Bunin's winter dream summary. Chang's Dreams
Option No. 850640
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Heavenly clouds (1) eternal wanderers!
The azure steppe, the pearl chain
You rush (2) as if (3) like me, exiles,
From the sweet north to the south.
Who (4) is driving you: is it destiny’s decision?
Is it secret envy? Is it open anger?
Or is crime weighing on you?
Or friends (5) poisonous slander?
No, you are tired of barren fields...
(6) passions and suffering are alien to you;
Forever cold, forever free
You have no homeland, you have no exile.
(Mikhail Lermontov)
Answer:
Add all missing punctuation marks: indicate the number(s) in whose place(s) there should be a comma(s) in the sentence.
Two friends (1) meanwhile (2) were so carried away by the conversation that (3) it seems (4) they did not notice how dawn had come.
Answer:
Add all missing punctuation marks: indicate the number(s) in whose place(s) there should be a comma(s) in the sentence.
Why do you come out of the cloud (1)
Solitary Moon (2)
And on pillows, through windows,
Are you creating a dim glow?
With its cloudy appearance
You awaken sad dreams
Love's vain suffering
And with my strict mind
Slightly lulled desires.
And no matter how badly you live, it will be difficult to part with the white light,” Agafya said sadly, pouring from a cup into a saucer.
It’s known to be difficult,” said Gregory. “If I had known and lived differently, I would have destroyed all my property.” Otherwise, we are afraid to dissolve our property, you keep thinking that in old age there will be nowhere to go... but look, you haven’t even lived to see old age!
“Our life flows like a wave,” Semyon said. - Death, as it is said, must be greeted with joy and trepidation.
Exodus, not death, dear,” Evgenia corrected dryly and instructively.
“With trepidation, not with trepidation, but no one wants to die,” said Gregory. - Every booger is afraid of death. It also means that they have souls.
“Not souls, father, but souls,” Evgenia said even more instructively.
Having finished the last cup, Semyon shook his head, throwing away the sweaty dark gray hair, stood up, crossed himself, grabbed the psalter and walked on tiptoe through the dark hall, through the dark living room to the deceased. “Go, go, dear,” Evgenia said after him. - Yes, read more diligently. When someone reads well, the sins fall off the sinner like leaves from a dry tree.
Replacing Tishka, Semyon put on glasses and, looking sternly through them, gently picked the wax from the melted candles with his fingers, then slowly crossed himself, unfolded the book on the lectern and began to read quietly, with affectionate and sad conviction, only in some places raising his voice warningly.
The door to the hallway near the back porch was open. While reading, Semyon heard someone stamping their feet on the porch: two girls, both dressed up, in new strong shoes, came to look at the dead man. They entered the room timidly and joyfully, talking in whispers. Crossing herself and trying to walk unsteadily, one of them, shaking her breasts under her new pink blouse, approached the table and turned the sheet away from the prince’s face. The sparkle of the candles fell on the blouse, the frightened face of the girl became pale and beautiful in this shine, and the dead face of the prince shone like a bone. The large graying mustache, which had grown due to illness, was already showing through, and in the eyes, which were not completely closed, some kind of liquid was darkening...
Tishka smoked greedily in the hallway, waiting for the girls to come out. They slipped past him, pretending not to notice him. One ran away from the porch, he managed to catch the other, in a pink blouse. She rushed forward and whispered:
Oh, are you crazy? Let me go! And then I’ll tell my father...
Tishka released her. She ran towards the garden. The moon, already small, white, clear, stood high above the dark garden, and the dry iron on the roof of the bathhouse glittered golden in its light.
In the shadow of the garden, the girl turned around and, looking at the sky, exclaimed:
What a night, fathers!
And charmingly, with joyful tenderness, her happy voice sounded in the quiet night air.
