Rostopchin, or National features of public service. F

Count Fyodor Vasilyevich Rostopchin, best known for the fact that, while governor of Moscow in 1812, he ordered all fire equipment to be taken out of the city, descended from the Crimean Tatar Davyd Rabchak, whose son, Mikhail Rostopcha, left for Moscow around 1432.

The rise of the career of Fyodor Vasilyevich came during the reign of Paul I.

They say that one day, being with Rostopchin in a large society, where there were many princes, Emperor Paul asked him: “Tell me, why are you not a prince?” After a moment's hesitation, Rostopchin asked the emperor if he could state the real reason, and, having received an affirmative answer, said:
- My ancestor, who left for Russia, arrived here in winter.
“What does the season have to do with the dignity he has been bestowed?” the emperor asked.
“When a Tatar nobleman,” answered Rostopchin, “appeared for the first time at court, he was offered a choice of either a fur coat or princely dignity. My ancestor arrived in a cruel winter and preferred a fur coat.

Mercure de France, 1802. Vol. IX. P.144.

***
Rostopchin was sitting in one of the Parisian theaters during the debut of a bad actor. The audience hissed terribly at him, only Rostopchin applauded.
- What does it mean? - they asked him, - why are you applauding?
“I’m afraid,” replied Rostopchin, “that as soon as they drive him off the stage, he will go to be our teacher.”

* * *
... The plan of Prince T. was to make a revolution, as in France. Count F. V. Rostopchin listened and said these remarkable words: “In France, cooks wanted to become princes, but here princes wanted to become cooks.”

Russian Archive, 1901. Book. VII, p. 342.

* * *
Emperor Paul was once very angry with the English Ministry. In the first moment of anger, he sends for Count Rostopchin, who was in charge of foreign affairs at that time. He orders him to prepare immediately a manifesto for war with England. Rostopchin, struck like a thunder by such a surprise, begins, with his characteristic frankness and courage in relations with the sovereign, to set out to him all the untimeliness of such a war, all the disadvantages and disasters to which it can subject Russia. The sovereign listens to objections, but does not agree to them and does not yield. Rostopchin implores the emperor to at least wait a little, to give circumstances the opportunity and time to take another, more favorable turn. All attempts, all efforts of the minister are in vain. Pavel, releasing him, orders him to bring the manifesto for signing the next morning. With contrition and reluctance, Rostopchin, together with his secretaries, set to work. The next day he goes to the palace with a report. Arriving, he asks those close to him, in what spirit is the sovereign. Not in a good way, they answer him. He enters the government's office. At court, although secrets are apparently kept hermetically sealed, they are still exhaled in particles, carried through the air and leave their mark on it. All the persons close to the sovereign, who were in the reception room in front of the office, were waiting with excited curiosity and trepidation for the outcome of the report. It started. After reading some papers, the sovereign asks:
Where is the manifest?
“Here,” Rostopchin replies (he put it on the bottom of his briefcase to give himself time to look around and, as they say, to feel the ground).
The turn has come to the manifesto. The sovereign is very pleased with the editorial board. Rostopchin is trying to deflect the royal will from a measure that he recognizes as pernicious; but his eloquence is as unsuccessful as on the eve. The Emperor takes up his pen and prepares to sign the manifesto. Here a ray of hope flashed to Rostopchin's keen and well-studied eye. As a rule, Paul quickly and somehow impetuously signed his name. Here he signs slowly, as if drawing each letter. Then he says to Rostopchin:
— Do you really dislike this paper?
I can't express how much I don't like it.
What are you willing to do for me to destroy it?
- And everything that pleases Your Majesty, for example, sing an aria from an Italian opera (here he names an aria, especially beloved by the sovereign, from an opera whose name I will not remember).
- Well, sing! Pavel Petrovich says
And Rostopchin sings the aria with different graces and bells and whistles. The Emperor pulls him up. After singing, he tears apart the manifesto and gives the shreds to Rostopchin. One can imagine the amazement of those who in the next room were waiting with dreary impatience at what this report would break out.

Vyazemsky P. A. Old notebook // Poly. coll. op. SPb., 1883. T. VIII, p. 154-156.

* * *
When Rostopchin was already retired and lived very secluded in Moscow, his relative Protasov, a young man who had just entered the service, came to him.
Entering the office, Protasov found the count lying on the sofa. A candle burned on the table.
What are you doing, Alexander Pavlovich? What are you doing? Rostopchin asked.
— I serve, Your Excellency. I'm doing a service.
- Serve, serve, rise to our ranks.
- To rise to your rank, you must have your great abilities, your genius! - answered Protasov.
Rostopchin got up from the sofa, took a candle from the table, brought it to Protasov's face and said:
"I wanted to see if you're laughing at me?"
- Have mercy! Protasov objected, "do I dare to laugh at you?"
- See see! So, then, do you really think that we need to have a genius in order to rise to noble ranks? I'm sorry you think so! Listen, I will tell you how I got into the people and what I have achieved.
Although my father was not a rich nobleman, he gave me a good upbringing. According to the custom of that time, in order to complete my education, I went to travel to foreign lands; I was still very young at that time, but I already had the rank of lieutenant.
In Berlin I became addicted to cards and once beat an old Prussian major. After the game, the major called me aside and said:
— Herr lieutenant! I have nothing to pay you with - I have no money; but I am an honest man. "I ask you to come to my apartment tomorrow. I can offer you some things: maybe you will like them.
When I came to the major, he led me into a room, all the walls of which were lined with wardrobes. In these cabinets, behind glass, there were all kinds of weapons and military attire in a small form: armor, helmets, shields, uniforms, hats, helmets, shakos, etc. In a word, it was a complete collection of weapons and military costumes of all ages and peoples starting from antiquity. Warriors, dressed in their modern costumes, flaunted right there.
In the middle of the room stood a large round table, where the army was also placed. The major touched the spring, and the figures began to make correct formations and movements.
“Here,” said the major, “is all that was left to me after my father, who was passionate about military craft and collected this cabinet of rarities all his life. Take it instead of a board.
After several excuses, I agreed to the major's proposal, put it all in boxes and sent it to Russia. On my return to St. Petersburg, I arranged my rarities in my apartment, and guard officers came daily to admire my collection.
One morning, the adjutant of the Grand Duke Pavel Petrovich comes to me and says that the Grand Duke wants to see my meeting and for this he will come to me. Of course, I replied that I myself would bring everything to His Majesty. Brought and arranged my toys. The Grand Duke was in awe.
“How could you put together such a complete collection of this kind!” he exclaimed. “A human life is not enough to accomplish this.
- Your Highness! - I answered, - zeal for service overcomes everything. Military service is my passion.
Since that time, I went to him for an expert in military affairs.
Finally, the Grand Duke began to suggest that I sell him my collection. I answered him that I could not sell it, but a post for happiness if he would allow me to offer it to his highness. The Grand Duke accepted my gift and rushed to hug me. From that moment on, I went for a man devoted to him.
“So, dear friend,” Count Rostopchin concluded his story, “they go to the ranks, and not by talent and genius!”

Dmitriev M. A. Little things from the reserve of my memory. M., 1869, p. thirty.

Rostopchin was sitting in one of the Parisian theaters during the debut of a bad actor. The audience hissed terribly at him, only Rostopchin applauded.

What does it mean? - they asked him, - why are you applauding?

I'm afraid, - answered Rostopchin, - that as soon as they drive him off the stage, he will go to be our teacher.

Kurakina was going abroad.

How she starts the journey at the wrong time,” said Rostopchin.

From what?

Europe is now so exhausted.

... The plan of Prince T. was to make a revolution, as in France. Count F. V. Rostopchin listened and said these remarkable words: “In France, cooks wanted to become princes, but here princes wanted to become cooks.”

They say that one day, being with Rostopchin in a large society, where there were many princes, Emperor Paul asked him: “Tell me, why are you not a prince?” After a moment's hesitation, Rostopchin asked the emperor if he could state the real reason, and, having received an affirmative answer, said:

My ancestor, who left for Russia, arrived here in winter.

What, then, has the season to do with the dignity that has been bestowed upon him? the emperor asked.

When a Tatar nobleman, Rostopchin answered, appeared for the first time at court, he was offered a choice of either a fur coat or princely dignity. My ancestor arrived in a cruel winter and preferred a fur coat.

He also said that Emperor Paul once asked him:

After all, the Rostopchins are of Tatar origin?

Exactly so, my lord.

Why aren't you princes?

But because my ancestor moved to Russia in winter. The eminent Tatars-newcomers were granted princely dignity in summer, and fur coats were granted to winter ones.

Count Rostopchin says that during the reign of Emperor Pavel Obolyaninov ordered Speransky to prepare a draft decree on some lands that the Kalmyks had taken over or taken from them (I don’t remember exactly). The fact is that Obolyaninov was dissatisfied with the editorial of Speransky. He ordered him to take a pen and a sheet of paper and write from his dictation. He himself began to walk around the room and finally said: "About the Kalmyks and on the occasion of this land." Here he stopped, continued to silently walk around the room and concluded the dictation with the following words: “Here, sir, how it was necessary to begin the decree. Now go ahead and continue."

The father of the Decembrist, Ivan Borisovich Pestel, the Siberian governor-general, lived in St. Petersburg without a break, ruling the Siberian region from here. This circumstance served as a constant occasion for ridicule of contemporaries. Once Alexander I, standing at the window of the Winter Palace with Pestel and Rostopchin, asked:

What is it there on the church, black on the cross?

