Textbook “Collection of tasks for practical classes in the discipline “Russian language. Book: Mikhail Sholokhov

hung, hung; hang - hung, hung; buy

- bought, bought; throw - abandoned, abandoned; crown - crowned, crowned; promise - promised, promised; strike - struck, struck; fire at - fired at, fired at; shoot - shot, shot; start - started, started; cut - cut, cut at the seams; make fun of

- ridiculed, ridiculed; sow - sowed, sown last month; glue - glued, glued tightly; hang - hung, hung; weigh - weighed, weighed; console - consoled, consoled.

No. 268. 1) The dough is well kneaded (knead). He was involved (get mixed up) in an unpleasant story. 2) The walls of the room were covered with light wallpaper. 3) The lost (lost) book was found. 4) Errors noticed (noted) in time were quickly corrected. 5) The first seedlings appeared in unison on the fields sown (to sow) in early spring. 6) The work was completed (finish) on time. 7) The laundry was quickly dried (dried) by the wind. 8) The lecture was listened to (listen) with deep attention.

No. 269. 1) The school drama club, led by a (passionate) artist of the city theater, is preparing a new production. - The artist leading the school drama club carefully explains the role to each participant in the performance. 2) Young people who did (actual) work to expand the school garden wrote about their experience in the school wall newspaper. - The great work done by the (suffering) young people was described in detail in the school wall newspaper. 3) The girl, who read (actually) a new book, was telling

StudyPort to your friends about your impressions of her. - A new book,. read by a (suffering) girl, it was written brightly and captivatingly 4) New

a device invented by a (passionate) engineer is of great value.

The engineer who invented (actually) a new device received a prize. 5) The wind driving (actual) clouds did not subside for a minute - The clouds, driven (suffering) by the wind, quickly rushed across the sky.

No. 270. 1) The birch leaves rustle slightly, barely swaying (to sway) in the wind. 2) The glow at distant heights reflected a trembling (tremble) blush. 3) On thoughts that breathe (breathe) with force, like beads, words descend. 4) I love the smoke of burnt stubble, a convoy spending the night in the steppe, and a pair of white birches on a hill in the middle of a yellow field. 5) The mermaid swam along the blue river, illuminated (illuminate) by the full moon. 6) And suddenly there is a cave in front of the knight; there is light in the cave. He goes straight to her under the dozing (dozing) arches. 7) After the black dungeon, the light reflected by the snow seems unusually bright, cutting (cutting) the eyes. 8) Mined (mine)

coal flows in a continuous stream, falling like a thundering (rumble) waterfall into the holds of a ship moored to the pier. 9) Maria Andreevna’s face, bursting (puff) with health, became pale. 10) From time to time, a signalman waving (waving) a flag appeared on the road ahead. 11) Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse was heard.

No. 271. We go out onto the ice, already covered tracked snow, we step into the snow. Sliding on crumbling stones, we climb a high embankment stretching along the open, bare shore. Adjusting the gun behind my back, buttoning up my jacket tightly, fighting the tight wind blowing in my face, I walk along the shore. I look at the stones that have fallen in a heap from the shore into the sea. A ray of sunshine, breaking through, illuminates the edge of a black, hanging cloud. I raise my binoculars and peer into shifting depth dead desert. A yellowish spot moves in a white, sparkling field. Alien to the surrounding world, "Sedov" looms in the snowy haze.

Day and night, night and day, a boat runs between the shore and the ship, loaded for stability with boxes of rifle cartridges. Hosts station under construction take turns taking turns on the steering wheel.

Covered - participle.

1. From the verb - to cover.

2. N.f. - covered.

3. Fast. signs: passive, past. vr., owls view.

4. Non-post. signs: full, wine. pad., units h., husband R.

5. Ice (what?) covered.

To those who have been studied - communion.

1. From the verb - to explore. StudyPort 2. N.f. - researched. .ru

3. Post. signs: passive, past. vr., owls view. 4. Non-fasting. signs: full, tv. pad, units h., husband R. 5. Snow (what?) explored.

To those who crumble - communion. 1. From the verb - to crumble. 2. N.f. - crumbling.

3. Post. signs: real, present. vr., nesov. view. 4. Non-fasting. signs: dates. fallen, pl. h.

5. Stones (what?) crumbling. To those who blow - communion.

1. From the verb - to blow.

2. N.f. - blowing.

3. Fast. signs: real, present. vr., nesov. view.

4. Non-post. signs: tv. pad., units h., husband R.

5. By the wind (what?) blowing.

Stretched out - communion.

1. From the verb - to reach out.

2. N.f. - stretched out.

3. Fast. signs: real, past. time., owls view.

4. Non-post. signs: wine pad., units h., female R.

5. The embankment (what kind of yu?) stretches out.

No. 272. 1) Basis - founded - founded - founded a - founded - founded; chained - chained - chained - chained - van a - chained about - chained; chewed up - chewed up - chewed up - van - chewed up a - chewed up - chewed up s.

2) Build - yard nn y - vodvoren´n - vodvoren a´ - vodvoren o´ - vodvoren y´; implement - implemented - introduced - introduced a´ - implemented o´ - implemented y´; conclude - concluded - concluded - concluded a´ - concluded o´ - concluded s´; bake - baked´ n y - baked´n - baked a´ - baked o´ - baked´; transport´

Transported´ nn y - transported´n - transported a´ - transported o´ - transported ´; enlighten´t - enlightened´nny - enlightened´n - enlightened a´

Enlightened n o´ - enlightened s´; dedicate - dedicated - dedicated - dedicated a´ - dedicated to o´ - dedicated to ´; decide - solved - solved - decided a´ - decided o´ - decided y´ .

3) Restore - restore nny - restored - restored a - restored about - restored; add - added

Added n - added a - added o - added s; finish - finish - finish - finish - finish a - finish - finish o - finish y; memorize - memorized - memorized - memorized a - memorized about - memorized; cut off - cut off - cut off - cut off - cut off - cut off -

cut off; provide - provided - provided - StudyPort provided - provided - provided. .ru No. 273. In “Onegin” all parts are organically articulated, in selected

Within the framework of his novel, Pushkin has exhausted his entire idea, and therefore not a single part of it can be changed or replaced. “A Hero of Our Time” represents several frames nested in one large frame, which consists of the title of the novel and the unity of the hero. The parts of this novel are arranged in accordance with internal necessity; but since they are only separate incidents from the life of even one and the same person, then could be replaced others, because instead of an adventure in the fortress with Bela or in Taman, there could have been similar ones in other places, and with other persons, although with the same hero. But nevertheless, the author’s main idea gives them unity, and the commonality of their impression is amazing.

No. 274. I. Wounded soldier - wounded soldier; sifted flour - sown grain; boiled water - boiled milk; painted floor - painted fence; cut or uncut clover -

mown grass; shot sparrow - shot bird; frightened crow - frightened horse; slaked or quicklime

- extinguished fire; woven tablecloth - woven carpet; burnt coffee - burnt letter; smoked sausage - smoked walls; spoiled child - spoiled child - the girl is spoiled by her parents; forged sword - unforged iron - constrained movements; bobbed boy - polka-cropped hair

- shorn head; distilled water; lined notebook; paved street.

II. Well-mannered - well-mannered; boiled - boiled ik; buttery - Masleny Itza; messenger - messenger.

No. 275. I. 1) The day was gray and windy. There are desert stubble and arable fields all around. 2) In a small, completely empty room covered in white, it was light, there was a smell of oil paint, and on the shiny, painted floor there were two Chinese vases against the wall. 3) For the stables, sheds and kitchens, full-weight logs were used, determined to stand for centuries... Everything was fitted tightly and properly. 4) With a desperate cry, Nikita threw himself on the floor. 5) The sailor liked the smart boy. 6) The nanny met him [Dubrovsky] in the entryway and hugged her pupil with tears. 7) What is a stationmaster? A real martyr of the fourteenth grade. 8) The hall and living room were dark.

II. 1) Ivan Ilyich and Dasha settled on a farm in a mud hut. 2) Alexey unwrapped the rag and took out a blued watch. 3) His unkempt hair fell over his eyes in a whole wave. 4) The house had high rooms with whitewashed walls and unpainted floors.

