This dappled horse was very cunning. Nikolai Gogol - Dead Souls - Library "100 Best Books"

….. This dappled horse was very crafty and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky… “Cunning, cunning! Here, I'll outwit you! – said Selifan, –… You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected…”…
N. Gogol. Dead Souls

Character, mind and willpower
The Lord gave him from birth,
Pardon me, what more?
I wouldn't want more.

At that time there was no such
So smart and so cool
And as fearless as he
Having made a million enemies.

As a brilliant administrator,
uncommon person,
Country native privatizer
Went into history forever.
Under what, I don’t know, sign -
I don't want to slander
But also paint the name with varnish
I'm not in a hurry yet...

He still, if God help,
He will leave his mark in life -
He can do much more
This outstanding athlete.

But his personal history
People's credit of trust
Could be more decent
When he would not drive horses ...
……………………………….
I remember him thin, slender -
I had to meet him...
The Lord put him in a clip,
To seriously hit the country.

Perhaps he did not invent
How to split our monolith
But as if a powerful wind blew,
And he was shattered to pieces.

Paper, voucher swirl
Soared over his native country,
And everyone who was impudent and dashing,
As if under a veil of smoke,
Repaired in her coven and robbery.

It would seem, what a little?
Well, what will you take from that piece of paper?
But only the dexterous got everything
And for the majority - only a copper penny ...
---
For dodgers of various stripes,
that dispossessed the country
Great happiness was brought -
They filled up.

As for the people
He got his freedom too
Invest your voucher even in the sky
With the hope of butter for bread ...

Here two troubles are visible at once -
Typical banality
In deciding the fate of the country:
Haste and totality...

I read from Ivan Bunin that red-haired people, when they drink, -
definitely color up...
V. Erofeev. "Moscow-Petushki"

Does the great Magician blush,
Unfortunately, I don't know...
I did not drink brotherhood with him
I don't even guess.
But in a different situation
Even I would say - any
He is in complete control of himself.
And with humor any swoop
Perceives as a click.

I call him Mage
Because he, like a magician,
Of nobody's age property
With simple combinations
Created such a private
Whose total capital
(Real or in the form of shares)
Can't really appreciate...

And Dunya pours tea.
They whisper to her: “Dunya, note!”
A. Pushkin

Not only in business and service,
Not only in ordinary friendship,
But he was also lucky
On which every house is attached.

Making my way to the middle
He met Dunyasha.
And here is his peace and sleep,
And reddish gray hair
Not yet an old man
Holds a lovely hand.

And me a few years ago
That Dunya was glad to see.
I even dedicated a verse to her
With her friend for two:

In the evenings, after coming home from work,
Turning on the familiar screen,
Among squalor, yawns
Sometimes I see beautiful ladies.

One is charm itself
Mudra is different, like a snake,
I am full of attention to both
Slander subtle appreciating.

I feel attracted to both
No need to make a choice
Calling for help inspiration -
There is so much to say.

I want to study again
(The soul is greedy for knowledge),
To fully enjoy
Deep charm of the mind;

Just to hear these words,
Have a dangerous conversation...
Come, Lord, I will meet them -
I haven't been happy so far...

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He twisted so violently in his chair that the woolen material that covered the pillow snapped; Manilov himself looked at him in some bewilderment. Prompted by gratitude, he immediately uttered so many thanks that he became confused, blushed all over, made a negative gesture with his head, and finally expressed himself that this being is nothing, that he, exactly, would like to prove in some way the heart's attraction, the magnetism of the soul, and the dead souls are, in a way, complete rubbish.

Don't be very rubbish,' said Chichikov, shaking his hand. A very deep sigh was let out here. He seemed to be in the mood for outpourings of the heart; not without feeling and expression, he finally uttered the following words: - If you only knew what service you rendered to this, apparently, rubbish, to a man without tribe and family! And indeed, what did I not tolerate? like some kind of barge among the ferocious waves ... What kind of persecution, what persecution did not experience, what grief did not taste, but for what? for keeping the truth, for being pure in his conscience, for giving a hand to both the helpless widow and the unfortunate orphan!.. - Here even he wiped away a tear that rolled out with a handkerchief.

Manilov was completely moved. Both friends shook each other's hands for a long time and looked silently into each other's eyes for a long time, in which tears were visible. Manilov did not want to let go of our hero's hand and continued to press it so fervently that he no longer knew how to rescue it. Finally, pulling it out slowly, he said that it would not be bad to make the bill of sale as soon as possible, and it would be good if he himself visited the city. Then he took his hat and began to take his leave.

How? do you want to go? - said Manilov, suddenly waking up and almost frightened.

At this time, she entered Manilov's office.

Lizanka,” said Manilov with a somewhat pitiful look, “Pavel Ivanovich is leaving us!”

Because we are tired of Pavel Ivanovich, - answered Manilova.

Madam! here, - said Chichikov, - here, here, - here he put his hand on his heart, - yes, here will be the pleasantness of the time spent with you! and believe me, there would be no greater bliss for me than to live with you, if not in the same house, then at least in the very nearest neighborhood.

But do you know, Pavel Ivanovich,” said Manilov, who liked this idea very much, “how good it would really be if we could live like that together, under the same roof, or under the shade of some elm tree, philosophize about something, go deeper! ..

O! it would be heavenly life! said Chichikov, sighing. - Farewell, ma'am! he continued, going up to Manilova's pen. - Farewell, dearest friend! Don't forget the requests!

Oh, be sure! - answered Manilov. “I shall part with you no longer than for two days.

Everyone went to the dining room.

Farewell, little ones! - said Chichikov, seeing Alkid and Themistoclus, who were busy with some kind of wooden hussar, who no longer had either a hand or a nose. - Farewell, my little ones. You will excuse me that I did not bring you a present, because, I confess, I did not even know whether you lived in the world, but now, when I arrive, I will certainly bring it. I will bring you a saber; do you want a sword?

I want, - replied Themistoclus.

And you have a drum; don't you, you drum? he continued, leaning towards Alcides.

Parapan, - Alkid answered in a whisper and bowed his head.

Okay, I'll bring you a drum. Such a glorious drum, so everything will be: turrr ... ru ... tra-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta ... Farewell, darling! goodbye! - Here he kissed him on the head and turned to Manilov and his wife with a slight laugh, with which parents are usually addressed, letting them know about the innocence of the desires of their children.

Really, stay, Pavel Ivanovich! - said Manilov, when everyone had already gone out onto the porch. - Look at the clouds.

These are little clouds, - answered Chichikov.

Do you know the way to Sobakevich?

I want to ask you about this.

Let me tell your coachman now.

Here Manilov, with the same courtesy, told the matter to the coachman and even said to him "you" once.

The coachman, hearing that it was necessary to skip two turns and turn on the third, said: “Let's have fun, your honor,” and Chichikov left, accompanied by long bows and waving of the handkerchief from the hosts who were rising on tiptoe.