I can't see, Your Majesty, - answered Rostopchin, - it is necessary to ask Ivan Borisovich, he has wonderful eyes: he sees from here what is happening in Siberia.

Emperor Paul was once very angry with the English Ministry. In the first moment of anger, he sends for Count Rostopchin, who was in charge of foreign affairs at that time. He orders him to prepare immediately a manifesto for war with England. Rostopchin, struck like a thunder by such a surprise, begins, with his characteristic frankness and courage in relations with the sovereign, to set out to him all the untimeliness of such a war, all the disadvantages and disasters to which it can subject Russia. The sovereign listens to objections, but does not agree to them and does not yield. Rostopchin implores the emperor to at least wait a little, to give circumstances the opportunity and time to take another, more favorable turn. All attempts, all efforts of the minister are in vain. Pavel, releasing him, orders him to bring the manifesto for signing the next morning. With contrition and reluctance, Rostopchin, together with his secretaries, set to work. The next day he goes to the palace with a report. Arriving, he asks those close to him, in what spirit is the sovereign. Not in a good way, they answer him. He enters the government's office. At court, although secrets are apparently kept hermetically sealed, they are still exhaled in particles, carried through the air and leave their mark on it. All the persons close to the sovereign, who were in the reception room in front of the office, were waiting with excited curiosity and trepidation for the outcome of the report. It started. After reading some papers, the sovereign asks:

Where is the manifesto?

Here, - answers Rostopchin (he put it at the bottom of the briefcase to give himself time to look around and, as they say, to feel the ground).

The turn has come to the manifesto. The sovereign is very pleased with the editorial board. Rostopchin is trying to deflect the tsar's will from a measure that he recognizes as pernicious; but his eloquence is as unsuccessful as on the eve. The Emperor takes up his pen and prepares to sign the manifesto. Here a ray of hope flashed to Rostopchin's keen and well-studied eye. As a rule, Paul quickly and somehow impetuously signed his name. Here he signs slowly, as if drawing each letter. Then he says to Rostopchin:

Do you really dislike this paper?

I can't express how much I don't like it.

What are you willing to do for me to destroy it?

And whatever pleases Your Majesty, for example, sing an aria from an Italian opera (here he names an aria, especially beloved by the sovereign, from an opera whose name I will not remember).

Well, sing! Pavel Petrovich says

And Rostopchin sings the aria with different graces and bells and whistles. The Emperor pulls him up. After singing, he tears apart the manifesto and gives the shreds to Rostopchin. One can imagine the amazement of those who in the next room were waiting with dreary impatience at what this report would break out.

When Rostopchin was already retired and lived very secluded in Moscow, his relative Protasov, a young man who had just entered the service, came to him.

Entering the office, Protasov found the count lying on the sofa. A candle burned on the table.

What are you doing, Alexander Pavlovich? What are you doing? asked Rostopchin.

I serve, Your Excellency. I'm doing a service.

Serve, serve, rise to our ranks.

To rise to your rank, you must have your great abilities, your genius! Protasov answered.

Rostopchin got up from the sofa, took a candle from the table, brought it to Protasov's face and said:

I wanted to see if you're laughing at me?

Have mercy! - objected Protasov, - do I dare to laugh at you?

See see! So, then, do you really think that we need to have a genius in order to rise to noble ranks? I'm sorry you think so! Listen, I will tell you how I got into the people and what I have achieved.

Although my father was not a rich nobleman, he gave me a good upbringing. According to the custom of that time, in order to complete my education, I went to travel to foreign lands; I was still very young at that time, but I already had the rank of lieutenant.

In Berlin I became addicted to cards and once beat an old Prussian major. After the game, the major called me aside and said:

Herr lieutenant! I have nothing to pay you with - I have no money; but I'm an honest man. Please, welcome to my apartment tomorrow. I can suggest you some things, maybe you will like them.

When I came to the major, he led me into a room, all the walls of which were lined with wardrobes. In these cabinets, behind glass, there were all kinds of weapons and military attire in a small form: armor, helmets, shields, uniforms, hats, helmets, shakos, etc. In a word, it was a complete collection of weapons and military costumes of all ages and peoples starting from antiquity. Warriors, dressed in their modern costumes, flaunted right there.

In the middle of the room stood a large round table, where the army was also placed. The major touched the spring, and the figures began to make correct formations and movements.

Here, - said the major, - is all that was left to me after my father, who was passionate about the military craft and collected this cabinet of rarities all his life. Take it instead of a board.

After several excuses, I agreed to the major's proposal, put it all in boxes and sent it to Russia. On my return to St. Petersburg, I arranged my rarities in my apartment, and guard officers came daily to admire my collection.

One morning, the adjutant of the Grand Duke Pavel Petrovich comes to me and says that the Grand Duke wants to see my meeting and for this he will come to me. Of course, I replied that I myself would bring everything to His Majesty. Brought and arranged my toys. The Grand Duke was in awe.

How could you put together such a complete collection of this kind! he exclaimed. - Human life is not enough to accomplish this.

Your Highness! - I answered, - zeal for the service overcomes everything. Military service is my passion.

Since that time, I went to him for an expert in military affairs.

Finally, the Grand Duke began to suggest that I sell him my collection. I answered him that I could not sell it, but a post for happiness if he would allow me to offer it to his highness. The Grand Duke accepted my gift and rushed to hug me. From that moment on, I went for a man devoted to him.

So, dear friend, - Count Rostopchin concluded his story, they go to the ranks, and not by talent and genius!

Pavel once said to Count Rostopchin: “Since the holidays are coming, it is necessary to distribute awards; Let's start with the Andreevsky Order; who should welcome it?" The count drew Pavel's attention to Count Andrei Kirillovich Razumovsky, our ambassador in Vienna. The sovereign, with whose first wife, Grand Duchess Natalia Alekseevna, Razumovsky was in touch, depicting horns on his head, exclaimed: “Don’t you know?” Rostopchin made the same sign with his hand and said: “That’s why it’s especially necessary that they don’t talk about it!” .

