleness on weekdays, but on holidays, when the smile of fun drives the labor seal from their faces, such hearty laughter as they do, you can not buy for money. The Russian woman “will
Such a woman was also Daria, the widow of Proclus. But now sorrow drained her, and, however she tries to hold back her tears, they involuntarily fall on her quick hands sewing the shroud.
Having reduced Masha and Grisha to their neighbors, their mother and father dress up their deceased son. In this sad business, there are no superfluous words, tears are not coming out – as if the stern beauty of the deceased, lying with a burning candle in his head, does not allow crying. And only then, when the last rite is complete, there comes a time for lamentations.
A severe winter morning, the Savraska carries the owner on its last journey. The horse served the master a lot: during the peasants’ work, and in the winter, traveling with Prokl in the cart. Pursuing an import, hurrying in time to deliver the goods, and caught a
Neighbors, as usual, cry during a funeral, feel sorry for the family, generously praise the deceased, and then go with God to their homes. After returning from the funeral, Daria wants to regret and caress the orphaned children, but she has no time for caresses. She sees that at home there is not a log of firewood left, and, again taking the children to a neighbor, she goes to the forest all on the same Savraska.
On the road through the snow-smooth plain in the eyes of Daria tears are shown – it must be from the sun… And only when she enters the grave rest of the forest, a “dull, devastating howl” bursts out of her chest. The forest indifferently hears the groan of widows, forever hiding them in their unsociable wilderness. Without wiping her tears, Daria begins chopping wood, “and, full of thought about her husband, calling him, talking to him…”.
She remembers her dream before Stasov day. In the dream, her countless army encircled her, which suddenly turned into rye ears; Daria appealed to her husband for help, but he did not go out, left her alone to reap rum. Daria understands that her dream was prophetic, and asks her husband for help in the unbearable work that now awaits her. She represents winter nights without a sweet, endless canvas, which will weave to his son’s marriage. With thoughts of his son comes fear for the fact that Grisha will be illegally given into recruits, because there will be nobody to stand up for him.
Adding the wood to the wood, Daria is going home. But then, mechanically taking an ax and quietly, intermittently howling, comes to the pine tree and freezes under it “without a thought, without groaning, without tears.” And then the Frost-voevoda, which bypasses her own dominions, approaches her. He waves an iceball over Darya, beckons her into his kingdom, promises to kiss and warm…
Daria is covered with a sparkling frost, and dreams about her recent hot summer. She sees that she is digging potatoes on the stripes by the river. With her children, beloved husband, under her heart beats a child who should appear in the light by spring. Shielded from the sun, Daria watches, as the rest of the way goes, in which sit Proclus, Masha, Grisha…
In a dream, she hears the sounds of a wonderful song, and the last traces of flour come off her face. The song quenches her heart, “there is a limit to happiness in her.” Oblivion in a deep and sweet rest comes to the widow with death, her soul dies for sorrow and passion.
Squirrel drops a lump of snow on it, and Daria gets cold “in her bewitched dream…”.
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