Manilov stood for a long time on the porch, following the retreating britzka with his eyes, and when it was no longer visible at all, he was still standing, smoking his pipe. At last he entered the room, sat down on a chair and gave himself over to reflection, sincerely glad that he had given his guest a little pleasure. Then his thoughts drifted imperceptibly to other objects, and finally drifted to God knows where. He thought about the well-being of a friendly life, about how nice it would be to live with a friend on the banks of some river, then a bridge began to be built across this river, then a huge house with such a high belvedere that you can even see Moscow from there and there drink tea in the evening in the open air and talk about some pleasant subjects. Then, that they, together with Chichikov, arrived in some kind of society in good carriages, where they enchant everyone with pleasant treatment, and that it was as if the sovereign, having learned about their friendship, granted them generals, and then, finally, God knows what is, what he himself could not make out. Chichikov's strange request suddenly interrupted all his dreams. The thought of her somehow did not particularly boil in his head: no matter how he turned it over, he could not explain it to himself, and all the time he sat and smoked his pipe, which lasted until dinner.

Chapter Three

And Chichikov, in a contented frame of mind, was sitting in his britzka, which had been rolling along the high road for a long time. From the previous chapter it is already clear what was the main object of his taste and inclinations, and therefore it is not surprising that he soon immersed himself completely in it, both in body and soul. The assumptions, estimates and considerations that wandered over his face were evidently very pleasant, for every minute they left behind traces of a contented smile. Occupied by them, he did not pay any attention to how his coachman, pleased with the reception of Manilov's courtyard people, made very sensible remarks to the shaggy harness horse harnessed on the right side. This chubar horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky, while the native bay and harness coat of color, called the Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all their hearts, so that even in their eyes it was noticeably the pleasure they derive from it. "Cunning, cunning! Here, I'll outwit you! said Selifan, rising and whipping the sloth with his whip. - You know your business, pantaloon you are German! The bay is a respectable horse, he does his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse ... Well, well! what are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I will not teach you ignorant things. Look where it's crawling!" Here he again whipped him with a whip, saying; "Oh, barbarian! Bonaparte you damned! Then he shouted at everyone: “Hey you, dear ones!” - and lashed at all three, no longer as a punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having delivered such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the chubarom: “You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live by the truth when you want to be honored. Here is the landowner that we were, good people. I'll be happy to talk if a good person; with a good person we are always our friends, subtle buddies; whether to drink tea or have a snack - willingly, if a good person. A good person will be respected by everyone. Here everyone respects our gentleman, because, you hear, he performed the state service, he is a scole adviser ... "

Thus reasoning, Selifan at last climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details relating to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only a strong clap of thunder made him wake up and look around him; the whole sky was completely overcast, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with raindrops. At last the thunderclap resounded another time louder and closer, and the rain suddenly gushed as if from a bucket. First, having taken an oblique direction, he whipped at one side of the body of the wagon, then at the other, then, changing the mode of attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; spray finally began to reach him in the face. This made him draw back the leather curtains with two round windows, determined to view the road views, and order Selifan to go faster. Selifan, also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was no need to linger, immediately pulled some rubbish from under the goat, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which she moved her feet a little, for she felt a pleasant relaxation from instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he had driven two or three turns. Thinking and remembering the road somewhat, he guessed that there were many turns, which he missed all by. Since a Russian person in decisive moments will find something to do without going into distant arguments, then, turning to the right, onto the first crossroads, he shouted: “Hey you, respected friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road taken would lead.

The rain, however, seemed to have charged for a long time. The dust lying on the road was quickly mixed into mud, and every minute it became harder for the horses to drag the britzka. Chichikov was already beginning to get very worried, not seeing the village of Sobakevich for so long. According to his calculations, it would be high time to come. He looked around, but the darkness was such that even gouge out the eye.

Selifan! he said at last, leaning out of the britzka.

What, sir? answered Selifan.

Look, can't you see the village?

No, sir, nowhere to be seen! - After which Selifan, waving his whip, sang a song, not a song, but something so long that there was no end. Everything went in there: all the encouraging and motivating cries with which horses are regaled all over Russia from one end to the other; adjectives of all genders without further analysis as to what first came to mind. Thus it came to the point that he finally began to call them secretaries.

Meanwhile Chichikov began to notice that the britzka was swaying in all directions and endowing him with overwhelming jolts; this gave him the feeling that they had swerved off the road and were probably dragging themselves across a harrowed field. Selifan seemed to realize it himself, but did not say a word.

What, swindler, which road are you on? Chichikov said.

Yes, well, sir, to do, the time is something like that; you don't see the whip, it's so dark! - Having said this, he squinted the britzka so much that Chichikov was forced to hold on with both hands. It was only then that he noticed that Selifan had gone for a walk.

Hold, hold, overturn! he shouted at him.

No, master, how can I knock it over, - said Selifan. - It's not good to overturn, I already know myself; I won't tip over. - Then he began to slightly turn the britzka, turned, turned, and finally turned it completely on its side. Chichikov flopped into the mud with both hands and feet. Selifan, however, stopped the horses, however, they would have stopped themselves, because they were very exhausted. Such an unforeseen event completely astonished him. Climbing down from the goat, he stood in front of the britzka, leaned on his sides with both hands, while the master floundered in the mud, trying to get out of there, and said after some reflection: “Look, you, and spread over!”

You're drunk as a shoemaker! Chichikov said.

No, sir, how can I be drunk! I know it's not a good thing to be drunk. I talked to a friend, because you can talk to a good person, there is nothing bad in that; and ate together. Snack is not a hurtful affair; you can eat with a good person.

What did I tell you the last time you got drunk? a? forgot? Chichikov said.

No, your honor, how can I forget. I already know my business. I know it's not good to be drunk. I talked to a good person, because ...

So I'll whip you, so you'll know how to talk to a good person!

As your grace pleases, - answered Selifan, agreeing to everything, - if you carve, then carve; I don't mind that at all. Why not cut, if for the cause, then the will of the master. It needs to be whipped, because the peasant is playing around, order must be observed. If for the cause, then cut; why not bite?

To such a reasoning, the master could not at all find what to answer. But at that time, it seemed as if fate itself had decided to take pity on him. A dog barking was heard in the distance. Delighted, Chichikov gave the order to drive the horses. The Russian driver has good instincts instead of eyes; from this it happens that, closing his eyes, he sometimes pumps at the top of his lungs and always arrives somewhere. Selifan, not seeing a thing, directed the horses so straight at the village that he stopped only when the britzka hit the fence with the shafts, and when there was absolutely nowhere to go. Chichikov only noticed something resembling a roof through the thick cover of pouring rain. He sent Selifan to look for the gates, which, no doubt, would have gone on for a long time if in Russia there were not dashing dogs instead of porters, who announced him so loudly that he put his fingers to his ears. Light flickered in one window and reached the fence in a misty stream, indicating the gate to our travelers. Selifan began to knock, and soon, opening the gate, a figure leaned out, covered with a coat, and the master and the servant heard a hoarse woman's voice:

Who is knocking? what did they disperse?

Visitors, mother, let me spend the night, - said Chichikov.

You see, what a sharp-legged one, - said the old woman, - you arrived at what time! This is not an inn for you: the landowner lives.

What to do, mother: look, you have lost your way. Do not spend the night at such a time in the steppe.