Dymov snatched the spoon from Yemelyan's hands and flung it far to the side. Kiryukha, Vasya and Styopka jumped up and ran to look for her, while Yemelyan stared imploringly and questioningly at Pantelei. His face suddenly became small, wrinkled, blinked, and the former chorister began to cry like a child.
Egorushka, who had long hated Dymov, felt how the air suddenly became unbearably stuffy, how the fire from the fire burned his face hotly; he longed to run quickly to the wagon train in the dark, but the mischievous, bored eyes of the mischievous man pulled him towards him. Passionately wanting to say something most offensive, he stepped up to Dymov and said breathlessly:
- You're the worst! I can't stand you!
After that, it would be necessary to run to the wagon train, but he could not move in any way and continued:
- In the next world you will burn in hell! I will complain to Ivan Ivanovich! Don't you dare offend Emelyan!
- Also, please tell me! Dymov smiled. - Any pig, the milk has not yet dried on the lips, it climbs into the pointers. What if by the ear?
Yegorushka felt that there was nothing left to breathe; he - this had never happened to him before - suddenly trembled all over, stamped his feet and shouted piercingly:
- Beat him! Beat him!
Tears sprang from his eyes; he felt ashamed and, staggering, ran to the wagon train. What impression his cry made, he did not see. Lying on a bale and crying, he jerked his arms and legs, and whispered:
- Mother! Mother!
And these people, and the shadows around the fire, and the dark bales, and the distant lightning that flashed every minute in the distance - everything now seemed to him unsociable and terrible. He was horrified and in despair asked himself how it was and why did he end up in an unknown land, in a company of terrible peasants? Where is uncle now, oh. Christopher and Deniska? Why don't they drive for so long? Have they forgotten about him? The thought that he was forgotten and abandoned to the mercy of fate made him feel cold and so terrified that several times he tried to jump off the bale and run recklessly, without looking back along the road, but the memory of the dark, gloomy crosses that he would certainly meet on way, and lightning flashing in the distance stopped him ... And only when he whispered: “Mom! Mom! ”, He seemed to feel better ...
It must have been scary for the drivers. After Yegorushka ran away from the fire, they were silent for a long time at first, then in an undertone and muffled voice they started talking about something that it was coming and that they needed to pack up and get away from it as soon as possible ... They soon had supper, put out the fire and silently began to harness. From their fuss and abrupt phrases it was evident that they foresaw some kind of misfortune.
Before starting off, Dymov went up to Panteley and asked quietly:
- What's his name?
- Egory ... - Pantelei answered.
Dymov put one foot on the wheel, grabbed the rope with which the bale was tied, and got up. Yegorushka saw his face and curly head. His face was pale, tired and serious, but no longer expressed malice.
- Yora! he said quietly. - On, bey!
Yegorushka looked at him in surprise; at that moment lightning flashed.
- Nothing, bey! repeated Dymov.
And without waiting for Yegorushka to beat him or talk to him, he jumped down and said:
- I'm bored!
Then, shifting from foot to foot, moving his shoulder blades, he lazily trudged along the wagon train and repeated in a voice that was either weeping or annoyed:
- I'm bored! God! And don't be offended, Emelya, - he said, passing by Emelyan. - Our life is wasted, fierce!
Lightning flashed to the right, and, as if reflected in a mirror, it immediately flashed in the distance.
- Egory, take it! Pantelei shouted, handing something large and dark from below.
- What is it? Yegorushka asked.
- Rogozhka! It will rain, so you will cover yourself.
Yegorushka got up and looked around him. The distance became noticeably blacker, and more often than every minute, it flickered with a pale light, as if for centuries. Her blackness, as if from gravity, leaned to the right.
- Grandfather, will there be a thunderstorm? Yegorushka asked.
- Oh, my legs are sick, cold! - Panteley said in a singsong voice, not hearing him and stamping his feet.
To the left, as if someone had struck a match across the sky, a pale, phosphorescent streak flickered and went out. I heard someone walking on the iron roof somewhere very far away. They probably walked barefoot on the roof, because the iron grumbled dully.
- And he is a cover-up! Kiryuha shouted.
Lightning flashed between the distance and the right horizon, so brightly that it illuminated part of the steppe and the place where the clear sky bordered on blackness. The terrible cloud was advancing slowly, in a solid mass; on its edge hung large, black tatters; exactly the same rags, crushing each other, piled up on the right and on the left horizon. This tattered, disheveled appearance of the cloud gave it a sort of drunken, mischievous expression. Thunder grumbled loudly and distinctly. Yegorushka crossed himself and quickly began to put on his overcoat.
- I'm bored! came Dymov's cry from the front wagons, and one could tell by his voice that he was starting to get angry again. - Boring!
Suddenly the wind blew with such force that it almost snatched the bundle and matting from Yegorushka; startled, the matting rushed in all directions and clapped on the bale and on Yegorushka's face. The wind rushed whistling across the steppe, whirled randomly and made such a noise with the grass that neither thunder nor the creak of wheels could be heard because of it. It blew from a black cloud, carrying with it clouds of dust and the smell of rain and wet earth. The moonlight became cloudy, it seemed to become dirtier, the stars frowned even more, and it was clear that clouds of dust and their shadows were hurrying somewhere back along the edge of the road. Now, in all likelihood, the whirlwinds, whirling and dragging dust, dry grass and feathers from the earth, rose to the very sky; probably, tumbleweeds were flying near the blackest cloud, and how frightened they must have been! But through the dust that covered his eyes, nothing could be seen but the brilliance of lightning.
Egorushka, thinking that it was going to rain this very minute, knelt down and covered himself with the matting.
- Pantelle-ey! someone shouted ahead. - A ... a ... wah!
- Do not hear! - Pantelei answered loudly and in a singsong voice.
- A ... a ... wah! Arya… ah!
Thunder rumbled angrily, rolled across the sky from right to left, then back and stopped near the front carts.
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord Sabaoth,” Yegorushka whispered, crossing himself, “fill heaven and earth with your glory ...
The blackness in the sky opened its mouth and breathed white fire; immediately the thunder roared again; As soon as he fell silent, the lightning flashed so widely that Yegorushka, through the cracks in the matting, suddenly saw the whole high road to the very distance, all the drivers and even Kiryukhin's waistcoat. The black rags on the left were already rising, and one of them, rough, clumsy, like a paw with fingers, was reaching for the moon. Yegorushka decided to close his eyes tightly, pay no attention, and wait until everything was over.
For some reason it didn't rain for a long time. Yegorushka, in the hope that the cloud might be moving past, looked out of the mat. It was terribly dark. Yegorushka saw neither Pantelei, nor the bale, nor himself; he glanced sideways to where the moon had recently been, but there was the same blackness as on the cart. And the lightning in the darkness seemed whiter and more dazzling, so that the eyes hurt.
- Panteley! called Yegorushka.
There was no answer. But then, finally, the wind ripped the matting for the last time and ran away somewhere. There was a steady, calm noise. A large cold drop fell on Yegorushka's knee, another crept down his arm. He noticed that his knees were not covered, and was about to straighten the matting, but at that moment something fell and rattled on the road, then on the shafts, on the bale. It was rain. He and the mat, as if they understood each other, started talking about something quickly, cheerfully and disgustingly, like two magpies.
Yegorushka was on his knees, or rather, sitting on his boots. When the rain beat on the mat, he leaned forward with his body to shield his knees, which suddenly became wet; I managed to cover my knees, but less than a minute later, a sharp, unpleasant dampness was felt behind, below the back and on the calves. He resumed his former posture, put his knees out into the rain, and began to think about what to do, how to fix the invisible matting in the dark. But his hands were already wet, water was flowing into his sleeves and behind his collar, his shoulder blades were chilly. And he decided not to do anything, but to sit still and wait for everything to be over.
“Holy, holy, holy…” he whispered.
Suddenly, just above his head, with a terrible, deafening crack, the sky broke; he bent down and held his breath, waiting for the debris to rain down on the back of his head and back. His eyes suddenly opened, and he saw how on his fingers, wet sleeves and trickles running from the matting, on the bale and on the ground below, a blindingly acrid light flared up and flashed five times. There was another blow, just as strong and terrible. The sky no longer rumbled, no longer rumbled, but made dry, crackling sounds, similar to the crackling of dry wood.
“Trah! tah, tah! tah!" - the thunder clearly rapped, rolled across the sky, stumbled and fell somewhere at the front carts or far behind with a vicious, jerky - “trra! ..”
Previously, lightning was only terrible, with the same thunder they seemed ominous. Their magical light penetrated through closed eyelids and spread coldly throughout the body. What can I do to avoid seeing them? Yegorushka decided to turn around and face back. Cautiously, as if afraid that he was being watched, he got on all fours and, sliding his palms over the wet bale, turned back.
“Fuck! tah! tah!" - it rushed over his head, fell under the cart and exploded - "Rrra!"
Eyes again inadvertently opened, and Yegorushka saw a new danger: three huge giants with long lances were following the wagon. Lightning flashed on the tips of their peaks and very clearly illuminated their figures. They were people of enormous size, with closed faces, bowed heads, and with heavy steps. They seemed sad and despondent, deep in thought. Perhaps they did not follow the baggage train in order to cause harm, but still there was something terrible in their proximity.
Yegorushka quickly turned forward and, trembling all over, shouted:
- Panteley! Grandfather!
“Fuck! tah! tah!" - answered him the sky.