Bestuzhev walked from end to end around the yard. From the courtyard, empty, wide, illuminated by the moon, he looked first at the lights in the village across the river, then at the bright windows of the living room, where the voices of those dining were heard. The gates of the barn were open, and a broken lantern, placed on the trolley box, was burning. Grigory, bending over and putting one leg out, moved the jointer along the wood, tucked into an old workbench. The red-smoky fire in the lantern trembled, the shadows trembled in the gloomy barn...
When Bestuzhev paused for a minute at the gate of the barn, Grigory raised his excited face and said with gentle pride:
I'm just finishing the lid...
Then Bestuzhev stood, leaning his elbows on the open window of the servant’s room. The cook collected the remains of dinner from the table and wiped it off with a rag. The shepherds, teenagers, were going to bed: Mitka, barefoot, prayed, standing on bunks covered with fresh straw. Vanka is among the hut. A red, shaggy ovenbird, broad-shouldered and very small in stature, in a black shirt with speckles of lime on it, who had come from the village across the river to begin tomorrow to straighten the walls inside the collapsed princely crypt, was skewering a cigarette while sitting on a bench.
Anyuta spoke stupidly, enthusiastically and tongue-tiedly from the stove:
So he died, your Excellency, he didn’t put anything into his head... He didn’t give me anything... No, no, no, wait, wait... Now go... Now go... Now go! Wait, honey? Have you put a lot into your head? Do you understand now what’s going on in your head, stupid? How about giving me two rubles to cover my body! I'm miserable, ugly. I don't have anyone. Look at the breasts! And she opened her jacket and showed her bare breasts:
All naked. That's right, stupid! And I loved you in my old years, I missed you, you were beautiful, cheerful, affectionate, a pure young lady! All your youth you were obsessed with your Lyudmilochka, and she, stupid, only tormented you - tormented you and got married to someone else, but I was the only one who truly loved you, but only my thoughts knew about it! I am wretched, ugly, but my soul may be angelic, archangelic, I alone loved you, I am sitting alone rejoicing over your mortal death... And she laughed joyfully and wildly and cried.
Fool! If only my legs were intact, I would have gone, how bad is it? - Anyuta shouted through her tears. - It’s their sin, the dead, to be afraid. They are holy, pure.
“I’m not afraid,” the stove-maker said cheekily, lighting a cigarette that lit up with a green fire. - I’ll lie down with you even for the whole night in the family crypt...
Anyuta sobbed enthusiastically, wiping herself with her jacket.
Without disturbing the light and beautiful kingdom of the night, but only making it even more beautiful, light shadows fell onto the courtyard from the white clouds that were traveling for the month, and the moon, shining, rolled on them in the depths of the clear sky, above the shining roof of the dark old house where it glowed only one extreme window is at the head of the deceased prince.
During the day, while walking, Ivlev passed along the pasture past the school.
The teacher stood on the porch and looked at him intently.
She was wearing a blue-on-white lambskin coat, belted with a red sash, and a white hat.
Then he lay in his office on an ottoman.
Outside, in the bright sun and high shining clouds, drifting snow played.
In the windows of the hall the sun warmed the shining glass.
It was cold and boring blue only in the office - its windows faced north.
But outside the windows there was a garden, directly lit by the sun.
And he lay, leaning his elbows on a worn morocco pillow, and looked at the steaming snowdrifts and at the rare tangled branches, reddishly blackened against the sun in a clear sky of a strong cornflower blue color.
The snowdrifts and green fir trees sticking out of the snowdrifts were thick with golden dust. And he, looking, thought intensely:
Where, however, can I meet the teacher? Should I go to Vukolova's hut?
And immediately in the garden, in the snow dust, he appeared big man walking along the alley, drowning in snow up to his waist: gray beard fluttering in the wind, on his head, on his long straight hair, is a worn out hat, felt boots on his feet, and one shabby pink shirt on his body.
Ah, Ivlev thought with joy, something terrible must have happened!
It was Vukol, a bankrupt rich man who lived in a lonely field hut with his drunkard son.
And Vukol stood in the hallway, cried and complained that his son was beating him, bowed wildly to the maids and asked for some tea - even a pinch.
