Maksim Gorky.

Makar Chudra.

A damp, cold wind blew from the sea, carrying across the steppe the thoughtful melody of the splash of a wave running onto the shore and the rustling of coastal bushes. Occasionally, his gusts brought with them wrinkled, yellow leaves and threw them into the fire, fanning the flames; the darkness of the autumn night that surrounded us shuddered and, timidly moving away, revealed for a moment on the left - a boundless steppe, on the right - an endless sea and directly opposite me - the figure of Makar Chudra, an old gypsy - he was guarding the horses of his camp, spread out about fifty steps from us.

Not paying attention to the fact that the cold waves of wind, having opened the checkmen, exposed his hairy chest and beat it mercilessly, he reclined in a beautiful, strong pose, facing me, methodically sipped from his huge pipe, released thick clouds of smoke from his mouth and nose and, motionless, looking somewhere over my head into the dead silent darkness of the steppe, he talked to me, without stopping and without making a single movement towards protection from the sharp blows of the wind.

So are you walking? This is good! You have chosen a glorious fate for yourself, falcon. That’s how it should be: go and look, you’ve seen enough, lie down and die - that’s all!

Life? Other people? - he continued, skeptically listening to my objection to his “That’s how it should be.” - Hey! What do you care about that? Are you not life yourself? Other people live without you and will live without you. Do you think that someone needs you? You are not bread, not a stick, and no one needs you.

Study and teach, you say? Can you learn to make people happy? No you can not. You turn gray first, and say that you need to teach. What to teach? Everyone knows what they need. Those who are smarter take what they have, those who are dumber get nothing, and everyone learns on their own...

They're funny, those people of yours. They’re huddled together and crushing each other, and there’s so much room on the ground,” he waved his hand broadly toward the steppe. - And everyone works. For what? To whom? No one knows. You see how a man plows, and you think: drop by drop with sweat, he will drain his strength onto the ground, and then lie down in it and rot in it. There will be nothing left for him, he sees nothing from his field and dies as he was born - a fool.

Well, was he born then, perhaps, to dig up the earth, and die, without even having time to dig out his own grave? Does he know his will? Is the expanse of the steppe clear? Does the sound of the sea wave make his heart happy? He is a slave - as soon as he was born, he is a slave all his life, and that’s it! What can he do with himself? He'll only hang himself if he grows a little wiser.

But look, at the age of fifty-eight I have seen so much that if I wrote it all on paper, it wouldn’t fit into a thousand bags like yours. Come on, tell me, what parts have I not been to? You can't tell. You don’t even know the places where I’ve been. This is how you need to live: go, go - and that’s it. Don't stand in one place for a long time - what's in it? Just as they run day and night, chasing each other, around the earth, so you run away from thoughts about life, so as not to stop loving it. And if you think about it, you will stop loving life, this always happens. And it happened to me. Hey! It was, falcon.

I was in prison in Galicia. “Why do I live in the world?” - I thought out of boredom, - it’s boring in prison, falcon, oh, how boring! - and longing took me by the heart, as I looked out of the window onto the field, took it and squeezed it with pincers. Who can say why he lives? No one will say, falcon! And you don’t need to ask yourself about this. Live, and that's it! And walk around and look around you, and the melancholy will never take over. Then I almost strangled myself with my belt, that’s how it happened!

Heh! I spoke with one person. A strict man, one of your Russians. You need, he says, to live not the way you want, but the way it is said in God’s word. Submit to God, and he will give you everything you ask of him. And he himself is full of holes, torn. I told him to let himself new clothes asked God. He got angry and drove me away, cursing. And before that he said that we need to forgive people and love them. He would have forgiven me if my speech offended his lordship. Also a teacher! They teach them to eat less, but they themselves eat ten times a day.

He spat into the fire and fell silent, filling his pipe again. The wind howled plaintively and quietly, horses neighed in the darkness, and a tender and passionate song-thought floated from the camp. This was sung by the beautiful Nonka, daughter of Makar. I knew her voice with a thick, chesty timbre, always sounding somehow strange, dissatisfied and demanding - whether she was singing a song or saying “hello.” The arrogance of the queen froze on her dark, matte face, and in her dark brown eyes, covered with some kind of shadow, the consciousness of the irresistibility of her beauty and contempt for everything that was not herself sparkled.

Makar handed me the phone.

Smoke! Does the girl sing well? That's it! Would you like someone like you to love you? No? Fine! That's the way it should be - don't trust the girls and stay away from them. Kissing a girl is better and more pleasant than smoking a pipe for me, but if you kissed her, the will in your heart died. She will tie you to her with something that is not visible, but cannot be broken, and you will give her your whole soul. Right! Watch out girls! They always lie! I love her, he says, more than anything in the world, come on, prick her with a pin, she will break your heart. I know! Hey, how much do I know! Well, falcon, do you want me to tell you a true story? And you remember it and, as you remember it, you will be a free bird throughout your life.

