Composition

The heroines of Russian literature amaze with their moral purity and a rare spiritual strength that allows them to boldly challenge the strict laws and conventions of society. Such is Pushkin’s Tatyana, Turgenev’s Liza Kalitina. Such is Katerina Kabanova from Ostrovsky’s drama “The Thunderstorm”. What makes it stand out among others? characters plays, this young merchant's wife, who has not received any education and does not participate in a socially significant matter? Her sphere is family, easy home activities: needlework, caring for flowers, going to church.

Katerina’s first words, when she calls Kabanikha her own mother, are clearly insincere and hypocritical. This means that at first the heroine is perceived as a forced, submissive woman, accustomed to a dependent position. But Katerina’s very next remark leads us out of this misconception, since here she is already openly protesting against her mother-in-law’s unfair accusations. In Katerina’s subsequent conversation with Varvara, she utters unusual words: “Why don’t people fly like birds?” They seem strange and incomprehensible to Varvara, but they mean a lot for understanding the character of Katerina and her position in the Kabanovsky house. The comparison with a bird that can flap its wings and fly eloquently speaks of how difficult it is for Katerina to endure the oppressive captivity and despotism of her domineering and cruel mother-in-law. The heroine’s involuntarily escaped words speak of her secret dream of freeing herself from this prison, where every living feeling is suppressed and killed.

Katerina’s character cannot be fully understood without her stories about the happy times of childhood and girlhood in her parents’ home. Carrying away with a dream into this wonderful world full of harmony, Katerina recalls the constant feeling of happiness, joy, merging with everything around her, which she is deprived of in her mother-in-law’s house. “Yes, everything here seems to be from under captivity,” says the heroine, pointing to the sharp contrast of her present life with her sweet and dear past. It is this inability of Katerina to fully come to terms with Kabanov’s oppression that exacerbates her conflict with the “dark kingdom.” The story that happened to the heroine in childhood reveals in her such defining character traits as love of freedom, courage, and determination. And, having become an adult, Katerina is still the same. Her words addressed to Varvara sound prophetic: “And if I get really tired of here, they won’t hold me back with any force. I’ll throw myself out the window, throw myself into the Volga. I don’t want to live here, so I won’t, even if you cut me!”

Love for Boris became for Katerina the reason for the awakening and revival of her soul. She has been prepared by her entire forced life in Kabanov’s house, her longing for lost harmony, her dream of happiness. But throughout the entire play, the author strengthens the contrast between Katerina’s sublime, spiritual, boundless love and Boris’s down-to-earth, cautious passion. This ability of Katerina to love deeply and strongly, sacrificing everything for the sake of her beloved, speaks of her living soul, which was able to survive in the dead Kabanovsky world, where all sincere feelings wither and dry up. The motif of bondage is constantly intertwined with Katerina’s thoughts about love. This sounds especially clear in her famous monologue with the key. In a state of severe mental struggle between the duty of a faithful wife and love for Boris, Katerina constantly returns to thoughts about her hated mother-in-law and the hateful walls of the Kabanovsky house. To suppress love, which promises so much happiness, for the sake of sad vegetation in captivity - this is an impossible task for a young woman. After all, giving up love means forever giving up all the best that life can give. This means that Katerina deliberately commits a sin in order to preserve her living soul, thereby challenging Kabanov’s concepts of morality. What are these concepts? They are quite clearly and specifically formulated by the peculiar ideologist of the “dark kingdom”, Marfa Ignatievna Kabanova. She is absolutely convinced that a strong family should be based on the wife’s fear of her husband, that freedom leads a person to moral decline. That's why she so persistently nags Tikhon, who is unable to shout at his wife, threaten her or beat her. Katerina’s public repentance further confirms Kabanikha in the correctness and unshakability of her views on the family.