Then he climbed through the snowdrifts, through the frost,” he said. - What can you do, I’m used to it, but my son won’t let me, he threatens to kill me...
And it was clear that he himself was touched - and much more than by the beatings and rudeness of his son - by the fact that he once drank tea every day and got used to it.
He was scary and pitiful, holding a stick in his blue hands like a bear.
Give him,” said Ivlev, “tea, sugar, and white bread!”
Returning to the field, to his icy hut, Vukol, taking advantage of the absence of his son, pulled out a green samovar from under the bench, filled it with ice frozen in a tub, chopped some wood chips, lit them hot, dipping them first in hemp oil. And soon, under the leaky, rusty pipe, the samovar hummed violently, flared up, and the old man, still warming it up, sat down to drink.
P O novel of the same name Alena Lyubimova. Oksana Bayrak also acted as Lyubimova’s co-author in working on the script for the film.
The film features songs performed by popular Ukrainian singer Irina Bilyk.
Premiere of the melodrama " Winter dream"took place on January 3, 2011 on the Ukrainian channel STB. Russian premiere – 2December 6, 2012 on TVC.
The plot of the film Winter's Dream
Main character of the film Masha Zakharova ( Anna Naumenko) – a cute, but not quite consistent with stereotypical ideas of beauty, red-haired and freckled girl, works in a salon wedding dresses. She really wants to get married, dreams of a romantic trip to Paris, and is also secretly and hopelessly in love with her boss. Vadim Evgenievich Krikunov(Andrey Chernyshov).
Masha lives in amazing world her own illusions, dreams and dreams, although sometimes she is faced with a cruel reality in which her dreams are not destined to come true. Or do miracles still happen?
Film crew of the film Winter's Dream
Director: Oksana Bayrak
Screenwriters: Oksana Bayrak, Alena Lyubimova
Operator: Alexey Tsvelodub
Composer: Valery Tishler
Producers: Victor Mirsky, Oksana Bayrak, Evgeniy Tretyak (Spanish)
Production: Studio Bayrak, Film.ua
Six years have passed since the dog Chang recognized his master, the captain of a huge ocean ship. And then morning comes again, and old Chang is still dozing. An angry and gloomy winter rules the streets of Odessa. She is much worse than that Chinese winter, when the dog met his captain.
On such stormy days with wind and prickly snow that hurts their faces, the captain and Chang wake up late. Over these six years, their lives have changed a lot, they have turned into old people, although the captain is not yet forty years old. The captain no longer sails the seas, but lives in a cold, sparsely furnished room in the attic of a five-story building inhabited by Jews.
The captain has an old iron bed, but he sleeps on it very soundly.
Anyone who has lived in attics can easily imagine what this bed, squashed almost to the floor, is like and what the mattress on it is like.
Previously, the captain had never slept like this even when he was rolling, although he had a wonderful bed - high, with drawers and thin linen. Now he gets tired during the day, and he has nothing to worry about - the captain knows that the coming day will not make him happy.
Once upon a time there were two truths in the life of a captain. One read “that life is unspeakably beautiful”, and the second - “that life is conceivable only for crazy people.” Now for the captain there is only one truth: life does not bring joy.
In the mornings, the captain lies on the bed for a long time, Chang is also cloudy and weak in the morning. He is dozing and dreaming.
Chang dreams of how the “old, sour-eyed Chinese man” sold him - a fox-like puppy - to the young captain of the ship. For three weeks after this, the dog was terribly “suffered from seasickness” and did not see either Singapore or Colombo. Autumn storms were raging on the ocean, and Chang spent all this time sitting in the “hot, dimly lit corridor,” where food was brought to him once a day.
Chang is awakened by a loud slam of the door. The captain also gets up, drinks vodka straight from the bottle, and pours the rest into Chang’s bowl. The dog drinks vodka, falls asleep and dreams of the morning in the Red Sea.
