Sunday, August 30, 2015

Economy, stupid. Plural Instrumental.

— Чем преодолеть беды России? [How do we solve Russia's many problems?]
— It's the economy, stupid!
— Иконами так иконами! [Oh, with icons? All right, with icons then.]

by Mark Antololsky,
marble, Hermitage.
This joke is making rounds on Russian social networks. It is based on the near homophony between the English word 'economy' and the Russian plural instrumental of 'icons' — eekónami. With only a slight difference in pronunciation in the accented 'o' in Russian.

I can only explain the sudden burst in the joke's popularity as a public's reaction to the increasing number of 'Orthodox activists's' attacks on objects of secular art in Russia. In one recent incident in Petersburg a 'cossack' team smashed a bas-relief face depicting Mephistopheles on a 1910 art nouveau building. (story and image here)

Hundreds gathered today at the site to protest and a large poster with the image of the bas-relief was put up to cover the empty space on the wall.    

Fyodor Shaliapin sings Mephistopheles's aria Le veau d'or from Charles Gounod's opera 'Faust'. It is this particular aria that made Mephistopheles into a popular icon in Russia:

Friday, May 29, 2015

Feeling Levin. The scythe, the swath and the hired men.

(three translations compared)

Anichkin, who had not done any mowing for a long while, and was disconcerted by the eyes fastened upon him, cut badly for the first moments... 

It then came back to me, both the technique and the enjoyment. A friend came to help with clearing the garden, he had a scythe, and I had a good go. My uncle, a forester in a small village near Pskov, taught me to mow with a scythe and explained how it worked. 

It also made me ‘feel Levin’, and I looked up the famous mowing scene (hay harvesting) in Tolstoy’s ‘Anna Karenina’, when Levin joins in with the muzhiks.

This is the passage from Tolstoy:  
Тит освободил место, и Левин пошел за ним. Трава была низкая, придорожная, и Левин, давно не косивший и смущенный обращенными на себя взглядами, в первые минуты косил дурно, хотя и махал сильно. Сзади его послышались голоса:Насажена неладно, рукоятка высока, вишь, ему сгибаться как, —сказал один.— Пяткой больше налягай, — сказал другой.— Ничего, ладно, настрыкается, — продолжал старик. — Вишь, пошел... Широк ряд берешь, умаешься... Хозяин, нельзя, для себя старается! А вишь, подрядье-то! За это нашего брата по горбу, бывало.

Same passage in Constance Garnett’s translation:
Tit made room, and Levin started behind him. The grass was short close to the road, and Levin, who had not done any mowing for a long while, and was disconcerted by the eyes fastened upon him, cut badly for the first moments, though he swung his scythe vigorously. Behind him he heard voices:"It’s not set right; handle’s too high; see how he has to stoop to it," said one."Press more on the heel," said another."Never mind, he’ll get on all right," the old man resumed."He’s made a start... You swing it too wide, you’ll tire yourself out.... The master, sure, does his best for himself! But see the grass missed out! For such work us fellows would catch it!"

Same passage in Richard Pevear / Larissa Volokhonsky’s translation:
Titus cleared his place and Levin followed him. The grass near the road was low, and Levin, who had done no mowing for a long time and was embarassed by the looks directed at him, mowed poorly for the first few minutes, though he swung strongly. Voices were heard behind him:
‘It’s not hafted right, the handle’s too long see how he had to bend,’ one voice said.‘Bear down on the heel,’ said another.‘Never mind, he’ll get himself set right,’ the old man went on. ‘See, there he goes... The swath’s too wide, you’ll get tired... He’s the owner, never fear, he’s doing his best! And look at the hired men! Our kind would get it in the neck for that.’