He opened his eyes to see if the carters were there. Lightning flashed in two places and illuminated the road to the very distance, the entire convoy and all the drivers. Streams flowed along the way and bubbles jumped. Pantelei walked beside the wagon, his high hat and shoulders covered with a little matting; the figure showed neither fear nor anxiety, as if he had been deafened by thunder and blinded by lightning.
- Grandfather, giants! Yegorushka shouted to him, weeping. But my grandfather did not hear. Next came Emelyan. This one was covered with large matting from head to toe and now had the shape of a triangle. Vasya, uncovered, walked as woodenly as ever, raising his legs high and not bending his knees. In the flash of lightning, it seemed that the convoy did not move and the carters froze, that Vasya's raised leg was numb ...
Yegorushka also called his grandfather. Getting no answer, he sat motionless and no longer waited for everything to end. He was sure that thunder would kill him that minute, that his eyes would inadvertently open and he would see terrible giants. And he no longer crossed himself, did not call his grandfather, did not think about his mother, and only stiffened from the cold and the certainty that the storm would never end.
But suddenly voices were heard.
- Egoriy, are you sleeping, or what? Pantelei shouted downstairs. - Get down! Stupid, fool!
- That's the storm! - said some unfamiliar bass and grunted as if he had drunk a good glass of vodka.
Yegorushka opened his eyes. Below, near the wagon, stood Pantelei, the Yemelyan triangle, and the giants. The latter were now much shorter, and when Yegorushka peered at them, they turned out to be ordinary peasants, carrying on their shoulders not pikes, but iron pitchforks. In the gap between Panteley and the triangle, the window of a low hut shone. So, the convoy was in the village. Yegorushka threw off his matting, took the bundle and hurried out of the cart. Now, when people were talking nearby and the window was shining, he was no longer afraid, although the thunder crackled as before and the lightning streaked the whole sky.
- The storm is good, nothing ... - muttered Panteley. - Thank God ... The legs are a little soft from the rain, it's nothing ... Tears, Egoriy? Well, go to the hut ... Nothing ...
- Holy, holy, holy ... - Yemelyan croaked. - Without fail somewhere struck ... Are you from here? he asked the giants.
- No, from Glinov ... We are from Glinov. We work with Mr. Platers.
- Thresh, or what?
- Miscellaneous. We are still harvesting wheat. And lightning, lightning! Haven't had a storm like this in a long time...
Yegorushka entered the hut. He was met by a thin, hunchbacked old woman with a sharp chin. She held a tallow candle in her hands, screwed up her eyes and sighed.
What a thunderstorm God has sent! she said. - And our people spend the night in the steppe, the hearts will suffer! Undress, father, undress...
Shivering from the cold and squeezing in disgust, Yegorushka pulled off his sodden overcoat, then spread his arms and legs wide apart and did not move for a long time. Every slightest movement caused him an unpleasant feeling of wetness and cold. The sleeves and the back of the shirt were wet, the trousers were stuck to the legs, the head was dripping…
- Well, lad, stand tall? said the old woman. - Go sit down!
Spreading his legs wide, Yegorushka went up to the table and sat down on a bench near someone's head. The head moved, let out a stream of air through its nose, chewed and calmed down. A mound stretched from the head along the bench, covered with a sheepskin coat. It was some woman sleeping.
The old woman, sighing, went out and soon returned with watermelon and melon.
- Eat, father! There is nothing more to treat ... - she said, yawning, then rummaged through the table and pulled out a long, sharp knife, very similar to those knives with which robbers kill merchants in inns. - Eat, father!
Yegorushka, trembling as if in a fever, ate a slice of melon with brown bread, then a slice of watermelon, and this made him feel even colder.
- Our people spend the night in the steppe ... - the old woman sighed while he ate. - Passion of the Lord ... I would light a candle in front of the image, but I don’t know where Stepanida was doing. Eat, father, eat ...
The old woman yawned and, throwing her right hand back, scratched her left shoulder with it.
"It must be two o'clock now," she said. - It's time to get up soon. Our people spend the night in the steppe ... Probably, everyone got wet ...
“Grandma,” said Yegorushka, “I want to sleep.
- Lie down, father, lie down ... - the old woman sighed, yawning. - Lord Jesus Christ! I myself sleep, and I hear, as if someone is knocking. I woke up, I looked, and God sent a thunderstorm ... I wish I could light a candle, but I didn’t find it.
Talking to herself, she pulled off some rags from the bench, probably her own bed, took off two sheepskin coats from a nail near the stove, and began to spread them out for Yegorushka.
“The storm is not letting up,” she muttered. - As if, the hour is uneven, which did not burn. Our people spend the night in the steppe... Lie down, father, sleep... Christ is with you, granddaughter... I won't clean up the melon, maybe you'll get up and eat.
The sighs and yawns of an old woman, the measured breathing of a sleeping woman, the twilight of the hut and the sound of rain outside the window disposed to sleep. Yegorushka was ashamed to undress in front of the old woman. He only took off his boots, lay down and covered himself with a sheepskin coat.
- The boy lay down? - Panteley's whisper was heard a minute later.
- Lie down! the old woman replied in a whisper. - Passions, the passions of the Lord! Thundering, thundering, and the end can not be heard ...
- Now it will pass ... - Panteley hissed, sitting down. - It became quieter ... The guys went to the huts, and two remained with the horses ... The guys, then ... It’s impossible ... They’ll take the horses away ... I’ll sit a little and go to the shift ... It’s impossible, they will take them away ...
Pantelei and the old woman sat side by side at Yegorushka's feet and spoke in a hissing whisper, interrupting their speech with sighs and yawns. But Yegorushka could not get warm in any way. A warm, heavy sheepskin coat lay on him, but his whole body shook, his arms and legs cramped, his insides trembled ... He undressed under the sheepskin coat, but this did not help either. The chill was getting stronger and stronger.
Panteley left for his shift and then returned again, but Yegorushka still did not sleep and was trembling all over. Something pressed on his head and chest, oppressed him, and he did not know what it was: was it the whisper of old people, or the heavy smell of sheepskin? From the watermelon and melon eaten, there was an unpleasant, metallic taste in the mouth. Plus, there were fleas biting.
- Grandpa, I'm cold! he said, not recognizing his own voice.
- Sleep, granddaughter, sleep ... - the old woman sighed.
Tit, on thin legs, went up to the bed and waved his arms, then grew to the ceiling and turned into a mill. Father Christopher, not the same as he was sitting in the britzka, but in full dress and with a sprinkler in his hand, walked around the mill, sprinkled it with holy water, and it stopped waving. Yegorushka, knowing that this was nonsense, opened his eyes.
- Grandfather! he called. - Give me water!
Nobody responded. Egorushka felt unbearably stuffy and uncomfortable to lie down. He got up, dressed and left the hut. It's already morning. The sky was overcast, but there was no more rain. Trembling and wrapping himself in a wet coat, Yegorushka walked around the dirty yard, listening to the silence; he caught sight of a small barn with a half-open reed door. He looked into this barn, entered it and sat down in a dark corner on a piece of dung.
Thoughts were jumbled in his heavy head, his mouth was dry and disgusting from the metallic taste. He looked at his hat, straightened the peacock feather on it, and remembered how he went with his mother to buy this hat. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a lump of brown, sticky putty. How did that putty get into his pocket? He thought, sniffed: it smells of honey. Yep, it's Jewish gingerbread! How he, the poor, got wet!
Yegorushka looked at his overcoat. And his overcoat was gray, with large bone buttons, sewn in the manner of a frock coat. Like a new and expensive thing, at home it hung not in the hall, but in the bedroom, next to mother's dresses; It was allowed to wear it only on holidays. Glancing at him, Yegorushka felt sorry for him, remembered that he and his coat were both left to the mercy of fate, that they would no longer return home, and sobbed so that he almost fell off the dung.
A large white dog, soaked in the rain, with tufts of fur on its muzzle like papillots, entered the barn and stared curiously at Yegorushka. She seemed to be thinking: should she bark or not? Deciding that there was no need to bark, she carefully approached Yegorushka, ate the putty and went out.
- These are Varlamov's! someone shouted in the street.
After weeping, Yegorushka left the barn and, bypassing the puddle, trudged out into the street. Just in front of the gate on the road were carts. Wet wagoners with dirty feet, lethargic and sleepy, like autumn flies, wandered around or sat on the shafts. Yegorushka looked at them and thought: "How boring and inconvenient to be a peasant!" He went up to Panteley and sat down next to him on the shaft.
- Grandpa, I'm cold! he said, trembling and thrusting his hands into his sleeves.
- Nothing, soon we will reach the place, - Pantelei yawned. - It's okay, warm up.
The convoy started off early, because it was not hot. Yegorushka was lying on the bale and shivering from the cold, although the sun soon appeared in the sky and dried up his clothes, the bale and the earth. As soon as he closed his eyes, he again saw Titus and the mill. Feeling nausea and heaviness all over his body, he strained his strength to drive these images away from him, but as soon as they disappeared, the mischievous Dymov with red eyes and with raised fists rushed at Yegorushka with a roar, or he was heard how he yearned: “I’m bored !" Varlamov rode on a Cossack colt, happy Konstantin passed with his smile and with his chest. And how heavy, unbearable and annoying all these people were!
Once - it was already before evening - he raised his head to ask for a drink. The convoy stood on a large bridge stretching across a wide river. Smoke was dark above the river below, and through it a steamer was visible, pulling a barge in tow. Ahead, beyond the river, was a huge mountain dotted with houses and churches; at the foot of the mountain, near the freight cars, a locomotive was running ...
Yegorushka had never seen steamboats, locomotives, or wide rivers before. Looking at them now, he was not frightened, not surprised; His face showed nothing resembling curiosity. He only felt faint and hurried to lie down on the edge of the bale with his chest. He was sick. Pantelei, who saw this, grunted and shook his head.
Our boy is sick! - he said. - It must be a cold in the stomach ... the boy ... On the other side ... It's bad!