Yes, the time is dark, not a good time,” added Selifan.

Be quiet, fool, - said Chichikov.

Who are you? said the old woman.

Nobleman, mother.

The word "nobleman" made the old woman seem to think a little.

Wait a minute, I’ll tell the lady, ”she said, and after two minutes she returned with a lantern in her hand.

The gates were unlocked. A light flickered in another window. The britchka, having driven into the yard, stopped in front of a small house, which was difficult to see because of the darkness. Only one half of it was illuminated by the light coming from the windows; there was still a puddle in front of the house, which was directly struck by the same light. The rain pounded noisily on the wooden roof and trickled down in murmuring streams into the barrel. Meanwhile, the dogs burst into all possible voices: one, throwing his head up, led out so slowly and with such diligence, as if he received God knows what salary for this; another sipped hastily, like a sexton; between them rang, like a mail bell, a restless treble, probably a young puppy, and all this was finally done by a bass, perhaps an old man endowed with a hefty canine nature, because he wheezed, as a singing double bass wheezes when a concert is in full swing: tenor rise on tiptoe from a strong desire to strike a high note, and everything that is, rushes upward, throwing its head, and he alone, thrusting his unshaven chin into a tie, crouching and dropping almost to the ground, misses his note from there, from which they shake and rattle glass. Already by one dog barking, composed of such musicians, it could be assumed that the village was decent; but our hero, soaked and cold, thought of nothing but the bed. Before the britzka had time to stop completely, he had already jumped onto the porch, staggered and almost fell. A woman again came out onto the porch, younger than the previous one, but very similar to her. She escorted him into the room. Chichikov threw two casual glances: the room was hung with old striped wallpaper; pictures with some birds; between the windows there are small antique mirrors with dark frames in the form of curled leaves; behind every mirror there was either a letter, or an old pack of cards, or a stocking; wall clock with painted flowers on the dial ... it was impossible to notice anything else. He felt that his eyes were sticky, as if someone had smeared them with honey. A minute later the hostess came in, an elderly woman, in some kind of sleeping cap, put on hastily, with a flannel around her neck, one of those mothers, small landowners who cry over crop failures, losses and hold their heads a little to one side, and meanwhile they are gaining a little money in variegated bags placed in chests of drawers. All the coins are taken into one bag, fifty dollars into another, and quarters into the third, although it seems as if there is nothing in the chest of drawers except linen, night blouses, cotton hanks, and a torn coat, which then turns into a dress, if the old will somehow burn out during the baking of holiday cakes with all sorts of spinners, or it will wear out by itself. But the dress will not burn and will not wear out by itself: the old woman is thrifty, and the coat is destined to lie torn open for a long time, and then, according to the spiritual will, the niece of the grand sister, along with all other rubbish, will go to her.

Chichikov apologized for disturbing her by his unexpected arrival.

Nothing, nothing, said the hostess. - At what time did God bring you! Such confusion and blizzard... You should have something to eat from the road, but it's time for the night, you can't cook.

The words of the hostess were interrupted by a strange hiss, so that the guest was frightened; the noise was like the whole room was filled with snakes; but, looking up, he calmed down, for he realized that the wall clock had a desire to strike. The hissing was immediately followed by a wheezing, and finally, straining with all their might, they struck two o'clock with the sound of someone pounding on a broken pot with a stick, after which the pendulum began again to swing quietly right and left.

Chichikov thanked the hostess, saying that he didn’t need anything, so that she wouldn’t worry about anything, that he didn’t demand anything except a bed, and was only curious to know what places he had stopped by and how far the path to the landowner Sobakevich was from here, on that the old woman said that she had never heard such a name, and that there was no such landowner at all.

Do you at least know Manilov? Chichikov said.

And who is Manilov?

Landlord, mother.

No, I have not heard, there is no such landowner.

What are there?

Bobrov, Svinin, Kanapatiev, Harpakin, Trepakin, Pleshakov.

Rich people or not?

No, father, there aren't too many rich people. Who has twenty souls, who has thirty, and there are no such, so that in a hundred.

Chichikov noticed that he had driven into quite a wilderness.

Is it at least far from the city?

And there will be sixty versts. How sorry I am that you have nothing to eat! would you like to have some tea, father?

Thank you, mother. You don't need anything but a bed.

True, from such a road, you really need to take a break. Here, sit down, father, on this sofa. Hey, Fetinya, bring a featherbed, pillows and a sheet. For some time, God sent: such a thunder - I had a candle burning all night in front of the icon. Eh, my father, but you, like a boar, have mud all over your back and side! where so deigned to get salty?

Still thank God that it just got salty, you need to thank that it didn’t completely break off the sides.

Saints, what passions! Isn't it necessary to rub your back with something?

Thanks. Don't worry, just order your girl to dry and clean my dress.

Do you hear, Fetinya! - said the hostess, turning to the woman, who was coming out onto the porch with a candle, who had already managed to drag the feather bed and, fluffing it from both sides with her hands, sent a whole flood of feathers all over the room. - You take their caftan together with the underwear and first dry them in front of the fire, as they did to the dead master, and then grind and beat them out well.

Listen, ma'am! - said Fetinya, spreading a sheet over the feather bed and putting pillows.

Well, here's your bed ready, - said the hostess. - Farewell, father, I wish you good night. Is there anything else needed? Maybe you are used, my father, to someone scratching your heels at night? My dead man could not fall asleep without this.

But the guest also refused to scratch his heels. The hostess went out, and he hurried to undress at the same time, giving Fetinya all the harness he had taken off, both upper and lower, and Fetinya, also wishing good night from her side, dragged off this wet armor. Left alone, he looked with pleasure at his bed, which was almost to the ceiling. Fetinya, apparently, was a master of fluffing up feather beds. When, holding out a chair, he climbed onto the bed, it sank under him almost to the very floor, and the feathers he had forced out of the limits scattered into all corners of the room. Having extinguished the candle, he covered himself with a cotton blanket and, curled up under it like a pretzel, fell asleep at that very moment. He woke up on another laziness already quite late in the morning. The sun shone through the window straight into his eyes, and the flies that yesterday had slept peacefully on the walls and ceiling all turned to him: one landed on his lip, another on his ear, a third strove, as it were, to land on his very eye, the same had the imprudence to sit down close to the nasal nostril, he pulled sleepily in the very nose, which made him sneeze hard - a circumstance that was the reason for his awakening. Glancing around the room, he now noticed that the paintings were not all birds: between them hung a portrait of Kutuzov and an old man painted in oils with red cuffs on his uniform, as they sewed under Pavel Petrovich. The clock hissed again and struck ten; A woman's face peeped out the door and hid at the same moment, for Chichikov, wanting to sleep better, threw off everything completely. The face he looked out seemed somewhat familiar to him. He began to remember to himself: who would it be, and finally remembered that it was the hostess. He put on a shirt; the dress, already dried and cleaned, lay beside him. Having dressed, he went up to the mirror and sneezed again so loudly that an Indian rooster, who had come up to the window at that time - the window was very close to the ground - suddenly began to chatter something to him and very soon in his strange language, probably “I wish you well”, to which Chichikov told him he was a fool. Going up to the window, he began to examine the views before him: the window looked almost into the chicken coop; at least the narrow courtyard in front of him was full of birds and all kinds of domestic creatures. Turkeys and chickens were innumerable; a rooster paced among them with measured steps, shaking its comb and turning its head to one side, as if listening to something; a pig with a family found himself right there; right there, raking a heap of rubbish, she casually ate a chicken and, without noticing it, continued to cover the watermelon peels in her own order. This small courtyard, or chicken coop, was blocked by a wooden fence, behind which stretched spacious vegetable gardens with cabbage, onions, potatoes, light and other household vegetables. Apple trees and other fruit trees were scattered here and there in the garden, covered with nets to protect against magpies and sparrows, of which the latter were transported from one place to another in whole indirect clouds. For the same reason, several effigies were hoisted on long poles, with outstretched arms; one of them was wearing the cap of the hostess herself. The gardens were followed by peasant huts, which, although they were built scattered and not enclosed in regular streets, but, according to a remark made by Chichikov, showed the contentment of the inhabitants, for they were properly maintained: the worn-out board on the roofs was everywhere replaced by a new one; the gates did not squint anywhere, and in the peasant covered sheds facing him, he noticed where there was a spare almost new cart, and where there were two. “Yes, her village is not small,” he said, and decided to immediately get into conversation and get to know the hostess more briefly. He peered through the crack in the door, from which she had just stuck her head out, and, seeing her sitting at the tea-table, went in to her with a cheerful and affectionate air.

