The society in which I so accidentally found myself. With

Chapter XI
Rebel settlement

I left the general and hurried to my apartment. Savelich met me with his usual admonition. “You want, sir, to talk with drunken robbers! Is this a boyar thing? The hour is not certain: you will disappear for nothing. And it would be good if you went with a Turk or a Swede, otherwise it’s a shame to say who.”

I interrupted his speech with a question: how much money do I have? “It will be yours,” he answered with a satisfied look. “No matter how the scammers fumbled, I still managed to hide it.” And with that word he took from his pocket a long knitted wallet full of silver. “Well, Savelich,” I told him, “give me half now; and take the rest for yourself. I’m going to the Belogorsk fortress.”

Father Peter Andreich! - said the kind guy in a trembling voice. - Fear God; How can you go on the road at the present time, when there is no way to get anywhere from robbers! At least have pity on your parents, if you don’t feel pity on yourself. Where should you go? For what? Wait a little: the troops will come and catch the scammers; then go to all four directions.

But my intention was firmly accepted.

“It’s too late to talk,” I answered the old man. - I have to go, I can’t help but go. Don’t worry, Savelich: God is merciful; Maybe we'll see you! Be careful, don’t be ashamed and don’t be stingy. Buy what you need, even at exorbitant prices. I give this money to you. If after three days I don’t turn around...

What are you doing, sir? - Savelich interrupted me. - So that I let you in alone! Don’t even ask for this in your dreams. If you have already decided to go, then I will even follow you on foot, but I will not leave you. So that I could sit behind a stone wall without you! Am I crazy? Your will, sir, and I will not leave you.

I knew that there was no point in arguing with Savelich, and I allowed him to get ready for the journey. Half an hour later I mounted my good horse, and Savelich mounted a skinny and lame nag, which one of the city residents gave him for free, no longer having the means to feed it. We arrived at the city gates; the guards let us through; we left Orenburg.

It was starting to get dark. My path went past Berdskaya Sloboda, Pugachev’s refuge. The straight road was covered with snow; but all over the steppe horse tracks were visible, renewed daily. I was riding at a fast trot. Savelich could hardly follow me from a distance and shouted to me every minute: “Quiet down, sir, for God’s sake, quiet down. My damn nag can’t keep up with your long-legged demon. Where are you in a hurry? It would be good to go to the feast, otherwise you’ll be in trouble... Pyotr Andreich... Father Pyotr Andreich!

Soon the Berd lights began to sparkle. We approached ravines, the natural fortifications of the settlement. Savelich did not lag behind me, without interrupting his plaintive prayers. I was hoping to get around the settlement safely, when suddenly I saw in the darkness, right in front of me, about five men armed with clubs: this was the advanced guard of Pugachev’s refuge. They called out to us. Not knowing the password, I wanted to silently drive past them; but they immediately surrounded me, and one of them grabbed my horse by the bridle. I pulled out a saber and hit the man on the head; the hat saved him, but he staggered and let go of the bridle. The others were embarrassed and ran away; I took advantage of this moment, spurred my horse and galloped off.

The darkness of the approaching night could have saved me from all danger, when suddenly, looking back, I saw that Savelich was not with me. The poor old man on his lame horse could not gallop away from the robbers. What was to be done? After waiting for him for several minutes and making sure that he was detained, I turned my horse and went to help him out.

Approaching the ravine, I heard noise, screams and the voice of my Savelich from a distance. I drove faster and soon found myself again between the guard men who stopped me a few minutes ago. Savelich was between them. They pulled the old man off his nag and were preparing to tie him up. My arrival made them happy. They rushed at me screaming and instantly pulled me off the horse. One of them, apparently the main one, announced to us that he would now lead us to the sovereign. “And our father,” he added, “is free to order: whether to hang you now, or wait for the light of God.” I didn't resist; Savelich followed my example, and the guards led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine and entered the settlement. Lights were burning in all the huts. Noise and screams were heard everywhere. On the street I met a lot of people; but no one noticed us in the darkness or recognized me as an Orenburg officer. We were led straight to a hut that stood at the corner of the intersection. At the gate there were several wine barrels and two cannons. “Here is the palace,” said one of the men, “now we’ll report on you.” He entered the hut. I looked at Savelich; the old man crossed himself, reading a prayer to himself. I waited a long time; Finally the man returned and said to me: “Go: our father ordered to let the officer in.”

I entered the hut, or palace, as the men called it. It was lit by two tallow candles, and the walls were covered with gold paper; However, the benches, the table, the washstand on a string, the towel on a nail, the grabber in the corner and the wide pole covered with pots - everything was like in an ordinary hut. Pugachev sat under the icons, in a red caftan, with a high hat and an important figure akimbo. Several of his chief comrades stood near him, with an air of feigned servility. It was clear that the news of the arrival of an officer from Orenburg aroused great curiosity among the rebels and that they were preparing to greet me with triumph. Pugachev recognized me at first sight. His false importance suddenly disappeared. “Ah, your honor! - he told me with liveliness. - How are you doing? Why did God bring you?” I replied that I was going about my business and that his people stopped me. “What business?” - he asked me. I didn't know what to answer. Pugachev, believing that I did not want to explain myself in front of witnesses, turned to his comrades and ordered them to leave. Everyone obeyed, except two, who did not move. “Speak boldly in front of them,” Pugachev told me, “I don’t hide anything from them.” I glanced sideways at the impostor's confidants. One of them, a frail and hunched old man with a gray beard, had nothing remarkable about himself except a blue ribbon worn over his shoulder over his gray overcoat. But I will never forget his comrade. He was tall, portly and broad-shouldered, and seemed to me to be about forty-five years old. Thick Red beard, gray sparkling eyes, a nose without nostrils and reddish spots on his forehead and cheeks gave his pockmarked wide face an inexplicable expression. He was wearing a red shirt, a Kyrgyz robe and Cossack trousers. The first (as I learned later) was the fugitive corporal Beloborodov; the second is Afanasy Sokolov (nicknamed Khlopusha), an exiled criminal who escaped from Siberian mines three times. Despite the feelings that exclusively worried me, the company in which I so accidentally found myself greatly entertained my imagination. But Pugachev brought me to my senses with his question: “Tell me: what business did you leave Orenburg for?”

A strange thought occurred to me: it seemed to me that Providence, which had led me to Pugachev for the second time, was giving me an opportunity to put my intention into action. I decided to use it and, without having time to think about what I was deciding on, I answered Pugachev’s question:

I was going to the Belogorsk fortress to deliver an orphan who was being abused there.

Pugachev’s eyes sparkled. “Which of my people dares to offend an orphan? - he shouted. “Even if he’s a sliver of a brain, he won’t escape my judgment.” Speak: who is to blame?

Shvabrin is guilty,” I answered. “He is holding in captivity that girl you saw, sick, at the priest’s house, and he wants to forcefully marry her.