The storm stopped, and Chang walked onto the deck of the ship for the first time. The captain picked him up and carried him to the chart room, fed him, and then spent a long time drawing out sea charts and telling Chang about the little girl, his daughter, who lives in Odessa. The girl already knew about the puppy and was looking forward to him.
Here Chang put his paws on the line, for which he received the first slap in the face from the owner. Ignoring the dog's offense, the captain began to tell what he was like. happy man, because he has a beautiful wife and a wonderful daughter. Then he began to talk about the Chinese belief in the Foremother, who shows the way to all things. This path cannot be resisted, but the captain is too “greedy for happiness” and sometimes cannot understand whether his path is dark or bright.
When you love someone, no one can force you to believe that the one you love may not love you.
From hot Arabia, Chang is again transported to the cold attic - the owner calls him. For two years now, the captain and the dog have been visiting Odessa restaurants, pubs, and snack bars every day. Usually the captain drinks in silence, but sometimes he meets one of his former friends and begins to talk about the insignificance of life, treating himself, his interlocutor and Chang to alcohol.
Today they meet one of those friends - an artist in a top hat. First they sit in a pub, among red-faced Germans, then they go to a coffee shop full of Jews and Greeks, and end the day in a restaurant full of all sorts of trash. And the captain again assures the artist that “there is only one truth in the world, evil and base.”
All this is lies and nonsense, which is what people supposedly live by: they have no God, no conscience, no rational purpose for existence, no love, no friendship, no honesty - they don’t even have simple pity.
The captain believes that “life is a boring, winter day in a dirty tavern.” Chang doesn't know whether the owner is right or wrong. Musicians play in the restaurant. The dog “gives himself over to music with his whole being” and again sees himself as a puppy on a ship in the Red Sea.
Chang remembers how good he felt then. He and the owner sat in the wheelhouse, stood on the deck, had lunch, dinner, and in the evening looked at the sunset, and even then the captain smelled of wine.
Chang remembers the events that followed that day. terrible night, when huge, glowing in the dark waves rolled onto the ship. The steamer was rocking violently, and the captain was holding the dog in his arms.
Then they went to the captain's cabin, where there was a photograph of a capricious girl in curls and a young lady, slender, thin and charming, “like a Georgian princess.” The captain believed that this woman would not love Chang.
Have a brother, women's souls who are always languishing with some kind of sad thirst for love and who, as a result, never love anyone.
His wife dreamed of the stage, fame, wealth, “her own car and picnics on a yacht.” One day she returned home late at night after a yacht club ball. Then the captain felt for the first time that this woman was no longer entirely his. The captain was angry and wanted to kill her, but his wife asked him to unbutton her dress, and he lost his head again.
At night, the captain screamed pitifully in his sleep.
Suddenly Chang is deafened by a roar. The dog doesn't understand what happened. Either it was again, like three years ago, due to the fault of a drunken captain, the ship hit the rocks, or the captain again shot his wife with a pistol. But no, it was Chang’s drunken owner who slammed his fist on the table while arguing with the artist - the captain cursed women, and his friend disagreed with him.
Soon the restaurant is closed, and the captain and Chang go home.
Another day has passed - a dream or reality? - and again there is darkness, cold, fatigue in the world...
This is how Chang's time passes monotonously. But waking up one winter morning, the dog realizes that the captain is dead. Then the captain’s friends come into the room, and Chang lies in the corner, closing his eyes so as not to see this world.
Chang comes to his senses at the door of the church, sees the owner’s coffin above a crowd dressed in black and hears unearthly chants. The dog's fur stands on end from pain and delight. The artist comes out of the church and looks with amazement into Chang’s tear-filled eyes.
After the funeral, Chang moves to a new owner - an artist. He also lives in the attic, but his room is warm and well furnished. The dog lies quietly near the fireplace, the captain is still alive in his memory.
There should be only one truth in this world, but only the last Master, to whom Chang will soon return, knows about it.