5) I will never forget this fabulous walk among the tall trees along the sand mixed with pine needles. 6) There was a candle. repaidru .

7) The steppe was deserted, terribly quiet.

No. 276. Sometimes I caught him [Karl Ivanovich] at moments when he was not reading; The glasses hung lower on the large aquiline nose, the blue half-closed eyes looked with some special expression, and the lips smiled sadly. The room is quiet; All you can hear is his steady breathing and the striking of the clock with the huntsman. On the other wall hung land maps, all almost torn, but skillfully glued by the hand of Karl Ivanovich. On the third wall, in the middle of which there was a door down, on one side hung two rulers: one was cut up, ours, the other was brand new, his own, used by him more for encouragement than for ruling, on the other was a black board.

In the middle of the room stood a table covered with torn black oilcloth, from under which the edges were visible in many places,

cut with penknives. Around the table there were several unpainted stools, but varnished from long use. The last wall was occupied by three windows. This was the view from them: right under the windows there was a road on which every pothole, every pebble, every rut had long been familiar and dear to me; behind the road is a trimmed linden alley, behind which in some places a wicker picket fence can be seen; A meadow is also visible across the alley. ( Narration with descriptive elements.)

No. 277. I. To grow fierce - becoming fierce; shout - shouting; running is not allowed; rumble - rumble; preach - preaching; manage - in charge; brake - braking; it is impossible to preserve; look in - looking in; hitting is not allowed; to be – being; acknowledge - recognizing; squeal - squeal; mark - marking; throw - throwing; murmur - murmur; chirp - chirp; freezing is not allowed; worry - worrying.

II. Take out - take out; dispel - dispelling; develop - having developed; become weak - become weak; weaken - weakened; save - having saved; touch - touching; harness - harnessed; lock - having locked, locked; renounce - having renounced; meet - having met; take away - taking away; rake out - rake out, rake out; out of breath - out of breath; sit down - crouching; escape - having escaped; stay - staying, weave - weaving.

No. 278. 1) As soon as it was light I got up and, quickly drinking tea, set off on my way. 2) Having chosen a dry sandy shore somewhere, I ordered the boat to moor to it. 3) Large spiral circles on-

He [the eagle] began to descend from under the clouds and, sitting calmly on the ground,

StudyPort immediately calmed down the argument and fight between the crows by getting down to business. himself ru to eat the rest of the fish. 4) The offended crows sat around, croaked,

daring to approach the stern king, and only occasionally small pieces were snatched from behind. 5) Leaving the village of Nikolskaya, I swam down the river. 6) At night, burning fires present a magnificent picture. Wriggling like a snake, a fiery stream runs and suddenly, encountering masses of drier and taller grass, it flares up with a bright flame and again moves further in a narrow ribbon. 7) Having risen at sunrise and indicating the direction in which to go, my friend and I set off forward.

Removed - verb.

1. N.f. - calm down.

2. Fast. signs: owl. view, 1 reference, transition, non-return

3. Non-post. signs: will reveal. incl., units h., past vr., husband R.

4. He (did what?) calmed down.

Having accepted is a gerund.

1. From the verb to accept.

2. Sov. view.

3. Immutability.

4. Stopped (how?) accepted b...

No. 279. 1) Having reached the river, we made a halt. 2) While sailing in a boat, travelers saw many birds along the banks of the river. 3) Noticing boats and people from all sides, a herd of wild goats rushed in all directions. 4) When getting ready for the hike, the guys carefully thought through all the details of the trip. 5) Approaching the station, the passengers became worried and began to pack their things. 6) Picking up speed, the train was quickly approaching a mountain pass.

No. 280. 1) | Left alone , she [Nilovna] went to the window and stood in front of it, | I look at the street| . 2) Someone’s steps shuffled in the hallway, the mother shuddered and, | eyebrows raised tensely | , stood up. 3) | Smiling| , she listened to the conversation in the room. 4) He [Chelkash] went, | staggering and still supporting his head with the palm of his left hand | , and | I pull my brown mustache with the right hand | . 5) He walked, | slowly, firmly striking the ground with your feet | . 6) Little Fedya, | I'm listening to reading | , silently moved his lips, | exactly repeating the words of the book| , and his comrade bent over, | put it on your elbow and knees | , and | propping up cheekbones with palms | , smiled thoughtfully. 7) Mother, | try not to make noise with the dishes | , poured tea and listened to the girl’s smooth speech. 8) The crowd of soldiers trembled

and dissolved like two halves of a wooden gate; | dancing and snorting| , horses rode between them, an officer’s cry was heard.

No. 281. 1) I laughed uncontrollably more than once while watching the comedy “The Inspector General.”

StudyPort 2) While reading the play, I vividly imagined its characters. 3)ru After watching such a production, one immediately comes to the conclusion about life for

walls of the Kostylevo shelter. 4) Arriving from the city, Davydov encountered a number of difficulties. 5) Many cities and villages were destroyed by the Nazis, thereby depriving the population of shelter. 6) At the entrance to the stoking room we were hit with heat. 7) Hearing about the reconnaissance, Petya became cheerful.

1. A non-poetic presentation of Nekrasov’s poem “The Uncompressed Strip.”

2. Nekrasov's perception.

3. Proof of the power of words, of the creative process.

I. The creative process is an immeasurably more complex thing than the ability to standardly use the so-called rules of versification...

Here I would like to give one example. I will refer to Nekrasov’s famous poem “The Uncompressed Strip”. As you remember, its content is as follows: late autumn has arrived, and there is still an uncompressed peasant strip in the field. It is not compressed because its owner strained himself at work and became seriously ill.

I described this event quite accurately, but in my transmission it still makes absolutely no impression.

In this case, I did it on purpose: I did it in order to show how much depends on the poet, on the spiritual poetic “contribution” that he makes to the life material that forms the basis of the work.

: , (to...), (how...), (which...).

II. Now let's see how Nekrasov perceived and conveyed this same event to the reader...

From the very first lines, some kind of aching pain grabs your heart, although at first, perhaps, you don’t even know why the poet began his conversation. You are overcome with pity for this lonely peasant strip, which “the storm, the hare tramples, and the birds ruin.”

And the further you read, the more palpable, the brighter the image of the Russian peasant, crushed by poverty and backbreaking work, appears before you, and not only the image of this particular peasant mentioned in the poem, but also the image of all those like him, the image of the then village, forced, poor, ruined, dark...

The point is that Nekrasov, behind a seemingly ordinary, insignificant fact, saw much more than what can be seen upon superficial examination. With the light of his poetic ta-

StudyPort lanta he penetrated it and illuminated those sides of it that. at first glance they were invisible. He found in his heart such excited

bathrooms, such heartfelt poetic words that you can’t help but believe. These were words deeply felt, worn out, words, if you like, suffered through. These were the only, irreplaceable words with the help of which it was possible to say with the greatest completeness and persuasiveness what I wanted to say.

take Nekrasov. (Discussion, artistic style.)

No. 283. Distilled, compose, combine, next, future of the country, knowledgeable, cancel the results, appeal, cartoon, scholarship, colloquium, sensation, sensational report, selection, selection.

№ 284.

Calmly - adverb.

1. Adverb of manner of action.

2. Passed (how?) calmly O .

On the right is an adverb.

1. Adverb of place.

2. I heard (where?) on the right. Not high - adverb.

1. Adverb of place.

2. She stood (what?) low. Again - adverb.

1. Adverb of manner of action.

2. Started (how?) again O . In autumn - an adverb.

1. Adverb of manner of action.

2. Crimson (how?) in autumn.

Calm, on the right, low, anew, like autumn.

No. 285. 1) The sea is excited. 2) The hunter excitedly talked about his meeting with the bear. 3) The child is frightened by an unexpected shot. 4) The child screamed in fear. 5) Everything in this matter is balanced and deliberate. 6) The speaker answered questions slowly and thoughtfully. 7) The performance was organized by the school’s drama club. 8) The performance was very organized, according to a strict plan. 9) My friend is a comprehensively developed person. 10) On the sidings, near scattered carriages where railway workers temporarily lived, children are digging in the sand. 11) I acted very windily, perhaps.