Hello, father. What was it like to rest? said the hostess, rising from her seat. She was better dressed than yesterday - in a dark dress and no longer in a sleeping cap, but there was still something tied around her neck.

All right, all right, - said Chichikov, sitting down in an armchair. - How are you, mother?

Bad, my father.

How so?

Insomnia. All the lower back hurts, and the leg, which is higher than the bone, so it hurts.

It will pass, it will pass, mother. There is nothing to see.

Please God let it pass. I smeared it with pork fat and moistened it with turpentine too. What do you sip your tea with? Fruit in a flask.

Thumbs up, mother, sip and fruit.

The reader, I think, has already noticed that Chichikov, despite his affectionate air, nevertheless spoke with more freedom than with Manilov, and did not stand on ceremony at all. It must be said, who among us in Russia, if they have not kept pace with foreigners in some other way, then far surpassed them in their ability to communicate. It is impossible to enumerate all the shades and subtleties of our appeal. A Frenchman or a German does not understand and will not understand all his features and differences; he will speak in almost the same voice and the same language with a millionaire and with a petty tobacco dealer, although, of course, in his soul he will scoff in moderation before the first. It’s not the same with us: we have such wise men who will speak with a landowner who has two hundred souls in a completely different way than with one who has three hundred of them, and who has three hundred of them, they will again speak differently from the one with who has five hundred of them, but with the one who has five hundred, again it is not the same as with the one who has eight hundred - in a word, even ascend to a million, everything will find shades. Suppose, for example, there is an office, not here, but in a distant state, but in the office, let's say, there is a ruler of the office. I ask you to look at him when he is sitting among his subordinates - you just can’t utter a word from fear! pride and nobility, and what does not his face express? just take a brush and draw: Prometheus, decisive Prometheus! He looks out like an eagle, performs smoothly, measuredly. The same eagle, as soon as he left the room and approaches his boss's office, hurries like a partridge with papers under his arm that there is no urine. In society and at a party, if everyone is of a low rank, Prometheus will remain Prometheus, and a little higher than him, such a transformation will take place with Prometheus, which even Ovid will not invent: a fly, even less than a fly, has annihilated into a grain of sand! “Yes, this is not Ivan Petrovich,” you say, looking at him. - Ivan Petrovich is taller, and this one is short and thin; that one speaks loudly, basses and never laughs, but this devil knows what: he squeaks like a bird and laughs all the time. You come closer, you look - just Ivan Petrovich! “Ehe-he,” you think to yourself ... But, however, let's turn to the characters. Chichikov, as we have already seen, decided not to stand on ceremony at all, and therefore, taking a cup of tea in his hands and pouring fruit into it, he spoke as follows:

You, mother, have a good village. How many showers does it have?

There is a shower in it, my father, almost eighty, - said the hostess, - but the trouble is, the times are bad, so last year there was such a crop failure, God forbid.

However, the peasants look hefty, the huts are strong. Let me know your last name. I was so distracted ... arrived at night ...:

Korobochka, collegiate secretary.

Thank you very much. What about first and last name?

Nastasya Petrovna.

Nastasya Petrovna? good name Nastasya Petrovna. I have an aunt, my mother's sister, Nastasya Petrovna.

How about your name? - asked the landowner. - After all, you, I tea, an assessor?

No, mother, - answered Chichikov, grinning, - tea, not an assessor, and so we go about our business.

Oh, so you're a buyer! What a pity, really, that I sold honey to merchants so cheaply, but you, my father, would surely buy it from me.

But I wouldn't buy honey.

What else? Is it a stump? Yes, I don’t even have enough hemp now: half a pood of everything.

No, mother, a different kind of merchant: tell me, did your peasants die?

Oh, father, eighteen people - said the old woman, sighing. - And such an all-glorious people died, all the workers. After that, it’s true, they were born, but what’s in them: everything is such a small thing; and the assessor drove up - to file, he says, to pay from the soul. The people are dead, but pay as if they were alive. Last week my blacksmith burned down, such a skilled blacksmith knew locksmith skills.

Did you have a fire, mother?

God saved from such a disaster, a fire would be even worse; burned himself, my father. It somehow caught fire inside him, he drank too much, only a blue light came from him, all decayed, decayed and blackened like coal, and such was an excellent blacksmith! and now I have nothing to ride on: there is no one to shoe the horses.

God willing, mother! - said Chichikov, sighing, - nothing can be said against the wisdom of God ... Give them to me, Nastasya Petrovna?

Whom, father?

Yes, these are all that died.

But how can you give them up?

Yes, it's that simple. Or maybe sell it. I will give you money for them.

Yes, how? I'm right, I won't take it for granted. Do you want to dig them out of the ground?

Chichikov saw that the old woman had gone a long way, and that it was necessary for her to explain what was the matter. In a few words, he explained to her that the transfer or purchase would only be on paper, and the souls would be registered as if alive.

What are they for you? said the old woman, bulging her eyes at him.

It's my business.

Yes, they are dead.

Who says they are alive? That's why it's a loss to you that the dead: you pay for them, and now I'll save you the hassle and payment. Do you understand? Yes, I will not only save you, but on top of that I will give you fifteen rubles. Well, is it clear now?

Really, I don’t know, - the hostess said with an arrangement. - After all, I have never sold the dead

Still would! It would be more like a miracle if you sold them to someone. Or do you think that they really have some use?

No, I don't think so. What is the use of them, there is no use. The only thing that bothers me is that they're already dead.

“Well, the woman seems to be strong-browed!” Chichikov thought to himself.

Listen, mother. Yes, you only judge carefully: - after all, you are ruined, you pay taxes for him, as for a living ...