Same passage translated by Nathan Haskell Dole:
Sef opened the way, and Levin followed in his track. The grass was short and tough; and Levin, who had not mowed in a long time, and was confused by the watchful eyes of the men, at first made very bad work of it, though he swung the scythe energetically. Voices were heard behind him:
"He does not hold his scythe right: the sned is too high. See how he stoops like," said one. "Bears his hand on too much," said another. "No matter, it goes pretty well," said the head man. "Look, he goes at a great rate ! Cuts a wide swath! .... He'll get played out. The master is trying it for himself as hard as he can, but look at his row! For such work my brother was beaten once." 

Russian scythe
Photo by Vladimir Menkov
Garnett and Dole are Tolstoy’s younger contemporaries, and perhaps they could visualise the scythe and may have seen mowers at work with it. Pevear/Volokhonsky’s translation was published in 2000, when few, except a number of country dwelling aficionados would have good acquaintance with the scythe, especially with the old Russian type of the scythe. It has a long, straight, not curved, wooden shaft, a relatively narrow but long blade, longer than the modern Western garden scythe, and a V-shaped wooden handle, that grips the shaft somewhere around the middle. It can be clearly seen in this modern photo (2006, Nizhny Novgorod region on the Volga).

The V-shaped grip was tightened by a piece of rope, or leather, or sometimes with strips of fresh soft bark, as my uncle did. The trick was to adjust the handle on the shaft, higher or lower, in such a way that you could hold your back practically straight while making the right-left, left-right swaying movements, keeping the ‘heel’ (the place where the blade is attached to the shaft) as low to the ground as possible and stepping forward step by step. The grass would fall neatly in a row to your left. A team of mowers would move across the field in a staggered formation, leaving the rows across the whole harvested area. Now, these rows are called подрядье - podrYAdye. (Подрядьеср. Край скошенной полосы, ряда. Толковый словарь Ефремовой. Т. Ф. Ефремова. 2000.), i.e a swath, edge of the line of mowed grass or crop. A swath is also, of course, the width of grass that the mower catches in one swing, which in Russian in this sense is ряд, same as row. The muzhiks are criticising the messiness, untidiness of the swaths that Levin is leaving behind him. 

As you see, the two Tolstoy contemporaries caught his meaning regarding the set-up of the scythe and the mowing techniques, while the modern duo of Pevear/Volokhonsky completely missed both. From their translation it appears that they took the scythe to be hafted incorrectly and its shaft too long, while in fact it was just the V-shaped grip for the right hand (рукоятка), that apparently wasn’t adjusted to suit Levin’s height. It also shows in the incorrectly ‘corrected’ word that Tolstoy uses: рукоятка высока — the handle’s too long, instead of the correct translation in two other versions: handle’s too high (Garnett) and the sned is too high (Dole), though the latter uses a rarer word (Collins’ definition here).

Dole stumbles on придорожная grass, omitting this detail and adding ‘tough’ unnecessarily, while Garnett understands Tolstoy’s meaning — near the road. And in Dole’s, there is a really funny misunderstanding of the phrase ‘наш брат’ at the end of the passage. The expression is quite common and simply means ‘our lot’ (compare ‘all men are brothers’), not our or my brother.

Pevear/Volokhonsky boldly translate подрядье (swath) as ‘hired men.’ They were probably thrown off by the previous sentence ‘He’s the owner, never fear, he’s doing his best!’ (for himself as opposed to the hired mowers). Подряд (podryad) means contract, so the translators must have read подрядье as a collective noun for ‘men on contract’ without suspecting that there may be another meaning.

Out of the three, based on this passage, the winner is Garnett. Apart from being correct, to my, admittedly non-native ear, her translation flows more naturally, has a rhythm resembling Tolstoy’s. But that, of course, is a matter or taste.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015


(New Russian)

Computer, in English usually contracted to PC or a Mac, if you are a mac fan, in Russian has become a comp — комп. It is a contraction from компьютер.

The o sound is distinct while the p struggles and appears distinctively pronounced when the word is declined and a vowel appears after the p, i.e. genitive - компа.