No. 286. 1) The horses shied away and rushed to gallop. 2) Filofey not-

How many times did you swing your hand backhand? 3) It was long after midnight. StudyPort 4) She [Natasha] opened the window wide. 5) Black clouds. , ru completely covered the sky, quietly sowing fine rain. 6) Peter fell backwards.

7) The last carriage passed by and rolled away. 8) Anna Sergeevna recently got married. 9) The sky was already breathing in autumn. 10) And she [Neva] could not bear to argue.

No. 287. 1) To the left was a gloomy forest, to the right was the Yenisei. 2) Look, a thunderstorm is rising from the left. 3) The Russian population has long lived on the White Sea. 4) Again the clouds gathered above me in the heights. 5) Circumstances separated them for a long time. 6) Take care of honor from a young age. 7) Kirila Petrovich simply stopped by the house of his old friend. 8) It began to get dark again; the middle brother went to get ready. 9) The living room and halls were gradually filled with guests. 10) Katya had plenty of time to think. 11) Neva was definitely asleep; From time to time, as if half asleep, she will splash a light wave on the shore and fall silent. 12) Representatives of the hostile side behaved at the conference

defiantly. 13) He looked at me and raised his hand threateningly. 14) The audience warmly applauded the singer.

No. 288. Don’t tell anyone (places), don’t contact anyone (places), don’t go anywhere (places); do not ask anyone (places), do not depend on anyone (places), do not receive letters from anywhere (places); there is no one (places) to replace, no one (places) to send with, no place (places) to place; there’s nothing (places) to talk about, nothing (places) to argue about, there’s no need (places nar) to worry in vain; there is no one (places) to call, no one (places) to expect a telegram from; not at all (place nar) to call on the phone, not at all (place nar) to worry, not at all (place nar) to worry, not at all (place nar) to worry, buy a few (place nar) books , never ´ (places nar) lose heart, never lose heart from anything ´ (places), never hide anything ´ (places).

No. 289. 1) Night has fallen. No one slept a wink in the city of sleepless eyes. 2) The Oblomovites did not receive the latest news from anywhere, and there was nowhere to receive it from. 3) He [Luchkov] could not arouse sympathy in anyone. 4) Several skinny willow trees timidly descend along its sandy sides [of the ravine]. Looks sad, nothing to say. 5) At no time does Kolotovka present a pleasant sight. 6) He [Morgach] was once a coachman. 7) I was left with nothing and nothing. 8) But rocks, and secret shallows, and storms are of no use to him. 9) The rains sometimes fell in torrents, but did not cool the atmosphere at all.

No. 290. Anna Sergeevna was a rather strange creature. Having no prejudices, not even having any strong beliefs, she did not retreat from anything and did not go anywhere. She saw a lot clearly, a lot occupied her, and nothing completely satisfied her, yes

she hardly even wanted complete satisfaction. Her mind was inquisitive and StudyPort indifferent at the same time; her doubts did not subside. never to the point of forgetfulness and never grew to the point of anxiety. If she didn't

rich and independent, she, perhaps, would rush into battle, would recognize passion.

But life was easy for her, although she was sometimes bored, and she continued to accompany day after day, slowly and only occasionally worrying.

(, (although...), and .) Rainbow the colors lit up sometimes before her eyes, but she rested when they faded away and did not regret them.

(, but [ , (when...) ].) Her imagination was carried away even beyond the limits of what is considered permissible according to the laws of ordinary morality; but even then her blood still flowed quietly in her charmingly slender and calm body.

She [Dasha] really only liked Telegin. 4) The spring sky is cloudless, and the steppe shines dazzlingly. 5) Little by little it got dark. 6) Grechkin spoke meaningfully, in a Volga manner. 7) The coachmen whistled in the steppe style, the well-fed troikas rushed off at a gallop. 8) Pechorin turned a little pale and turned away. 9) The steamer is still rocking. 10) The boatswain still acted in his own way. 11) Herman, willy-nilly, agreed to be my assistant. 12) Olga has no life in her features, just like Vandyk’s Madonna. 13) Somewhere, once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I read a poem. 14) He [Andrei Bolkonsky] assumed, firstly, to concentrate all the artillery in the center, and secondly, to transfer the cavalry back to the other side of the ravine. 15) The moon rose, covered with a crimson cloud, and barely illuminated the road.

No. 292. Live in a new way, remember firmly, speak face to face, do things point to point, bother in vain, waste time, go somewhere, know a little bit, do things topsy-turvy, to arrive unexpectedly, to advance step by step, to arrive on time, to hand out the coal, to agree in the end, to distribute equally, to make it better and more beautiful, toss and turn, today, apparently, it will rain.

No. 293. Remember forever, postpone until the day after tomorrow, put off until tomorrow, live opposite, see through, reduce to nothing, save until now, fold in half, divide in two, go one at a time, think in your own way, sail in two, increase little by little, say rashly, fight hand to hand, end in a draw, act openly, decide in general, speak in general.

StudyPort Heard from above, jump up, look up.ru Approach from below, go down, seen below.

Overtake in front, go ahead, know in advance. Hit from the side, move to the side, turn to the side

No. 295. Rush high, dive deep, look into the distance, grow

in breadth, stand around, never hit, don’t understand at first, hit again.

No. 296. Remember forever, forever, sign up the day before, come immediately, run after, smash to smithereens, burn to the ground, contact a friend, prepare gradually, look from under your brows, hit on the sly, grab in the armful, look point blank, count for sure, count in a row, jump off on the go, shoot on the fly, ask one by one, get ready early in the morning, get completely exhausted, do it in revenge, buy like hot cakes, need it to the limit, work tirelessly, dance until you drop, fill it to capacity.

Lost Heart

The Gatchina Aviation School produced many excellent pilots, excellent instructors and brave fighters for their homeland.

And at the same time, it was hardly possible to find an airfield in the entire expanse of the immeasurable Russian Empire that was less suitable for aviation purposes and more prone to accidents and casualties. The reasons for these sad phenomena have been interpreted differently. Young pilots were inclined to blame the small grove that had been growing for decades in the middle of the training field and often interfered with the free movement of the aircraft, which was just gaining altitude and speed, which is why fatal crashes occurred. The Gatchina airfield stretched just between the Pavlovsk old palace and the Baltic station. From the western windows of the palace the grove was very clearly visible. They said that this piece of landscape had long been loved by the late Empress Maria Feodorovna, and therefore the palace commandant prevented the demolition of the annoying grove, despite the fact that the empress had not visited Gatchina for more than ten years.

Of course, young people could be a little mistaken. After all, it is known that all beginning cyclists, pilots, speed skaters and other athletes are always irresistibly drawn to obstacles that could very easily be avoided. Experienced, far-sighted school leaders judged differently: they took into account the topographical position of Gatchina with the surrounding swamps and forests, the proximity of the Gulf of Finland and Duderhof Mountain and, based on these data, explained the capriciousness, changeability and suddenness of local winds. As an example, they cited the sport flight from St. Petersburg to Moscow by civilian aviators: Utochkin, Lerche, Kuzminsky, Vasiliev and some three others. They all landed in the most brutal manner on the insignificant Valdai hills, breaking their devices to smithereens. Only Vasiliev could continue the flight, and only because Utochkin, himself with a broken knee, generously gave him all the spare parts, helped him fit them and personally started the engine...

A tragic, sublime and proud impression was made by that corner in the Gatchina cemetery, where restless, brave pilots found their deep, eternal sleep. Instead of monuments, propellers were erected above them. From a distance, this cemetery of aviators looked like a high, randomly stuck picket fence, but, coming closer to the grave, everyone experienced an exciting, high feeling. It seemed as if a beautiful, powerful bird had fallen from an extraordinary height and, crashing on the ground, had completely entered into it. And only one slender wing rises high and straight to the distant sky and still trembles from the force of the interrupted flight.

The custom of funeral farewells for a murdered comrade was eerie and majestic. All the way to the church and then to the cemetery he was accompanied, circling high above him, by a flying squadron of all the available pilots of the school, and the roar of the airplanes drowned out the last mournful prayer going to the sky: “Holy God, holy mighty, holy immortal, have mercy on us.”