“I’ll teach Shvabrin a lesson,” Pugachev said menacingly. “He will know what it’s like for me to be willful and offend people.” I'll hang him.

Order the word to be spoken,” said Khlopusha in a hoarse voice. - You were in a hurry to appoint Shvabrin as commandant of the fortress, and now you are in a hurry to hang him. You have already insulted the Cossacks by placing a nobleman as their leader; Don’t frighten the nobles by executing them at the first slander.

There is no point in pitying or favoring them! - said the old man in the blue ribbon. - It’s no problem to say Shvabrin; and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to question the gentleman officer in order: why did you deign to come? If he doesn’t recognize you as sovereign, then there’s no point in looking for government from you, but if he admits that until today he was sitting in Orenburg with your adversaries? Would you like to order him to be taken to the office and light a light there: it seems to me that his honor was sent to us from the Orenburg commanders.

I found the old villain's logic quite convincing. A chill ran through my entire body at the thought of whose arms I was in. Pugachev noticed my embarrassment. “Asya, your honor? - he told me winking. - My field marshal seems to be speaking the point. How do you think?"

Pugachev's mockery restored my cheerfulness. I calmly replied that I was in his power and that he was free to do with me as he pleased.

“Okay,” said Pugachev. - Now tell me what state your city is in.

“Thank God,” I answered, “everything is fine.”

Safely? - repeated Pugachev. - And the people are dying of hunger!

The impostor spoke the truth; but I, out of duty of oath, began to assure that all these were empty rumors and that Orenburg had plenty of all kinds of supplies.

“You see,” the old man picked up, “that he is deceiving you to your face.” All the fugitives agree that there is famine and pestilence in Orenburg, that they eat carrion there, and that only for honor; and His Grace assures us that there is plenty of everything. If you want to hang Shvabrin, then hang this fellow on the same gallows, so that no one will be jealous.

The words of the damned old man seemed to shake Pugachev. Fortunately, Khlopusha began to contradict his comrade.

That’s enough, Naumych,” he told him. - You should strangle and cut everything. What kind of hero are you? Look at what the soul holds. You look into your own grave, but you destroy others. Isn't there enough blood on your conscience?

What kind of a saint are you? - Beloborodov objected. - Where did your pity come from?

Of course,” answered Khlopusha, “I am a sinner, and this hand (here he clenched his bony fist and, rolling up his sleeves, opened his shaggy hand), and this hand is guilty of shed Christian blood. But I destroyed the enemy, not the guest; at a free crossroads, but in a dark forest, not at home, sitting behind the stove; with a flail and a butt, and not with a woman’s slander.

The old man turned away and grumbled the words: “Ragged nostrils!”...

What are you whispering there, you old brat? - Khlopusha shouted. - I'll give you torn nostrils; wait, your time will come; God willing, you will smell the tongs... In the meantime, make sure I don’t rip out your beard!

Gentlemen enaraly! - Pugachev declared importantly. - You've had enough of quarreling. It wouldn’t be a problem if all the Orenburg dogs kicked their legs under the same crossbar; it would be a problem if our male dogs squabbled among themselves. Well, make peace.

Khlopusha and Beloborodov did not say a word and looked at each other gloomily. I saw the need to change the conversation, which could end in a very unfavorable way for me, and, turning to Pugachev, I told him with a cheerful look: “Ah! I forgot to thank you for the horse and the sheepskin coat. Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten to the city and would have frozen on the road.”

My trick was a success. Pugachev was amused. “Debt pays off,” he said, blinking and squinting. - Tell me now, why do you care about that girl whom Shvabrin offends? Isn’t it a sweetheart for a young man’s heart? A?"

“She is my bride,” I answered Pugachev, seeing a favorable change in the weather and not finding the need to hide the truth.

Your bride! - Pugachev shouted. - Why didn’t you say it before? Yes, we will marry you and feast at your wedding! - Then, turning to Beloborodov: - Listen, Field Marshal! His honor and I are old friends; Let's sit down and have dinner; The morning is wiser than the evening. Tomorrow we'll see what we do with it.

I was glad to refuse the offered honor, but there was nothing to do. Two young Cossack women, daughters of the owner of the hut, covered the table with a white tablecloth, brought bread, fish soup and several bottles of wine and beer, and for the second time I found myself sharing a meal with Pugachev and his terrible comrades.

The orgy, which I was an involuntary witness, continued until late at night. Finally, the hops began to overcome the interlocutors. Pugachev dozed off while sitting in his place; His comrades stood up and gave me a sign to leave him. I went out with them. By order of Khlopushi, the guard took me to the official hut, where I found Savelich and where they left me locked up with him. The guy was in such amazement at the sight of everything that was happening that he didn’t ask me any questions. He lay down in the darkness and sighed and groaned for a long time; Finally he began to snore, and I indulged in thoughts that did not allow me to doze off for a single minute the whole night.

In the morning they came to call me on behalf of Pugachev. I went to him. At its gate stood a wagon drawn by three Tatar horses. People crowded on the street. In the entryway I met Pugachev: he was dressed like a traveler, wearing a fur coat and a Kyrgyz hat. Yesterday's interlocutors surrounded him, assuming an air of servility that strongly contradicted everything that I had witnessed the day before. Pugachev greeted me cheerfully and ordered me to sit in the wagon with him.

We sat down. “To the Belogorsk fortress!” - Pugachev said to the broad-shouldered Tatar, standing at the helm of the troika. My heart began to beat violently. The horses started moving, the bell rang, the wagon flew...

“Stop! stop!” - a voice rang out, too familiar to me, - and I saw Savelich running towards us. Pugachev ordered to stop. “Father, Pyotr Andreich! - the guy shouted. “Don’t leave me in my old age in the midst of these scams...” - “Ah, old bastard! - Pugachev told him. - God allowed us to meet again. Well, sit down on the irradiator.”

Thank you, sir, thank you, dear father! - Savelich said as he sat down. - May God grant you a hundred years of health for looking after me as an old man and calming me down. I will pray to God for you forever, but I won’t even mention the hare’s sheepskin coat.

This hare sheepskin coat could finally seriously anger Pugachev. Fortunately, the impostor either did not hear or ignored the inappropriate hint. The horses galloped; people on the street stopped and bowed from the waist. Pugachev nodded his head to both sides. A minute later we left the settlement and rushed along a smooth road.

You can easily imagine how I felt at that moment. In a few hours I was supposed to see the one whom I considered already lost to me. I imagined the moment of our union... I also thought about the man in whose hands my fate was and who, by a strange coincidence of circumstances, was mysteriously connected with me. I remembered the reckless cruelty, the bloodthirsty habits of the one who volunteered to be the deliverer of my dear! Pugachev did not know that she was the daughter of Captain Mironov; the embittered Shvabrin could reveal everything to him; Pugachev could have discovered the truth in another way... Then what will happen to Marya Ivanovna? The cold ran through my body and my hair stood on end...

Suddenly Pugachev interrupted my thoughts, turning to me with a question:

What, your honor, did you deign to think about?