A search in the National Corpus of Russian Language shows a puzzling appearance of the word since 1820, probably in a different sense, but the current usage takes off in the naughties (see the diagramme here and examples here). My explanation is that in that decade the coinage, originally childspeak, had been increasingly adopted first by parents, who started using it themselves, and then, as the children of the 90s grew up, by the general public. Comp for computer became a widely used replacement for the full computer, both in spoken and written speech.

The word computer (компьютер) itself is of course from English. It has replaced the 50-60s word ЭВМ (электронно-вычислительная машина - electronic computing machine). What is fascinating about comp is that it appears to be an original home-grown Russian derivative. 'Comp' in English is used for a variety purposes, compilation, comparison etc., but not for a computer. (see this Wikipedia article)

See other Tetradki articles on new Russian by clicking here or on the Pushkin icon. Pushkin graphic by A.Anichkin.

Monday, April 06, 2015

Eugene Onegin in English.

In case you missed it, 'Eugene Onegin', the great Russian novel in verse by Alexander Pushkin, is now available in audio book format. Stephen Fry (the voice of Harry Potter) reads it in James Falen's translation (1995)

To download the full audio book go to Fry Reads Onegin.

Here is sonnet (stanza) 6 from Chapter 1 of 'Eugene Onegin':


The Latin vogue today is waning, 
And yet I'll say on his behalf, 
He had sufficient Latin training 
To gloss a common epigraph, 
Cite Juvenal in conversation, 
Put vale in a salutation; 
And he recalled, at least in part, 
A line or two of Virgil's art. 
He lacked, it's true, all predilection 
For rooting in the ancient dust 
Of history's annals full of must, 
But knew by heart a fine collection 
Of anecdotes of ages past: 
From Romulus to Tuesday last. 

Латынь из моды вышла ныне: 
Так, если правду вам сказать, 
Он знал довольно по-латыне, 
Чтоб эпиграфы разбирать, 
Потолковать об Ювенале, 
В конце письма поставить vale, 
Да помнил, хоть не без греха, 
Из Энеиды два стиха. 
Он рыться не имел охоты
В хронологической пыли
Бытописания земли: 
Но дней минувших анекдоты
От Ромула до наших дней
Хранил он в памяти своей. 

Sunday, April 05, 2015

Mary Magdalene Aria in Russian.

It's Easter. While the lamb is roasting here's a quick post. 

In case you haven't heard it in Russian, here's Mary Magdalene's aria 'I Don't Know How to Love Him' from the stage version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit at Moscow's Mossovet Theatre (2009).

Mary is played by Daria Moroz and the voice (apparently) is by Pelageya, a famous pop-singer.

It looks like there are several different Russian versions of Tim Rice's lyrics but I couldn't find the one they sing in this clip. 

Jesus Christ Superstar filtered in into the Soviet Union in the 70-s with an amazing swiftness. I was still a school student when first vynil discs and tape recordings appeared. We learned the words, the music and would have group sing-alongs, chanting 'Hosanna' and 'Jesus Christ — Superstar' whith our komsomol badges on the lapels. For many, it was the first chance to get to know the Gospel and think what it means.

Thursday, March 05, 2015

New Censorship in Russia

(From Censoring to Constructing the Agenda: on the current state of Russian media)

Who is controlling and directing Russian media today? How and to what degree such control is being executed? A general idea may be derived from various episodes and comments but a joined up picture of how separate media stories develop and link up with more general lines in propaganda and with underlying ideology needs specialist study. From the false story of the ‘crucified little boy’ in Ukraine to ‘gayrope’ ('gay Europe') and to an anti-American interpretation of the idea of a ‘monopolar’ world, is there a coordinating centre, a media politbureau where ideas, arguments and clichés are coined and then spread throughout a seemingly diverse media?