December ends the year and begins winter: “As soon as it snows, and as soon as it falls, summer will tell the peasant about the stubble.” At the beginning of the month there are Vvedensky frosts, followed by Nikolsky frosts.
January - “section”, “prosinets”. By the January weather they judged the coming spring and summer: “If there is March in January, be afraid of January in March.”
February - “snowfall”, or “bokogrey”. With its winds, February blows away the winter, lets in water, and March picks it up.
They said: “There’s snow on Candlemas, there’s rain in spring.” And before Great Lent there was a whole week of cheerful Maslenitsa.
The signs of winter do not always coincide, year after year. But Russian poets have a magical remedy - poetic word. It transforms and paints reality, even the impossible becomes possible. We are convinced of this when we read winter poetic classics.
K.D. Balmont
For winter
The forest has become completely drafty,
Its leaves are rare.
Soon there will be fluffy snow
Fall from a height.
He will close our windows
In the nursery and everywhere.
The stars will light up more beautifully,
The ice will stick to the water.
Let's start skating
We are on ringing ice.
Our laughter will be heard
In the park on the pond.
And in the quiet of the rooms - hide and seek,
Even and odd - count.
And then Christmas time will come,
New Year again.
N. Rubtsov
***
Frost under the bright stars
In the white meadow, or in the snow
He walks, playing with branches,
The snow creaks merrily.
And everyone walks under the trees,
And everyone takes care of the trees -
Dresses up with satin snow
And sends you off on your New Year's journey!
The calm beauty of the winter sorceress amazes us and makes us stop, forget our endless bustle, listen, see the beauty fabulous atmosphere winter world. Let's enter the sparkling chambers of the Russian winter, enjoy the wonderful light frost and shimmering snow, its holidays and blizzards. Wonderful palaces conceal a lot of new and unusual things. Each corner is interesting and alluring in its own way.
F.I. Tyutchev
Enchantress in Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands -
And under the snow fringe,
motionless, mute,
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched, -
Not dead and not alive -
Enchanted by a magical dream,
All entangled, all shackled
Light chain down...
Is the winter sun shining 1
On him your ray with a scythe -
Nothing will tremble in him,
It will all flare up and sparkle
Dazzling beauty.
1 meshet (obsolete) – from the word “throw”, which means to throw, throw, modern word"throws".
F.I. Tyutchev is a true connoisseur of the beauty of nature. How could he pass by this winter miracle? A marvelous landscape painted in jubilant colors have a clear day, lifts the mood. Everything in nature fell asleep, life became quiet and, it seems, died.
A.A. Fet
In the pastures of the dumb I love in the bitter frost
In the sunlight I have a prickly shine on the snow,
Forests under the caps or in gray frost,
Yes, the river is ringing under the dark blue ice.
How they love to find thoughtful gazes
Winded ditches, blown mountains,
Sleepy blades of grass among the naked fields,
Where the hill is bizarre, like some kind of mausoleum,
Sculpted at midnight, - or clouds of distant whirlwinds
On white shores and mirror ice holes.
But beneath the deceptively white mask of snow, unconquered life boils, wonderful fairy tale winter forest continues its flow, invisible to the eye.
Ask yourself a question: why do we love winter? Of course, for the beautiful winter landscapes. And it's still winter - favorite time year for the guys. So much fun and celebration! And skis, and skates, and sleds, and snowballs, and a snow fortress, and snowmen!
A.A. Fet
Mother! look from the window -
You know, yesterday it was not for nothing that there was a cat
Wash your nose:
There is no dirt, the whole yard is covered,
It has brightened, it has turned white -
Apparently there is frost.
Not prickly, light blue
Frost is hung along the branches -
Just take a look!
Like someone too shabby
Fresh, white, plump cotton wool
I removed all the bushes.
Now there will be no argument:
Over the skids, and up the hill
Have fun running!
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you yourself will probably say:
“Well, hurry up and go for a walk!”
A.S. Pushkin speaks about his favorite heroine:
Tatiana...