VIII

The convoy stopped not far from the pier in a large trading courtyard. Getting down from the wagon, Yegorushka heard a very familiar voice. Someone helped him get down and said:
- And we arrived last night ... We have been waiting for you all day today. They wanted to catch up with you yesterday, but there was no hand, we went the other way. Eka, how did you crumple your little coat! You will get it from your uncle!
Yegorushka peered into the speaker's marble face and remembered that it was Deniska.
- Uncle and Fr. Christopher is now in the room,” Deniska continued, “they are drinking tea. Let's go to!
And he led Yegorushka to a large two-story building, dark and gloomy, like an N-th charitable institution. Passing through the passage, a dark staircase and a long, narrow corridor, Yegorushka and Deniska entered a small room in which Ivan Ivanovich and Fr. Christopher. Seeing the boy, both old men showed surprise and joy on their faces.
- Ah, Yegor Nikola-aich! - sang about. Christopher. - Mr. Lomonosov!
- Ah, gentlemen of the nobility! Kuzmichov said. - Welcome.
Yegorushka took off his coat, kissed his uncle's hand, and Fr. Christopher and sat down at the table.
- Well, how did you get there, puer bone? - fell asleep him about. Christopher questions, pouring him tea and, as usual, smiling radiantly. - Are you tired of it? And God forbid to ride on a wagon train or on oxen! You go, you go, God forgive me, you look ahead, and the steppe is still the same extended-folded as it was: the end of the edge can not be seen! Not riding, but pure vilification. Why don't you drink tea? Drink! And we are here without you, while you were dragging along with the convoy, all the cases were cut to pieces. God bless! They sold the wool to Cherepakhin and, God forbid, they used it well.
At the first glance at his people, Yegorushka felt an irresistible need to complain. He didn't listen to. Christopher and figured out where to start and what to especially complain about. But the voice of Christopher, who seemed unpleasant and abrupt, prevented him from concentrating and confused his thoughts. Without sitting even five minutes, he got up from the table, went to the sofa and lay down.
- Here you go! - surprised about. Christopher. - What about tea?
Thinking of something to complain about, Yegorushka leaned his forehead against the wall of the sofa and suddenly began to sob.
- Here you go! - repeated about. Christopher, getting up and going to the sofa. - George, what's wrong with you? Why are you crying?
- I ... I'm sick! Yegorushka said.
- Is sick? - confused about. Christopher. - This is not good, brother ... Is it possible to get sick on the road? Ai, ai, what are you, brother ... huh?
He put his hand to Yegorushka's head, touched his cheek, and said:
- Yes, your head is hot... You must have caught a cold or something to eat... Call on God.
“Give him some quinine…” Ivan Ivanovich said embarrassedly.
- No, he would like something hot to eat ... Georgy, would you like some soup? BUT?
"I don't... I don't want to..." Yegorushka answered.
- You're chilling, right?
- Before it was shivering, but now ... now it's hot. My whole body hurts...
Ivan Ivanitch went up to the sofa, touched Yegorushka on the head, grunted in embarrassment, and returned to the table.
- That's it, you undress and go to bed, - said Fr. Christopher, you need to sleep.
He helped Yegorushka to undress, gave him a pillow and covered him with a blanket, and over the blanket with Ivan Ivanovich's coat, then walked away on tiptoe and sat down at the table. Egorushka closed his eyes and it immediately began to seem to him that he was not in the room, but on the high road near the fire; Yemelyan waved his hand, and Dymov, with red eyes, lay on his stomach and looked mockingly at Yegorushka.
- Beat him! Beat him! shouted Yegorushka.
- Delirious ... - said in an undertone about. Christopher.
- Trouble! Ivan Ivanovich sighed.
- It will be necessary to grease it with oil and vinegar. God willing, he will recover by tomorrow.
To get rid of heavy dreams, Yegorushka opened his eyes and began to look at the fire. Father Khristofor and Ivan Ivanovich had already drunk their tea and were talking about something in a whisper. The first smiled happily and, apparently, could not forget that he had taken a good advantage in wool; it was not so much the usefulness itself that amused him, but the thought that, having arrived home, he would gather his entire large family, wink slyly and burst into laughter; first he will deceive everyone and say that he sold the wool for less than its price, then he will give his son-in-law Mikhail a thick wallet and say: “Here, take it! That's how things should be done!" Kuzmichov did not seem pleased. His face still expressed business-like dryness and concern.
“Oh, if I knew that Cherepakhin would give such a price,” he said in an undertone, “then I wouldn’t sell those three hundred pounds to Makarov at home!” Such an annoyance! But who knew him that the price was raised here?
The man in the white shirt removed the samovar and lit a lamp in the corner in front of the icon. Father Christopher whispered something in his ear; he made a mysterious face, like a conspirator - I understand, they say - went out and, returning a little later, put a dish under the sofa. Ivan Ivanovich made a bed for himself on the floor, yawned several times, prayed lazily, and lay down.
- And tomorrow I'm thinking about going to the cathedral ... - said Fr. Christopher. - I have an acquaintance there. I should go to the bishop after Mass, but they say he is ill.
He yawned and put out the lamp. Now only one lamp was shining.
“They say he doesn’t accept,” continued Fr. Christopher, undressing. So I'll leave without seeing you.
He took off his caftan, and Yegorushka saw Robinson Kruse in front of him. Robinson stirred something in a saucer, went up to Yegorushka and whispered:
- Lomonosov, are you sleeping? Get up! I'll lubricate you with oil and vinegar. It's good, you just call on God.
Yegorushka quickly got up and sat down. Father Christopher took off his shirt and, shrugging his shoulders, breathing raggedly, as if he himself was tickled, began rubbing Egorushka's chest.
- In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit ... - he whispered. - Lie down with your back up! .. Like this. Tomorrow you will be healthy, just do not sin forward ... Like fire, hot! Were you on the road during a thunderstorm?
- On the road.
- Don't get sick! In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit... I wish I didn't fall ill!
Lubricating Yegorushka, Fr. Christopher put a shirt on him, covered him, made the sign of the cross, and departed. Then Yegorushka saw him praying to God. Probably, the old man knew a lot of prayers by heart, because he stood in front of the icon for a long time and whispered. After praying, he crossed the windows, the door, Yegorushka, Ivan Ivanovich, lay down on the sofa without a pillow and covered himself with his caftan. In the corridor, the clock struck ten. Yegorushka remembered that there was still a lot of time left until morning, and in anguish he leaned his forehead against the back of the sofa and no longer tried to rid himself of vague depressing dreams. But morning came much sooner than he thought.
It seemed to him that he had not been lying for long, with his forehead leaning against the back of the sofa, but when he opened his eyes, slanting sunbeams were already reaching the floor from both windows of the room. Father Christopher and Ivan Ivanovich were not there. The room was tidy, light, cozy and smelled of. Christopher, who always emitted the smell of cypress and dry cornflowers (at home he made sprinkles and decorations for icon cases from cornflowers, which is why he smelled through them). Yegorushka glanced at the pillow, at the slanting rays, at his boots, which were now cleaned and stood side by side near the sofa, and laughed. It seemed strange to him that he was not on a bale, that everything around him was dry and that there was no lightning or thunder on the ceiling.
He jumped off the couch and started getting dressed. He was in excellent health; from yesterday's illness there was only a slight weakness in the legs and in the neck. So the oil and vinegar helped. He remembered the steamer, the locomotive, and the wide river, which he had vaguely seen yesterday, and now he was in a hurry to get dressed in order to run to the pier and look at them. When he had washed himself and was putting on a red shirt, the lock on the door suddenly clicked and Fr. Christopher in his top hat, with a staff and in a brown silk cassock over a canvas caftan. Smiling and beaming (old people who have just returned from church always emit a radiance), he put a prosphora and some kind of bundle on the table, prayed and said:
- God sent mercy! Well, how is your health?
"It's all right now," Yegorushka replied, kissing his hand.
- Thank God ... And I'm from mass ... I went to see a familiar keykeeper. He called me to his place to drink tea, but I did not go. I do not like visiting guests early in the morning. God be with them!
He took off his cassock, stroked his chest, and slowly unwrapped the bundle. Yegorushka saw a tin of grained caviar, a piece of balyk, and French bread.
“Here, I was walking past a live-fish shop and bought it,” said Fr. Christopher. - On a weekday there is nothing to be luxurious, yes, I thought, sick at home, it seems to be forgivable. And the caviar is good, sturgeon ...
A man in a white shirt brought a samovar and a tray of crockery.
- Eat, - said Fr. Christopher, spreading caviar on a slice of bread and serving it to Yegorushka. - Now eat and walk, and the time will come, you will study. Look, study with attention and diligence, so that there is a sense. What you need by heart, then learn by heart, and where you need to tell the inner meaning in your own words, without touching the external, there in your own words. And try so that you learn all the sciences. Some know mathematics perfectly, but have never heard of Pyotr Mogila, while another knows about Pyotr Mogila, but cannot explain about the moon. No, you study so that you understand everything! Learn Latin, French, German... geography, of course, history, theology, philosophy, mathematics... And when you learn everything, slowly, with prayer, and with zeal, then enter the service. When you know everything, it will be easy for you on every path. You just learn and gain grace, and God will show you who you should be. Whether a doctor, a judge, an engineer...
Father Christopher spread some caviar on a small piece of bread, put it in his mouth and said:
- The Apostle Paul says: do not attach yourself to strange and different teachings. Of course, if you invoke witchcraft, gospel, or spirits from the other world, like Saul, or teach such sciences that they are of no use to yourself or people, then it’s better not to study. It is necessary to perceive only what God has blessed. You think ... The holy apostles spoke in all languages ​​- and you learn languages; Basil the Great taught mathematics and philosophy - and you teach; Saint Nestor wrote history - and you teach and write history. Think with saints...
Father Christopher took a sip from his saucer, wiped his mustache and shook his head.
- Good!

PRACTICE #9

Pronoun.

Lesson Plan :

1. Grammar categories of pronouns.

2. Declension of pronouns.

3. Stylistic use of personal pronouns.

4. Reflexive and possessive pronouns. their stylistic features.

5. Synonymy of definitive pronouns.

6. Synonymy of indefinite places

Exercise 1*. Choose the correct case form of the pronoun, indicate the case, preposition, which are necessary in literary speech.

I yearn for you / for you

I worry about him / for him

I will come to you / to you

Equal to her / to her

I missed you / missed you

Come to me / before me

Made thanks to him / thanks to him

Said in spite of him / in spite of him

As tall as her/her

About myself / about myself

I miss her / for her

Demand from him / from him

Task 2. Put the pronouns given in brackets in the required case form.

1. Guests came to (he).

2. Father came for (she) in the evening.

3. The houses were so close that it was impossible to pass between (they).

4. The window was large, and a lot of light passed through (it).

5. Don't ask him about (nothing).

6. Anna left unnoticed, without saying goodbye to (no one).

7. The director needs to talk to (someone) more.

8. I myself guessed about (something).

9. In this city, I have (no one) to visit.

10. She opened the door and saw a (certain) man in the form of a pilot.

11. The conversation was about a (some) student who did not pass the test.

Task 3. Correct the grammatical errors that occurred when using pronouns.

1. “What job are you drawn to?” - "To no." 2. Tears appeared in the eyes of some of those present. 3. I know someone who can help you. 4. Their conversation boiled down to the same question. 5. You will have to think about something. 6. He did not turn to any specialist. 7. There were no weapons with them. 8. Grandfather is 70 years old, and grandmother is younger than him. 9. The youth rejoiced, they met their favorites.

Task 4. Explain errors or stylistic lack of motivation in the use of personal pronouns. Correct the suggestions.

1. The teacher came to school, she is still quite young with us. 2. Everything she had was clean and tidy. 3. A little girl with a dog on a leash was walking towards him. 4. Natasha's mother, when she stayed at school, was very worried. 5. Every now and then cars flashed around him, carrying sand and other building materials to the construction site. 6. The people applauded, they welcomed their idol. 7. Employees of universities, schools, kindergartens, they always had to work with full dedication.

Task 5. In the sentences below, indicate cases of incorrect or stylistically unjustified use of possessive and reflexive pronouns. Correct the suggestions.