Oh, my father, don't talk about it! - picked up the landowner. - Another third week brought more than a hundred and fifty. Yes, she oiled the assessor.

Well, you see, mother. And now take into account only that you no longer need to butter up the assessor, because now I am paying for them; me, not you; I take on all the responsibilities. I will even make a fortress with my own money, do you understand that?

Literary game dedicated to the Year of the Horse

In February, in the middle of the endless third quarter, we invite you and your students to take a break from serious literary affairs for a while and play a little. Our game is dedicated to the coming Year of the Horse; this animal has been depicted so often in literature and other arts that there is more than enough material for a game. Its main participants are high school students (in our version, they are organized into three teams), although middle school students can also cope with individual tasks. We will not give a rigid scenario of the game, group the tasks at your discretion, come up with new ones, create! We are convinced that such work will bring pleasure to both you and your students, which means it will help make the process of communicating with literature joyful and exciting.

1. Warm up. In 30 seconds, each team must come up with as many designations as possible - close synonyms for the words “horse, horse” (mare, nag, pacer, horse, stallion, mustang, horse, gelding, trotter, and so on). A more complicated option is to give interpretations of invented words.

2. Theatrical competition. If several teams participate in the game, then each provides 1 person. They receive a sheet with printed lines from the novel “Eugene Onegin”: “Here is a yard boy running, // Planting a bug in a sled, // Transforming himself into a horse; // The scoundrel has already frozen his finger: // It hurts and it's funny, // And his mother threatens him through the window ... ”For several minutes outside the room in which the audience is located, they prepare a pantomime, depicting sequentially what is happening in each line. The team that first guesses which verses are depicted wins. An additional point can be received by a team that has read the entire stanza by heart. The most talented actors can be rewarded with a separate point.

3. Competition "Third wheel".The team must determine the “third extra” in the proposed groups: Assessor, Pegasus, Frou-Frou(answer: Pegasus is a mythological character; the rest are “heroes” of works of Russian classics: Assessor - one of Chichikov's horses, Frou-Frou - Vronsky's horse); Karagyoz, Grachik, Sokolko(Sokolko is the name of the dog from “The Tale of the Dead Princess”; the rest are horses: Karagyoz belonged to Kazbich, Grachik belonged to Nikolai Rostov); Bucephalus, Strider, Rosinante(Bucephalus is the real horse of Alexander the Great; the rest are literary characters: Strider - from the story of the same name by L. Tolstoy, Rosinante - from Don Quixote).

4. Competition tour guides. In a short time, come up with and present a fragment of an excursion around the picture, which depicts a horse (K. Bryullov’s “Horsewoman” is very convenient for this purpose). The tour guides from the teams should speak in turn, while it is important that they do not hear each other's tours, which excludes borrowing.

5. Competition "Horse phraseological units". Determine from which literary works the fragments are taken, restore the missing phraseological units:

a) She consulted with her husband, with some neighbors, and finally, unanimously, everyone decided that, apparently, such was the fate of Marya Gavrilovna, that __________ is not ____________ by a horse, that poverty is not a vice, that to live not with wealth, but with a person, and so on.

b) The commanders, it is heard, are pleased with him; and Vasilisa Egorovna has him like his own son. And that such an opportunity happened to him, then the good fellow did not reproach: a horse and ___________, yes _______________. And if you please write that you will send me to pasture pigs, and that is your boyar will. For this I bow slavishly.

Give your examples of phraseological units (or stable use of a word in a figurative sense) on a “horse” topic.

Answers:

a) A.S. Pushkin "Snowstorm"; you can’t ride a betrothed ;

b) A.S. Pushkin "The Captain's Daughter"; a horse with four legs, yes stumbles .

Examples of other phraseological units, stable combinations, figurative meanings: good horse, iron horse, draft horse, fly at full speed, be savvy in something, Trojan horse, bridle someone, covered in soap, lies like a gray gelding, horsepower, right off the bat.

6. Competition "Horse suits". Explain what color the horse was in the following cases:

1. “This chubary the horse was very crafty and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky ... ”(N. Gogol“ Dead Souls ”)

Answer: chubary- with dark spots on light wool, tail and mane are black.

2. “Clamped kaura suit, called the Assessor ... worked with all his heart ... ”(N. Gogol“ Dead Souls ”)

Answer: brown - light chestnut, reddish.

3. What suit was the third horse in the Chichikov three?

Answer: bay - dark red, tail and mane are black.

4. “It snowed buckskin under your feet…”

Answer: buckskin - light yellow, tail and mane are black.

5. On what horse did the legendary Malbrook go on a campaign?

Answer: “Malbrook goes to war, // His horse was playfulness”; playful- red, tail and mane light.

7. Competition readers. Expressive reading of the poem by V. Mayakovsky “Good attitude towards horses”.

8. Competition artists. Under the dictation of the leader, representatives of the blindfolded teams draw a horse.

9.Competition "Horse comparison". Identify the works of art from which the fragments are taken. Correct the gaps in the text.

1. How I look at this horse now: black as pitch, legs are strings, and eyes are no worse than those of ______; what a power! jump at least fifty miles; and already checked out - how _________ runs after the owner, even knew his voice! Sometimes he never ties her up. What a rogue horse!

2. The waves were still seething,

As if a fire smoldered under them,

Even their foam covered

And Neva was breathing heavily,

How _____________________.

3. “You are talking about a pretty woman like ______________________,” said Grushnitsky indignantly.

4. The little princess, like _______________, having heard ___________, unconsciously and forgetting her situation, prepared for the usual ___________ coquetry, without any ulterior motive or struggle, but with naive, frivolous fun.

5. And the horse reared up at times,

And jumped like ____________________

And white clothes beautiful folds

On the shoulders of the Faris curled in disarray.

Answers:

1. Than Bela; like a dog (M.Yu. Lermontov “A Hero of Our Time”);

2. Like a horse running from the battle (A.S. Pushkin “The Bronze Horseman”);

3. How about an English horse (M.Yu. Lermontov “A Hero of Our Time”);

4. Like an old regimental horse, hearing the sound of a trumpet; to the usual gallop of coquetry (L.N. Tolstoy “War and Peace”);

5. Like a leopard hit by an arrow (M.Yu. Lermontov “Three palm trees”).

10. Game with spectators.

1. Which of the literary heroes, having fallen from a horse at a very inopportune moment, gave reason to suspect the heroine of love for him? (Molchalin, “Woe from Wit”)

2. Which of the literary heroes was proud that his family descended from one of the famous horses? (Simeonov-Pishchik, "The Cherry Orchard")

3. For which of the literary heroes has the horse become the most patient listener? (cabman Jonah, Chekhov's story "Tosca")

4. The cause of death of which of the literary heroes can be considered equally as an animal - a symbol of the next year, and an animal - a symbol of the past year? (Prophetic Oleg, “The Song of the Prophetic Oleg”)

5. Which of the literary heroes claimed that the Volga flows into the Caspian Sea, and horses eat oats? (Ippolit Ippolitich, Chekhov's story "Teacher of Literature").