“How can I not think about it,” I answered him. - I am an officer and a nobleman; Yesterday I fought against you, and today I’m riding with you in the same tent, and the happiness of my whole life depends on you.

Well? - asked Pugachev. -Are you scared?

I answered that, having already been pardoned by him once, I hoped not only for his mercy, but even for his help.

And you're right, by God you're right! - said the impostor. - You saw that my guys looked at you askance; and the old man still insisted today that you were a spy and that you should be tortured and hanged; but I didn’t agree,” he added, lowering his voice so that Savelich and the Tatar could not hear him, “remembering your glass of wine and the hare’s sheepskin coat.” You see that I am not such a bloodsucker as your brothers say about me.

I remembered the capture of the Belogorsk fortress; but did not consider it necessary to challenge him and did not answer a word.

What do they say about me in Orenburg? - asked Pugachev, after a short silence.

Yes, they say that you are difficult to deal with; there is nothing to say: you made yourself known.

The impostor's face showed satisfied pride.

Yes! - he said with a cheerful look. - I fight anywhere. Do you know in Orenburg about the battle of Yuzeeva? Forty enarals were killed, four armies were captured. What do you think: could the Prussian king compete with me?

The robber's boastfulness seemed funny to me.

What do you think? - I said to him, - could you cope with Fryderyk?

With Fedor Fedorovich? Why not? I’m the one who manages your money; and they beat him. Until now my weapon was happy. Give it time, or else it will be before I go to Moscow.

Do you think about going to Moscow?

The impostor thought a little and said in a low voice:

God knows. My street is cramped; I have little will. My guys are smart. They are thieves. I have to keep my ears open; at the first failure, they will ransom their neck with my head.

That's it! - I said to Pugachev. “Isn’t it better for you to get away from them yourself, in advance, and resort to the mercy of the empress?”

Pugachev smiled bitterly.

No,” he answered, “it’s too late for me to repent.” There will be no mercy for me. I will continue as I started. Who knows? Maybe it will work! Grishka Otrepyev reigned over Moscow after all.

Do you know how he ended up? They threw him out of the window, stabbed him, burned him, loaded a cannon with his ashes and fired him out!

Listen,” said Pugachev with some wild inspiration. - I’ll tell you a fairy tale that an old Kalmyk woman told me as a child. One day an eagle asked a raven: tell me, raven bird, why have you lived in this world for three hundred years, and I am only thirty-three years old? “Because, father,” the raven answered him, “you drink living blood, and I feed on carrion.” The eagle thought: let's try and eat the same thing. Fine. The eagle and the raven flew away. They saw a dead horse; came down and sat down. The raven began to peck and praise. The eagle pecked once, pecked again, waved its wing and said to the raven: no, brother raven; Instead of eating carrion for three hundred years, it’s better to drink living blood once, and then God willing! - What is a Kalmyk fairy tale?

Intricate, - I answered him. - But to live by murder and robbery means, for me, to peck at carrion.

Pugachev looked at me in surprise and did not answer. We both fell silent, each immersed in our own thoughts. The Tatar began to sing a sad song; Savelich, dozing, rocked on the beam. The carriage was flying along a smooth winter road... Suddenly I saw a village on the steep bank of the Yaik, with a palisade and a bell tower - and a quarter of an hour later we drove into the Belogorsk fortress.

Approaching the ravine, I heard noise, screams and the voice of my Savelich from a distance. I drove faster, and soon found myself again between the guard men who stopped me a few minutes ago. Savelich was between them. They pulled the old man off his nag and were preparing to tie him up. My arrival made them happy. They rushed at me screaming and instantly pulled me off the horse. One of them, apparently the main one, announced to us that he would now lead us to the sovereign. “And our father,” he added, “is free to order: whether to hang you now, or wait for the light of God.” I didn't resist; Savelich followed my example, and the guards led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine and entered the settlement. Lights were burning in all the huts. Noise and screams were heard everywhere. On the street I met a lot of people; but no one noticed us in the darkness or recognized me as an Orenburg officer. We were led straight to a hut that stood at the corner of the intersection. At the gate there were several wine barrels and two cannons. “Here is the palace,” said one of the men, “now we’ll report on you.” He entered the hut. I looked at Savelich; the old man crossed himself, reading a prayer to himself. I waited a long time; Finally the man returned and said to me: “Go: our father ordered to let the officer in.”

I entered the hut, or palace, as the men called it. It was lit by two tallow candles, and the walls were covered with gold paper; however, the benches, the table, the washstand on a string, the towel on a nail, the grabber in the corner and the wide pole covered with pots - everything was like in an ordinary hut. Pugachev sat under the icons, in a red caftan, a high hat, and his arms akimbo. Several of his chief comrades stood near him, with an air of feigned servility. It was clear that the news of the arrival of an officer from Orenburg aroused great curiosity among the rebels, and that they were preparing to greet me with triumph. Pugachev recognized me at first sight. His false importance suddenly disappeared. “Ah, your honor!” he said to me with liveliness. “How are you? Why did God bring you here?” I replied that I was going about my business and that his people stopped me. "What business?" he asked me. I didn't know what to answer. Pugachev, believing that I did not want to explain myself in front of witnesses, turned to his comrades and ordered them to leave. Everyone obeyed, except two, who did not move. “Speak boldly in front of them,” Pugachev told me, “I’m not hiding anything from them.” I glanced sideways at the impostor's confidants. One of them, a frail and hunched old man with a gray beard, had nothing remarkable about himself except a blue ribbon worn over his shoulder over his gray overcoat. But I will never forget his comrade. He was tall, portly and broad-shouldered, and seemed to me to be about forty-five years old. A thick red beard, gray sparkling eyes, a nose without nostrils and reddish spots on his forehead and cheeks gave his pockmarked wide face an inexplicable expression. He was wearing a red shirt, a Kyrgyz robe and Cossack trousers. The first (as I learned later) was the fugitive corporal Beloborodov; the second Afanasy Sokolov (nicknamed Khlopusha), an exiled criminal who escaped from Siberian mines three times. Despite the feelings that exclusively worried me, the company in which I so accidentally found myself greatly entertained my imagination. But Pugachev brought me to my senses with his question: “Tell me: what business did you leave Orenburg for?”

A strange thought occurred to me: it seemed to me that Providence, which had led me to Pugachev for the second time, was giving me an opportunity to put my intention into action. I decided to use it and, without having time to think about what I was deciding on, I answered Pugachev’s question:

I was going to the Belogorsk fortress to deliver an orphan who was being abused there.

Pugachev’s eyes sparkled. “Which of my people dares to offend an orphan?” he shouted. “Even if he is seven spans in the forehead, he will not escape my judgment. Say: who is to blame?”

Shvabrin is guilty,” I answered. “He is holding in captivity that girl you saw, sick, at the priest’s house, and he wants to forcefully marry her.