1. The visitor asked the waiter to bring himself coffee. 2. I saw my father in my room. 3. She advised him to pay more attention to himself. 4. The teacher asked the students to keep the most interesting works. 5. I invited my friend to come to my house. 6. The teacher invited the student to answer some questions on his report. 7. I was able to catch him at my workplace.

Task 6. Fill in the gaps with the words any, each, or any. Are there options? Motivate your choice.

1. ... a mushroom, even an edible one, can become poisonous (F.V. Fedorov). 2. ... was stronger than Tanya and ... offended her (L. Andreev). 3. Now ... can come here (gaz.). 4. ..., who is young, give us hands - join our ranks, friends! (L. Oshanin). 5. ... went to the room assigned to him (A. S. Pushkin). 6. That way ... can sing (A.P. Chekhov). 7. And ... whoever experienced this pre-dawn coldish purity of the air, saw the shine of Venus over the distance of forests and felt the first timid warmth of the sun on his face, of course, will not forget this (K. Paustovsky). 8. Forest or park - whatever - was cut through by paths. ... of them spoke rather talkatively about who owns the legs that paved it (A. Green). 9. - I would like to ask you, Mr. Captain, in the future to strictly adhere to the rule and call the convoy ... once the commander leaves the headquarters building (I. Bolgarin and G. Seversky). 10. ... time when they allowed him to play in the yard during rest hours, his first movement was to run up to the fence (A. Pogorelsky).

Exercise 7 . When forming indefinite pronouns, match the underlined words with particles that are appropriate in meaning. Are there options? Justify your choice.

1. Passionately wanting to say something ... extremely offensive, he stepped towards Dymov (A.P. Chekhov). 2. It is only unknown whether she will come by herself or need what-… to do for its approximation (M. Aldanov). 3. I myself can swear no worse than the boss, but is it really possible what-… prove with one curse? (A. Yu. Karasik). 4. Yasha - not which-… accidental, but a true friend (K. A. Stolyarov). 5. I wanted to turn back, but this man, obviously noticing whom-… on the other side of the embankment, he ran there (A. Gaidar). 6. But hardly some… ship when-… people experienced such boundless adoration as we did for our captain (A. Kuprin). 7. Rostopchin ... wanted to say which-…, suitable for the occasion, a popular Great Russian word, but could not remember anything (M. Aldanov). 8. Of course, it’s scary, there’s nothing to say, but he himself needs to how-… get out (A. Gaidar). 9. - I may be how-… useful (A. Kuprin). 10. If who-… approached her during her maternal feelings, then she growled, coughed and bit (A. Kuprin).

PRACTICE #10

Morphological norms of the modern Russian language.

Verb. Participle. General participle.

Lesson plan:

1. Verb. General characteristics.

3. Abundant and insufficient verbs. their stylistic features.

4. Synonymy of personal forms of the verb.

5. Synonymy of forms of moods of the verb.

6. Synonymy of temporary forms of the verb.

7. Stylistic features of specific forms. verbs of motion.

8. Reflexive and non-reflexive verbs as synonyms.

9. Stylistic features of participles and participles.

Practical part

Exercise 1. In place of the dots, insert, choosing the desired form, the appropriate verb of motion: go, ride, swim, fly. Explain your choice. Is it possible to use synonyms of some verbs of motion with emphasized nouns denoting means of transportation?

1. From Tikhoretskaya station trains to Rostov not ... but ... in the opposite direction - to Baku (A. Platonov). 2. Boat... past the colmatation site (K. Paustovsky). 3. Car... at full speed (P. Sazhin). 4. Pouring effervescent water, falling into the ocean potholes, whaler cheerfully ... on the intended course (P. Sazhin). 5. It was seen how ... down the river the barges of Mark Danilych (P. Melnikov-Pechersky). 6. In connection with the repair work, buses and trolleybuses will be ... on a different route (gas.). 7. A tram everything ... along straight, foggy rails (G. Belykh and L. Panteleev). eight. Airplane from Khabarovsk to Moscow ... approximately seven hours (gaz.). 9. Towards him ... motorbike black (A. Beck).

Exercise 2. Choose the correct form of the verb from the brackets. Motivate the choice of form. Are there options?

1. In the morning, when they (driving - drove) to Supsu, this land was wet and settled under the wheels of the car (K. Paustovsky). 2. She (walked - walked) along the streets, similar to dense alleys (K. Paustovsky). 3. Twice I tried (to stick - to stick) to the shore, and everything was unsuccessful (A. Gaidar). 4. When the carriage (driven - drove) into the yard, the gentleman was met by a tavern servant (N.V. Gogol). 5. From the Cannon Yard on boats and karbass endlessly (carried - carried) everything that was there (Yu. German). 6. In clear water (floated - swam) multi-colored fish (K. Bulychev). 7. [Birds] (ran - ran) around a small dazzling puddle (A. Green). 8. On my hand (crawled - crawled) a ladybug (M. Prishvin).

Exercise 3. Convert the verbs enclosed in brackets into appropriate participles according to the context. Are there options? Specify their stylistic features.

1. Somehow, (to return) from a detour of work, Prokhor mentally felt very bad (V. Shishkov). 2. The captain, (discard) the match, turned to the shore (A. Novikov-Priboy). 3. (To build) a house, he deliberately cut down two small burners for his arrival on the side (P. Melnikov-Pechersky). 4. He, (to be) a smart person, understood this immediately (M. Gorky). 5. Finally, (to see) the former familiar places, she entered the room (N.V. Gogol). 6. (Lean) with his chin on his hand, the neighbor stared blankly at one point (P. Sazhin). 7. (Bring) cognac, the waiter immediately left (P. Sazhin), 8. (Run) onto the stairs, Sergey in the dark cracked his forehead on the half-opened door and flew down with a groan, completely (maddened) by superstitious fear (N. Leskov ). 9. She did not dare to say anything; but, (hearing) about such a terrible decision for her, she could not help crying (N.V. Gogol).

Task 4. From the words given in brackets, choose the forms that correspond to the literary norm.

1. He often (lays, puts) things on the table. 2. I (feel, can feel) this when I myself experience something similar. 3. I (I will run, I can win, I will win). 4. I (I will run away, I will convince, I will be able to convince, I will be able to convince) everyone of the correctness of my decision. 5. Let's meet when I (recover, recover) 6. Conference participants actively (discussed, discussed) reports, (shared, shared) experience with colleagues and (took, took on) new obligations. 7. All day (pours, pours) snow grits. 8. I am (tormented, tormented) by doubts. 9. (Go, go, go, go) to the village. 10. Kitten quietly (purrs, purrs). 11. Moonlight (penetrated, penetrated) into the room. 12. Engine suddenly (stalled, stalled). 13. (Light, light) a match and you will immediately see everything. 14. Why is he (climbs, climbs) into the car, there is no driver yet. 15. (Lie down, lie down) and don't (get out, get out) of the bed.

 Task 5. Which verbs can only have the past tense singular. h. wed R. and the form of the 3rd l. units h. present tense?