Vasiliy Gatov, a Russian journalist, media manager and researcher, has published an article on the development of new censorship in post-Soviet Russia. The article, entitled ‘Putin, Maria Ivanovna from Ivanovo and Ukrainians on the Telly’, is on and Radio Liberty sites. (In English here and in Russian here.) 

Tetradki recommend this study to all those who are interested in how Russian public discourse is developing, the role of the press and the situation within the media. Gatov gave us permission to republish a few excerpts from his article. (Translation by Arch Tait.)

Censorship returns (90s to naughties) 

When in 1991-2 the old “Soviet” newspapers collided with the economic difficulties of the time, they rushed for assistance to the very president and government they so relentlessly criticised. Izvestiya, Komsomolskaya Pravda, Trud, Argumenty i Fakty and other publications which regarded themselves as “the foremen on Perestroika’s building site” pointed to the “duty of the State to promote freedom of speech”, and demanded they should be paid for providing support during the turbulent events of those years. Boris Yeltsin’s Administration decided to oblige and, for example, awarded the editors, many of whom were members of parliament, premises on a “gratuitous use” basis. [...] The foundations for future adverse changes were thereby laid, in the form, on the one hand, of politically motivated privileges and, on the other, of a deliberate intermixing of journalists with the political and economic elite. Government subsidising of the media began very early, and was to became one of the cornerstones of the New Censorship.‘

Gleb Pavlovsky [a leading media strategist and advisor in the 90s] claims that, already in summer 1996, the Foundation for Effective Politics proposed that the concept of media management should be, not a short-term emergency measure to get round the election problem [Russian presidential elections in 1996, narrowly won by Boris Yeltsyn - Ed.], but a permanent policy of the Presidential Administration. More detailed proposals were made in 1997 when information wars between the oligarchs’ media empires were at their height.

The coming of Vladimir Putin to the Kremlin in summer 1999 required another media mobilisation. The individual chosen as Yeltsin’s heir was not a well-known politician. Indeed, his public profile was all but non-existent. Quite when Yeltsin would decide to step down nobody knew. They prepared to rally round at a moment’s notice. There were teams of officials, spin doctors and creative executives in the Presidential Administration and, crucially, around it, at the ready to solve the problem. 

The nature of the Friday policy planning meetings changed at this time, and directors of the main television channels began being invited to attend. At first the meetings were chaired personally by Alexander Voloshin, director of the Presidential Administration, but the job later passed to Alexey Gromov who was first Putin’s press secretary, then deputy head of the Administration. From 2000 to 2008 there were also “Surkov planning meetings”, especially where the activities of the United Russia party or regional policy were concerned. If “Gromov meetings” were essentially coordination of the week’s agenda and the apportioning of responsibilities between the key information channels, “Surkov meetings” were, according to those present at them, effectively a dictating of required content. 

The “Gromov meetings” created a new in-group of media managers linked by the fact of being allowed to attend them. After NTV was brought to heel, the channel’s new management were also invited to the Friday meetings, and in 2006 the conclave was extended to include Margarita Simonyan [of Novosti Press Agency] and the managers of REN TV and TVTsentr

Fundamental to the New Censorship was the post-communist personal loyalty of editors, key journalists and professional groups, and that was delivered by Gromov and [Mikhail] Lesin. [former Minister of the Press, President’s adviser and up until recently chief of Gazprommedia group - ed.]

“Redaction No.6”: open vs secret management

In late April 2000, at the height of the presidential election campaign, a document came into the possession of Veronika Kutsyllo, head of the political section of the magazine Kommersant-Vlast’ (Kommersant-Government). The headline writers of [Kommersant] Publishers promptly baptised it “Version 6”. [In the Russian original - “Редакция N 6”, an obvious allusion to Chekhov’s 1892 short story ‘Ward No.Six’ about a lunatic asylum where constructed reality clashes with real life. ‘Палата номер шесть’ - Ward No.Six is used figuratively in Russian to describe a place or a situation bordering on insane. - Ed.]  Gleb Pavlovsky, at the time more than close to the Kremlin’s politics, responded to a request to reminisce about Version 6 with a mixed memoir. On the one hand, he said, he had doubts about the document’s provenance; a little later, however, he added he could remember that kind of language being used and the details, but could not put a name to the authors. 