“There was once Zobar, a young gypsy, Loiko Zobar. All of Hungary, and the Czech Republic, and Slavonia, and everything around the sea, knew him - he was a daring fellow! There wasn’t a village in those parts where five or two residents had not sworn an oath to God to kill Loiko, but he lived for himself, and if he liked the horse, even if you put a regiment of soldiers to guard that horse, Zobar would still prance on it! Hey! Was he afraid of anyone? Yes, if Satan had come to him with all his retinue, if he had not thrown a knife at him, he would probably have had a strong fight, and what would he give the devils a kick in the snout - that’s just it!

And all the camps knew him or heard about him. He loved only horses and nothing else, and even then not for long - he would ride and sell, and whoever wants the money, take it. He didn’t have what he cherished - you need his heart, he himself would tear it out of his chest and give it to you, if only it would make you feel good. That's what he was, a falcon!

Our camp was roaming around Bukovina at that time - about ten years ago. One spring night we were sitting: I, Danilo the soldier, who fought with Kossuth together, and old Nur, and all the others, and Radda, Danilo’s daughter.

Do you know my Nonka? Queen girl! Well, Radda cannot be compared with her - a lot of honor to Nonke! You can’t say anything about her, this Radda, in words. Perhaps its beauty could be played on a violin, and even then to someone who knows this violin like his own soul.

She dried out a lot of young people’s hearts, wow, a lot! On Morava, one magnate, an old, brown-haired man, saw her and was dumbfounded. He sits on a horse and looks, trembling, as if in a fire. He was as handsome as the devil on a holiday, the zhupan was embroidered with gold, the saber on his side sparkled like lightning, the horse barely stamped his foot, this whole saber was covered in precious stones, and the blue velvet on his cap was like a piece of the sky - he was an important old ruler! He looked and looked and said to Radda: “Hey! A kiss, I’ll give you a wallet of money.” And she turned to the side, and that’s all! “Forgive me if I offended you, look at least kindly,” the old tycoon immediately lowered his arrogance and threw a wallet at her feet - a big wallet, brother! And she seemed to accidentally kick him into the dirt, and that’s all.

Eh, girl! - he groaned, and he hit the horse with a whip - only the dust rose in a cloud.

And the next day he appeared again. "Who is her father?" - thunder thunders through the camp. Danilo left. “Sell your daughter, take what you want!” And Danilo tell him: “It’s only the gentlemen who sell everything, from their pigs to their conscience, but I fought with Kossuth and don’t trade anything!” He began to roar, and for his saber, but one of us put a lit tinder into the horse’s ear, and he carried away the young man. And we filmed and went. We walked for a day or two, we looked - we caught up! “You are gay,” he says, before God and you my conscience is clear, give the girl to me as a wife: I will share everything with you, I am very rich!” It burns all over and, like a feather grass in the wind, sways in the saddle. We thought about it.

Come on, daughter, speak up! - Danilo said into his mustache.

What features of the romantic vision of the world were reflected in Makar Chudra’s thoughts about life and man?

Read the fragment of the work below and complete tasks 1–7, 13, 14.

A damp, cold wind blew from the sea, carrying across the steppe the thoughtful melody of the splash of a wave running onto the shore and the rustling of coastal bushes. Occasionally, his gusts brought with them wrinkled, yellow leaves and threw them into the fire, fanning the flames; the darkness of the autumn night that surrounded us shuddered and, timidly moving away, revealed for a moment on the left - a boundless steppe, on the right - an endless sea and directly opposite me - the figure of Makar Chudra, an old gypsy - he was guarding the horses of his camp, spread out about fifty steps from us.

Not paying attention to the fact that the cold waves of wind, having opened the checkmen, exposed his hairy chest and beat it mercilessly, he reclined in a beautiful, strong pose, facing me, methodically sipped from his huge pipe, released thick clouds of smoke from his mouth and nose and, motionless, looking somewhere over my head into the deathly silent darkness of the steppe, he talked to me, without stopping and without making a single movement to protect himself from the sharp blows of the wind.

So are you walking? This is good! You have chosen a glorious fate for yourself, falcon. That’s how it should be: go and look, you’ve seen enough, lie down and die - that’s all!

Life? Other people? - he continued, skeptically listening to my objection to his “that’s how it should be.” - Hey! What do you care about that? Are you not life yourself? Other people live without you and will live without you. Do you think that someone needs you? You are not bread, not a stick, and no one needs you.

Study and teach, you say? Can you learn to make people happy? No you can not. You turn gray first, and say that you need to teach. What to teach? Everyone knows what they need. Those who are smarter take what they have, those who are dumber get nothing, and everyone learns on their own...