We also recommend holding a school-wide quiz, the materials for which can be hung on the walls in the corridor for several days. The participant in the quiz is invited to restore the missing words in the quotes (we highlight them in italics), guess the author and the title of the work from which the quote is taken; sometimes (especially see the section “Who is jumping, who is racing?”) it is necessary to indicate who is being discussed in the above fragments. The person who correctly guesses the most quotes wins. Students can also involve their parents in the work - the main thing is that they all dig into books together, look for quotes, read good poems. We give examples of quotes, according to their model, you can make your list.

WHERE ARE YOU RIDING, PROUD HORSE?

1.	The image of sweet revenge seems to me. Crowned with loud glory, at an untimely hour, I'm moving into the capital on a white horse. In front of me is Second Samotechny Lane. Windows open. The moon is shining. I drove thoughtfully and did not throw a glance. After me, in late repentance, she cries. And the opponent overturned the confused tea. (D. Samoilov "Jealousy")
2.	Having exhausted a good horse, At the wedding feast by the end of the day The impatient groom hurried. (M. Lermontov "Demon")
3.	I see it rises slowly uphill Horse carrying firewood. (N. Nekrasov “Peasant Children”)

WHAT IS A HORSE? WHAT IS A HORSE?

4.	With his retinue, in Constantinople armor, The prince rides across the field faithful horse. (A.S. Pushkin “The Song of the Prophetic Oleg”)
5.	And behind him On the big grass As at a feast of desperate races, Thin legs throwing to the head, galloping red-maned colt… (S. Yesenin “Sorokoust”)
6.	Gliding through the morning snow Dear friend, let's run impatient horse... (A.S. Pushkin “Winter Morning”)
7.	Gold will buy four wives, Horse same dashing has no price: He will not lag behind the whirlwind in the steppe, He will not change, he will not deceive. (M.Yu. Lermontov “A Hero of Our Time”, Kazbich’s song)
8.	And then say that in the battle Once in a real rapture He excelled, boldly into the dirt With Kalmyk horse falling down...
9.	We are used to grabbing by the bridle Zealous horses playing Break horses heavy sacrum And to pacify the obstinate slaves ... (A. Blok “Scythians”)
10.	An Indian brought pearls here, Fake European wines, Herd defective horses A breeder brought him from the steppes... (A.S. Pushkin “Eugene Onegin”)
11.	Each shabby horse He nods his head towards me. (S. Yesenin “I will not deceive myself ...”)
12.	But Kochubey is rich and proud Not long-maned horses... (A.S. Pushkin “Poltava”)
13.	We've traveled all over the world We traded horses All Don stallions ... (A.S. Pushkin “The Tale of Tsar Saltan…”)
14.	And the camp is thin to the bow tilting, Arab got hot black horse... (M.Yu. Lermontov “Three Palms”)
15.	I love my horse, I'll comb her hair smoothly ... (A. Barto)
16.	The emperor rides on the front horse In a blue coat. white mare with brown eyes With bangs crow ... (B. Okudzhava “Battle canvas”)
17.	Through the forest, the frequent forest Creaks with skids, horse Hurry, run. (R. Kudasheva “A Christmas tree was born in the forest ...”)
18.	And two brothers Gubina So straight with the halter Catch stubborn horse They went to their own herd ... (N. Nekrasov “Who should live well in Russia”)
19.	bridled and he is saddled tightly braided harness. On the back woven - help Budyonny! (V. Mayakovsky “Horse-fire”)

WHO RIDES, WHO RIDES?

20.	How often, along the rocks of the Caucasus, She is Lenore, by the moon, Riding a horse with me! (Muse; A.S. Pushkin "Eugene Onegin")
21.	At Peter the Great No one is close Only a horse and a snake - That's his whole family. (I. Ilf, E. Petrov “The Golden Calf”)
22.	I remember, When I was still a child, he He put me on his horse And covered with his heavy helmet, Like a bell. (The Duke about the Baron; A.S. Pushkin “The Miserly Knight”)
23.	Goes. They bring him a horse. Zealous and humble faithful horse. Feeling the fatal fire Trembling. Eyes askance And rushes in the dust of battle, Proud of the mighty rider. (Peter I; A.S. Pushkin “Poltava”)
24.	The moon barely shines over the mountain; The groves are enveloped in darkness, Valley in dead silence... The traitor rides a horse. (Farlaf; A.S. Pushkin “Ruslan and Lyudmila”)
25.	Under it, a dashing horse covered in soap Priceless suit, golden. Pet frisky Karabakh It spins with your ears and, full of fear, Snoring squints with steepness On the foam of a galloping wave. (Fiance of Tamara; M.Yu. Lermontov “Demon”)

AND REBEL, AND BUMBLE ... (Guess the verb)

26.	Feeling dead snore And are fighting horses, white foam Steel wet the bit, And they flew like an arrow. (A.S. Pushkin “Eugene Onegin”)
27.	My horse got tired, my shoes are worn out... (B. Okudzhava “Night conversation”)
28.	- Hey, blacksmith, well done, limped my stallion... (S. Marshak "Blacksmith")
29.	And horse galloped, and the ox was drawn ... (A.S. Pushkin “Collapse”)
30.	Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open, waving mane, is he carries a rider… (A.S. Pushkin “Autumn”)
31.	Not a shallow hollow, Not a wretched path, But what about horses? Horses want to drink. (Yu.Kim “Koni”)
32.	And the horses at dusk waving manes, The bus is brand new, hurry, hurry! (B. Okudzhava “From the windows it smells of crispy crust ...”)
33.	And the poor horse waving hands... (N. Zabolotsky “Movement”)
34.	But only horses fly with inspiration! Otherwise, the horses would have crashed instantly ... (Yu.Moritz “Song of flying horses”)
35.	Chatting horse spleen, And the sound of spanking horseshoes Dear echoed after Water in funnels of springs. (B. Pasternak “Spring thaw”)

THERE IS A TROIKA RUNNING… (Who is the author of these lines?)

And finally, do not pass by the wonderful poems of N. Yazykov “The Horse”, N. Zabolotsky “The Face of the Horse”, D. Samoilov “White Poems (Rimbaud in Paris)” - include them in your literature programs.