Another unwritten voluntary comradely custom was harsh and, perhaps, even a little cruel. If a pilot, through an accident or an awkward mistake, happened to ruin an airplane, then no one paid much attention to this crash. If it happened far from the airfield, then the pilot telephoned the school, and if it was close, then his fall could be seen from the field. Aviation soldiers arrived very quickly and took away the remains of the disaster on carts. But if the pilot himself was killed or dangerously maimed, he was taken to the hospital. And at that same hour, even though his corpse was still lying right there, in plain sight, on the aviation field, all the pilots in service moved out of the hangars or took ready-made devices from the field and rushed upward. Experienced flyers tried to complete the task assigned to their unfortunate brother for today, others tried to improve their own records. It would be in vain to look for the origin of such a challenge to fate in the paragraphs of the military aviation regulations. It was an unwritten law, a sacred custom, a verbal “adat” of Muslims, developed by instinct, necessity and experience. The pilot must always remain calm, even when his face is frozen by the approaching breath of death. “Your comrade, classmate and friend was killed. His beautiful young body, which contained so many divine possibilities, still retains human warmth, but his eyes no longer see, his ears no longer hear, his thoughts have faded and his soul has flown off to God knows where. Be strong, pilot! You will shed tears in the evening. Breathe evenly. Don't let your heart beat. If you lose your heart, you will lose life, honor and glory. Hands on the handles. Feet on the pedals. The engine roared, shaking the huge apparatus. Onward and higher! Goodbye, comrade! The wind hits your face, the dark earth disappears deep from under your feet. Higher! Higher, pilot!

At that time, shortly before the war, and in the first years of the war, extremely, even excessively many young people eagerly sought to get into military aviation. There were many reasons: a beautiful uniform, a good salary, an exceptional position, a reflection of heroism, the affectionate glances of women, a service that seemed from a distance not burdensome and very cheerful and easy. Less often than others, people of real vocation, born bird people, enthusiastically dreaming of the tart and sweet joys of flying in the air, those people about whom Pushkin said:

Everything, everything that threatens death,

Hides for the mortal heart

Inexplicable pleasures

Immortality, perhaps, is a guarantee!

But it must be said that these openers of space, these flyers, by the grace of God, are surprisingly rare in nature, and besides, they are completely devoid of the great gifts of importunity, begging and ingratiation through patronage. But patronage still didn’t help. Newcomers were admitted to aviation school by squeezing them through a thick sieve. The future pilot had to have: perfect and indestructible health; large lung capacity; the ability to quickly navigate both on the ground and in the air; correct ability to find and maintain balance; sharp vision, without a hint of color blindness; impeccable hearing, physical strength and, finally, a heart that works in all positions with the cold, unchanging precision of an astronomical chronometer. In this flying world, bravery, daring, bravery, audacity, fearlessness and other superhuman spiritual qualities of a pilot have never, or almost never, been talked about. And why? Were these qualities, so rare nowadays, not in themselves part of the duty and routine of a military aviator?.. They praised Nesterov, who was the first to make a loop. They praised Kazakov, who brought down eighteen enemy airplanes. They praised, but were not surprised: surprise is so close to roteness!

It is not surprising that with such a strict test and with such severe discipline, the majority of incapable, unnecessary, unfit pilot candidates soon fell off by themselves, like slag or garbage. There remained an impeccable, reliable selection. But even among these chosen ones, during the first flight experiments, there were still losers, brave, dexterous people, in love with aviation, but - alas! - deprived of any of the great gifts of approaching heaven. They left silently, with grief in their souls, and the old pilots saw them off with rude and friendly regret, although some of them had to be escorted only to the cemetery.

By the way, not only young, but also experienced, seasoned famous pilots were seized by a special, difficult to explain and incurable, sudden illness, which was called “loss of heart” and which not a single aviator would allow himself to speak of mockingly or frivolously.

Here, the concept of heart does not mean a powerful muscle on the left side of the human chest, which selflessly and obediently pumps blood into all the nooks and crannies of our body for many years. No! This implies a psychological, moral symbol. To lose a heart means for a pilot to lose the divine freedom to walk in heavenly space at will on a fragile apparatus, pierce the clouds, calmly face rain, snow, hurricane and lightning, without being at all lost because you have absolutely no idea whether you are flying in the dark , south or west, up or down.

One of the most amazing phenomena is the loss of the heart. It is known to acrobats, riders and horses, wrestlers, boxers, fighters and great artists. This strange disease strikes its victim without any consistent warning. It appears suddenly, and you can’t find a reason for it.

This is how the glorious aviator and excellent instructor Fedenka Yurkov (emphasis on the o) unexpectedly lost his heart at the Gatchina airfield, about whom it was sung in the naive Gatchina aviation beast:

He entered aviation not very early, at the age of twenty-seven or eight, from the cavalry. It must be said that cavalrymen had an easier time than mere mortals in the simple, but still requiring presence of mind, science of controlling an avion, because working on a horse with reins and legs has much in common with the maneuvers of pilots. He had previously served, although not in a guards regiment, but in an army regiment, but the regiment had been covered in historical glory since hoary times.

It was also remarkable in that in it, as in the other two cavalry regiments, the entire composition of gentlemen officers and all sergeants were supposed to be single, and there were never any exceptions or concessions to this strict rule. There was something in dear Fedenka Yurkov from the legendary cavalry heroes of 1812 - from Miloradovich, from Burtsov, Er, the bully, from Denis Davydov, from Ses-Alavin: a hoarse commanding voice with a pleasant hoarseness, a slightly brawny gait, external rudeness and internal true kindness and, finally, brilliant daring in military affairs. The entire Russian military aviation knew and recalled with a smile his funny and dangerous adventure at the beginning of the war on the Western Front. He was entrusted with aerial reconnaissance. The headquarters probably knew that the Germans were somewhere quite close, about thirty to forty miles away, but in what direction no one knew.

Yurkov quickly took to the air, having behind him an observer with a bomb, who knew excellent German, a former student of the St. Petersburg Petershule, a nice and strong fellow and from the “pro-Russian Russians.”

The weather in the upper layers was drizzly, with thick, heavy fog. The pilot soon lost his intended path, lost his bearings and decided to land in order to identify himself in the area. Fate and the beginning of the breeze guided him. He descended just onto the wide and now deserted square of the city of Gumbinen, just opposite a neat tavern, drowned in climbing greenery. The city, despite the roar of the descending avion, continued to be silent, as in the fairy tale about the sleeping princess. Engine sounds were probably a common occurrence here. The zucchini smelled of coffee and fried sausage. Yurkov immediately came up with a plan of action.

“We need to find out what city this is and get what information we can.” So, listen, Schultz: I am a lieutenant in the Kaiser's Air Force, you are my non-commissioned officer. I was wounded in the throat and therefore my speech is completely slurred. I will wheeze and sniffle. This way it will be easier for me to disguise my ignorance of the German language, and I can cleverly imitate Berlin jargon. You have German money. Give it here and let's go play. If any misunderstandings arise about our uniform, say that our secret task requires this in order to lure these Russian sewing men into the bag, and generally scold us without any mercy. When you have refreshed yourself, go to the device. Well, forwards!

In the neat dining room they drank coffee with milk, ate a delicious hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and ham, fried thick sausages and good cheese, and they washed it down with crappy schnapps and excellent velvety black beer.

Schultz chatted endlessly in real, pure German and deftly managed to find out that the city was called Gumbinen, that the Kaiser’s troops stayed in it for four days, and then went somewhere to the east and now they have not been seen or heard for three days, and in Only the wounded and the disabled crew remained in the city. Yurkov pronounced lispingly, hoarsely and thickly, from the very depths of his throat, the monosyllable words “moen”, “maalzeit”, “proosit”, “colossal”, “pyramidal”, and called the huge, fat, beer-bloated owner, slapping him friendly on his fat back : "May liba faata".

If Nietzsche called the Prussian Berlin language a bad and mediocre parody of German, then Yurkov’s parody of parody came out wonderful. Two lovely women served at the table: a plump - not to say fat - hostess, blooming with the lush, abundant beauty of a forty-year-old well-fed German woman, and her daughter, a fresh “buckfish”, with innocent blue eyes, a pink face, golden hair and lips as red as a ripe cherry.

“Oh, if only we could live here to our heart’s content for two or three days,” Fedenka thought dreamily. “I would drag myself around for Frau, and leave the fraulein to Schultz.” Of course, nothing bad! Simply - a bucolic idyll under the chestnut trees of a quiet German town..."