They're funny, those people of yours. They’re huddled together and crushing each other, and there’s so much space on the ground,” he waved his hand broadly toward the steppe. - And they all work. For what? To whom? No one knows. You see how a man plows, and you think: drop by drop with sweat, he will drain his strength onto the ground, and then lie down in it and rot in it. There will be nothing left for him, he sees nothing from his field and dies as he was born - a fool.

Well, was he born then, perhaps, to dig up the earth, and die, without even having time to dig out his own grave? Does he know his will? Is the expanse of the steppe clear? Does the sound of the sea wave make his heart happy? He is a slave - as soon as he was born, he is a slave all his life, and that’s it! What can he do with himself? He'll only hang himself if he grows a little wiser.

But look, at the age of fifty-eight I have seen so much that if I wrote it all on paper, it wouldn’t fit into a thousand bags like yours. Come on, tell me, what parts have I not been to? You can't tell. You don’t even know the places where I’ve been. This is how you need to live: go, go - and that’s it. Don't stand in one place for a long time - what's in it? Just as day and night run, chasing each other, around the earth, so you run away from thoughts about life, so as not to stop loving it. And if you think about it, you will stop loving life, this always happens. And it happened to me. Hey! It was, falcon.

(M. Gorky. "Makar Chudra")

Indicate the type of literature to which M. Gorky’s work “Makar Chudra” belongs.

Explanation.

Epic (in Greek means narrative, story) is one of the three genera into which literature is divided (epic, lyric, drama).

Epic in the Encyclopedic Dictionary:

Epic - (Greek epos - word - narrative), 1) the same as epic, as well as ancient historical-heroic songs (for example, epics)... 2) A literary genre (along with lyrics and drama), a narrative about events assumed in the past (as if accomplished and remembered by the narrator).

http://tolkslovar.ru/ie1934.html

Answer: epic.

Answer: epic

At the beginning of the story, the “boundless steppe” and “endless sea” appear before the reader. What term refers to the description of nature in a work of art?

Explanation.

Landscape in literature is the image of living and inanimate nature in a work. The first and simplest function of a landscape is to indicate the scene of action. Often the location of the action is of fundamental importance for a given work. Therefore, the importance of landscape cannot be underestimated.

Answer: landscape.

Answer: landscape

Explanation.

Monologue is the speech of one person addressed to the interlocutor or to himself.

Answer: monologue.

Answer: monologue

Establish a correspondence between the three characters of Russian literature, just like Makar Chudra, who talked about freedom and slavery, and the names of the corresponding works. For each position in the first column, select the corresponding position from the second column. Write your answer in numbers in the table.

Write down the numbers in your answer, arranging them in the order corresponding to the letters:

Explanation.

Emelyan Pugachev is the hero of A. S. Pushkin’s story “The Captain’s Daughter”.

Grandfather Savely is the hero of N. A. Nekrasov’s poem “Who Lives Well in Russia.”

Satin is the hero of M. Gorky's play “At the Bottom”.

Answer: 341.

Answer: 341

Reflecting on life, Makar often uses the same words (“This is how you need to live: go, go - and that’s all”). What is this technique called?

Explanation.

We are talking about repetition or lexical repetition.

Repetition enhances the emotional and figurative expressiveness of artistic speech. The highlighted repeated words carry a certain semantic meaning.

Answer: repeat.

Answer: repetition|lexical repetition

Anastasia Kudryavtseva 29.04.2018 21:07

Is lyrical repetition correct or is there a difference?

Tatiana Statsenko

And that’s right, we have such an answer.

What term denotes an expressive detail that serves as a means of characterizing a character (“methodically sipped from his huge pipe”)?

Explanation.

An artistic detail is one of the means of creating an artistic image, which helps to present the picture, object or character depicted by the author in a unique individuality.

Answer: detail or artistic detail.

Answer: detail|artistic detail

The given fragment represents the beginning of the story, its introductory part. What is the relative position of parts of a work of art called?

In the story “Old Woman Izergil” the real world is contrasted with the ideal world. Romantic heroes: Danko, Larra, the old woman Izergil herself are free people, with extraordinary abilities, their inner world can be compared with the world of the elements, just as in the above passage Makar is drawn against the backdrop of a seascape.

The conflict between romantic views and reality can also be observed in M. Yu. Lermontov’s poem “Mtsyri”: the main character - the captive Mtsyri - strives for freedom all his life. Three days in freedom are better for him than peace in a monastery. He longs for a full-blooded life with its dangers, difficulties, but so desirable and real.

This is the similarity between the heroes of Lermontov and Gorky.

Explanation.