Version 6 hypothesises that the future administration of President Putin will live in a situation where there needs to be a distinction between overt and covert policy. Overt policy will declare adherence to the norms of the Constitution, law, international obligations and political standards. The covert component will almost completely restore the ideological and organisational control of every element of civil society.

“The moral state of society,” its anonymous authors write, “currently rules out any direct statements or actions by the president of the Russian Federation and his Administration aimed at suppression of the opposition and its leaders, or gaining control of the media and communication of news. Accordingly, the designers of the present programme identify as a key tactic that the political department of the President of the Russian Federation should adopt a dual approach to accomplishing its tasks: one official and overt, the other covert.” 

Among the covert tasks, Version 6 identifies gaining control of the media and journalists. It proposes, for example, under the auspices of the political department:  
“To influence the activity of the media ... by collecting and making use of special information on the conduct of each media outlet’s commercial and political activities, its personnel, those managing its organisations, its sources of finance, economic, material and technological resources, formal and informal contacts, financial partners, etc.; 
“To influence the work of journalists ... by collecting and making use of special information on the conduct of their professional journalistic, commercial and political activities, sources of financial support, place of work, formal and informal contacts, financial and personal partners and others.” 

Even more blatant is the authors’ proposal of two approaches to working with the media. The first should see the setting up of an agency (making use of the Administration’s resources) to investigate, accumulate and process information obtained and recycle it to the public “appropriately retouched”. The second approach would be to “induce a financial crisis in opposition media, or media sympathetic to the opposition, rescind their licences and certificates, and create conditions under which their operations became either manageable by the state or impossible.” 

Intervention intensifies

In 2005, the practice of managing the media in Russia achieved a stable form that has survived almost unaltered until the present time. The model has proved effective, and even able to adapt to progressive (at least in technical terms) trends. And the system has been obliged to evolve: having felt its way to the levers of power in the field of news coverage, it went on to begin intervening in the news agenda. The system has also been forced to extend its reach from traditional media to the “new media”, from broadcasting and the press to the interactive sphere, from a domestic agenda to an international agenda. 

The system has to operate in an environment where, on paper, the laws ban the practice of censorship. The interests of the censorship system, however, coincide with the interests of the political establishment: to ensure maximum conservation and maximum survival of the existing model, irrespective of what justifications may be put forward at a particular moment by its leader. These can be, as in 2000-2015, “countering terrorism”, “constructing a pyramid of power”, “innovational development”, and even “spiritual supports”. The mission of the New Censorship is to change the agenda in such a way that a substantial majority of the public support the accompanying ideas, regardless of their opinion yesterday or today in respect of their local, professional or social agenda. 

Insiders and outsiders

Svetlana Mironyuk, chief editor of the Novosti News Agency in 2003-2013, characterises the period: “[...] From the outset of the 2000s, the authorities distinguished three broad categories: foes (Vedomosti, Forbes,,, and a few others (most recently Rain / Dozhd’). There was no point in asking foes to do the Kremlin any favours, or to ask them to refrain from doing something. With them, as with the Western media, there was either a brisk, business-like relationship or no relationship at all. 
Then, there were friends: the state-owned media, although the warmth of the friendship varied greatly. Initially, for instance, there was respect for Vitaliy Ignatenko at ITAR-TASS and he was not particularly pressured. Konstantin Ernst [at Channel One] always occupied a special niche. Friends included Komsomolskaya Pravda and its editor, Vladimir Sungorkin, who were outwardly independent. There was Interfax and [its head] Mikhail Komissar. Later, “friends through thick and thin” included Aram Gabrelyanov [head of Izvestia and News Media group which owns LifeNews, a popular internet and TV news outfit. - Ed.]. In terms of his degree of intimacy with the Kremlin, Sungorkin was always a closer confidant than I [Mironyuk] was. It was all a matter of personal chemistry between Gromov and his group, and the editors, as well as a bit of horse-trading. “We’ll put an exclusive interview your way, and you can do us a favour in return.” 
Finally, the third category were the half-friends, or half-foes. Initially, that list included Kommersant, Moskovsky Komsomolets and Echo of Moscow radio [Russian original also includes Argumenty i Fakty in this list. - Ed.]; that is, people you might be able to do a deal with, but not always. 