But at that moment Schultz quickly returned from the airplane. He nodded his head slightly as a sign that everything was fine, but the slight movement of his eyelashes eloquently pointed to the door.

- Sorry. “One minute,” Yurkov said in German in the voice of a ventriloquist and left.

- What's the matter?

“A German was driving by in a charabanc and stopped to tell another German that on the way he saw from a hill a large German detachment marching in a column towards Gumbinen. What do you order me to do, Mr. Captain?

- Weigh anchor. Let's go say goodbye to our lovely hosts. “He paid for breakfast with such generosity that no German Archduke would ever dare to do, and, moreover, he paid not with measly notes, but with real silver guilders. Amazed by the fabulous price, the hostess almost forcibly imposed a basket of provisions on the aviators, and the touched Yurkov planted a heartfelt kiss on her very lips. The owner willingly volunteered to find two strong people to use the propeller of the device. Ten minutes later, the powerful Moran-Parasol, having lifted off the ground, was already flying easily towards the cleared sky, and the German friends were waving their hats and scarves after it.

Soon, from a great height, they saw the solid caterpillar of a German column, which seemed almost motionless.

“Mr. Captain,” Shultz shouted into the ear tube, pointing to the nest in which the bomb lay. - Shouldn’t we let this mother into them?

To which Yurkov, who never lost his calm, answered seriously:

- No, my young friend! Our exact task is reconnaissance. Often - alas! - because of the harsh duty, you have to deny yourself small, innocent pleasures! He was no stranger to salty, rude humor.

Yurkov entered aviation a year before the war. During the war, he successfully flew at first on such old primitive devices, which had not been seen in all the warring armies a long time ago. The Germans said: “The bravest pilots are Russians. A German pilot would consider it madness to fly one of their aircraft.” Yurkov was miraculously saved from death by his courage, composure and resourcefulness. During this time, he still managed to shoot down six enemy airplanes. In 1916, he received two bullet wounds and was sent from the hospital to the Gatchina school as an instructor. Or rather, it was a disguised vacation.

As a comrade, Yurkov, despite some roughness of character, was distinguished by his kindness, readiness to serve, always truthful, and was a favorite companion. As an instructor, he was strict and extremely demanding. He seemed to have completely forgotten about the gradual overcoming of difficulties, about the constant gymnastics of spirit and will that are inevitable when learning the art of aviation. Most of the students ran away from him to other, gentler instructors, but from the youth who suffered in his harsh hands, few, but first-class pilots emerged.

In Gatchina, Fedenka Yurkov chose the Verevkin Hotel as his accommodation, on the signs of which it was written in gold and black: on one “Vieux Verevkine”, and on the other “Drinking and smoking” - an old naive trace of the fifties. Gatchina, a quiet, unsociable town, in the summer all covered in dense greenery, in the winter all covered in impassable snow. Families there rarely get to know each other. There are no meetings, entertainment or entertainment in it, except for disgusting cinema. It was never possible to meet a single person: neither in the Priory Park, nor in the palace, nor in the menagerie. The wonderful palace of Paul I did not attract anyone's attention, even the streets were empty.

It was in the front hall of the inferior cinema, after the session, that Fedenka Yurkov saw Katenka Vakhter.

Waiting while her mother looked for her galoshes, and then wrapped her neck and head in a knitted scarf, Katenka stood in front of the mirror, flirted with her new hat and spoke in a low voice to her friend about her impressions, tilting her face to one side or the other.

- Ah, Max Linder! How good he is! This is something supernatural that cannot be explained by any human words! What an expressive face. What lovely gestures!

Then she turned her head to the right, and her eyes collided with Yurkov’s eyes in the mirror. She looked straight at the pilot, but looked mechanically: she did not see him and continued to speak with exaggerated passion, resting her pupils on his pupils.

- I like him madly, madly! I have never seen such a wonderful man in my life! Here is a person to whom you can give your life, soul, and everything, everything, everything without hesitation. Oh, I'm completely fascinated by him!

At that moment, the enthusiastic image of Yurkov poured into the consciousness of young lady Wachter. She blushed and hurried to hide behind her mother’s broad back. But to herself she said to the officer, who was greedily staring at her with admiring eyes: “What a daring impudent man!”

Yurkov perfectly noticed her proud, careless and contemptuous look. But... all the same... Now there was no salvation for him. Cupid's arrow managed to pierce his courageous heart at that moment, and he immediately fell ill with his first love: tender, cruel, irresistible and incurable love.

Gatchina pilots sometimes visited the Watchmen's house. One of them, Lieutenant Konovalov, brought Yurkov into this house, and from then on Fedenka made frequent visits there. He brought flowers and sweets, took part in picnics and charades, held skeins of wool for his mother on his spread fingers, took his father, the excise inspector and the old fly swatter, to the officers' meeting, where, although not without difficulty, he was sometimes able to beg a glass of alcohol from the head of the household School of Captain Ozerovsky. No wonder in the historical bestiality they sang:

And sometimes to get alcohol,

Ozerovsky and I need flirting,

Chemistry, chemistry,

Pure chemistry.

Reluctantly, Yurkov played small family games and danced the most clumsy waltzes, Hungarians and padespanis to his mother’s music. Everyone knew that he fell madly in love with Katenka. Fellow pilots were surprised. What did he see in this thin seventeen-year-old girl? She was small in stature, with a pale face covered in pimples; Moreover, she had an incorrigible, bad habit of constantly moving the skin on her forehead, so that the wrinkles rose up to the roots of her hair, which gave Katenka’s face a stupid and always surprised expression. Was Fedenka captivated by her tremulous youth alone?

The former officer of a glorious single cavalry regiment had never known pure, fresh love. He, like his fellow dragoons, always engaged in long-distance privateering in love affairs, not to say piracy, and in general light cupidism. Now he loved with respect, with adoration, with an eternal, withering dream of the quiet joys of legal marriage. This desire for family paradise sometimes deeply amazed him, and he sometimes thought out loud:

- Hm... Gotcha, biting!..

He sometimes tried to drop clumsy hints about a marriage proposal. But where did his former cheeky and unceremonious eloquence go? Words stuck heavily in my mouth, and often they were not enough at all. It was as if no one understood his groom’s approaches...

In addition, everyone had long known that Katenka was in love with Georges Vostokov, a twenty-five-year-old pilot who, despite his youth, was considered the first in all Russian aviation in the art of figure aerobatics. In addition, the ruddy Zhorzhik sweetly sang tender romances, accompanying himself on the mandolin and piano. But he did not pay any attention to Katyushina’s glances, sighs and languid invitations to take a boat ride on the Priory Pond. Soon he completely stopped visiting the Watchmen.

Having finally become convinced of his complete and irrevocable failure, Yurkov became bored, depressed, exhausted, and for more than two weeks he did not leave the Vieux Verevkin "a" hotel under various pretexts and returned to service only after a significant letter from the head of the school. He came to the airfield all someone soft, drooping, with an emaciated and darkened face and said to his fellow pilots:

“I was ill and therefore completely limp.” But now I feel much better. I'll try to climb four thousand today. This will cheer me up and shake me up.

His sensitive, obedient Moran Parasol was taken out of the garage. Everyone saw how deftly, steeply and quickly he rose to a height of a thousand meters, but at this height something strange began to happen to him. He didn't go any higher, he swerved, tried to get up several times and went down again. Everyone thought that something had happened to his device. Then he began to descend in a gliding descent. But the airplane seemed to be shaking in his hands. And he sat down on the ground uncertainly, almost breaking the chassis... His comrades ran up to him. He stood near the car with a gloomy and sad face.

- What’s wrong with you, Fedenka? - someone asked.

“Nothing...” he answered curtly. - Nothing... I lost my heart, no matter how it beat - I can’t and can’t rise above a thousand meters - and you know? I'll never be able to. Swaying, he walked across the airfield. No one saw him off, but everyone looked after him for a long time and silently.

Having come to his senses a little, the next day, and the third, and the next, Yurkov tried to overcome the thousandth height, but it was not possible for him. The heart was lost forever.

Notes

12. Have breakfast (from German: frühstücken).

13. Russian pigs (from German: Russische Schweine).

14. Forward! (from German: Vorwärts!).

15. From the words: Guten Morgen - good morning; Mahlzeit - bon appetit; Prosit - your health; kolossal - colossally; pyramidal - excellent (German).