The compositions and characters of the heroes of M. Gorky's early stories return the reader to the romantic tradition. Romantic works include Gorky's stories: “Makar Chudra”, “Old Woman Izergil”, “Chelkash”, “Grandfather Arkhip and Lenka”, etc. Makar Chudra is depicted against the backdrop of a romantic landscape. The landscape is animated, the sea and the steppe are limitless, emphasizing the boundlessness of the hero’s freedom, his inability and unwillingness to exchange this freedom for anything. The seascape is a kind of frame for the entire storyline of the story. The sea is closely connected with the mental state of the heroes: at first it is calm, only the “wet, cold wind” carries “across the steppe the pensive melody of the splash of a wave running onto the shore and the rustling of coastal bushes.” But then it began to rain, the wind became stronger, and the sea rumbled dully and angrily and sang a gloomy and solemn hymn to the proud couple of handsome gypsies.

A damp, cold wind blew from the sea, carrying across the steppe the thoughtful melody of the splash of a wave running onto the shore and the rustling of coastal bushes. Occasionally, his gusts brought with them wrinkled, yellow leaves and threw them into the fire, fanning the flames; the darkness of the autumn night that surrounded us shuddered and, timidly moving away, revealed for a moment on the left - a boundless steppe, on the right - an endless sea and directly opposite me - the figure of Makar Chudra, an old gypsy - he was guarding the horses of his camp, spread out about fifty steps from us.

Not paying attention to the fact that the cold waves of wind, having opened the checkmen, exposed his hairy chest and beat it mercilessly, he reclined in a beautiful, strong pose, facing me, methodically sipped from his huge pipe, released thick clouds of smoke from his mouth and nose and, motionless, looking somewhere over my head into the dead silent darkness of the steppe, he talked to me, without stopping and without making a single movement towards protection from the sharp blows of the wind.

- So are you walking? This is good! You have chosen a glorious fate for yourself, falcon. That’s how it should be: go and look, you’ve seen enough, lie down and die - that’s all!

Life? Other people? - he continued, skeptically listening to my objection to his “That’s how it should be.” - Hey! What do you care about that? Are you not life yourself? Other people live without you and will live without you. Do you think that someone needs you? You are not bread, not a stick, and no one needs you.

Study and teach, you say? Can you learn to make people happy? No you can not. You turn gray first, and say that you need to teach. What to teach? Everyone knows what they need. Those who are smarter take what they have, those who are dumber get nothing, and everyone learns on their own...

They're funny, those people of yours. They’re huddled together and crushing each other, and there’s so much room on the ground,” he waved his hand broadly toward the steppe. - And everyone works. For what? To whom? No one knows. You see how a man plows, and you think: drop by drop with sweat, he will drain his strength onto the ground, and then lie down in it and rot in it. There will be nothing left for him, he sees nothing from his field and dies as he was born - a fool.

Well, was he born then, perhaps, to dig up the earth, and die, without even having time to dig out his own grave? Does he know his will? Is the expanse of the steppe clear? Does the sound of the sea wave make his heart happy? He is a slave - as soon as he was born, he is a slave all his life, and that’s it! What can he do with himself? He'll only hang himself if he grows a little wiser.

But look, at the age of fifty-eight I have seen so much that if I wrote it all on paper, it wouldn’t fit into a thousand bags like yours. Come on, tell me, what parts have I not been to? You can't tell. You don’t even know the places where I’ve been. This is how you need to live: go, go - and that’s it. Don't stand in one place for a long time - what's in it? Just as they run day and night, chasing each other, around the earth, so you run away from thoughts about life, so as not to stop loving it. And if you think about it, you will stop loving life, this always happens. And it happened to me. Hey! It was, falcon.

I was in prison in Galicia. “Why do I live in the world?” - I thought out of boredom, - it’s boring in prison, falcon, oh, how boring! - and longing took me by the heart, as I looked out of the window onto the field, took it and squeezed it with pincers. Who can say why he lives? No one will say, falcon! And you don’t need to ask yourself about this. Live, and that's it! And walk around and look around you, and the melancholy will never take over. Then I almost strangled myself with my belt, that’s how it happened!

Heh! I spoke with one person. A strict man, one of your Russians. You need, he says, to live not the way you want, but the way it is said in God’s word. Submit to God, and he will give you everything you ask of him. And he himself is full of holes, torn. I told him to ask God for new clothes. He got angry and drove me away, cursing. And before that he said that we need to forgive people and love them. He would have forgiven me if my speech offended his lordship. Also a teacher! They teach them to eat less, but they themselves eat ten times a day.

He spat into the fire and fell silent, filling his pipe again. The wind howled plaintively and quietly, horses neighed in the darkness, and a tender and passionate song-thought floated from the camp. This was sung by the beautiful Nonka, daughter of Makar. I knew her voice with a thick, chesty timbre, always sounding somehow strange, dissatisfied and demanding - whether she was singing a song or saying “hello.” The arrogance of the queen froze on her dark, matte face, and in her dark brown eyes, covered with some kind of shadow, the consciousness of the irresistibility of her beauty and contempt for everything that was not herself sparkled.

