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Входимость: 10. Размер: 30кб.

Часть текста: He could have gone round it, but in his fear he did not know what he was doing and flung himself upon the prickly branches. I struck out, and knocked the rifle out of his hands, then struck again and felt my bayonet sinking into something soft. There was a queer sound, something between a snarl and a groan. Then I ran on. Our men were shouting "hurrah!", dropping, shooting. I remember firing several shots after I had come out of the woods into a clearing. Suddenly the cheers sounded louder and we all moved forward again. I should have said "our men" instead of "we," because I was left behind. I thought it rather odd. Still more odd was it when all of a sudden everything disappeared, and all the shouting and the shooting were silenced. I heard nothing, and saw only a patch of blue; it must have been the sky. Then that went too. I have never been in such a queer position before. I am lying, I believe, on my stomach, and see nothing in front of me but a small patch of earth. A few blades of grass, an ant, its head lowered, crawling along with one of them, bits of rubbish from last year's grass--that is my whole world. And I see it with only one eye, as the other one is pressed hard up against something--no doubt the branch on which my head is resting. I am terribly uncomfortable, and want to shift my position, and simply can't understand why...

Входимость: 9. Размер: 54кб.

Часть текста: report it immediately brings a whole bloody picture to my mind. Fifty killed and a hundred maimed-and that is called insignificant! Why are we shocked when the papers report a murder involving the lives of only a few people? Why does the sight of bullet-riddled corpses strewing the battle-field horrify us less than the spectacle of a home despoiled by a murderer? Why is it that the Tiligulskaya embankment disaster, which took toll of a score or so of lives, caused a sensation throughout Russia, whereas outpost skirmishes involving "insignificant" losses of the same number of lives barely attract attention? Lvov, a medical student of my acquaintance, with whom I often have arguments about the war, told me the other day, "Well, Mr. Pacifist, we shall see how those humane convictions of yours will look in practice when you are taken into the army and made to shoot at other men." "They won't take me into the army, Vasily, because I'm enrolled in the militia." "But if the war drags on they will start drawing on the militia. Don't you worry, your turn will come, too." My heart sank. How is it that that thought had never occurred to me before? They certainly would start on the militia, for that matter. "If the war drags on" . .. yes, it probably would. In any case, if this war does not last long, another one will be started. Why not wage war? Why not perform great deeds? I believe that this war is but the prelude to future wars, from which there is no escape either for myself, my little brother or my sister's baby. My turn will come very soon. Where will your "I" be then? You...

Входимость: 8. Размер: 120кб.

Часть текста: REMINISCENCES OF PRIVATE IVANOV I I arrived in Kishinev on the fourth of May eighteen hundred and seventy-seven, and within half an hour learned that the 56th Infantry Division was passing through the town. As I had come with the intention of joining some regiment and going to the war, the seventh of May already found me standing in the street at four o'clock in the morning among the grey ranks lined up outside the billet of the colonel of the 222nd Starobelsky Infantry Regiment. I had on a greatcoat with red shoulder-straps and blue tabs, and a cap with a blue band; across my back was a pack, at my belt a cartridge pouch, in my hand a heavy rifle. The band struck up, and the colours were carried out of the colonel's lodgings. A command rang out; the regiment noiselessly presented arms. Then a terrific uproar arose: the colonel shouted a command, and this was taken up by the battalion and company commanders and the platoon NCO's. The result was a confused and to me quite unintelligible movement of greatcoats, which ended in the regiment stretching out in a long column and swinging off to the sounds of the regimental band, which blared out a gay march. I marched along, too, trying to keep in step...

Входимость: 7. Размер: 3кб.

Часть текста: Verlag von Fr. Bassermann, c надписью: "Высокоуважаемому автору от преданного переводчика. В. Генкель. Мюнхен. 8. VI. 1887 г." Дата эта позволяет нам более или менее точно датировать и письмо Гаршина. В издание В. Генкеля вошли переводы пяти произведений Г. ("Художники", "Трус", "Происшествие", "Встреча" и "Красный цветок"; в приложении к книге дан был еще перевод повести П. А. Крушевана ("Sie ging nicht zu Grunde"). Краткая вводная статья переводчика очень характерна для отношения к Г. первых его зарубежных интерпретаторов: "Wssewolod Garsehin, der talentvollste unter den jungeren Belletristen Russlands, ist ein Nachfdiger des Grafen Leo Tolstoj. Seine Erzahlungen zeigen eine hervorragende Begabung fur die Schilderung des menschlichen Seelenlebens, von dem er iibrigens nur die Nachtseiten zu kennen scheint. Durch alie seine bisher veroffentlichten Erzahlungen (vierzehn derselben sind in zwei Bandchen 1882 und 1886 gesammelt erschienen) geht ein demokratischer und pessimistischer Zug und ihre Tendenz istdirekt gegen die heutige Gesellschaftsordnung gerichtet. Namentlich sind es die Grauel des Krieges, gegen die er ahnlich wie Wassilij Wereschlschagin auf seinem Gebiet an zu Kampfen sucht und...