What is the reason for Katerina’s public repentance? Maybe this is fear of God's terrible punishment? I think that the point here is not cowardice or fear of punishment, but Katerina’s exceptional conscientiousness, her inability to lie to her husband and mother-in-law, to pretend in front of people. After all, this is exactly how the first words of her repentance are understood: “My whole heart was torn! I can’t stand it anymore!” Neither the mother-in-law, who now locks her daughter-in-law, nor the husband, who beat her a little because mamma ordered, can condemn and punish Katerina more strongly than she herself. After all, she feels guilty not only before Tikhon and Kabanikha, but also before the whole world, before the highest forces of good and truth. Having committed a sin, Katerina loses the harmony with the world that lived in her. Having gone through difficult spiritual trials, through debilitating pangs of conscience, she is morally cleansed. Katerina atones for her sin through suffering. Farewell to Boris kills the heroine’s last hope for a life in which joy is still possible. She is ready to follow her beloved man to distant Siberia as an unmarried wife, but he cannot and does not want to resist his formidable uncle, hoping for a mythical inheritance.

Katerina has only one option left: suicide. And not because she was disgusted with life. On the contrary, in the heroine’s last monologue, when she says goodbye to the sun, grass, flowers, birds, her great desire to live, to love the beauty of the earth is felt. But Katerina still chooses death, because only in this way can she preserve the best, bright, pure and sublime that lives in her soul. And the years of living in the gloomy house of the mother-in-law are tantamount to a slow death stretched out over time. Katerina rejects this pitiful semblance of life and, rushing into the Volga, affirms true life, full of joyful selfless love for flowers, trees, birds, for the beauty and harmony of the world. Maybe Tikhon feels this subconsciously when he envies his dead wife. He has boring, monotonous months and years ahead of him, which will completely kill his soul, because to keep it alive in Kabanov's " dark kingdom"is possible only at the cost of life. This means that in the image of Katerina A.N. Ostrovsky embodied the living soul of the people, their protest against the Domostroev religion, the oppressive conditions of reality, dependence and lack of freedom.

Katerina And Varvara.


Katerina. So, Varya, do you feel sorry for me?

Varvara(looking to the side). Of course it's a pity.

Katerina. So you love me then? (Kisses him firmly.)

Varvara. Why shouldn’t I love you?

Katerina. Well, thank you! You are so sweet, I love you to death.


Silence.


Do you know what came to my mind?

Varvara. What?

Katerina. Why don't people fly?

Varvara. I do not understand what you say.

Katerina. I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how she would run up, raise her hands and fly. Something to try now? (Wants to run.)

Varvara. What are you making up?

Katerina(sighing). How frisky I was! I've completely withered away from you.

Varvara. Do you think I don't see?

Katerina. Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all the wanderers - our house was full of wanderers; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!

Varvara. Yes, it’s the same with us.

Katerina. Yes, everything here seems to be out of captivity. And to death I loved going to church! Exactly, it happened that I would enter heaven and not see anyone, and I don’t remember the time, and I don’t hear when the service is over. Just like it all happened in one second. Mama said that everyone used to look at me to see what was happening to me. Do you know: on a sunny day such a light column goes down from the dome, and smoke moves in this column, like a cloud, and I see that it used to be as if angels were flying and singing in this column. And sometimes, girl, I would get up at night - we also had lamps burning everywhere - and somewhere in a corner I would pray until the morning. Or I’ll go into the garden early in the morning, the sun is just rising, I’ll fall on my knees, pray and cry, and I myself don’t know what I’m praying for and what I’m crying about; that's how they'll find me. And what I prayed for then, what I asked for, I don’t know; I didn’t need anything, I had enough of everything. And what dreams I had, Varenka, what dreams! Either the temples are golden, or the gardens are some kind of extraordinary, and everyone is singing invisible voices, and there is a smell of cypress, and the mountains and trees seem not to be the same as usual, but as if depicted in images. And it’s as if I’m flying, and I’m flying through the air. And now I sometimes dream, but rarely, and not even that.

Varvara. So what?

Katerina(after a pause). I'll die soon.

Varvara. That's enough!

Katerina. No, I know that I will die. Oh, girl, something bad is happening to me, some kind of miracle! This has never happened to me. There is something so unusual about me. I’m starting to live again, or... I don’t know.