Makar handed me the phone.

Smoke! Does the girl sing well? That's it! Would you like someone like you to love you? No? Fine! That's the way it should be - don't trust the girls and stay away from them. Kissing a girl is better and more pleasant than smoking a pipe for me, but if you kissed her, the will in your heart died. She will tie you to her with something that is not visible, but cannot be broken, and you will give her your whole soul. Right! Watch out girls! They always lie! I love her, he says, more than anything in the world, come on, prick her with a pin, she will break your heart. I know! Hey, how much do I know! Well, falcon, do you want me to tell you a true story? And you remember it and, as you remember it, you will be a free bird throughout your life.

“There was once Zobar, a young gypsy, Loiko Zobar. All of Hungary, and the Czech Republic, and Slavonia, and everything around the sea, knew him - he was a daring fellow! There wasn’t a village in those parts where five or two residents had not sworn an oath to God to kill Loiko, but he lived for himself, and if he liked the horse, even if you put a regiment of soldiers to guard that horse, Zobar would still prance on it! Hey! Was he afraid of anyone? Yes, if Satan had come to him with all his retinue, if he had not thrown a knife at him, he would probably have had a strong fight, and what would he give the devils a kick in the snout - that’s just it!

And all the camps knew him or heard about him. He loved only horses and nothing else, and even then not for long - he would ride and sell, and whoever wants the money, take it. He didn’t have what he cherished - you need his heart, he himself would tear it out of his chest and give it to you, if only it would make you feel good. That's what he was, a falcon!

Our camp was roaming around Bukovina at that time - about ten years ago. One spring night we were sitting: I, Danilo the soldier, who fought with Kossuth together, and old Nur, and all the others, and Radda, Danilo’s daughter.

Do you know my Nonka? Queen girl! Well, Radda cannot be compared with her - a lot of honor to Nonke! You can’t say anything about her, this Radda, in words. Perhaps its beauty could be played on a violin, and even then to someone who knows this violin like his own soul.

She dried out a lot of young people’s hearts, wow, a lot! On Morava, one magnate, an old, brown-haired man, saw her and was dumbfounded. He sits on a horse and looks, trembling, as if in a fire. He was as handsome as the devil on a holiday, the zhupan was embroidered with gold, the saber on his side sparkled like lightning, the horse barely stamped his foot, this whole saber was covered in precious stones, and the blue velvet on his cap was like a piece of the sky - he was an important old ruler! He looked and looked and said to Radda: “Hey! A kiss, I’ll give you a wallet of money.” And she turned to the side, and that’s all! “Forgive me if I offended you, look at least kindly,” the old tycoon immediately lowered his arrogance and threw a wallet at her feet - a big wallet, brother! And she seemed to accidentally kick him into the dirt, and that’s all.

Eh, girl! - he groaned, and he hit the horse with a whip - only the dust rose in a cloud.

And the next day he appeared again. "Who is her father?" - thunder thunders through the camp. Danilo left. “Sell your daughter, take what you want!” And Danilo tell him: “It’s only the gentlemen who sell everything, from their pigs to their conscience, but I fought with Kossuth and don’t trade anything!” He began to roar, and for his saber, but one of us put a lit tinder in the horse’s ear, and he carried away the young man. And we filmed and went. We walked for a day or two, we looked - we caught up! “You are gay,” he says, before God and you my conscience is clear, give the girl to me as a wife: I will share everything with you, I am very rich!” It burns all over and, like a feather grass in the wind, sways in the saddle. We thought about it.

Come on, daughter, speak up! - Danilo said into his mustache.

If the eagle entered the raven's nest of her own free will, what would she become? - Radda asked us. Danilo laughed, and we all laughed with him.

Nice, daughter! Did you hear, sir? It's not working! Look for the doves - they are more pliable. - And we went forward.

And that ruler grabbed his hat, threw it on the ground and galloped so that the earth shook. That's what Radda was like, the falcon!

Yes! So one night we sat and heard music floating across the steppe. Good music! The blood burned in her veins, and she called somewhere. We all felt that from that music we wanted something that would make us no longer need to live, or, if we were to live, then be kings over the whole earth, falcon!

Here a horse was cut out of the darkness, and a man was sitting on it and playing, riding up to us. He stopped by the fire, stopped playing, smiling, looking at us.

Hey, Zobar, it's you! - Danilo shouted to him joyfully. So here he is, Loiko Zobar!