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1 ALL-RUSSIAN OLYMPIAD OF SCHOOLCHILDREN IN LITERATURE uch. SCHOOL STAGE. 11 CLASS 1. "FINE HORSES" Read. This chubar horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky, while the native bay and harness coat of color, called the Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all his heart, so that even in their eyes there was noticeably the pleasure they derive from it. "Cunning, cunning! I'll outwit you!" [the coachman] said, rising and whipping the sloth with his whip. “You know your business, you German pantalon! A respectable bay horse, he is doing his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse ... Well, well! what are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I'm not going to teach you, ignoramus! Look where it's crawling!" Here he again whipped him with a whip, saying: “O, barbarian! You damned Bonaparte! .. ”Then he shouted at everyone:“ Hey you, my dears! and lashed all three of them, no longer as a punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having delivered such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the chubarom: “You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live by the truth when you want to be honored. Here is the landowner that we were, good people. I'll be happy to talk if a good person; with a good person we are always our friends, subtle buddies: whether to drink tea or have a snack with pleasure, if a good person. A good person will be respected by everyone. Here everyone respects our gentleman, because, you hear, he performed the state service, he is a scole adviser ... ”1. Determine where this passage is taken from. Write the name of the author, the title of the work, the names of the coachman, gentleman and "landowner". 2. Imagine that the horse is endowed with the gift of speech. What could he say about his owner? Write a monologue of a chubar horse about the coachman and / or about the gentleman. The volume is about 200 words. 2. HOLISTIC TEXT ANALYSIS Choose only one option for analytical work: prose or verse text. Write coherently, freely, clearly, convincingly and competently. Suggested word count. one

2 Option 1 Vasil Vladimirovich Bykov () RELAY He fell on the fenced pulp of garden soil, not having reached just some ten steps to a white house cut by fragments with a destroyed tiled roof of yesterday's "landmark three". Before that, having torn his tunic, he made his way through the thicket of a hedge, in which from the very beginning of this fine April morning bees were buzzing, flying, and, having cast a quick glance at a rare chain of people running to the outskirts of houses, he waved his hands and shouted through the shots: Take to the left , on the pick!!! Then he bent down, butted the air with his head, and, dropping his pistol, buried his face in the warm flesh of the earth. At this time, Sergeant Lemeshenko, waving his machine gun, wearily jogged along the prickly, neatly trimmed green wall of the fence and almost ran into his prostrate platoon. At first he was surprised that he stumbled so inopportunely, then everything became clear to him. The lieutenant froze forever, clinging his fair-haired head to the loose earth, tucking his left leg under him, stretching out his right, and several disturbed bees fussed over his motionless sweaty back. Lemeshenko did not stop, only nervously twitched his lips and, picking up the command, shouted: Platoon, move to the left! On the pick! Hey, to hell!!! However, he did not see a platoon, two dozen machine gunners had already reached the fence, gardens, buildings and disappeared in the roar of the growing battle. To the right of the sergeant, in the neighboring courtyard, the face of the machine gunner Natuzhny, gray with fatigue, flashed behind the picket fence, somewhere behind him the young blond Tarasov appeared and disappeared. The rest of the fighters of his squad were not visible, but by the way their machine guns crackled from time to time, Lemeshenko felt that they were somewhere nearby. Holding his PPSh at the ready, the sergeant ran around the house, his dusty boots crunching on broken glass and tiles thrown from the roof. He was smoldering with grief for the killed commander, whose next concern, like a baton, he picked up to turn the platoon to the front of the church. Lemeshenko did not really understand why it was to the church, but the last order of the commander had already gained strength and led him in a new direction. From the house along a narrow path lined with concrete tiles, he ran to the gate. Behind the fence stretched a narrow alley. The sergeant looked from one side to the other. Fighters ran out of the yards and also looked around. There Akhmetov jumped out near the transformer box, looked around and, seeing the squad leader in the middle of the street, went towards him. Somewhere among the gardens, 2

With a fierce roar, a mine exploded in 3 gray cottages and houses, nearby on a steep roof, knocked down by fragments, the tiles moved and fell down. Come on left! On the pick!!! shouted the sergeant, and he himself ran along the wire fence, looking for a passage. Ahead, from behind the curly green of nearby trees, a blue spire pierced into the sky, a new landmark of their offensive. In the meantime, machine gunners appeared one by one in the alley; a short, clumsy machine-gunner, Natuzhny, with crooked legs in windings, ran out; behind him is the novice Tarasov, who from the very morning did not lag behind the experienced, elderly fighter; from some yard, Babich, a bumpkin, climbed over the hedge in a winter hat turned back to front. "Couldn't find another passage, mattress," the sergeant mentally cursed, seeing how he first threw his machine gun over the fence, and then clumsily over the awkward, bearish body. Come here, come on! he waved, angry, because Babich, raising his machine gun, began to shake off his soiled knees. Faster! The submachine gunners finally understood the command and, finding passages, disappeared into the gates of the houses, behind the buildings. Lemeshenko ran into a rather wide asphalted yard, on which there was some kind of low building, apparently a garage. Following the sergeant, his subordinates Akhmetov, Natuzhny, Tarasov ran in here, the last cowardly was Babich. Lieutenant killed! the sergeant called to them, looking for a passage. Near the white house. At this time, from somewhere above and close, a burst rumbled, and the bullets left a scattering of fresh traces on the pavement. Lemeshenko rushed to the shelter under a blank concrete wall that enclosed the yard, followed by the others, only Akhmetov stumbled and grabbed the flask on his belt, from which water flowed in two streams. Dogs! Wherever they landed, damned Nazis From the pickaxe, Natuzhny said, peering through the branches of the trees towards the spire. His gloomy, smallpox-stained face became preoccupied. Behind the garage there was a gate with a latch tied with wire. The sergeant took out a fin and cut the wire with two strokes. They pushed the door and found themselves under the spreading elms of the old park, but they immediately fell. Lemeshenko cut with a machine gun, followed by bursts of Akhmetov and Tarasov, between the black sinewy trunks, the green, lean figures of the enemies ran in all directions. Not far away, behind the trees and the mesh fence, a square was visible, and behind it rose an already uncovered pickaxe, the Germans ran and fired there. Soon, however, they noticed the fighters, and from the first machine-gun fire, rubble splattered from the concrete wall, covering the cracked bark of old elms. It was necessary to run further, to the square and to the pickaxe, pursuing the enemy, not getting off him, not letting him come to his senses, but there were few of them. The sergeant looked 3

4 aside, no one else has yet made their way to this park: damn courtyards and hedges with their labyrinths held people back. Machine guns hit the wall, the slate roof of the garage, the soldiers sprawled under the trees on the grass and answered in short bursts. Natuzhny released from half a disk and there was nowhere to shoot, the Germans hid near the church, and their fire increased every minute. Akhmetov, lying next to him, only sniffled, flaring his thin nostrils angrily and looking at the sergeant. "Well, what's next?" this look asked, and Lemeshenko knew that others were also looking at him, waiting for a command, but it was not so easy to command something. Where is Babich? There were four of them with a sergeant: Natuzhny on the left, Akhmetov and Tarasov on the right, but Babich never ran out of the yard. The sergeant wanted to order someone to see what had happened to this bumpkin, but at that moment the figures of submachine gunners from their platoon flashed to the left, they poured out from somewhere quite thickly and unanimously hit the square with their machine guns. Lemeshenko did not even think, but rather felt that it was time to move on, towards the church, and, waving his hand to pay attention to those who were on the left, rushed forward. After a few steps, he fell under an elm, gave two short bursts, someone muffled muffled nearby, the sergeant did not see who, but felt that it was Natuzhny. Then he jumped up and ran a few more meters. On the left, the queues did not subside, as his submachine gunners advanced deep into the park. “Faster, faster,” the thought pounded in my head in time with my heart. Do not let him come to his senses, press, otherwise, if the Germans have time to look around and see that there are few machine gunners, then it will be bad, then they will get stuck here. After running a few more steps, he fell on the carefully swept, damp-smelling earth; the elms were already left behind, the first spring flowers were modestly yellowing nearby. The park ended, further, behind the green wire mesh, there was a square shining from the sun, paved with small squares of gray paving stones. At the end of the square, near the church, several Germans in helmets were bustling around. "Where is Babich?" for some reason, the thought intrusively drilled, although now he was seized with even greater anxiety: he had to somehow attack the church, running through the square, and this seemed to him not an easy task. Submachine gunners, not shooting very smoothly, ran out from behind the trees and lay under the fence. It was impossible to run further, and the sergeant was very worried about how to get out of this wired park. At last it seemed to dawn on him, he pulled a grenade out of his pocket and turned to shout to the others. But why shout in this roar! The only possible command here was your own example, a reliable commander's order: do as I do. Lemeshenko pulled the pin out of the fuse and threw a grenade under the fence net. 4