Varvara. What's the matter with you?

Katerina(takes her hand). But here’s what, Varya: it’s some kind of sin! Such and such fear comes over me, such and such fear comes over me! It’s as if I’m standing over an abyss and someone is pushing me there, but I have nothing to hold on to. (He grabs his head with his hand.)

Varvara. What happened to you? Are you healthy?

Katerina. Healthy... It would be better if I were sick, otherwise it’s not good. Some kind of dream comes into my head. And I won’t leave her anywhere. If I start to think, I won’t be able to gather my thoughts; I’ll pray, but I won’t be able to pray. I babble words with my tongue, but in my mind it’s not at all like that: it’s as if the evil one is whispering in my ears, but everything about such things is bad. And then it seems to me that I will feel ashamed of myself. What happened with me? Before trouble, before some kind of it! At night, Varya, I can’t sleep, I keep imagining some kind of whisper: someone is talking to me so affectionately, like a dove cooing. I don’t dream, Varya, as before, of paradise trees and mountains, but as if someone is hugging me so warmly and warmly and leading me somewhere, and I follow him, I go...

Varvara. Well?

Katerina. Why am I telling you: you are a girl.

Varvara(looking around). Speak! I'm worse than you.

Katerina. Well, what should I say? I'm ashamed.

Varvara. Speak, there is no need!

Katerina. It will become so stuffy for me, so stuffy at home, that I would run. And such a thought will come to me that, if it were up to me, I would now be riding along the Volga, on a boat, singing, or in a good troika, hugging...

Varvara. Not with my husband.

Katerina. How do you know?

Varvara. I wouldn't know.

Katerina. Ah, Varya, sin is on my mind! How much I, poor thing, cried, what I didn’t do to myself! I can't escape this sin. Can't go anywhere. After all, this is not good, because this is a terrible sin, Varenka, why do I love someone else?

Varvara. Why should I judge you! I have my sins.

Katerina. What should I do! My strength is not enough. Where should I go; Out of boredom I will do something about myself!

Varvara. What you! What happened to you! Just wait, my brother will leave tomorrow, we’ll think about it; maybe it will be possible to see each other.

Katerina. No, no, don't! What you! What you! God forbid!

Varvara. What are you afraid of?

Katerina. If I see him even once, I will run away from home, I will not go home for anything in the world.

Varvara. But wait, we'll see there.

Katerina. No, no, don't tell me, I don't want to listen.

Varvara. What a desire to dry out! Even if you die of melancholy, they will feel sorry for you! Well, just wait. So what a shame it is to torture yourself!


Included Lady with a stick and two footmen in three-cornered hats behind.


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Kuligin's monologue

Cruel morals, sir, in our city, they are cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and stark poverty. And we, sir, will never escape this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more than our daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, tries to enslave the poor so that his labors will be free more money make money Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered to the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disrespect any of them. The mayor began to tell him: “Listen,” he says, Savel Prokofich, pay the men well! Every day they come to me with complaints!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, for us to talk about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You understand: I won’t pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands out of this, so that’s good for me!” That's it, sir! And among themselves, sir, how they live! They undermine each other's trade, and not so much out of self-interest as out of envy. They are at enmity with each other; They get drunken clerks into their high mansions, such, sir, clerks that there is no human appearance on him, his human appearance is hysterical. And they, for small acts of kindness, scribble malicious slander against their neighbors on stamped sheets. And for them, sir, a trial and a case will begin, and there will be no end to the torment. They sue and sue here, but they go to the province, and there they are waiting for them and splashing their hands with joy. Soon the fairy tale is told, but not soon the deed is done; they drive them, they drive them, they drag them, they drag them; and they are also happy about this dragging, that’s all they need. “I’ll spend it, he says, and it won’t cost him a penny.” I wanted to depict all this in poetry...