The mustache lay on the shoulders and mixed with the curls, the eyes glow like clear stars, and the smile is the whole sun, by God! It was as if he had been forged from one piece of iron along with the horse. He stands covered in blood, in the fire of a fire, and his teeth sparkle, laughing! I'll be damned if I didn't already love him as myself before he said a word to me or simply noticed that I, too, live in this world!

Look, falcon, what kind of people there are! He will look into your eyes and fill your soul, and you are not at all ashamed of this, but also proud for you. With such a person you become a better person. There are few such people, my friend! Well, okay, if it’s not enough. If there were a lot of good things in the world, it would not be considered good. So that! And listen further.

Radda says: “You’re playing well, Loiko! Who made you such a sonorous and sensitive violin?” And he laughs: “I did it myself!” And I made it not from wood, but from the breast of a young girl whom I loved dearly, and I twisted the strings from her heart. The violin is still lying a little, well, yes, I know how to hold a bow in my hands!”

It is known that our brother tries to immediately cloud the girl’s eyes, so that they do not set his heart on fire, and they themselves would be filled with sadness for you, and so does Loiko. But I came across the wrong one. Radda turned to the side and, yawning, said: “They also said that Zobar was smart and dexterous - that’s how people lie!” - and walked away.

Hey, beauty, your teeth are sharp! - Loiko’s eyes sparkled, getting off his horse. - Hello, brothers! Here I come to you!

Guest welcome! - Danilo said in response to him. We kissed, talked and went to bed... We slept soundly. And the next morning, we see, Zobar has a rag tied around his head. What is this? And this horse killed him with a sleepy hoof.

Eh, eh, eh! We realized who the horse was and smiled into our mustaches, and Danilo smiled. Well, wasn't Loiko worth Radda? Well, I do not! No matter how good the girl is, her soul is narrow and shallow, and even if you hang a pound of gold around her neck, it doesn’t matter better than that as she is, not to be her. Oh, okay!

We live and live in that place, things were good for us at that time, and Zobar is with us. It was a comrade! And he was as wise as an old man, and knowledgeable in everything, and understood Russian and Magyar letters. It used to be that he would go talk and wouldn’t sleep forever listening to him! And he plays - God bless me if anyone else in the world played like that! He used to draw a bow along the strings - and your heart would tremble, he would stroke it again - and it would freeze, listening, and he plays and smiles. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time while listening to him. Now someone is moaning bitterly to you, asking for help and cutting your chest like a knife. But the steppe tells tales to the sky, sad tales. The girl is crying, seeing off the good fellow! A good fellow calls the girl to the steppe. And suddenly - gay! A free, live song thunders, and the sun itself, just look, will dance across the sky to that song! That's it, falcon!

Every life in your body understood that song, and the whole of you became a slave to it. And if Loiko had then shouted: “To the knives, comrades!”, then we would all go to the knives, with whomever he pointed. He could do anything to a person, and everyone loved him, loved him deeply, only Radda is the only one who doesn’t look at the guy; and it’s okay, if only this, otherwise he’ll laugh at him. She touched Zobar's heart firmly, so tightly! Loiko grinds his teeth, tugging at his mustache, his eyes look darker than the abyss, and sometimes there is such a sparkle in them that you become afraid for your soul. Loiko will go far into the steppe at night, and his violin will cry until the morning, crying, burying Zobar’s will. And we lie and listen and think: what to do? And we know that if two stones roll towards each other, you cannot stand between them - they will mutilate you. That's how things went.

Here we sat, all assembled, and talked about business. It got boring. Danilo asks Loiko: “Sing, Zobar, a song, cheer your soul!” He pointed his eye at Radda, who was lying face up not far from him, looking at the sky, and struck the strings. And so the violin began to speak, as if it really was a girl’s heart! And Loiko sang:

Gay-gay! There's a fire burning in my chest,
And the steppe is so wide!
My greyhound horse is as fast as the wind,
My hand is strong!

Radda turned her head and, standing up, grinned into the singer’s eyes. He flared up like the dawn.

Gay-hop, gay! Well, my comrade!
Let's jump forward, shall we?!
The steppe is dressed in harsh darkness,
And there the dawn awaits us!
Gay-gay! Let's fly and see the day.
Soar to the heights!
Just don't touch me with my mane
Beautiful moon!

He sang! Nobody sings like that anymore! And Radda says, as if he were straining water:

You wouldn’t fly so high, Loiko, you’ll fall unevenly, yes, your nose will fall into a puddle, your mustache will get dirty, look. - Loiko looked at her like a beast, but didn’t say anything - the guy endured it and sang to himself:

Gay-hop! Suddenly the day will come here,
And you and I are sleeping.
Hey gay! After all, you and I then
We will burn in the fire of shame!

Is a song! - said Danilo. - I have never heard such a song; Let Satan make a pipe out of me if I'm lying!