A return of direct line

In addition, in 2004-2005 one further crucial element of governmental media management appeared. Mironyuk notes, “Some time around 2002, before I [was appointed to Novosti], Lesin wired up himself and all the editors-in-chief of state-owned media with a direct, dedicated cable. [Such direct lines existed in Soviet times and were refered too as ‘vertushka’. - Ed.] A line was laid specially from the Ministry of the Press in Moscow on Strastnoy Boulevard to all the editorial offices. That was done by Koryavov, who was deputy minister at the time. Then, in 2004-2005, for all the output [to news desks - Ed.] of agencies and television a special cable was installed on the closed ATS-2 network. This was a one-way yellow telephone without a dial which could only receive calls. [At present] all these non-dialling telephones go straight back to Alexey Gromov’s office. This is now the main mechanism for managing the media. [...] 

Manufactured reality

The main innovation during the latest period of the New Censorship has been a clampdown in the government-control media, especially television, on any generation of their own news agenda. Russia, as understood by the “collective Putin”, or as those who for the time being are his loyal lieutenants would like to see it, does not need real news. On the contrary, the only tool used for managing imperfect Russian society is a manufactured news agenda which is literally stamped into the minds of the public by the TV channels. 

The New Censorship does not merely exclude real events from the news agenda: it replaces them with simulated communications whose purpose is to create in viewers a sense of dependency on the principal hero in the stories. Even during the Ukrainian crisis, the model has not been modified, except that the “pole” [thrust - Ed.] of the messages has been changed [...]

[...] secondment [of members of the media team of the Presidential Administration - Ed.] certainly goes on, and many of the texts read out on Vesti (News) or Vremya (Time) are aired, or appear on the websites of the channels, without any involvement of the channels’ editors. And indeed if, after all the filtering of staff that has gone on, editors were permitted to correct the artistic efforts of that faceless “creative team in the Administration”, things would only get worse. A distinguishing feature of the New Censorship is that it encourages journalists (the word should probably be in quotes) not only to serve up the news agenda they are handed by the Kremlin, but also to creatively embellish it themselves.
[...] The authentic, natural, real news agenda has not disappeared, it is just excluded from the “reality” communicated to Russia’s citizens. 

Image: a drawing by A.Anichkin, after The Girl with an Oar statue by Ivan Shadr, one of the symbols of Russia, albeit sardonic.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Тарас Бульба. Кто кого жёг?

(о непобедимой страдательности русских причастий)

Картина И.Репина, 1880-1891 гг., х/м.

На переговорах Горбачева с Бушем-старшим как-то был эпизод, когда переводчик спутал слова “проверяющая сторона” и “проверяемая сторона”, едва не изменив ход мировой истории. С русскими причастиями просто беда! 

Неукротимый лев американской русистики Стивен Додсон (Languaghat) прислал мне замечательный ляпсус в переводе на английский мемуаров П.В.Анненкова “Замечательное десятилетие 1838-1848”. (Thanks, Steve!)