“I’ll teach Shvabrin a lesson,” Pugachev said menacingly. “He will know what it’s like for me to be willful and offend people.” I'll hang him.

Order the word to be spoken,” said Khlopusha in a hoarse voice. - You were in a hurry to appoint Shvabrin as commandant of the fortress, and now you are in a hurry to hang him. You have already insulted the Cossacks by placing a nobleman as their leader; Don’t frighten the nobles by executing them at the first slander.

There is no point in pitying or favoring them! - said the old man in the blue ribbon. - It’s no problem to say Shvabrin; and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to question the gentleman officer in order: why did you deign to come? If he doesn’t recognize you as sovereign, then there’s no point in looking for government from you, but if he admits that until today he was sitting in Orenburg with your adversaries? Would you like to order him to be taken to the office and light a light there: it seems to me that his honor was sent to us from the Orenburg commanders.

I found the old villain's logic quite convincing. A chill ran through my entire body at the thought of whose arms I was in. Pugachev noticed my embarrassment. “Asya, your honor?” he said to me, winking. “My field marshal seems to be speaking the point. What do you think?”

Pugachev's mockery restored my cheerfulness. I calmly answered that I was in his power and that he was free to do with me as he pleased.

“Okay,” said Pugachev. - Now tell me what state your city is in.

Thank God, I answered; - everything is fine.

Safely? - repeated Pugachev. - And the people are dying of hunger!

The impostor spoke the truth; but I, out of duty of oath, began to assure that all these were empty rumors, and that Orenburg had plenty of all kinds of reserves.

“You see,” the old man picked up, “that he is deceiving you to your face.” All the fugitives agree that there is famine and pestilence in Orenburg, that they eat carrion there, and that only for honor; and His Grace assures us that there is plenty of everything. If you want to hang Shvabrin, then hang this fellow on the same gallows, so that no one will be jealous.

The words of the damned old man seemed to shake Pugachev. Fortunately, Khlopusha began to contradict his comrade. “Enough, Naumych,” he told him. “You should strangle and cut everything. What kind of hero are you? Look at what the soul is holding on to. You yourself are looking into the grave, but you are destroying others. Isn’t there enough blood on your conscience?”

What kind of a saint are you? - Beloborodov objected. - Where did your pity come from?

Of course, answered Khlopusha, “I am a sinner, and this hand” (here he clenched his bony fist, and, rolling up his sleeves, opened his shaggy hand), and this hand is guilty of shed Christian blood. But I destroyed the enemy, not the guest; at a free crossroads and in a dark forest, not at home, sitting behind the stove; with a flail and a butt, and not with a woman’s slander.

The old man turned away and grumbled the words: “Ragged nostrils!”...

What are you whispering there, you old brat? - Khlopusha shouted. - I'll give you torn nostrils; wait, your time will come; God willing, you will smell the tongs... In the meantime, make sure I don’t rip out your beard!

Gentlemen enaraly! - Pugachev declared importantly. - You've had enough of quarreling. It wouldn’t matter if all the Orenburg dogs kicked their legs under the same crossbar; It will be a disaster if our male dogs squabble among themselves. Well, make peace.

Khlopusha and Beloborodov did not say a word and looked at each other gloomily. I saw the need to change the conversation, which could end in a very unfavorable way for me, and, turning to Pugachev, I told him with a cheerful look: “Oh! I forgot to thank you for the horse and for the sheepskin coat. Without you, I would not have gotten to the city and would freeze on the road."

My trick was a success. Pugachev was amused. “The debt is beautiful in payment,” he said, blinking and squinting. “Tell me now, what do you care about that girl whom Shvabrin offends? Isn’t that a sweetheart for the young man’s heart? Eh?”

“She is my bride,” I answered Pugachev, seeing a favorable change in the weather and not finding the need to hide the truth.

Your bride! - Pugachev shouted. - Why didn’t you say it before? Yes, we will marry you, and we will feast at your wedding! - Then turning to Beloborodov: - Listen, Field Marshal! His honor and I are old friends; Let's sit down and have dinner; The morning is wiser than the evening. Tomorrow we'll see what we do with it.

At that time the lion was well-fed, even though he has been ferocious since birth.
“Why did you deign to come to my den?” -
He asked kindly.
A. Sumarokov

I left the general and hurried to my apartment. Savelich met me with his usual admonition. “You want, sir, to talk with drunken robbers! Is this a boyar thing? The hour is not certain: you will never disappear. And it would be good if you went with a Turk or a Swede, otherwise it’s a shame to say who.”

I interrupted his speech with a question: how much money do I have? “It will be yours,” he answered with a satisfied look. “No matter how the scammers fumbled, I still managed to hide it.” And with this word he took out of his pocket a long knitted wallet full of silver. “Well, Savelich,” I told him, “give me half now; and take the rest for yourself. I’m going to the Belogorsk fortress.”

Father Pyotr Andreich! - said the kind guy in a trembling voice. - Fear God; How can you go on the road at the present time, when there is no way to get anywhere from robbers! At least have pity on your parents, if you don’t feel pity on yourself. Where should you go? For what? Wait a little: the troops will come and catch the scammers; then go to all four directions.

But my intention was firmly accepted.

“It’s too late to talk,” I answered the old man, “I have to go, I can’t help but go.” Don’t grieve, Savelich: God is merciful; Maybe we'll see you! Be careful, don’t be ashamed and don’t be stingy. Buy what you need, even at exorbitant prices. I give this money to you. If I don't come back after three days...

What are you doing, sir? - Savelich interrupted me. - So that I let you in alone! Don’t even ask for this in your dreams. If you have already decided to go, then I will even follow you on foot, but I will not leave you. So that I could sit behind a stone wall without you! Am I crazy? Your will, sir, and I will not leave you.

I knew that there was no point in arguing with Savelich, and I allowed him to get ready for the journey. Half an hour later I mounted my good horse, and Savelich mounted a skinny and lame nag, which one of the city residents gave him for free, no longer having the means to feed it. We arrived at the city gates; the guards let us through; we left Orenburg.

It was starting to get dark. My path went past Berdskaya Sloboda, Pugachev’s refuge. The straight road was covered with snow; but all over the steppe horse tracks were visible, renewed daily. I was riding at a fast trot. Savelich could hardly follow me from a distance and shouted to me every minute: “Quiet down, sir, for God’s sake, quiet down. My damn nag can’t keep up with your long-legged demon. Where are you in a hurry? It would be good to have a feast, otherwise you’ll be in trouble... Pyotr Andreich... Father Pyotr Andreich!.. Don’t ruin it!.. Lord Vladyka, the master’s child will be lost!”

Soon the Berd lights began to sparkle. We approached ravines, the natural fortifications of the settlement. Savelich did not lag behind me, without interrupting his plaintive prayers. I was hoping to get around the settlement safely, when suddenly I saw in the darkness, right in front of me, about five men armed with clubs: this was the advanced guard of Pugachev’s refuge. They called out to us. Not knowing the password, I wanted to silently ride past them, but they immediately surrounded me, and one of them grabbed my horse by the bridle. I pulled out a saber and hit the man on the head; the hat saved him, but he staggered and let go of the bridle. The others were embarrassed and ran away; I took advantage of this moment, spurred my horse and galloped off.