Old Nur twirled his mustache and shrugged his shoulders, and we all liked Zobar’s daring song! Only Radda didn’t like it.

“That’s how one day a mosquito hummed, mimicking the squawk of an eagle,” she said, as if she had thrown snow at us.

Maybe you, Radda, want a whip? - Danilo reached out to her, and Zobar threw his hat to the ground, and said, all black as the earth:

Stop, Danilo! A hot horse has a steel bit! Give me your daughter as a wife!

Here's a speech! - Danilo grinned. - Yes, take it if you can!

Good! - said Loiko and said to Radda: - Well, girl, listen to me a little, but don’t be arrogant! I've seen a lot of your sister, hey, a lot! And no one has touched my heart like you. Eh, Radda, you have filled my soul! Well? Whatever happens, so it will be, and... there is no horse on which you could gallop away from yourself!.. I take you as my wife before God, my honor, your father and all these people. But look, my will cannot be contradicted - I am a free person and I will live the way I want! - And he approached her, gritting his teeth, sparkling his eyes. We look, he extended his hand to her, - so, we think, she put the bridle on the steppe horse Rudd! Suddenly we see him wave his arms and hit the ground with the back of his head - bang!..

What a miracle? It was as if a bullet had struck the little one’s heart. And it was Radda who grabbed the belt whip around his legs and pulled him towards her - that’s why Loiko fell.

And again the girl lies motionless and smiles silently. We watch what will happen, and Loiko sits on the ground and clutches his head with his hands, as if he is afraid that it will burst. And then he stood up quietly and walked into the steppe, without looking at anyone. Nur whispered to me: “Watch him!” And I crawled after Zobar across the steppe in the darkness of the night. That's it, falcon!

Makar knocked the ashes out of the pipe and began filling it again. I wrapped myself tightly in my overcoat and, lying down, looked into his old face, black from the sun and the wind. He shook his head sternly and sternly, whispering something to himself; his gray mustache moved, and the wind ruffled the hair on his head. He looked like an old oak tree, burned by lightning, but still powerful, strong and proud of his strength. The sea still whispered to the shore, and the wind still carried its whisper across the steppe. Nonka no longer sang, and the clouds that had gathered in the sky made the autumn night even darker.

“Loiko walked foot by foot, hanging his head and lowering his arms like whips, and, coming to a ravine near a stream, he sat down on a stone and groaned. He groaned so much that my heart bled with pity, but still did not approach him. You can't help grief with words - right?! That's it! He sits for an hour, then sits for another, and for a third he doesn’t move - he sits.

And I'm lying nearby. The night is bright, the month has filled the entire steppe with silver, and everything can be seen far away.

Suddenly I see: Radda is hurrying away from the camp.

I had fun! “Oh, it’s important! - I think - the daring girl Radda! So she came up to him, he didn’t hear. She put her hand on his shoulder; Loiko shuddered, unclenched his hands and raised his head. And how he jumps up and grabs the knife! Wow, he’ll cut the girl, I see, and I was just about to shout to the camp and run to them, when suddenly I heard:

Give it up! I'll break your head! - I look: Radda has a pistol in her hand, and she’s aiming it at Zobar’s forehead. That's Satan girl! Well, I think they are now equal in strength, what will happen next?

Listen! “Radda tucked the pistol into her belt and said to Zobar: “I didn’t come to kill you, but to make peace, drop the knife!” - He gave up and frowns into her eyes. It was wonderful, brother! Two people are standing and looking at each other like animals, and both are such good, brave people. The clear moon looks at them and I - and that’s it.

Well, listen to me, Loiko: I love you! - says Radda. He just shrugged his shoulders, as if he were tied hand and foot.

I’ve seen some great guys, but you are more daring and more beautiful than them in soul and face. Each of them would shave off his mustache - if I blinked his eye, they would all fall at my feet if I wanted it. But what's the point? They’re not too daring anyway, but I would beat them all up. There are few daring gypsies left in the world, not many, Loiko. I have never loved anyone, Loiko, but I love you. And I also love freedom! Please, Loiko, I love you more than you. And I can’t live without you, just as you can’t live without me. So I want you to be mine, body and soul, do you hear? - He grinned.

I hear you! It makes my heart happy to listen to you speak! Come on, say it again!

And one more thing, Loiko: no matter how you turn, I will defeat you, you will be mine. So don’t waste time - my kisses and caresses await you ahead... I will kiss you deeply, Loiko! Under my kiss you will forget your daring life... and your living songs, which so delight the young gypsies, will no longer sound across the steppes - you will sing love, tender songs to me, Radda... So don’t waste time, - I said this, it means , tomorrow you will submit to me as a senior fellow young man. Bow down at my feet in front of the whole camp and kiss my right hand - and then I will be your wife.