В главе VIII Анненков пишет о полемике Белинского с критиками Гоголя (мемуар Анненкова есть здесь). На русском этот пассаж выглядит так: 

Но решительное и восторженное слово было сказано, и сказано не наобум. Для поддержания, оправдания и укоренения его в общественном сознании Белинский издержал много энергии, таланта, ума, переломал много копий, да и не с одними только врагами писателя, открывавшего у нас реалистический период литературы, а и с друзьями его. Так, Белинский опровергал критика "Московского наблюдателя" 1836 года, когда тот, в странном энтузиазме, объявил, будто за одно "слышу", вырвавшееся из уст Тараса Бульбы в ответ на восклицание казнимого и мучимого сына: "Слышишь ли ты это, отец мой?" — будто за одно это восклицание "слышу" Гоголь достоин был бы бессмертия; а в другой раз опровергал того же критика, и не менее победоносно, когда тот выразил желание, чтобы в рассказе "Старосветские помещики" не встречался намек на привычку, а все сношения между идиллическими супругами объяснялись только одним нежным и чистым чувством, без всякой примеси.

На английском переводчик мемуара Irwin R. Titunik изобразил это так (книга есть на Амазоне, цитата начинается со слов “Так, Белинский...):

Thus, Belinsky argued against the critic of the Moscow Observer of 1836 when the latter, in some strange fit of enthusiasm, declared that supposedly for the sake of the single expression "I hear" which burst from the lips of Taras Bulba in answer to the exclamation of his son, his torturer and executioner, "Do you hear this, father?" [...] 

То есть верный старший сын Тараса Остап, попавший в плен к ляхам, в переводе вдруг превратился в палача-казнителя любимого отца. Как замечает Додсон, тут трудно решить, что хуже, что переводчик не понял значения страдательных причастий или что явно не знал содержания “Тараса Бульбы”.

Как бы то ни было, а я согласен с упомянутым Анненковым критиком. Сцена казни Остапа с призывом к отцу и ответом Тараса действительно потрясающая. Прямо как из Евангелия, где Иисус на кресте призывает: “Отче! в руки Твои предаю дух Мой”.

Вот она, из XI главы “Тараса Бульбы” (текст здесь):

Но когда подвели его к последним смертным мукам, - казалось, как будто стала подаваться его сила. И повел он очами вокруг себя: боже, всё неведомые, всё чужие лица! Хоть бы кто-нибудь из близких присутствовал при его смерти! Он не хотел бы слышать рыданий и сокрушения слабой матери или безумных воплей супруги, исторгающей волосы и биющей себя в белые груди; хотел бы он теперь увидеть твердого мужа, который бы разумным словом освежил его и утешил при кончине. И упал он силою и воскликнул в душевной немощи:
— Батько! где ты! Слышишь ли ты?
— Слышу! - раздалось среди всеобщей тишины, и весь миллион народа в одно время вздрогнул.
Часть военных всадников бросилась заботливо рассматривать толпы народа. Янкель побледнел как смерть, и когда всадники немного отдалились от него, он со страхом оборотился назад, чтобы взглянуть на Тараса; но Тараса уже возле него не было: его и след простыл.

“Тарас Бульба” много раз экранизировался. В 1909 году вышла первая немая версия. Сто лет спустя, в 2009 году появились украинская “Дума о Тарасе Бульбе” и российская версия “Тарас Бульба” (режиссер Владимир Бортко). Разбирать нюансы — в другой раз. Сейчас же перепубликую широко известную американскую версию 1962 года с Юлом Бриннером в роли Тараса. Американские сценаристы вообще убрали, почти полностью, линию с Остапом. Вместо его казни — дописанная казнь польской панночки, которая и заставляет Андрия перейти на сторону ляхов. Как и роман, все киноверсии оставляют много вопросов и к Гоголю, и к режиссерам. (В YouTube есть отдельно сцена казни Остапа и крик Богдана Ступки “Слышу, сынку!”, российская версия 2009 г.)

В этой заметке, впрочем, я пока только о страдательных причастиях. (Казнь панночки начинается примерно с 1:40 в фильме, один час сорок минут)

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