The darkness of the approaching night could have saved me from all danger, when suddenly, looking back, I saw that Savelich was not with me. The poor old man on his lame horse could not gallop away from the robbers. What was to be done? After waiting for him for several minutes and making sure that he was detained, I turned my horse and went to help him out.

Approaching the ravine, I heard noise, screams and the voice of my Savelich from a distance. I drove faster and soon found myself again between the guard men who stopped me a few minutes ago. Savelich was between them. They pulled the old man off his nag and were preparing to tie him up. My arrival made them happy. They rushed at me screaming and instantly pulled me off the horse. One of them, apparently the main one, announced to us that he would now lead us to the sovereign. “And our father,” he added, “is free to order: whether to hang you now or wait for the light of God.” I didn't resist; Savelich followed my example, and the guards led me out in triumph.

We crossed the ravine and entered the settlement. Lights were burning in all the huts. Noise and screams were heard everywhere. On the street I met a lot of people; but no one noticed us in the darkness or recognized me as an Orenburg officer. We were led straight to a hut that stood at the corner of the intersection. At the gate there were several wine barrels and two cannons. “Here is the palace,” said one of the men, “now we’ll report on you.” He entered the hut. I looked at Savelich; the old man crossed himself, reading a prayer to himself. I waited for a long time: finally the man returned and said to me: “Go: our father ordered the officer to be let in.”

I entered the hut, or the palace, as the men called it. It was lit by two tallow candles, and the walls were covered with gold paper; however, the benches, the table, the washstand on a rope, the towel on a nail, the grabber in the corner and the wide pole covered with pots - everything was like in an ordinary hut. Pugachev sat dressed in a red caftan, a tall hat and an important figure with his arms akimbo. Several of his chief comrades stood near him, with an air of feigned servility. It was clear that the news of the arrival of an officer from Orenburg aroused great curiosity among the rebels and that they were preparing to greet me with triumph. Pugachev recognized me at first sight. His false importance suddenly disappeared. “Ah, your honor,” he told me with liveliness. - How are you doing? Why did God bring you?” I replied that I was going about my business and that his people stopped me. “But what’s the point?” - he asked me. I didn't know what to answer. Pugachev, believing that I did not want to explain myself in front of witnesses, turned to his comrades and ordered them to leave. Everyone obeyed, except two, who did not move. places. “Speak boldly and kill them,” Pugachev told me, “I’m not hiding anything from them.” I glanced sideways at the impostor's confidants. One of them, a frail and hunched old man with a gray beard, had nothing remarkable about himself except a blue ribbon worn over his shoulder over his gray overcoat. But I will never forget his comrade. He was tall, portly and broad-shouldered, and seemed to me to be about forty-five years old. A thick red beard, gray sparkling eyes, a nose without nostrils and reddish spots on his forehead and cheeks gave his pockmarked wide face an inexplicable expression. He was wearing a red shirt, a Kyrgyz robe and Cossack trousers. The first (as I learned later) was the fugitive corporal Beloborodov; the second is Afanasy Sokolov (nicknamed Khlopusha), an exiled criminal who escaped from Siberian mines three times. Despite the feelings that exclusively worried me, the company in which I so accidentally found myself greatly entertained my imagination. But Pugachev brought me to my senses with his question: “Tell me: what business did you leave Orenburg for?”

A strange thought occurred to me: it seemed to me that Providence, which had led me to Pugachev for the second time, was giving me an opportunity to put my intention into action. I decided to use it and, without having time to think about what I was deciding on, I answered Pugachev’s question:

I was going to the Belogorsk fortress to deliver an orphan who was being abused there.

Pugachev’s eyes sparkled. “Which of my people dares to offend an orphan? - he shouted. - Even if he is a mere seven-span in his forehead, he will not escape my judgment. Speak: who is to blame?

Shvabrin is guilty,” I answered. “He is holding in captivity that girl you saw, sick, at the priest’s house, and he wants to forcefully marry her.

“I’ll teach Shvabrin a lesson,” Pugachev said menacingly. “He will know what it’s like for me to be willful and offend people.” I'll hang him.

Order the word to be spoken,” said Khlopusha in a hoarse voice. “You were in a hurry to appoint Shvabrin as commandant of the fortress, and now you are in a hurry to hang him.” You have already insulted the Cossacks by placing a nobleman as their leader; Don’t frighten the nobles by executing them at the first slander.

There is no point in pitying or favoring them! - said the old man in the blue ribbon. - It’s no problem to say Shvabrin; and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to question the gentleman officer in order: why did you deign to come? If he doesn’t recognize you as sovereign, then there’s no point in looking for government from you, but if he recognizes you, why was he sitting in Orenburg with your adversaries until today? Would you please order him to be taken to the office and light a light there: it seems to me that his honor was sent to us by the Orenburg commanders.

I found the old villain's logic quite convincing. A chill ran through my entire body at the thought of whose arms I was in. Pugachev noticed my embarrassment. “Asya, your honor? - he told me, winking. - My field marshal seems to be speaking the point. How do you think?"

Pugachev’s mockery restored my cheerfulness. I calmly replied that I was in his power and that he was free to do with me as he pleased.

“Okay,” said Pugachev. - Now tell me what state your city is in.

“Thank God,” I answered, “everything is fine.”

Safely? - repeated Pugachev. - And the people are dying of hunger!

The impostor spoke the truth; but I, out of duty of oath, began to assure that all these were empty rumors and that Orenburg had plenty of all kinds of supplies.

“You see,” the old man picked up, “that he is deceiving you to your face.” All the fugitives agree that there is famine and pestilence in Orenburg, that they eat carrion there, and that only for honor; and His Grace assures us that there is plenty of everything. If you want to hang Shvabrin, then hang this fellow on the same gallows, so that no one will be jealous.

The words of the damned old man seemed to shake Pugachev. Fortunately, Khlopusha began to contradict his comrade.

That’s enough, Naumych,” he told him. - You should strangle and cut everything. What kind of hero are you? Look at what the soul holds. You look into your own grave, but you destroy others. Isn't there enough blood on your conscience?

What kind of a saint are you? - Beloborodov objected. - Where did your pity come from?

Of course,” answered Khlopusha, “I am a sinner, and this hand (here he clenched his bony fist and, rolling up his sleeves, opened his shaggy hand), and this hand is guilty of shed Christian blood. But I destroyed the enemy, not the guest; at a free crossroads and in a dark forest, not at home, sitting behind the stove; with a flail and a butt, and not with a woman’s slander.

The old man turned away and grumbled the words: “Torn nostrils!”... What are you whispering there, old brat? - Khlopusha shouted. - I'll give you torn nostrils; wait, your time will come; God willing, you will smell the tongs... In the meantime, make sure I don’t tear out your beard!