This is the kind of town we have, sir! They made the boulevard, but they don’t walk. They only go out on holidays, and then they only pretend to be out for a walk, but they themselves go there to show off their outfits. The only thing you will see is a drunken clerk, trudged home from the tavern. The poor, sir, have no time to walk, they are busy day and night. And they sleep only three hours a day. What do the rich do? Well, why don’t they, it seems, go for walks and breathe fresh air? So no. Everyone's gates, sir, have long been locked and the dogs have been let loose. Do you think they are doing something, or are they praying to God? No, sir! And they don’t lock themselves away from thieves, but so that people don’t see them eating their own family and tyrannizing their family. And what tears flow behind these constipations, invisible and inaudible! What can I tell you, sir! You can judge for yourself. And what, sir, behind these castles is dark debauchery and drunkenness! And everything is sewn and covered - no one sees or knows anything, only God sees! You, he says, look at me in people and on the street; but you don’t care about my family; for this, he says, I have locks, and constipations, and angry dogs. The family says it’s a secret, secret matter! We know these secrets! Because of these secrets, sir, only he is having fun, and the rest are howling like a wolf. And what's the secret? Who doesn't know him! Rob orphans, relatives, nephews, beat up his family so that they don’t dare say a word about anything he does there. That's the whole secret. Well, God bless them! Do you know, sir, who is hanging out with us? Young boys and girls. So these people steal an hour or two from sleep, and then walk in pairs. Yes, here's a couple!

Popular monologue of Katerina from Ostrovsky's work "The Thunderstorm"

Why don't people fly?
I say, why don’t people fly like birds? Sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly! That’s how I would run away, raise my arms and fly... Is there something I could try now?!... And how frisky I was! Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. And what dreams I had, what dreams! Either the temples are golden, or the gardens are some kind of extraordinary, and everyone is singing invisible voices, and there is a smell of cypress, and the mountains and trees seem not to be the same as usual, but as if depicted in images. And it’s as if I’m flying, and I’m flying through the air. And now sometimes I dream, but rarely, and not even that... Oh, something bad is happening to me, some kind of miracle! This has never happened to me. There is something so unusual about me. I’m starting to live again, or... I don’t know. Such and such fear comes over me, such and such fear comes over me! It’s as if I’m standing over an abyss and someone is pushing me there, but I have nothing to hold on to... Some kind of dream creeps into my head. And I won’t leave her anywhere. If I start to think, I won’t be able to gather my thoughts; I’ll pray, but I won’t be able to pray. I babble words with my tongue, but in my mind it’s not at all like that: it’s as if the evil one is whispering in my ears, but everything about such things is bad. And then it seems to me that I will feel ashamed of myself. What happened with me? I can’t sleep, I keep imagining some kind of whisper: someone is talking to me so affectionately, like a dove cooing. I no longer dream, as before, of heavenly trees and mountains, but as if someone is hugging me so warmly and warmly and leading me somewhere, and I follow him, I go...

Marfa Ignatievna Kabanova is God's dandelion. This is how she associates herself in the city of Kalinov. Is it so?

Prude, sir! He gives money to the poor, but completely eats up his family.

Dumb, ignorant, she surrounds herself with the same obscurantists as herself. Hiding despotism under the guise of piety, Kabanikha brings her family to the point that Tikhon does not dare to contradict her in anything. Varvara learned to lie, hide and dodge. With her tyranny, she brought Katerina to death. Varvara, Kabanikha’s daughter, runs away from home, and Tikhon regrets that he did not die with his wife.

Kabanikha’s faith in God and principles are combined with amazing severity and mercilessness: she sharpens her son like rusty iron, because he loves his wife more than his mother, that he supposedly wants to live according to his own will. The severity of Kabanikha’s character is even more strongly expressed in her relationship with her daughter-in-law: she sharply and venomously cuts her off at every word, and with malicious irony condemns her for her affectionate treatment of her husband, whom, in her opinion, she should not love, but fear. Kabanikha’s heartlessness reaches a terrifying degree when Katerina confesses to her wrongdoing: she angrily rejoices at this event: “there is no point in pitying such a wife, she must be buried alive in the ground...”