And the next night, the carters made a halt and cooked porridge. This time, from the very beginning, a kind of indefinite melancholy was felt in everything. It was stuffy; everyone drank a lot and could not quench their thirst. The moon rose very crimson and gloomy, as if sick; the stars also frowned, the darkness was thicker, the distance was muddy. Nature seemed to foresee something and languished. There was no longer yesterday's liveliness and conversations around the fire. Everyone was bored and spoke languidly and reluctantly. Pantelei only sighed, complained about his legs, and now and then started talking about impudent death. Dymov lay on his stomach, was silent and chewed on a straw; his expression was squeamish, as if the straw smelled bad, angry and tired ... Vasya complained that his jaw ached, and prophesied bad weather; Emelyan did not wave his arms, but sat motionless and gloomily looked at the fire. Yegorushka also languished. Walking tired him, and the heat of the day gave him a headache. When the porridge was cooked, Dymov, out of boredom, began to find fault with his comrades. - Russell, bump, and the first one climbs with a spoon! he said, looking angrily at Yemelyan. - Greed! So he strives to be the first to sit down at the boiler. He was a singer, so he thinks - a gentleman! Many of you, such singers, ask for alms along the big way! - What are you up to? Yemelyan asked, looking at him also with malice. - And the fact that do not poke your head first to the boiler. Don't understand yourself too much! “Fool, that’s all,” Yemelyan croaked. Knowing from experience how such conversations most often end, Panteley and Basya intervened and began to convince Dymov not to scold in vain. "Singer..." the mischievous man did not let up, smiling contemptuously. - Anyone can sing. Sit in your church on the porch and sing: “Give me alms for Christ’s sake!” Eh, you! Emelyan was silent. His silence had an irritating effect on Dymov. He looked at the former chorister with even greater hatred and said: “I don’t just want to get involved, otherwise I would have shown you how to understand yourself!” “Why are you pestering me, Mazepa?” Yemelyan flared up. - Am I touching you? - What did you call me? Dymov asked, straightening up, and his eyes were filled with blood. - How? Am I a mazepa? Yes? So here's to you! Go seek! Dymov snatched the spoon from Yemelyan's hands and flung it far to the side. Kiryukha, Vasya and Styopka jumped up and ran to look for her, while Yemelyan stared imploringly and questioningly at Pantelei. His face suddenly became small, wrinkled, blinked, and the former chorister began to cry like a child. Egorushka, who had long hated Dymov, felt how the air suddenly became unbearably stuffy, how the fire from the fire burned his face hotly; he longed to run quickly to the wagon train in the dark, but the mischievous, bored eyes of the mischievous man pulled him towards him. Passionately wanting to say something most offensive, he stepped up to Dymov and said breathlessly: - You're the worst! I can't stand you! After that, it would be necessary to run to the wagon train, but he could not move in any way and continued: - In the next world you will burn in hell! I will complain to Ivan Ivanovich! Don't you dare offend Emelyan! - Also, please tell me! Dymov smiled. - Any little pig, the milk has not yet dried on the lips, it climbs into the pointers. What if by the ear? Yegorushka felt that there was nothing left to breathe; he—it had never happened to him before—suddenly shook all over, stamped his feet, and shouted piercingly: - Beat him! Beat him! Tears sprang from his eyes; he felt ashamed and, staggering, ran to the wagon train. What impression his cry made, he did not see. Lying on a bale and crying, he jerked his arms and legs, and whispered:- Mother! Mother! And these people, and the shadows around the fire, and the dark bales, and the distant lightning flashing every minute in the distance—everything now seemed unsociable and terrible to him. He was horrified and in despair asked himself how it was and why did he end up in an unknown land, in a company of terrible peasants? Where is uncle now, oh. Christopher and Deniska? Why don't they drive for so long? Have they forgotten about him? From the thought that he was forgotten and left to the mercy of fate, he became cold and so terrified that several times he tried to jump off the bale and headlong, without looking back, run back along the road, but the memory of the dark, gloomy crosses that he would certainly meet on way, and lightning flashing in the distance stopped him ... And only when he whispered: “Mom! mother!" He seemed to feel better... It must have been scary for the drivers. After Yegorushka ran away from the fire, they were silent for a long time at first, then in an undertone and muffled voice they started talking about something that it was coming and that they needed to pack up and get away from it as soon as possible ... They soon had supper, put out the fire and silently began to harness. From their fuss and abrupt phrases it was evident that they foresaw some kind of misfortune. Before starting off, Dymov went up to Panteley and asked quietly:— What is his name? "Yegory..." Pantelei replied. Dymov put one foot on the wheel, grabbed the rope with which the bale was tied, and got up. Yegorushka saw his face and curly head. His face was pale, tired and serious, but no longer expressed malice. - Yora! he said quietly. - On, beat! Yegorushka looked at him in surprise; at that moment lightning flashed. - Nothing, bey! Dymov repeated. And without waiting for Yegorushka to beat him or talk to him, he jumped down and said:- I'm bored! Then, shifting from foot to foot, moving his shoulder blades, he lazily trudged along the wagon train and repeated in a voice that was either weeping or annoyed: - I'm bored! God! Don't be offended, Emelya," he said, passing by Emelyan. - Our life is wasted, fierce! Lightning flashed to the right, and, as if reflected in a mirror, it immediately flashed in the distance. - Egory, take it! shouted Panteley, handing something large and dark from below. - What is it? Yegorushka asked. - Rogozhka! It will rain, so you will cover yourself. Yegorushka got up and looked around him. The distance became noticeably blacker, and more often than every minute, it flickered with a pale light, as if for centuries. Her blackness, as if from gravity, leaned to the right. - Grandfather, will there be a thunderstorm? Yegorushka asked. “Oh, my sick, cold feet! said Pantelei in a singsong voice, not hearing him and stamping his feet. To the left, as if someone had struck a match across the sky, a pale, phosphorescent streak flickered and went out. I heard someone walking on the iron roof somewhere very far away. They probably walked barefoot on the roof, because the iron grumbled dully. - And he is a cover-up! Kiryuha shouted. Lightning flashed between the distance and the right horizon, so brightly that it illuminated part of the steppe and the place where the clear sky bordered on blackness. The terrible cloud was advancing slowly, in a solid mass; on its edge hung large, black tatters; exactly the same rags, crushing each other, piled up on the right and on the left horizon. This tattered, disheveled appearance of the cloud gave it a sort of drunken, mischievous expression. Thunder grumbled loudly and distinctly. Yegorushka crossed himself and quickly began to put on his overcoat. - I'm bored! came Dymov's cry from the front wagons, and one could tell by his voice that he was starting to get angry again. - Boring! Suddenly the wind blew with such force that it almost snatched the bundle and matting from Yegorushka; startled, the matting rushed in all directions and clapped on the bale and on Yegorushka's face. The wind rushed whistling across the steppe, whirled randomly and made such a noise with the grass that neither thunder nor the creak of wheels could be heard because of it. It blew from a black cloud, carrying with it clouds of dust and the smell of rain and wet earth. The moonlight became cloudy, it seemed to become dirtier, the stars frowned even more, and it was clear that clouds of dust and their shadows were hurrying somewhere back along the edge of the road. Now, in all likelihood, the whirlwinds, whirling and dragging dust, dry grass and feathers from the earth, rose to the very sky; probably, tumbleweeds were flying near the blackest cloud, and how frightened they must have been! But through the dust that covered his eyes, nothing could be seen but the brilliance of lightning. Egorushka, thinking that it was going to rain this very minute, knelt down and covered himself with the matting. - Pantelle-ey! someone shouted ahead. “Ah... a... wah!” - Do not hear! Panteley answered loudly and in a singsong voice. — Ah...ah...wa! Arya... ah! Thunder rumbled angrily, rolled across the sky from right to left, then back and stopped near the front carts. “Holy, holy, holy, Lord Sabaoth,” Yegorushka whispered, crossing himself, “full of heaven and earth with thy glory ... The blackness in the sky opened its mouth and breathed white fire; immediately the thunder roared again; As soon as he fell silent, the lightning flashed so widely that Yegorushka, through the cracks in the matting, suddenly saw the whole high road to the very distance, all the drivers and even Kiryukhin's waistcoat. The black rags on the left were already rising, and one of them, rough, clumsy, like a paw with fingers, was reaching for the moon. Yegorushka decided to close his eyes tightly, pay no attention, and wait until everything was over. For some reason it didn't rain for a long time. Egorushka, in the hope that the cloud, perhaps, is moving past, looking out of the matting. It was terribly dark. Yegorushka saw neither Pantelei, nor the bale, nor himself; he glanced sideways to where the moon had recently been, but there was the same blackness as on the cart. And the lightning in the darkness seemed whiter and more dazzling, so that the eyes hurt. - Panteley! Yegorushka called. There was no answer. But then, finally, the wind ripped the matting for the last time and ran away somewhere. There was a steady, calm noise. A large cold drop fell on Yegorushka's knee, another crept down his arm. He noticed that his knees were not covered, and was about to straighten the matting, but at that moment something fell and rattled on the road, then on the shafts, on the bale. It was rain. He and the mat, as if they understood each other, started talking about something quickly, cheerfully and disgustingly, like two magpies. Yegorushka was on his knees, or rather, sitting on his boots. When the rain beat on the mat, he leaned forward with his body to shield his knees, which suddenly became wet; I managed to cover my knees, but less than a minute later, a sharp, unpleasant dampness was felt behind, below the back and on the calves. He resumed his former posture, put his knees out into the rain, and began to think about what to do, how to fix the invisible matting in the dark. But his hands were already wet, water was flowing into his sleeves and behind his collar, his shoulder blades were chilly. And he decided not to do anything, but to sit still and wait for everything to be over. “Holy, holy, holy…” he whispered. Suddenly, just above his head, with a terrible, deafening crack, the sky broke; he bent down and held his breath, waiting for the debris to fall on the back of his head and back. His eyes suddenly opened, and he saw how on his fingers, wet sleeves and trickles running from the matting, on the bale and on the ground below, a blindingly acrid light flared up and flashed five times. There was another blow, just as strong and terrible. The sky no longer rumbled, no longer rumbled, but made dry, crackling sounds, similar to the crackling of dry wood. “Trah! tah, tah! tah!" thunder chimed distinctly, rolled across the sky, stumbled, and somewhere at the front wagons or far behind fell down with a vicious, jerky - "trra! .." Previously, lightning was only terrible, with the same thunder they seemed ominous. Their magical light penetrated through closed eyelids and