Gentlemen enaraly! - Pugachev declared importantly. - You've had enough of quarreling. It wouldn’t matter if all the Orenburg dogs kicked their legs under the same crossbar; It will be a disaster if our male dogs squabble among themselves. Well, make peace.

Khlopusha and Whitebeard did not say a word and looked at each other gloomily. I saw the need to change the conversation, which could end in a very unfavorable way for me, and, turning to Pugachev, I told him with a cheerful look: “Ah! I forgot to thank you for the horse and the sheepskin coat. Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten to the city and would have frozen on the road.”

My trick was a success. Pugachev was amused. “Debt pays off,” he said, blinking and squinting. - Tell me now, why do you care about that girl whom Shvabrin offends? Isn’t it a sweetheart for a young man’s heart? A?"

“She is my bride,” I answered Pugachev, seeing a favorable change in the weather and not finding the need to hide the truth.

Your bride! - Pugachev shouted. - Why didn’t you say it before? Yes, we will marry you and feast at your wedding! - Then, turning to Beloborodov: - Listen, Field Marshal! His honor and I are old friends; Let's sit down and have dinner; The morning is wiser than the evening. Tomorrow we'll see what we do with it.

I was glad to refuse the offered honor, but there was nothing to do. Two young Cossack women, daughters of the owner of the hut, covered the table with a white tablecloth, brought bread, fish soup and several bottles of wine and beer, and for the second time I found myself sharing a meal with Pugachev and his terrible comrades.

The orgy, which I was an involuntary witness, continued until late at night. Finally, the hops began to overcome the interlocutors. Pugachev dozed off while sitting in his place: his comrades stood up and gave me a sign to leave him. I went out with them. By order of Khlopushi, the guard took me to the official hut, where I found Savelich and where I was left locked up with him. The guy was in such amazement at the sight of everything that was happening that he didn’t ask me any questions. He lay down in the darkness and sighed and groaned for a long time; Finally he began to snore, and I indulged in thoughts that did not allow me to doze off for a single minute the whole night.

In the morning they came to call me on behalf of Pugachev. I went to him. At its gate stood a wagon drawn by three Tatar horses. People crowded on the street. In the entryway I met Pugachev: he was dressed like a traveler, wearing a fur coat and a Kyrgyz hat. Yesterday's interlocutors surrounded him, assuming an air of servility that strongly contradicted everything that I had witnessed the day before. Pugachev greeted me cheerfully and ordered me to sit in the wagon with him.

We sat down. “To the Belogorsk fortress!” - Pugachev said to the broad-shouldered Tatar, standing at the helm of the troika. My heart started beating fast. The horses started moving, the bell rang, the wagon flew...

“Stop! stop!” - a voice rang out, too familiar to me, - and I saw Savelich running towards us. Pugachev ordered to stop. “Father, Pyotr Andreich! - the guy shouted. “Don’t leave me in my old age in the midst of these scams...” - “Ah, old bastard! - Pugachev told him. - God allowed us to meet again. Well, sit down on the irradiator.”

Thank you, sir, thank you, dear father! - said Savelich, sitting down. - May God grant you a hundred years of health for looking after me, an old man, and calming me down. I will pray to God for you forever, but I won’t even mention the hare’s sheepskin coat.

This hare sheepskin coat could finally seriously anger Pugachev. Fortunately, the impostor either did not hear or ignored the inappropriate hint. The horses galloped; people on the street stopped and bowed from the waist. Pugachev nodded his head to both sides. A minute later we left the settlement and rushed along a smooth road.

You can easily imagine how I felt at that moment. In a few hours I was supposed to see the one whom I considered already lost to me. I imagined the moment of our union... I also thought about the man in whose hands my fate was and who, by a strange coincidence of circumstances, was mysteriously connected with me. I remembered the reckless cruelty, the bloodthirsty habits of the one who volunteered to be the deliverer of my dear! Pugachev did not know that she was the daughter of Captain Mironov; the embittered Shvabrin could reveal everything to him; Pugachev could have discovered the truth in another way... Then what will happen to Marya Ivanovna? The cold ran through my body and my hair stood on end...

Suddenly Pugachev interrupted my thoughts and turned to me with a question:

What, your honor, did you deign to think about?

“How can I not think about it,” I answered him. - I am an officer and a nobleman; Yesterday I fought against you, and today I’m riding with you in the same tent, and the happiness of my whole life depends on you.

Well? - asked Pugachev. -Are you scared? I answered that, having already been pardoned by him once, I hoped not only for his mercy, but even for his help.

And you're right, by God you're right! - said the impostor. - You saw that my guys looked at you askance; and the old man still insisted today that you were a spy and that you should be tortured and hanged; but I didn’t agree,” he added, lowering his voice so that Savelich and the Tatar could not hear him, “remembering your glass of wine and the hare’s sheepskin coat.” You see that I am not such a bloodsucker as your brothers say about me.

I remembered the capture of the Belogorsk fortress; but did not consider it necessary to challenge him and did not answer a word.

What do they say about me in Orenburg? - asked Pugachev, after a short silence.

Yes, they say that it’s difficult to get along with you; there is nothing to say: you made yourself known.

The impostor's face showed satisfied pride. “Yes,” he said cheerfully. - I fight anywhere. Do you know in Orenburg about the battle of Yuzeeva? Forty enarals were killed, four armies were captured. What do you think: could the Prussian king compete with me?”

The robber's boastfulness seemed funny to me.

What do you think? - I said to him, - could you cope with Fryderyk?

With Fedor Fedorovich? Why not? After all, I manage your bosses; and they beat him. Until now my weapon was happy. Give it time, or it won’t be long before I go to Moscow.

Do you think about going to Moscow?

The impostor thought a little and said in a low voice: “God knows. My street is cramped; I have little will. My guys are smart. They are thieves. I have to keep my ears open; at the first failure, they will ransom their neck with my head.”

That's it! - I said to Pugachev. “Isn’t it better for you to get away from them yourself, in advance, and resort to the mercy of the empress?”

Pugachev smiled bitterly.

No,” he answered, “it’s too late for me to repent.” There will be no mercy for me. I will continue as I started. Who knows? Maybe it will work! Grishka Otrepyev reigned over Moscow after all.

Do you know how he ended up? They threw him out of the window, stabbed him, burned him, loaded a cannon with his ashes and fired him out!

“Listen,” said Pugachev with some wild inspiration. - I’ll tell you a fairy tale that an old Kalmyk woman told me as a child. One day an eagle asked a raven: tell me, raven bird, why have you lived in this world for three hundred years, and I am only thirty-three years old? “Because, father,” the raven answered him, “you drink living blood, and I feed on carrion.” The eagle thought: let's try and eat the same thing. Fine. The eagle and the raven flew away. They saw a dead horse; came down and sat down. The raven began to peck and praise. The eagle pecked once, pecked again, waved its wing and said to the raven: no, brother raven, rather than eat carrion for three hundred years, it’s better to drink living blood once, and then what God will give! - What is a Kalmyk fairy tale?