I loved the Russian winter,
There is frost in the sun on a frosty day,
And the sleigh, and the late dawn
The glow of pink snows,
And the darkness of Epiphany evenings.
This is the poet’s own declaration of love to his dear “north”.
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
Beautiful winter is coming.
She came and fell apart; shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees;
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter...
No other time of year can please us with such magnificent landscapes. The artist frost decorates city streets and rooftops with a dazzling white robe, delighting adults and children. And the magnificent ice patterns on the windows! This is another winter fairy tale!
I.A. Bunin
On the window, silver with frost,
The chrysanthemums bloomed overnight.
In the upper windows - the sky is bright blue
And getting stuck in the snow dust.
The sun rises, cheerful from the cold,
The window glows golden.
The morning is quiet, joyful and young.
Everything is covered in white snow.
And all the mornings are bright and clean
I will see colors above,
And until noon they will be silver
Chrysanthemums on my window.
Winter is beautiful when it sends us bright sunny days, in which all the colors of an amazing natural palette shimmer. But there are other winter days when the whole world suddenly twitches under a cloudy blizzard and an icy wind rages. And it’s scary to be outside the house in such bad weather.
...In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window...
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora 2,
Be the star of the north!..
2 Aurora - morning dawn.
Pushkin's poem " Winter morning"and about human happiness, and about peace, and about tranquility. It brings a feeling of fullness of life, a feeling of all the beauty of the coming morning.
Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?..
Winter gave Alexander Sergeevich happy moments joy and joy poetic creativity. These are the moments that are associated with this poem. When Pushkin lived continuously in his small village of Mikhailovskoye for two years, he often visited Trigorskoye, where he was sincerely loved, where he found a noisy society of young people.
The village is very nice. Ancient house on the mountain, garden, lake, all around pine forests. But the village solitude and winter immobility sometimes evoked sad thoughts and even melancholy.
Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet
The servant bringing me a cup of tea in the morning,
Questions: is it warm? Has the snowstorm subsided?
Is there powder or not? And is it possible to have a bed?
Leave for the saddle, or better before lunch
Messing around with your neighbor's old magazines?..
How much fun! Here is the evening: the blizzard howls;
The candle burns darkly; embarrassed, the heart aches;
Drop by drop, I slowly swallow the poison of boredom.
I want to read; eyes glide over the letters,
And my thoughts are far away... I close the book;
I take a pen and sit; I forcibly pull out
The slumbering muse has incoherent words.
The sound doesn’t match the sound... I’m losing all rights
Above the rhyme, above my strange servant:
The verse drags on sluggishly, cold and foggy.
Tired, I stop arguing with the lyre,
I go to the living room; I hear a conversation there
About the close elections, about the sugar factory;
The hostess frowns in the semblance of weather,
The steel knitting needles move nimbly,
Or the king is guessing about the red one.
Yearning! So day after day he goes into solitude!
It is known that the purity and freshness of winter air can sometimes become boring. I want change!
Six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is, finally, for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored.
I.A. Bunin
I remember a long winter evening,
Twilight and silence;
The light of the lamp 3 is dimly pouring,
The storm is crying at the window.
“My dear,” my mother whispers, “
If you want to take a nap,
To be cheerful and cheerful
Tomorrow morning to be again, -
Forget that the blizzard is howling,
Forget that you are with me
Remember the quiet whisper of the forest
And the mid-day summer heat;
Remember how the birch trees rustle,
And behind the forest, at the boundary,
Walk slowly and smoothly
Golden waves of rye!
And advice to a friend
I listened trustingly
And, surrounded by dreams,
I started to forget myself.
Together with the quiet sleep merged
Lulling dreams -
Whisper of ripening ears
And the indistinct noise of birches...
3 lamp - a vessel filled with oil, usually lit in front of the icon.
Poem by I.A. Bunin is reminiscent of a soulful lullaby that gives peace and harmony to the tormented soul. So, it’s too early to grieve, we’ll wait for a happy drop...