Kabanikha, with her cunning, hypocrisy, cold, implacable cruelty and thirst for power, is truly terrifying - she is the most sinister figure in the city. Dikoy strives to rudely assert his power, while Kabanikha calmly asserts herself, guarding everything old and passing away.

List of works to learn by heart and definition of the genre of the work the teacher carries out independently according to the author's program.

An excerpt of a work (poetic) for grades 5-11 must be a complete semantic text of at least 30 lines; prose text – 10-15 lines (grades 5-8), 15-20 lines (grades 9-11). Texts for memorizing from a dramatic work are determined by the form of the monologue.

1. A.S. Pushkin. “The Bronze Horseman” (excerpt “I love you, Peter’s creation...”)

2. I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)

3. I.S.Goncharov. "Oblomov" (excerpt)

4. A.N. Ostrovsky. “Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)

5. F.I.Tyutchev. "Oh, how murderously we love..."

6. N.A.Nekrasov. “The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”); “You and I are stupid people...”, “Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)

7. A.A.Fet. “Distant friend, understand my sobs...”

8. A.K. Tolstoy. "Among noisy ball accidentally…"

9. L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)

10. A. Rimbaud. "Closet"

Alexander Pushkin.“I love you, Peter’s creation” (from the poem “The Bronze Horseman”)

I love you, Petra's creation,

I love your strict, slender appearance,

Neva sovereign current,

Its coastal granite,

Your fences have a cast iron pattern,

of your thoughtful nights

Transparent twilight, moonless shine,

When I'm in my room

I write, I read without a lamp,

And the sleeping communities are clear

Deserted streets and light

Admiralty needle,

And, not letting the darkness of the night

To golden skies

One dawn gives way to another

He hurries, giving the night half an hour.

I love your cruel winter

Still air and frost,

Sleigh running along the wide Neva,

Girls' faces are brighter than roses,

And the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls,

And at the time of the feast the bachelor

The hiss of foamy glasses

And the punch flame is blue.

I love the warlike liveliness

Amusing Fields of Mars,

Infantry troops and horses

Uniform beauty

In their harmoniously unsteady system

The shreds of these victorious banners,

The shine of these copper caps,

Shot through and through in battle.

I love you, military capital,

Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,

When the queen is full

Gives a son to the royal house,

Or victory over the enemy

Russia triumphs again

Or, breaking your blue ice,

The Neva carries him to the seas

And, sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.

Show off, city Petrov, and stand

Unshakable like Russia,

May he make peace with you

And the defeated element;

Enmity and ancient captivity

Let the Finnish waves forget

And they will not be vain malice

Alarm last sleep Petra!

I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)

And now I repeat to you at parting... because there is no point in deceiving yourself: we are saying goodbye forever, and you yourself feel it... you acted smartly; you were not created for our bitter, tart, bean* life. You have neither insolence nor anger, but only youthful courage and youthful enthusiasm; This is not suitable for our business. Your brother, a nobleman, cannot go further than noble humility or noble ebullience, and this is nothing. For example, you don’t fight - and you already imagine yourself to be great - but we want to fight. What! Our dust will eat into your eyes, our dirt will stain you, and you haven’t grown up to us, you involuntarily admire yourself, you enjoy scolding yourself; But it’s boring for us - give us others! We need to break others! You are a nice fellow; but you are still a soft, liberal barich - e volatu, as my parent puts it.

Are you saying goodbye to me forever, Evgeniy? - Arkady said sadly, - and you have no other words for me?

Bazarov scratched the back of his head.

Yes, Arkady, I have other words, but I won’t express them, because this is romanticism - it means: get drunk *. And you should get married as soon as possible; Yes, get your own nest, and have more children. They will be smart just because they will be born on time, not like you and me.

NOTES:

* BOBYL- unmarried, unmarried, unmarried, single, wifeless, familyless.

*GET EXCITED and fall apart, fall apart, fall apart - become soft, fall into a sentimental mood.