Входимость: 5. Размер: 162кб.

Часть текста: and blackening people long since dead and defending themselves against accusations long since forgotten. I have none of these reasons. I am still a young man, who has not made history nor seen it made; I have no reason to blacken people, and no reason whatever to defend myself. To recapture past happiness? It was so short-lived and the end so frightful, that the memory of it is anything but pleasant. Why then does a secret voice whisper it into my ear, why, when I wake up in the night, do familiar scenes and visions pass before me in the darkness, and why, when one pale image rises before me, do my face flame and my hands clench, and terror and rage clutch at my throat, as they did that day when I stood face to face with my mortal enemy? I cannot rid myself of these haunting memories, and an odd thought has occurred to me. Perhaps, if I put them down on paper, I shall be finished with them; perhaps they will haunt me no longer, and will let me die in peace. That is the special reason that makes me take up my pen. Perhaps someone will read this diary, perhaps not. It is immaterial to me. Therefore, I need not apologize to my future readers either for my choice of subject, which cannot have the slightest interest for people accustomed to...

Входимость: 4. Размер: 40кб.

Часть текста: (To the Memory of I. Turgenev) I In the name of his Royal Majesty and Sovereign Monarch King Peter the First I do declare this madhouse open for inspection!" This speech was uttered in a loud raucous voice. The hospital clerk, who was registering the patient in a big dog-eared book that lay on an ink-stained desk, could not help smiling. But the two young attendants did not laugh: after two days and sleepless nights spent alone with the madman, whom they had just brought down by railway, they could barely stand on their feet. At the last station but one he had become so violent that he had had to be put in a strait jacket, for which purpose the assistance of the guards and a policeman had had to be resorted to. Thus bound he was brought to town and delivered at the hospital. He looked ghastly. Over his grey garment, which had been torn to shreds during his outburst of violence, was a tightly laced jacket of coarse canvas cut low at the neck; the long sleeves pinioned his crossed arms over his chest and were tied behind his back. His bloodshot dilated eyes (he had not slept for ten days) glittered with a feverish blazing light; his lower lip twitched with a nervous spasm; his curly matted hair hung over his forehead like a mane; he paced from corner to corner of the office with swift heavy strides, staring fixedly at the old file cabinets and the oilcloth-covered chairs, and throwing an occasional glance at his companions. "Take him in. The building on the right." "I know. I was here last year. We were inspecting the hospital. I know all about...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 132кб.

Часть текста: Оно было так коротко, и конец его был так ужасен, что воспоминания о нем не доставят мне отрады, о нет! Зачем же точно неведомый голос нашептывает мне их на ухо, зачем, когда я просыпаюсь ночью, передо мною в темноте проходят знакомые картины и образы, и зачем, когда является один бледный образ, лицо мое пылает, и руки сжимаются, и ужас и ярость захватывают дыхание, как в тот день, когда я стоял лицом к лицу с своим смертельным врагом? Я не могу отделаться от своих воспоминаний, и странная мысль пришла мне в голову. Может быть, если я изложу их на бумаге, я этим покончу все свои счеты с ними... Может быть, они оставят меня и дадут спокойно умереть. Вот странная причина, заставляющая меня взяться за перо. Может быть, эта тетрадка будет прочтена кем-нибудь, может быть - нет. Это мало занимает меня. Поэтому я могу и не извиняться перед своими будущими читателями ни в выборе темы для своего писания, темы, нисколько не интересной людям, привыкшим заниматься если не мировыми, то общественными вопросами, ни в форме изложения. Правда, мне хочется, чтобы эти строки прочел один человек, но этот человек не осудит меня. Ему дорого все, что меня касается. Этот человек моя сестра. Отчего она сегодня так долго не идет? Вот уже три месяца, как я пришел в себя после того дня. Первое лицо, которое я увидел, было лицо Сони. И с тех пор она проводит со мной...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 45кб.