16. My dear father (from German: Mein lieber Vater).

17. Teenage girl (from German: Backfisch).

18. “Old Verevkin” (French).



I that am lost, oh who will find me?
Deep down below the old beech tree
Help succor me now the east winds blow
Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go!
Be not afraid to walk in the shade
Save one, save all, come try!
My steps - five by seven
Life is closer to Heaven
Look down, with dark gaze, from on high.
Before he was gone - right back over my hill
Who now will find him?
Why, nobody will
Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen
Lost forever, nine by nineteen.
Without your love he'll be gone before
Save pity for strangers, show love the door
My soul seek the shade of my willow’s bloom
Inside, brother mine–
Let Death make a room.

Ever lyrics in original. Found on the English-language Internet in a post by a fan of the series.

Noteworthy is brother mine, “my brother” (an obsolete form, ironically this is what Sherlock and Mycroft call each other).

The answer to how Sherlock finds her, and the explanation of where the “swindle” is here (one additional line, about love, according to the author, is not reconstructed from the tombstones, and this indicates, again according to the author’s theory, that Sherlock took “love” from his own head /souls, and not at all from the song Ever)
http://sherlock-overflow-error.tumblr.com/post/156017276908/lost-without-your-love

But it's still beautiful.

On the screen in the dubbing of channel 1 it turns out something like this (it is sung a little differently: “trust the wind, it will lead you to your goal”, but unfortunately I can’t hear the rest). I also found the text of 3-4 verses on the Internet, but could not read it.

I was lost somewhere, come find me,
Dig a hole where the old beech grows.
The east wind itself wants to help me.
Always trust the wind - it will lead you to your goal.
Go, brother, into the shadows.
Without your love, he will completely disappear.
Save your soul to mourn for him.
Look for my door in the shadows under the willow tree,
But don’t go inside, brother (my brother), your death is there.

Try to save everyone
Sixteen by six, look into the darkness.
Find out my gait, hear my steps.
You are on high, don’t be afraid - life is near paradise.

Before you go, walk around my hill
Five by seven steps, where can I find him?
He won't come again, he's lost forever.
Fate is not a queen, nor is the castle her home.

The literal translation will be like this (it is generally clearer and more structured):

I'm lost (lost), oh who will find me?
Below, under the old beech tree.
Help, come to my aid now when the east winds blow.
Sixteen by six, brother, and let's go down!
Don't be afraid to walk in the shadows
save one, save all, let's try!
My steps are five by seven,
life is closer to heaven.
Look down with a dark gaze from above.
Before he disappeared (disappeared, died) - right over my hill.
Who will find him now?
No one will find it.
I will bring fate upon him, I am the queen.
lost (lost) forever, nine by nineteen.
Without your love, he will die before that.
Save pity for strangers, show love the entrance (door)
My soul seeks the shadow of my willow in bloom,
Inside, my brother,
let Death be present.

There are three characters in the song: “I”, “you” (= my brother) and “he”. Moreover, it is immediately laid down that “him” is impossible to find. Even without a code, you can understand that the one who sings needs to be saved. In the original, the east wind does not want to help, you need to save when the east wind blows - even the winds.

Let's return to Conan Doyle and The Rite of the House of Musgrave, which inspired this plot twist. It says this:
"Who owns this?"
"To the one who left."
"Who will it belong to?"
"To the one who comes."
"What month was this?"
"In the sixth, starting from the first."
"Where was the sun?"
"Above the Oak"
"Where was the shadow?"
"Under the Elm"
"How many steps do you need to take?"
"To the north - ten and ten, to the east - five and five, to the south - two and two, to the west - one and one and then down."
"What will we give for this?"
"Everything we have."
“Why are we giving this away?”
"In the name of duty."

In the story, the treasure was the crown of the ancient kings of England. This is probably where the queen came from in Ever's song.

I remembered another case when the plot included a song. This is from "The Ugly Bride"

THE MAID OF THE MILL.

Golden years ago in a mill beside the sea.
There dwelt a little maiden, who plighted her faith to me;
The mill-wheel is now silent, the maid's eyes closed be,
And all that now remains of her are the words she sang to me:

Chorus.

Think sometimes of me still
When the morning breaks and throstle awakes,
Remember the maid of the mill.
Don't forget me! Don't forget me!
Remember the maid, the maid of the mill.

Leaden years have past, gray-haired I look around,
The earth has no such maidens now. such mill-wheels turn not round
But whenever I think of heaven and of whut the angels be,
I see again that little maid and hear her words to me:

Chorus.

This is a real song from the late 19th century. A song from the 1st person of a man who remembers a girl who died, all that was left of her were the words that she sang (and this is the chorus:
"Don't forget me, don't forget me!
Think about me sometimes
When morning comes and the song thrush wakes up,
remember the girl from the mill."

Translated in the film:

You will not forget,
no, you won't forget
never me.

How ironically this echoes the fact that Sherlock completely forgot his sister!