I.S. Goncharov."Oblomov" (excerpt)

No,” Olga interrupted, raising her head and trying to look at him through her tears. “I only recently found out that I loved in you what I wanted to have in you, what Stolz showed me, what we came up with with him.” I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek and honest, Ilya; you are gentle... dove; you hide your head under your wing - and don’t want anything more; you are ready to coo under the roof all your life... but I’m not like that: this is not enough for me, I need something else, but I don’t know what! Can you teach me, tell me what it is, what I lack, give it all so that I... And tenderness... where it is not!

Oblomov’s legs gave way; he sat down in a chair and wiped his hands and forehead with a handkerchief.

The word was cruel; it deeply stung Oblomov: inside it seemed to burn him, outside it blew cold on him. In response, he smiled somehow pitifully, painfully bashful, like a beggar who was reproached for his nakedness. He sat with this smile of powerlessness, weakened from excitement and resentment; his dull gaze clearly said: “Yes, I am meager, pitiful, poor... beat me, beat me!..”

Who cursed you, Ilya? What did you do? You are kind, smart, gentle, noble... and... you are dying! What ruined you? There is no name for this evil...

“Yes,” he said, barely audible.

She looked at him questioningly, her eyes full of tears.

Oblomovism! - he whispered, then took her hand, wanted to kiss it, but couldn’t, he just pressed it tightly to his lips, and hot tears dripped onto her fingers.

Without raising his head, without showing her his face, he turned around and walked away.

A.N. Ostrovsky.“Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)

Monologue of Katerina.

I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how I would run up, raise my hands and fly...

How frisky I was! I'm completely withered...

Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all of us, strangers; our house was full of strangers; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!

Monologue of Kuligin.

Cruel morals, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and stark poverty. And we, sir, will never escape this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more than our daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, tries to enslave the poor so that he can make even more money from his free labors. Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered to the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disrespect any of them. The mayor began to tell him: “Listen,” he says, Savel Prokofich, pay the men well! Every day they come to me with complaints!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, for us to talk about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You understand: I won’t pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands out of this, so that’s good for me!” That's it, sir!

F.I.Tyutchev."Oh, how murderously we love..."

Oh, how murderously we love,

We are most likely to destroy,

What is dear to our hearts!

How long ago, proud of my victory,

You said: she is mine...

A year has not passed - ask and find out,

What was left of her?

Where did the roses go?

The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?

Everything was scorched, tears burned out

With its hot moisture.

Do you remember, when you met,

At the first fatal meeting,

Her eyes and speeches are magical

And baby-like laughter?

So what now? And where is all this?

And how long was the dream?

Alas, like northern summer,

He was a passing guest!

Fate's terrible sentence

Your love was for her

And undeserved shame

She laid down her life!

A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!

In her spiritual depths

She was left with memories...

But they changed them too.

And on earth she felt wild,

The charm is gone...

The crowd surged and trampled into the mud

What bloomed in her soul.

And what about the long torment?

How did she manage to save the ashes?

Evil pain, bitter pain,

Pain without joy and without tears!

Oh, how murderously we love!

As in the violent blindness of passions

We are most likely to destroy,

What is dearer to our hearts!..

N.A. Nekrasov.“The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”)

The son cannot look calmly

On my dear mother's grief,

There will be no worthy citizen

I have a cold heart for my homeland,

There is no worse reproach for him...

Go into the fire for the honor of your fatherland,

For conviction, for love...

Go and die blamelessly.

You will not die in vain, the matter is strong,

When the blood flows underneath...

And you, poet! chosen one of heaven,

Herald of age-old truths,

Do not believe that he who has no bread

Not worth your prophetic strings!

Don’t believe that people will fall altogether;

God didn't die in soul of people,

And a cry from a believing chest

Will always be available to her!

Be a citizen! serving art,

Live for the good of your neighbor,

Subordinating your genius to feeling

All-embracing Love;

And if you are rich in gifts,

Don’t bother exhibiting them:

They themselves will shine in your work

Their life-giving rays.

Look: solid stone in fragments

The poor worker crushes

And from under the hammer it flies

And the flame splashes out on its own!

N.A. Nekrasov.“You and I are stupid people...”

You and I are stupid people:

In just a minute, the flash is ready!