Часть текста: from people and from St. Petersburg, so I took a boat and went out for a run along the seashore. The water, the sky, the city gleaming in the sun from afar, the blue woods skirting the shores of the bay, the mast tops in the Kronstadt roads, the dozens of steamboats and gliding sailing vessels that flew past me-all appeared to me in a new light. All this was mine, all was within my power, I could snatch it all, fling it upon the canvas, and set it before the mob, fascinated by the spell of art. True, one ought not to sell the bearskin before one has caught the bear; so far I could hardly be called a great artist. The boat swiftly cleaved the smooth sheet of water. The boatman, a tall, strong, handsome young man in a crimson shirt, steadily plied the oars, swinging his body backward and forward, and propelling the boat with powerful strokes. The sinking sun played upon his face and shirt with such striking effect that I was moved to make a sketch of him in colours. My little box containing canvases, paints and brushes was always with me. "Stop rowing and sit still for a minute while I paint you," I said. ' He lay on the oars. "Sit as though you were feathering the oars." He swung the oars back like a bird spreading its wings and froze in that beautiful attitude. I dashed off a pencil outline and began painting. I mixed the colours with a peculiar sense of joy. I knew that nothing would tear me away from them as long as I lived. The boatman quickly began to tire; the dashing expression of his face gave place to a dull apathetic look. He began to yawn, and once even wiped his face with his sleeve, to do which he had to bend his head down to the oar. The folds of his shirt were...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 19кб.

Часть текста: greenhouse was, they were cramped in it. The tangled roots fought one another for moisture and nutrition. The branches of the trees were entwined with the huge leaves of the palms, which they bent and broke, themselves pressing up against the iron frames and bending and breaking in turn. The gardeners were constantly lopping the branches and tying the leaves up with wire to curb their wild growth, but it did not help much. What the plants needed was the wide free spaces of their native habitats. They were natives of hot climes, tender, luxurious creations, who remembered their native countries and yearned for them. However transparent the glass roof might be, it was not the bright sky. Sometimes, in the winter, the panes froze over, and then it would grow quite dark in the greenhouse. The wind would howl and beat against the frames, and rattle them. Snow-drifts covered the roof. Listening to the howling of the wind, the plants would remember another wind, a warm humid wind that gave to them life and health. And they longed to feel its breath upon them again, to have it sway...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 4кб.

Часть текста: он и будошником сделан, чтобы "тащить", а главное "не пущать". Теперь вот еще что: Герд советует мне и Володе Латкину устроить нечто, а что, следуют пункты: 1) ехать куда-нибудь в Гейдельберг, Геттинген, вообще к немцам слушать естественные науки, ибо они дают (я не писаревщину говорю, мамаша, а право, свое собственное мнение, выработанное личным наблюдением и размышлением) наибольшее развитие. "Как высоко!" подумаете вы. 2) Жизнь у немцев стоит дешево. Мне говорил Herr Grubert, мой двадцатилетний сотоварищ из beruhmtes Dentschland, что" в Германии средний доход студента 15--20 талеров: имеющий 25, 30 уже "и есть один богатый Student". Одному мне, разумеется, ехать было бы невозможно, ибо я среди немцев заглох бы, а с Латкиным еще можно. На авторитет Герда я полагаюсь, но еще больше на ваше собственное решение. Как вы найдете этот план, глупым или умным, так и я буду думать. Сам я боюсь решать. К тому же я могу поступить в Лесной институт, конечно на земледельческое отделение. Право, это самое сообразное, что я могу выбрать в России из учебных заведений, как относительно обеспечения, так относительно и приносимой пользы. Мне всегда становится как-то жалко вспоминать наши места - двухаршинный чернозем и аршинная пшеница. В Лесном сильны естественные науки и химия, которую я очень и очень полюбил. Что касается жизни в Лесном, то она очень дешева, т. ч. как пораскинешь головою, так и кажется, что поступление в Лесной сообразнее поездки в теплый край за синее море, wo die Kartoffeln bluhen. Вы пишете о высылке мне денег. Вы обещали мне на поездку, ружье, платье и проч. около ста р. Если это вам не кажется много, то я ничего не могу сказать,...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "DIE"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "DIE"