Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "STUDENT"
Входимость: 7. Размер: 120кб.
Входимость: 5. Размер: 45кб.
Входимость: 3. Размер: 162кб.
Входимость: 2. Размер: 50кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 54кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 4кб.
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Входимость: 7. Размер: 120кб.
Часть текста: 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 with my neighbour. The pack pulled backwards, the heavy pouches forwards, the rifle kept slipping off my shoulder, and the collar of the greatcoat chafed my neck; but despite all these little discomforts, the music, the orderly heavy movement of the column, the fresh early morning air, and the sight of the bristling bayonets and grim suntanned faces attuned one's soul to a calm and steadfast mood. Despite the early hour people stood about in crowds outside the houses, and half-dressed figures looked out of the windows. We marched down a long...
Входимость: 5. Размер: 45кб.
Часть текста: that was all I needed. I was free, I was an artist! Was not that the height of bliss? I wanted to get away 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 ...
Входимость: 3. Размер: 162кб.
Часть текста: 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 dealing with social, if not world, problems, or for the form in which my writings are set forth. True, I should like these lines to be read by one person, but that person will not blame me. Everything that has to do with me is dear to her. That person is my cousin. What is keeping her so long today? It is three months now since I came to myself after that day. The first face that I saw was Sonya's. Ever since then she has been spending every evening with me. It...
Входимость: 2. Размер: 50кб.
Часть текста: MEETING The broad track of shimmering moonlight ran out for miles; the rest of the sea was black; the steady boom of the surf breaking upon the sandy beach struck upon the ear of the man standing above; blacker than the sea itself were the silhouettes of the ships riding at anchor in the roads; one huge steamer ("probably an Englishman," thought Vasily Petrovich) lay in the lane of moonlight hissing steam, which escaped in curling wreaths; the air wafted up from the sea had a salty tang; Vasily Petrovich, who had never seen anything like this before, feasted his eyes on the sea, the moonlight, the sailing vessels and steamers, and drew the sea air into his lungs with a zest he had never felt in his life before. He stood for a long time, revelling in these new sensations, his back turned to the city in which he had arrived only that day, and where he was to live for many a year. Behind him a motley crowd was strolling along the boulevard; he caught snatches of Russian and foreign conversation, the quiet dignified voices of the local worthies, the pretty babble of the young ladies, and the boisterous voices of the senior schoolboys clustering around two or three of them. A burst of laughter from one such group made Vasily Petrovich turn round. The gay crowd passed him; one of the youths was saying something to a young schoolgirl; his chums were noisily interrupting what was apparently a vehement apologetic speech. "Don't you believe him, Nina! He's a liar! He's making it all up!" "No, really, Nina, it isn't my fault in the least!" "Look here, Shevyrev, if you ever try to deceive me again..." the girl began with affected hauteur in a pretty young voice. Vasily Petrovich did not catch the rest of the sentence, as the crowd passed out of earshot. Half a minute later another burst of laughter came out of the darkness. "There is my future field of activity upon which I shall...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 54кб.
Часть текста: like that, but the casualty lists affect me much more strongly than they do those around me. A man calmly reads: "Casualties on our side insignificant, such and such officers wounded, among the lower ranks 50 men killed, 100 wounded," and is glad that they are so few, but when I read such a 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...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 4кб.
Часть текста: произойти древние языки". Совершенно основательно: на то 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,...