Relief for a troubled chest

An unreasonable, harsh word.

Speak up when you're angry

Everything that excites and torments the soul!

Let us, my friend, be openly angry:

The world is easier and more likely to get boring.

If prose in love is inevitable,

So let's take a share of happiness from her:

After a quarrel, so full, so tender

Return of love and participation.

N.A. Nekrasov.“Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)

You're miserable too

You are also abundant

You are mighty

You are also powerless

Mother Rus'!

Saved in slavery

Free heart -

Gold, gold

People's heart!

People's power

Mighty force -

Conscience is calm,

The truth is alive!

Strength with untruth

Doesn't get along

Sacrifice by untruth

Not called

Rus' does not move,

Rus' is like dead!

And she caught fire

Hidden spark

They stood up - unwounded,

They came out - uninvited,

Live by the grain

The mountains have been damaged!

The army is rising

Countless!

The strength in her will affect

Indestructible!

You're miserable too

You are also abundant

You're downtrodden

You are omnipotent

Mother Rus'!

A.A.Fet.“Distant friend, understand my sobs...” (“A. L. Brzeskoy”)

Distant friend, understand my sobs,

Forgive me for my painful cry.

Memories bloom in my soul with you,

And I haven’t lost the habit of cherishing you.

Who will tell us that we did not know how to live,

Soulless and idle minds,

That kindness and tenderness did not burn in us

And we didn’t sacrifice beauty?

Where is all this? The soul is still burning

Still ready to embrace the world.

Vain heat! Nobody is answering,

Sounds will resurrect and die again.

Only you are alone! High excitement

There is blood on the cheeks and inspiration in the heart. -

Get away from this dream - there are too many tears in it!

It’s not a pity for life with languid breathing,

What is life and death? What a pity about that fire

That shone over the whole universe,

And he goes into the night and cries as he leaves.

A.K. Tolstoy.“In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance...”

In the middle of a noisy ball, by chance,

In the anxiety of worldly vanity,

I saw you, but it's a mystery

Your features are covered.

Like the sound of a distant pipe,

Like a playing shaft of the sea.

I liked your thin figure

And your whole thoughtful look,

And your laughter, both sad and ringing,

Since then it has been ringing in my heart.

In the lonely hours of the night

I love, tired, to lie down -

I see sad eyes

I hear cheerful speech;

And sadly I fall asleep like that,

And I sleep in unknown dreams...

Do I love you - I don't know

But it seems to me that I love it!

L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)

In captivity, in a booth, Pierre learned not with his mind, but with his whole being, life, that man was created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in the satisfaction of natural human needs, and that all unhappiness comes not from lack, but from excess; but now, in these last three weeks of the campaign, he learned another new, comforting truth - he learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He learned that just as there is no situation in which a person would be happy and completely free, there is also no situation in which he would be unhappy and not free. He learned that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that this limit is very close; that the man who suffered because one leaf was wrapped in his pink bed suffered in the same way as he suffered now, falling asleep on the bare, damp earth, cooling one side and warming the other; that when he used to put on his narrow ballroom shoes, he suffered in exactly the same way as now, when he walked completely barefoot (his shoes had long since become disheveled), with feet covered with sores. He learned that when he, as it seemed to him, of his own free will, married his wife, he was no more free than now, when he was locked in the stable at night. Of all the things that he later called suffering, but which he hardly felt then, the main thing was his bare, worn, scabby feet.

A. Rimbaud."Closet"

Here old wardrobe carved, whose oak is streaked with dark

I began to look like kind old men a long time ago;

The closet is thrown open, and darkness comes from all the secluded corners

The enticing smell flows like old wine.

Full of everything: a pile of junk,

Pleasant-smelling yellow underwear,

Grandmother's scarf, where there is an image

Griffin, lace, and ribbons, and rags;

Here you will find medallions and portraits,

A strand of white hair and a strand of a different color,

Children's clothes, dried flowers...

O closet of bygone days! Lots of stories

And you keep many fairy tales safely

Behind this door, blackened and creaky.