Intricate, - I answered him. - But to live by murder and robbery means, for me, to peck at carrion.

Pugachev looked at me in surprise and did not answer. We both fell silent, each immersed in our own thoughts. The Tatar began to sing a sad song; Savelich, dozing, rocked on the beam. The carriage was flying along a smooth winter road... Suddenly I saw a village on the steep bank of the Yaik, with a palisade and a bell tower - and a quarter of an hour later we drove into the Belogorsk fortress.

Describe Pugachev’s “palace”.

“I entered the hut, or the palace, as the men called it. It was lit by two tallow candles, and the walls were covered with gold paper; however, the benches, the table, the washstand on a string, the towel on a nail, the grabber in the corner and the wide pole covered with pots - everything was like in an ordinary hut.” It is possible to explain the reasons why this “palace” was designed in this way: the peasants - participants in the uprising - could not imagine the splendor of the royal mansion in any other way.

Give portraits of the “confidantes of the impostor.”

They need to be described next to Pugachev. “Pugachev sat under the icons, in a red caftan, with a high hat and an important figure akimbo. Several of his main comrades stood near him, with an air of feigned servility... One of them, a frail and hunched old man with a gray beard, had nothing remarkable about himself except a blue ribbon worn over his shoulder over his gray overcoat. But I will never forget his comrade. He was tall, portly and broad-shouldered, and seemed to me to be about forty-five years old. A thick red beard, gray sparkling eyes, a nose without nostrils and reddish spots on his forehead and cheeks gave his pockmarked wide face an inexplicable expression... The first (as I learned later) was the fugitive corporal Beloborodov; the second is Afanasy Sokolov (nicknamed Khlopusha), an exiled criminal who escaped from the Siberian mines three times.”

Why did Beloborodov’s “logic of the old villain” regarding Grinev seem convincing to Grinev himself, although this logic presupposed his execution?

Of course, any person would come to such a decision. An officer travels from Orenburg to his fortress. What other reasons could there be for such a decision? The assumption of intelligence seems natural, and it is simply impossible to deny it. However, Grinev had other reasons, which he managed to tell Pugachev about a little later.

How to explain why the dispute between Beloborodov and Khlopushi saved Grinev?

The dispute between Beloborodov and Khlopushi saved Grinev, as it diverted Pugachev’s attention from suspicions against him. Pugachev tried to resolve the annoying and irritating disputes of his comrades.

Describe Grinev’s trip with Pugachev from the rebellious Berdskaya settlement to the Belogorsk fortress.

The trip to the Belogorsk fortress was very important for Grinev and helps to learn a lot about Pugachev. During this trip from Berdskaya Sloboda, an important conversation took place between the two heroes of the story. Let us remember one of the episodes of this conversation: “The impostor thought a little and said in a low voice: “God knows. My street is cramped; I have little will. My guys are smart. They are thieves. I have to keep my ears open; at the first failure, they will ransom their neck with my head.”

Retell the Kalmyk fairy tale about the eagle and the raven close to the text.

“Listen,” said Pugachev with some kind of wild inspiration. “I’ll tell you a fairy tale that an old Kalmyk woman told me when I was a child.” One day an eagle asked a raven: tell me, raven bird, why have you lived in this world for three hundred years, and I am only thirty-three years old? “Because, father,” the raven answered him, “you drink living blood, and I feed on carrion.” The eagle thought: let's try and eat the same thing. Okay. The eagle and the raven flew away. They saw a dead horse; came down and sat down. The raven began to peck and praise. The eagle pecked once, pecked again, waved its wing and said to the raven: no, brother raven; Instead of eating carrion for three hundred years, it’s better to drink living blood once, and then what God will give! — What is a Kalmyk fairy tale?

“Intricate,” I answered him. “But to live by murder and robbery means, for me, to peck at carrion.”

Pugachev looked at me in surprise and did not answer. We both fell silent, each immersed in our own thoughts.”

Let us pay attention to Grinev’s remark, which immediately forces us to change our view of the essence of the fairy tale. It turns out that what Pugachev wanted to glorify can be perceived as a dull and humiliating consumption of carrion. Perhaps in these words there is a response to the author’s statement about “rebellion, senseless and merciless”?

1. I tried to imagine Captain Mironov, my future boss, and imagined him as a strict, angry old man. 2. The commandant stood in front, a vigorous and tall old man, wearing a cap and a Chinese robe. 3. Shvabrin described Masha, the captain’s daughter, to me as a complete fool.4. Imperceptibly, I became attached to the good family, even to Ivan Ignatievich, the crooked garrison lieutenant. 5. Yulay, a baptized Kalmyk, made an important report to the commandant. 6. Ivan Ignatyich, the executor of the commandant’s order, heard with his own ears how they (the Cossacks) said: “This will happen to you, garrison rat!” 7. The commandant of the Nizhneozernaya fortress, a quiet and modest young man, was familiar to me. 8. I glanced sideways at the impostor’s confidants. One of them, a frail and hunched old man with a gray beard, had nothing remarkable about himself except a blue ribbon worn over his shoulder over his gray overcoat.

A. Pushkin.

9. One of these days I will leave for Moscow - the last inhabitant of a large empty house - and all my things: a bas-relief, a portrait of Garibaldi, and an old lamp with a drawing of a water mill, and a table, and a bouquet of fireweed - all this has been left here for the winter without complaint . (150 words.)

K. Paustovsky.

BOYS

1. There were five boys: Fedya, Pavlusha, Ilyusha, Kostya and Vanya. 2. You would give the first one, Fedya, fourteen years. He was a slender boy with beautiful and thin, slightly small features, curly blond hair, light eyes and a constant, half-cheerful, half-absent-minded smile... 3. The second boy, Pavlusha, had tousled, black hair, gray eyes, wide cheekbones, a pale face , pockmarked, the mouth is large but regular, the whole head is huge, as they say, the size of a beer kettle, the body is squat, awkward. 4. The face of the third, Ilyusha, was rather insignificant: hook-nosed, elongated, slightly blind. 5. The fourth, Kostya, a boy of about ten, aroused my curiosity with his thoughtful and sad gaze. His whole face was small, thin, freckled, and pointed downwards. 6. I didn’t even notice the last one, Vanya, at first: he was lying on the ground, quietly, huddled under an angular matting, and only occasionally stuck his light brown curly head out from under it. This boy was only seven years old. (134 words.)

According to I. Turgenev.