XIII The operation to capture the city began early in the morning. Infantry units, having cavalry on the flanks and in reserve, were supposed to launch an offensive from the forest at dawn. Somewhere there was a mix-up: two infantry regiments did not arrive on time; The 211th Infantry Regiment was ordered to transfer to the left flank; during a roundabout movement undertaken by another regiment, it was fired upon by its own battery; something absurd was happening, disastrous confusion distorted the plans, and the offensive threatened to end, if not in the defeat of the attackers, then, in any case, in failure. While the infantry was being reshuffled and the artillerymen were rescuing the teams and guns that, by someone’s order, had been sent into the swamp at night, the 11th Division went on the offensive. The wooded and swampy terrain did not allow us to attack the enemy on a wide front; in some areas our cavalry squadrons had to attack in platoons. The fourth and fifth hundred of the 12th regiment were withdrawn to the reserve, the rest were already drawn into the wave of the offensive, and a quarter of an hour later the rest heard a rumble and a shaking, tearing howl: “Rrr-a-a-a-a - r-a-a -a-a - rrr-a-a-a!..” - Our guys are off! - Went. - The machine gun is sporadic. - Ours must be mowed down... - Silenced, huh? - They are getting there, that is. “We’ll soon marry our lover,” the Cossacks were talking fragmentarily. Hundreds stood in a forest clearing. The steep pines stung the eyes. A company of soldiers passed by, almost at a trot. The smartly dressed sergeant-major fell behind; skipping the last rows, he shouted hoarsely: “Don’t crumple the rows!” The company trampled, jangling their manners, and disappeared behind the alder thicket. Very far away, from behind a wooded ridge, moving away, a weakened, rolling cry floated again: “Ra-aa - a-urr-rrra-a-a!.. Aa-a!..” - and immediately, as if cut off, the cry fell silent . A thick, tedious silence hung. - That's when we got there! - They break one another... They split their legs! Everyone listened intently, but the silence was impenetrable. On the right flank, Austrian artillery smashed the attackers and machine guns pierced the ears with frequent lines. Melekhov Grigory looked around the platoon. The Cossacks were nervous, the horses were worried, as if a gadfly was stinging. Chubby, hanging his cap on the bow, was wiping his blue, sweaty bald head; next to Grigory, Mishka Kosheva was greedily drinking tobacco smoke. All the objects around were clearly and exaggeratedly real - this is what happens when you don't sleep all night. Hundreds stood in reserve for three hours. The shooting subsided and increased with renewed vigor. Above them, someone's airplane chirped and circled several times. He circled at an inaccessible height and flew to the east, taking him higher and higher; Below him, in the blue reach, the milky haze of shrapnel explosions flashed: they were firing from anti-aircraft guns. The reserve was put into operation by noon. The entire supply of makhorka had already been consumed and the people were exhausted in anticipation when the hussar orderly galloped up. Now the commander of the fourth hundred led the hundred into a clearing and led them somewhere to the side. (It seemed to Grigory that they were going backwards.) For about twenty minutes they drove through the thicket, crushing the formation. The sounds of battle were creeping closer to them; somewhere nearby, behind, a battery was firing rapidly; Above them, with a scream and a grinding sound, overcoming air resistance, shells rushed past. A hundred, dismembered by wandering through the forest, poured out in disarray into the clear. Half a mile away from them, at the edge of the forest, Hungarian hussars were cutting down the servants of a Russian battery. - Hundred, line up! Before they had time to open the formation: “Hundred, checkers out, attack, march-e-march!” Blue shower of blades. Hundred, increasing the trot, turned into a tent. About six Hungarian hussars were bustling around the harness of the last gun. One of them was pulling the bridles of eager horses; the second beat them with a broadsword, the rest, dismounted, tried to move the gun, helping by clinging to the backs of the wheels. To the side, an officer pranced on a bob-tailed chocolate mare. He gave the order. The Hungarians saw the Cossacks and, throwing down their weapons, galloped off. “Like this, like this, like this!” - Grigory mentally counted the horse's throws. His leg lost the stirrup for a second, and he, feeling his unstable position in the saddle, caught the stirrup with inner fear; Hanging down, he caught it, put on his sock and, looking up, saw a gun harness with gears, in the front - a hacked rider with his arms around the horse’s neck, in a shirt stained with blood and brains. The horse's hooves landed on the body of the killed license plate crunching beneath them. Near the overturned charging box there were two more lying, the third was spread out on his back on the gun carriage. Silantiev galloped ahead of Grigory. He was shot almost point-blank by a Hungarian officer riding a bobtail mare. Jumping on the saddle, Silantyev fell, caught, hugged the blue distance with his hands... Grigory pulled the reins, trying to go from the handy side, so that it would be more convenient to chop; the officer, noticing his maneuver, fired from under his arm. He fired a revolver clip at Gregory and pulled out a broadsword. Apparently a skilled swordsman, he repelled three crushing blows effortlessly. Gregory, twisting his mouth, overtook him for the fourth time, stood up in the stirrups (their horses galloped almost side by side, and Gregory saw the Hungarian’s ash-gray, tight, shaved cheek and the numbered stripe on the collar of his uniform), he deceived the Hungarian’s vigilance with a false wave and, changing direction of the blow, stabbed with the end of the checker, delivered the second blow to the neck, where the spinal column ends. The Hungarian, dropping his hand with the broadsword and the reins, straightened up, arched his chest as if from a bite, and lay down on the pommel of the saddle. Feeling monstrous relief, Grigory slashed at his head. He saw how the saber had eaten into the bone above the ear. A terrible blow to the head from behind knocked Gregory unconscious. He felt the hot brine of blood in his mouth and realized that he was falling - from somewhere on the side, the earth, covered in stubble, was rapidly rushing towards him, whirling. The hard shock of his fall brought him back to reality for a second. He opened his eyes; washing them, they were filled with blood. The stomp near the ear and the heavy spirit of the horse: “Hap, hap, hap!” Grigory opened his eyes for the last time and saw the horse’s flared pink nostrils and someone’s boot piercing the stirrup. “That’s it,” a relieving thought slid like a snake. Rumble and black emptiness. XIV In early August, centurion Evgeny Listnitsky decided to transfer from the Life Guards of the Ataman Regiment to some Cossack army regiment. He submitted a report and three weeks later secured an appointment to one of the regiments that were in the army. Having completed the appointment, before leaving Petrograd he notified his father of the decision in a short letter: “Dad, I have been trying to transfer me from the Ataman Regiment to the army. Today I received the appointment and am leaving at the disposal of the commander of the 2nd Corps. You, in all likelihood, surprised by the decision I made, but I explain it as follows: I was burdened by the environment in which I had to move around. Parades, meetings, guard duty - all this palace service set my teeth on edge. I got sick of it all to the point of nausea, I want something to do and... if if you want - feat. One must assume that the glorious blood of the Listnitskys is reflected in me, those who, starting from the Patriotic War, wove laurels into the wreath of Russian weapons. I am going to the front. I ask for your blessing. Last week I saw the emperor before leaving for Headquarters. I deify this man. I stood on the inner guard in the palace. He walked with Rodzianko and, passing by me, smiled, pointing at me with his eyes, and said in English: “Here are my glorious guards. With it in due time I will beat Wilhelm's card." I adore him like a schoolgirl. I am not ashamed to admit this to you, even though I have passed 28. I am deeply concerned about those palace gossips that shroud the bright name of the monarch in a cobweb. "I don't believe them and I can't believe them. The other day I almost shot Yesaul Gromov because in my presence he dared to speak disrespectfully of Her Imperial Majesty. This is disgusting, and I told him that only people who have servile blood in their veins blood, may stoop to dirty gossip. This incident occurred in the presence of multiple officers. I was seized by a paroxysm of rage, I pulled out a revolver and wanted to spend one bullet on the boor, but my comrades disarmed me. Every day it became more and more difficult for me to stay in this cesspool. In the guards regiments - in the officers, in particular - there is no that true patriotism, it’s scary to say - there is not even love for the dynasty. This is not the nobility, but the rabble. This, in essence, explains my break with the regiment. I can't communicate with people I don't respect. Well, it seems that's it. Sorry for some incoherence, I’m in a hurry, I need to pack my suitcase and go to the commandant. Be healthy, dad. I will send a detailed letter from the army. Yours, Evgeniy." The train to Warsaw left at eight o'clock in the evening. Listnitsky drove to the station in a cab. Petrograd lay behind him in the bluish-blue flickering of lights. The station was crowded and noisy. The military prevailed. The porter packed Listnitsky's suitcase and, having received the change, wished for them the honor of a happy journey." Listnitsky took off his sword belt and overcoat, untied the belts, laid a colorful silk Caucasian blanket on the bench. Downstairs, by the window, having laid out homemade food on the table, a thin priest with the face of an ascetic was having a snack. Shaking bread crumbs from his fibrous beard, he treated sitting opposite him was a dark-skinned Muscovite girl in a schoolgirl's uniform. - Try it. Eh? - Thank you. - I should be embarrassed, with your build, you need to eat more. - Thank you. - Well, try the cheesecakes. Maybe you, sir officer, will you taste it?" Listnitsky hung his head. "You want me?" "Yes, yes." The priest looked at him with gloomy eyes and smiled with only thin eyes under a cheerless growth of fibrous, thawed mustaches. - Thank you. Don't want. - In vain. What goes into the mouth does not defile. Are you not in the army? - Yes. - God help you. Through the film of slumber, Listnitsky felt the thick voice of the priest reaching his ears as if from afar, and it seemed to him that it was not the priest speaking in a complaining bass voice, but Esul Gromov. - ...The family, you know, is a poor parish. So I’m going to the regimental confessors. The Russian people cannot live without faith. And year after year, you know, faith grows stronger. There are, of course, those who leave, but these are from the intelligentsia, and the peasant clings tightly to God. Yes... That's