5 The hole turned out to be small and uneven. Having torn his tunic on his shoulder, the sergeant squeezed through the net, looked behind him, crouching down, Akhmetov ran, jumped up with a Natuzhny machine gun, more grenade explosions thundered nearby. Then, without stopping, he rushed forward with all his might, desperately knocking his rubber soles on the slippery paving stones of the square. And suddenly something strange happened. The square swayed, one edge reared up somewhere and hit him painfully in the side and face. He felt how briefly and loudly his medals clanged against the hard stones, close, near his face, drops of someone's blood splashed and froze in the dust. Then he turned on his side, feeling the unyielding rigidity of the stones with his whole body, Akhmetov's frightened eyes looked into his face from somewhere out of the blue sky, but immediately disappeared. For some more time, through the roar of shooting, he felt near him stifled breathing, the booming clatter of feet, and then all this floated further, towards the church, where the shots rattled unceasingly. "Where is Babich?" a forgotten thought flared up again, and anxiety for the fate of the platoon made him tense, move. "What is it?" drilled his dumb question. “Killed, killed,” someone in him said, and it was not known whether it was about Babich, or about himself. He understood that something bad had happened to him, but he did not feel pain, only fatigue bound his body and fog covered his eyes, preventing him from seeing whether the attack had succeeded, whether the platoon had escaped from the park. After a short lapse in consciousness, he again came to his senses and saw the sky, which for some reason lay below, seemed to be reflected in a huge lake, and from above a square with rare bodies of fighters stuck to it fell on his back. He turned, trying to see someone alive, the square and the sky swayed, and when they stopped, he recognized the church, recently attacked without him. Now there were no more shots to be heard, but for some reason submachine gunners ran out of the gate and ran around the corner. Throwing his head back, the sergeant peered, trying to see Natuzhny or Akhmetov, but they were not there, but he saw the newcomer Tarasov running ahead of everyone. Bending down, this young fighter deftly ran across the street, then stopped, resolutely waved to someone: “Here, here!” and disappeared, small and puny next to the tall building of the pickaxe. Soldiers ran after him, and the square was deserted. The sergeant sighed for the last time and somehow immediately and forever calmed down. Others went to victory. (1959) 5

6 Option 2 Yakov Petrovich Polonsky () * * * Blessed is the embittered poet, Even if he is a moral cripple, Crowns to him, hello to him Children of the embittered age. He, like a titan, shakes the darkness, Looking for a way out, then light, He does not trust people's mind, And he does not expect an answer from the gods. With his prophetic verse, Disturbing the sleep of respectable men, He himself suffers under the yoke of obvious contradictions. Loving with all the ardor of his heart, he cannot bear the mask And does not ask for anything purchased In exchange for happiness. Poison in the depths of his passions, Salvation in the power of denial, In love are the germs of ideas, In ideas there is a way out of suffering. His involuntary cry is our cry. His vices are ours, ours! He drinks with us from a common cup, As we are poisoned and great. (1872) The maximum score for all completed tasks is 70. 6

ALL-RUSSIAN OLYMPIAD FOR SCHOOLCHILDREN IN LITERATURE. 2017 2018 academic year SCHOOL STAGE. GRADE 11 Tasks, answers and evaluation criteria 1. "HORSE FINDING" Read. This dappled horse was very

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The role of the cart and Chichikov's horses in the poem "Dead Souls"

Chichikov's chaise and his three horses are, in fact, secondary characters in the poem. Chichikov's horses have their own characteristics of character and appearance, and the chaise is the hero's faithful companion on trips.

Mr. Chichikov travels around Russia in search of "dead souls" in his "bachelor's" britzka. Chichikov does not travel alone: ​​his coachman Selifan and the footman Petrushka are taking part in the trip with him.

Brichka Chichikov:

“... the britzka, in which bachelors ride, which has stagnated in the city for so long and so, perhaps, tired the reader, finally left the gates of the hotel ...”

“... There is still a long way to go for the entire traveling crew, consisting of a middle-aged gentleman, a britzka in which bachelors ride, a footman Petrushka, a coachman Selifan and a trio of horses, already known by name from the Assessor to a black-haired scoundrel ...”

“... our hero, having sat better on the Georgian rug, laid a leather pillow behind his back, squeezed two hot rolls, and the crew went to dance and sway again ...”

"...through the glass, which were in leather curtains..."

“... the coachman [...] made very sensible remarks to the shaggy harness horse harnessed on the right side. This chubar horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky, while the native bay and harness coat of color, called the Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all their hearts, so that even in their eyes it was noticeably the pleasure they derive from it ... "

Koni Chichikov:

Three horses are harnessed to the three of Chichikov, different in color and character:

Bay indigenous horse nicknamed "Bay" (in the center)

Attached brown horse, nicknamed "Assessor" (left)

Attached chubary horse, "crafty sloth" nicknamed "Bonaparte" (right)

Below are quotes describing the horses of Mr. Chichikov in the poem "Dead Souls":

“... the coachman [...] made very sensible remarks to the shaggy harness horse harnessed on the right side. This chubar horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance, as if he was lucky, while the native bay and harness coat of color, called the Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all their hearts, so that even in their eyes it was the pleasure they get from it is noticeable [...] The bay is a respectable horse, he does his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse ... Well, well! what are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I will not teach you ignorant things. Look where it's crawling!" Here he again whipped him with a whip, saying: “O, barbarian! Bonaparte, you damned! ... "

“... a chubar horse, right, at least sell it, because he, Pavel Ivanovich, is a complete scoundrel; he is such a horse, just God forbid, only a hindrance [...] By God, Pavel Ivanovich, he just looks slick, but in fact the most crafty horse ... "

“... The horses, too, seemed to think unfavorably about Nozdryov: not only the bay and Assessor, but the scaly one himself was out of sorts ...”

What do the terms mean in the description of Chichikov's horses?

Firstly, the horses in the Chichikov troika are distinguished by their position in the harness:

A) Harnessed - a horse harnessed from the side (that is, a "fastened" horse)

B) Root - the average, most powerful horse harnessed in shafts (that is, in the "root" of the harness)

Secondly, the horses in the trio of Mr. Chichikov differ in color:

A) Chubary - a horse with small spots on light wool (nicknamed "Bonaparte")

B) Bay - a brown horse of various shades

C) Brown - a horse of a light red color