spread coldly throughout the body. What can I do to avoid seeing them? Yegorushka decided to turn around and face back. Cautiously, as if afraid that he was being watched, he got on all fours and, sliding his palms over the wet bale, turned back. “Fuck! tah! tah!" - it rushed over his head, fell under the cart and exploded - "Rrra!" Eyes again inadvertently opened, and Yegorushka saw a new danger: three huge giants with long lances were following the wagon. Lightning flashed on the tips of their peaks and very clearly illuminated their figures. They were people of enormous size, with closed faces, bowed heads, and with heavy steps. They seemed sad and despondent, deep in thought. Perhaps they did not follow the baggage train in order to cause harm, but still there was something terrible in their proximity. Yegorushka quickly turned forward and, trembling all over, shouted:- Panteley! Grandfather! “Fuck! tah! tah!" Heaven answered him. He opened his eyes to see if the carters were there. Lightning flashed in two places and illuminated the road to the very distance, the entire convoy and all the drivers. Streams flowed along the way and bubbles jumped. Pantelei walked beside the wagon, his high hat and shoulders covered with a little matting; the figure showed neither fear nor anxiety, as if he had been deafened by thunder and blinded by lightning. - Grandfather, giants! Yegorushka shouted to him, weeping. But my grandfather did not hear. Next came Emelyan. This one was covered with large matting from head to toe and now had the shape of a triangle. Vasya, uncovered, walked as woodenly as ever, raising his legs high and not bending his knees. In the flash of lightning it seemed that the wagon train was not moving and the carters froze, that Vasya's raised leg was numb ... Yegorushka also called his grandfather. Getting no answer, he sat motionless and no longer waited for everything to end. He was sure that thunder would kill him that minute, that his eyes would inadvertently open and he would see terrible giants. And he no longer crossed himself, did not call his grandfather, did not think about his mother, and only stiffened from the cold and the certainty that the storm would never end. But suddenly voices were heard. - Egoriy, are you sleeping, or what? shouted Panteley downstairs. - Get down! Stupid, fool! - That's the storm! - said some unfamiliar bass and grunted as if he had drunk a good glass of vodka. Yegorushka opened his eyes. Below, near the wagon, stood Pantelei, the Yemelyan triangle, and the giants. The latter were now much shorter, and when Yegorushka peered at them, they turned out to be ordinary peasants, carrying on their shoulders not pikes, but iron pitchforks. In the gap between Panteley and the triangle, the window of a low hut shone. So, the convoy was in the village. Yegorushka threw off his matting, took the bundle and hurried out of the cart. Now, when people were talking nearby and the window was shining, he was no longer afraid, although the thunder crackled as before and the lightning streaked the whole sky. "The storm is good, nothing..." muttered Pantelei. - Thank God ... The legs are a little soft from the rain, it's nothing ... Tears, Egorgy? Well, go to the hut... Nothing... "Holy, holy, holy..." Yemelyan croaked. "There must have been a hit somewhere... Are you from here?" he asked the giants. - No, from Glinov ... We are from Glinov. We work with Mr. Platers. - Thresh, right? - Miscellaneous. We are still harvesting wheat. And lightning, lightning! Haven't had a storm like this in a long time... Yegorushka entered the hut. He was met by a thin, hunchbacked old woman with a sharp chin. She held a tallow candle in her hands, screwed up her eyes and sighed. What a thunderstorm God has sent! she said. - And our people spend the night in the steppe, the hearty ones will suffer! Undress, father, undress... Shivering from the cold and squeezing in disgust, Yegorushka pulled off his sodden overcoat, then spread his arms and legs wide apart and did not move for a long time. Every slightest movement caused him an unpleasant feeling of wetness and cold. The sleeves and the back of the shirt were wet, the trousers were stuck to the legs, the head was dripping... - Well, lad, stand tall? said the old woman. - Go, sit down! Spreading his legs wide, Yegorushka went up to the table and sat down on a bench near someone's head. The head moved, let out a stream of air through its nose, chewed and calmed down. A mound stretched from the head along the bench, covered with a sheepskin coat. It was some woman sleeping. The old woman, sighing, went out and soon returned with watermelon and melon. - Eat, father! There is nothing more to treat ... - she said, yawning, then rummaged through the table and pulled out a long, sharp knife, very similar to those knives with which robbers in inns kill merchants. - Eat, father! Yegorushka, trembling as if in a fever, ate a slice of melon with brown bread, then a slice of watermelon, and this made him feel even colder. “Our people spend the night in the steppe…” the old woman sighed while he ate. “Passion of the Lord... I should have lighted a candle before the image, but I don’t know where Stepanida has gone. Eat, baby, eat... The old woman yawned and, throwing her right hand back, scratched her left shoulder with it. "It must be two o'clock now," she said. - It's time to get up soon. Our people spend the night in the steppe... Probably, everyone got wet... "Grandma," said Yegorushka, "I want to sleep." "Lie down, father, lie down..." the old woman sighed, yawning. - Lord Jesus Christ! I myself sleep, and I hear, as if someone is knocking. I woke up, I looked, and God sent this thunderstorm ... I wish I could light a candle, but I didn’t find it. Talking to herself, she pulled off some rags from the bench, probably her own bed, took off two sheepskin coats from a nail near the stove, and began to spread them out for Yegorushka. “The storm is not letting up,” she muttered. - As it were, the hour is uneven, which did not burn. Our people spend the night in the steppe ... Lie down, father, sleep ... Christ is with you, granddaughter ... I won’t clean up the melon, maybe you’ll get up and eat. The sighs and yawns of an old woman, the measured breathing of a sleeping woman, the twilight of the hut and the sound of rain outside the window disposed to sleep. Yegorushka was ashamed to undress in front of the old woman. He only took off his boots, lay down and covered himself with a sheepskin coat. - Is the boy in bed? Pantelei's whisper was heard a minute later. - Lie down! the old woman answered in a whisper. - Passions, the passions of the Lord! Rumble, rumble, and never hear the end... "It'll pass in a moment..." Pantelei hissed, sitting down. “It’s become quieter... The guys went to the huts, and two of the horses remained... The guys, then... It’s impossible... They’ll take the horses away... I’ll sit a little and go to the shift... It’s impossible, they’ll take them away... Pantelei and the old woman sat side by side at Yegorushka's feet and spoke in a hissing whisper, interrupting their speech with sighs and yawns. But Yegorushka could not get warm in any way. A warm, heavy sheepskin coat lay on him, but his whole body shook, his arms and legs cramped, his insides trembled ... He undressed under the sheepskin coat, but this did not help either. The chill was getting stronger and stronger. Panteley left for his shift and then returned again, but Yegorushka still did not sleep and was trembling all over. Something was crushing his head and chest, oppressing him, and he did not know what it was: was it the whisper of old people or the heavy smell of sheepskin? From the watermelon and melon eaten, there was an unpleasant, metallic taste in the mouth. Plus, there were fleas biting. - Grandpa, I'm cold! he said, not recognizing his own voice. "Sleep, granddaughter, sleep..." the old woman sighed. Tit, on thin legs, went up to the bed and waved his arms, then grew to the ceiling and turned into a mill. Father Christopher, not the same as he was sitting in the britzka, but in full dress and with a sprinkler in his hand, walked around the mill, sprinkled it with holy water, and it stopped waving. Yegorushka, knowing that this was nonsense, opened his eyes. - Grandfather! he called. - Give me some water! Nobody responded. Egorushka felt unbearably stuffy and uncomfortable to lie down. He got up, dressed and left the hut. It's already morning. The sky was overcast, but there was no more rain. Trembling and wrapping himself in a wet coat, Yegorushka walked around the dirty yard, listening to the silence; he caught sight of a small barn with a half-open reed door. He looked into this barn, entered it and sat down in a dark corner on a piece of dung. Thoughts were jumbled in his heavy head, his mouth was dry and disgusting from the metallic taste. He looked at his hat, straightened the peacock feather on it, and remembered how he went with his mother to buy this hat. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a lump of brown, sticky putty. How did that putty get into his pocket? He thought, sniffed: it smells of honey. Yep, it's Jewish gingerbread! How he, the poor, got wet! Yegorushka looked at his overcoat. And his overcoat was gray, with large bone buttons, sewn in the manner of a frock coat. Like a new and expensive thing, at home it hung not in the hall, but in the bedroom, next to mother's dresses; It was allowed to wear it only on holidays. Glancing at him, Yegorushka felt sorry for him, remembered that he and his coat had both been left to the mercy of fate, that they would no longer return home, and sobbed so that he almost fell off the dung. A large white dog, soaked in the rain, with tufts of fur on its muzzle like papillots, entered the barn and stared curiously at Yegorushka. She seemed to be thinking: should she bark or not? Deciding that there was no need to bark, she carefully approached Yegorushka, ate the putty and went out. - These are Varlamov's! someone shouted in the street. After weeping, Yegorushka left the barn and, bypassing the puddle, trudged out into the street. Just in front of the gate on the road were carts. Wet wagoners with dirty feet, lethargic and sleepy, like autumn flies, wandered around or sat on the shafts. Yegorushka looked at them and thought: "How boring and inconvenient to be a peasant!" He went up to Panteley and sat down next to him on the shaft. - Grandpa, I'm cold! he said, trembling and thrusting his hands into his sleeves. “Nothing, we’ll get to the place soon,” Pantelei yawned. - It's okay, you'll warm up. The convoy started off early, because it was not hot. Yegorushka was lying on the bale and shivering from the cold, although the sun soon appeared in the sky and dried up his clothes, the bale and the earth. As soon as he closed his eyes, he again saw Titus and the mill. Feeling nausea and heaviness all over his body, he strained his strength to drive these images away from him, but as soon as they disappeared, the mischievous Dymov with red eyes and with raised fists rushed at Yegorushka with a roar, or he was heard how he yearned: “I’m bored !" Varlamov rode on a Cossack colt, happy Konstantin passed with his smile and with his chest. And how heavy, unbearable and annoying all these people were! Once - it was already before evening - he raised his head to ask for a drink. The convoy stood on a large bridge stretching across a wide river. Smoke was dark above the river below, and through it a steamer was visible, pulling a barge in tow. Ahead, beyond the river, was a huge mountain dotted with houses and churches; at the foot of the mountain, near the freight cars, a locomotive was running... Yegorushka had never seen steamboats, locomotives, or wide rivers before. Looking at them now, he was not frightened, not surprised; His face showed nothing resembling curiosity. He only felt faint and hurried to lie down on the edge of the bale with his chest. He was sick. Pantelei, who saw this, grunted and shook his head. Our boy is sick! - he said. “You must have got a cold in your stomach… boy… On the other side… It’s bad business!”