1. A huge man, technician Khlynov, took measurements of the bottom and thickness of the ice. 2. Serafima, Rodionova’s aunt, who lived with Olga, was at home. 3. New embroideries have been added - Nanai elegant ornaments. 4. Guys and girls - draftsmen, accountants, typists - came up. Tanya saw Zalkind's secretary among them, a young girl with a round face. 5. Silin, a tightly built guy with an open face and small, sly eyes, was waiting at one of the “snails” for Kovshov and Filimonov. 6. He (Kovshov) looked at his watch: the working day - the seventh of November - had begun for him too. The “snail” was one of many technical improvements that were introduced during construction. 7. We returned to the club, the gathering place, warmed up, and listened to the bleak latest news on the radio. 8. The first task - winter welding of pipes - was resolved, according to Georgy Davydovich's plan, successfully. 9. Before him (Topolev) there was a new type of engineer - a Bolshevik engineer, an engineer-owner. (107 words.)

1. On both sides of the river, as far as the eye could see, the taiga stretched - the greatest accumulation of vegetation. In its boundless wilds, the harsh northerners - larch and dove - lived in close proximity to the gentle children of the south, the velvet tree and grapes, and, the master of the tropical jungle, the tiger hunted for the reindeer. 2. Soon villages, inhabited and cheerful-looking shelters of people near the river, began to fly under the wing of the plane more and more often. 3. And Batmanov put pressure on Sidorenko, the former construction manager, forcing him to go to the pier several times a day, where barges and ships were loaded. 4. Topolev, a tall, bony old man with a gray-greenish mustache, did not utter a word the entire evening. 5. A simple task - sending several barges to the sites - turned out to be very difficult. 6. A huge board was placed in the administration lobby - a showcase of the competition with pre-holiday obligations of departments. (140 words.)

1. But our northern summer, a caricature of southern winters, flashes and disappears. (P.) 2. Winter friend of the nights, a splinter crackles in front of her. (P.) 3. A native sailor, Voropaev first saw the sea as an adult. (Paul.) 4. Without her, my older sister, it was boring at the dacha. 5. Sergei Ivanov, a tenth grade student, was the head of the mathematics club. (V.) 6. Everything around, even the ashtray made from a pink shell, spoke of a peaceful and long life. (Paust.) 7. Depot workers (workers) gathered in the station garden. They were joined by other workers: switchmen and those working in the material warehouse. (N.O.) 8. Everyone left work, even the station duty officer. (N.O.) 9. Opening the heavy doors of the warehouse, the station commandant, a German lieutenant, his assistant and a group of Germans entered. (N.O.) 10. The eldest daughter, Valya, who was tidying up the kitchen, saw her mother leaving and asked: “Are you far, mom?” (N.O.) 11. The tractors working on the other side of the wide dry valley resembled busy crawling beetles. (Nikul.) 12. Indeed, it was strange to look at these huge carts, covered from the matting top to the wheels with snow. (L. T.) (135 words.)

1. To the right of the village, the Volga sparkled in the sun, a peaceful river, in no way similar to the one that flowed past Stalingrad. (Funnel.) 2. The door opened and guests appeared. One of them, a stout gray-haired old man with a round head and bright eyes, walked ahead; another, a tall, thin man, about thirty-five, with a long dark face and messy hair, stood (...) from behind. (T.) 3. Among them (buildings) there were occasionally brick buildings - rough large boxes, devoid of architectural decoration. (Already) 4. Apprentice Spirka, a young, lively guy, sporting red shirts, loved to provoke his grandfather. (M.-S.) 5. Fedya, a thin boy with a long nose, with a somewhat surprised expression on his face, received his nickname not so long ago when he was learning to fish. (Zab.) 6. Big, strong man, a convinced Bolshevik, weathered by sea squalls, a member of the RSDLP (b) since 1915, the Baltic sailor Fyodor Zhukhrai told the cruel truth of life to the young fireman looking at him with enchanted eyes. (N.O.) 7. Everything is the same in the hallway. Here it is, a steep staircase down - into “our catacombs”, where it’s so good to hide. (Emd.) (142 words.)

1. One of the coachmen, a very tall man, got out of the sleigh and silently untied his troika. (L.T.) 2. The fourth worker, Levka, is mute from birth; I couldn’t take part in these conversations and just mumbled. (M.-S.) 3. The master tried to instill a love for his work among his students, fitters. 4. Ivan Lukich, the chairman of the leading collective farm, was known to all the collective farmers of the surrounding villages. 5. Mikheev, Andrei’s friend, an eighty-year-old man, lived his whole life in the forest. (Nikol.) 6. The old legless ferryman, a disabled person from the First World War, a favorite of the boys, who once taught Alexei to catch minnows on the rifts, (...) pushed away the heavy boat, shiny from the touches of thousands of hands, and began to row in short jerks. 7. The chairman of the fish collective farm, Kuzma Fedorovich Mosolov, a former sergeant of tank troops, a stocky forty-year-old man (...), was impatiently waiting for the new inspector. (Close) 8. Tony’s mother, a respectable lady, despite her thirty-six years, with the lively movements of a young girl, with intelligent gray eyes, with an ugly but pleasant, energetic face, smiled. (134 words.)

1. Chinese Communists, courageous and heroic people, began, like the communists of Russia, at the head revolutionary struggle of his people. (Burk.) 2. Perched on a large box, the Moscow singer - a young woman in a dark gray jacket - sang “Song of the Motherland” in a sonorous contralto. (...) 3. Tanya stood at the control panel (of the dredging machine) - an oblong iron box with many white, red and green buttons. Following the girl, the head of the dredger Stepan Ilyich Losev, an elderly lean man in a sailor's cap and a satin braid (Mus.) 4. Stepan Ilyich was approached by his niece, electrician Natasha Loseva, a short, dark-skinned girl with a straight, chiseled nose and thick eyebrows. (Mus.) 5. It was the end of November - the saddest time in the village. (Paust.) 6. Two young people, seventh-graders from high school, walked across the bridge at the water pump. One is the son of the head of the depot, engineer Sukharko, a blond, freckled seventeen-year-old dunce and a pockmarked rake Shurka, as he was nicknamed in school, with a good fishing rod and a dashing cigarette. Next to him is Viktor Leshchinsky, a slender, pampered young man. (N.O.) (138 words.)

1. The guys collected a lot of mushrooms in the forest, in particular boletus and saffron milk caps. 2. In the forests of Siberia there are various wild animals, for example bears, lynxes, martens. 3. Friends were hunting in the wilds, or forest slums. 4. Sailors hunted for sperm whales, that is, toothed whales with a large head. 5. The coniferous forest, or forest, begins right behind the sanatorium. 6. Kolya Ivanov, how best student and a public figure, gratitude was expressed. 7. Without her, my older sister, it was boring at the dacha. 8. My friend, whose last name is Petrov, shows great musical abilities. 9. All high school students, especially excellent students, provided great assistance in equipping the physics classroom with homemade instruments. 10. They managed to make several complex electrical devices, including a small dynamo. 11. The dynamo illuminates several rooms, mainly the physics room. 12. Hippopotamus, or hippopotamus, spends most of its time in water. 13. Borodin, composer, is the author of the famous opera “Prince Igor”. 14. Mazepa, as a traitor to the people, left a shameful reputation for himself. (138 words.)