it... - the bass sighed, and again there was a stream of words that no longer penetrated consciousness. Listnitsky fell asleep. The last thing I felt in reality was a supply of fresh paint on the small-striped plank ceiling and a shout outside the window: “The baggage department accepted, but I don’t care!” “What did the baggage department accept? "- consciousness stirred, and the thread imperceptibly broke. Refreshing after two sleepless nights, sleep fell. Listnitsky woke up when the train had already torn off about forty miles of space from Petrograd. The wheels rattled rhythmically, the carriage swayed, agitated by the jerks of the locomotive, somewhere in the next compartment in a low voice sang, the lantern cast purple slanting shadows. The regiment, to which centurion Listnitsky was assigned, suffered major losses in the last battles, was withdrawn from the battlefield and was hastily repaired by horses, replenished with people. The regiment's headquarters was located in the large trading village of Bereznyagi. Listnitsky left carriage at some nameless stop. The camp infirmary unloaded there. Having inquired from the doctor where the infirmary was heading, Listnitsky learned that he was being transferred from the South-Western Front to this sector and would immediately set off along the route Bereznyagi - Ivanovka - Kryshovinskoye. Big crimson the doctor spoke very unkindly about his immediate superiors, attacked the division staff and, with a shaggy beard and evil eyes gleaming from under his golden pince-nez, poured out his bilious bitterness in front of a random interlocutor. -Can you give me a ride to Bereznyagi? - Listnitsky interrupted him mid-sentence. - Sit down, centurion, on the gig. “Go,” the doctor agreed and, familiarly twirling a button on the centurion’s overcoat, seeking sympathy, rumbled in a restrained bass voice: “Just think, centurion: two hundred miles have been jostled in cattle cars in order to loiter here idle, while on that section , from where my infirmary was transferred, the bloodiest battles raged for two days, leaving a mass of wounded who urgently needed our help. - The doctor repeated with evil voluptuousness: “the bloodiest battles,” leaning on the “r”, growling. - How to explain this absurdity? - the centurion asked out of politeness. - How? - The doctor ironically raised his eyebrows over his pince-nez and growled: - The carelessness, the stupidity, the stupidity of the commanding staff, that’s what! The scoundrels sit there and confuse things. There is no management, just no common sense. Remember Veresaev's "Doctor's Notes"? That's it! We repeat in a square. Listnitsky saluted, headed towards the transport, an angry doctor croaked after him: “We’ll lose the war, centurion!” They lost to the Japanese and did not grow any wiser. We'll throw our hats, so there you go... - and he walked along the tracks, stepping over puddles covered with oil-colored rainbow sparkles, shaking his head sadly. It was getting dark when the infirmary approached Bereznyagi. The yellow bristles of the stubble were blown by the wind. In the west, clouds swayed and piled up. At the top they turned violet black, a little lower they lost their monstrous color and, changing tones, poured soft lilac smoky reflections onto the dull row of the sky; in the middle, this whole shapeless mass, packed like wings into an ice drift at a jam, was dissolving, and a stream of orange-colored sunset rays was relentlessly flowing into the gap. It spread out like a splashing fan, refracting and gathering dust, pierced vertically, and below the break it indescribably intertwined into a bacchanalian spectrum of colors. A red horse lay shot near a roadside ditch. Her hind leg, wildly raised up, glistened with a half-worn horseshoe. Listnitsky, bouncing on his gig, looked at the horse's corpse. The orderly who was riding with him explained, spitting on the horse’s swollen belly: “I’ve eaten too much grain... I’ve eaten too much,” he corrected, looking at the centurion; I wanted to spit again, but I swallowed the saliva out of politeness and wiped my lips with the sleeve of my tunic. - It’s dead - but there’s no need to remove it... The Germans, they don’t have our way. - How do you know? - Listnitsky asked angrily for no reason, and at that moment he just as unreasonably and acutely hated the indifferent, with a tinge of superiority and contempt, face of the orderly. It was grayish and dull, like a September field covered in stubble; was no different from thousands of other peasant-soldier faces, those whom the centurion met and overtook on the way from Petrograd to the front. They all seemed somehow faded, a dullness froze in their gray, blue, greenish and other eyes, and strongly resembled the worn-out copper coins that had been minted a long time ago. “I lived in Germany for three years before the war,” the orderly answered slowly. The tone of his voice carried the same superiority and contempt that the centurion caught in his gaze. “I worked at a cigar factory in Koenisberg,” the orderly said boredly, driving the mashtak with the knot of the belt rein. - Shut up! - Listnitsky said sternly and turned, looking at the horse’s head with its bangs falling over its eyes and its exposed, sun-weathered canopy of teeth. Her leg, raised up, was bent at the knee, the hoof was slightly cracked from the kicks, but the shell was densely lightened with a bluish gloss, and the centurion determined by the leg, by the thin chiseled pastern, that the horse was young and of a good breed. The gig, bouncing along the bumpy dirt road, drove off further. The colors at the western end of the sky were fading, and the wind was dissolving the clouds. The leg of a dead horse was blackened behind by a headless chapel. Listnitsky kept looking at her, and suddenly a sheaf of rays fell on the horse in a circle, and the leg with tightly lying red hair bloomed irresistibly, like some wonderful leafless branch, painted with orange blossom. Already at the entrance to Bereznyagi, the infirmary encountered a transport of wounded. An elderly shaved Belarusian - the owner of the first cart - walked next to the horse, wrapping rope reins around his hand. On the cart, leaning his elbows, lay a Cossack without a cap, with his head bandaged. He tiredly closed his eyes, chewed the bread and spat out the black chewed pulp. A soldier lay flat next to him. On his buttocks, hideously torn trousers, warped from caked blood, bulged. The soldier, without raising his head, swore wildly. Listnitsky was horrified, listening to the intonation of the voice: this is how fervently believers pray. On the second cart, about six soldiers were rolling along. One of them, feverishly cheerful, said, narrowing his inflamed, feverish eyes: - ... as if an ambassador from their emperor came and made an excuse to make peace. The main thing is a faithful person; I hope he won’t knock it off. “Unlikely,” the second doubted, shaking his round head with traces of long-standing scrofula. “Wait, Philip, maybe he really came,” responded the third, sitting with his back to the oncoming people, in a soft Volga accent. On the fifth cart, the bands of Cossack caps were red. Three Cossacks sat comfortably on a wide cart, silently looked at Listnitsky, and on their dusty, stern faces there was not a shadow of that respect that you see in the ranks. - Hello, villagers! - the centurion greeted them. “We wish you good health,” answered sluggishly the one closest to the driver, a handsome, silver-moustached and eyebrow-browed Cossack. - Which regiment? - Listnitsky asked, trying to make out the number on the Cossack’s blue shoulder strap. - Twelfth. -Where is your regiment now? - We can't know. - Well, where were you wounded? - Below the village here... not far. The Cossacks whispered about something, and one of them, holding a wounded woman tied with a piece of canvas with his good hand, jumped off the cart. - Your Honor, wait a minute, miracle. - He carefully carried his shot hand, touched by inflammation, walked along the road, smiling at Listnitsky and limply moving his bare feet. - You are not Veshenskaya village? Not Listnitsky? - Yes Yes. - We guessed right. Your Honor, would you like to light a cigarette? Treat us, for Christ's sake, let's die without tobacco! He held on to the painted side of the gig and walked next to him; Listnitsky took out a cigarette case. - You could give us tens of respect. There are three of us,” the Cossack smiled pleadingly. Listnitsky poured the entire supply of cigarettes into his voluminous brown palm and asked: “Are there many wounded in the regiment?” - Ten two. - Are there big losses? - A lot of people were beaten. Light the fire, your honor. Give thanks. - The Cossack, lighting a cigarette, fell behind and shouted after him: “They killed three people from the Tatar farm, which is near your estate.” The Cossacks were disgraced. He waved his hand and went to catch up with his cart. The wind ruffled his unbelted protective tunic. The commander of the regiment to which centurion Listnitsky was assigned was stationed in the priest’s apartment in Bereznyaga. The centurion said goodbye to the doctor on the square, who hospitably gave him a seat on the ambulance gig, and went, shaking off the dust from his uniform as he went, asking those he met about the location of the regiment's headquarters. Towards him, a fiery red-haired bearded sergeant major led the soldier on guard. He saluted the centurion without losing his leg, answered the question and pointed out the house. The headquarters premises were quiet, as in any headquarters located far from the forward positions. The clerks hovered over the large table, and at the receiver of the field telephone the elderly captain was laughing with an invisible interlocutor. Flies buzzed on the windows of the spacious hut, and distant telephone calls whined like a mosquito. The messenger took the centurion to the regiment commander's apartment. In the hallway, he was greeted unfriendly by a tall, upset colonel with a triangular scar on his chin. “I am the regiment commander,” he answered the question and, having heard that the centurion had the honor of appearing at his disposal, silently, with a movement of his hand, invited him into the room. As he closed the door behind him, he straightened his hair with a gesture of boundless fatigue and said in a soft monotonous voice: “I was told about this yesterday from the brigade headquarters.” Please sit down. He asked Listnitsky about his previous service, about news from the capital, about the road; and throughout their short conversation he never once raised his eyes, burdened with some great fatigue, to his interlocutor. “We must assume that he was in trouble at the front. He looks mortally tired,” the centurion thought sympathetically, looking at the colonel’s high, intelligent forehead. But he, as if dissuading him, scratched the bridge of his nose with the hilt of his sword and said: “Come, centurion, meet the officers, I, you know, haven’t slept for three nights.” In this wilderness we have nothing to do except cards and drinking. Listnitsky, trumping, concealed cruel contempt in his grin. He left, recalling the meeting with hostility, mocking the respect that the colonel’s tired appearance and the scar on his broad chin involuntarily inspired in him.