That's what the damn girl wanted! This was unheard of; Only in the old days was it like this among the Montenegrins, the old people said, but never among the Gypsies! Come on, falcon, come up with something funnier? You'll be scratching your head for a year, you won't be able to make it up!

Loiko jerked towards him and shouted throughout the steppe, as if wounded in the chest. Radda trembled, but did not give herself away.

Well, goodbye until tomorrow, and tomorrow you will do what I told you. Do you hear, Loiko?

I hear you! “I’ll do it,” Zobar groaned and extended his hands to her. She didn’t even look back at him, but he staggered like a tree broken by the wind and fell to the ground, sobbing and laughing.

This is how the damned Radda loomed. I forced him to come to my senses.

Ehe! What kind of devil wants people to grieve? Who loves to listen to how the human heart groans, bursting with grief? So think here!..

I returned to the camp and told the old people about everything. We thought about it and decided to wait and see what would come of it. And this is what happened. When we all gathered around the fire in the evening, Loiko also came. He was confused and lost terribly weight overnight, his eyes were sunken; he lowered them and, without raising them, said to us:

Here's the thing, comrades: I looked into my heart that night and found no place in it for my old free life. Radda only lives there - and that’s it! Here she is, the beautiful Radda, smiling like a queen! She loves her will more than me, and I love her more than my will, and I decided to bow at Radda’s feet, as she ordered, so that everyone could see how her beauty conquered the daring Loiko Zobar, who before her played with the girls like a gyrfalcon with ducks . And then she will become my wife and will caress and kiss me, so that I won’t even want to sing songs to you, and I will not regret my will! Is that right, Radda? - He raised his eyes and looked at her dubiously. She silently and sternly nodded her head and pointed to her feet with her hand. And we looked and did not understand anything. I even wanted to go somewhere, just not to see Loiko Zobar fall at the feet of a girl - even if this girl was Radda. I was ashamed of something, and sorry, and sad.

Well! - Radda shouted to Zobar.

Hey, don’t rush, you’ll have time, you’ll get tired of it... - he laughed. “It was as if steel rang,” he laughed.

So that's the whole point, comrades! What's left? All that remains is to try whether my Radda has such a strong heart as she showed it to me. I’ll try, forgive me, brothers!

Before we even had time to guess what Zobar wanted to do, Radda was lying on the ground, and Zobar’s curved knife was sticking out to the hilt in her chest. We were numb.

And Radda snatched the knife, threw it to the side and, pressing the wound with a strand of her black hair, smiling, said loudly and clearly:

Goodbye, Loiko! I knew that you would do this!.. - and I died...

Did you understand the girl, falcon?! That's what a devilish girl she was, damn me forever and ever!

Eh! and I will bow at your feet, proud queen! - Loiko barked throughout the steppe and, throwing himself to the ground, pressed his lips to the feet of the dead Radda and froze. We took off our hats and stood in silence.

What do you say in such a matter, falcon? That's it! Nur said: “We need to tie him up!..” If no one had raised their hands to tie Loiko Zobar, no one would have raised them, and Nur knew it. He waved his hand and walked away. And Danilo picked up the knife thrown to the side by Radda and looked at it for a long time, moving his gray mustache; Radda’s blood had not yet frozen on that knife, and it was so crooked and sharp. And then Danilo approached Zobar and thrust a knife into his back, right against his heart. The old soldier Danilo was also Radde’s father!

Like this! - turning to Danila, Loiko said clearly and left to catch up with Radda.

And we watched. Radda was lying with her hand with a lock of hair pressed to her chest, and her open eyes were in the blue sky, and the daring Loiko Zobar was stretched out at her feet. His curls fell over his face, and his face could not be seen.

We stood and thought. Old Danila’s mustache trembled, and his thick eyebrows frowned. He looked at the sky and was silent, and Nur, gray-haired like a harrier, lay down face down on the ground and cried so that his old man’s shoulders shook.

There was something to cry about here, falcon!

... You go, well, go your own way, without turning to the side. Straight ahead and go. Maybe you won’t lose your life in vain. That's it, falcon!

Makar fell silent and, hiding his pipe in his pouch, wrapped the checkmen around his chest. It began to rain, the wind became stronger, the sea rumbled dully and angrily. One after another, the horses approached the dying fire and, looking at us with large, intelligent eyes, stopped motionless, surrounding us in a dense ring.

Hop, gop, goop! - Makar shouted to them affectionately and, patting the neck of his beloved black horse with his palm, said, turning to me: “It’s time to sleep!” - Then he wrapped his head in the checkmen and, stretching out powerfully on the ground, fell silent.

I didn't want to sleep. I looked into the darkness of the steppe, and the royally beautiful and proud figure of Radda floated in the air before my eyes. She pressed her hand with a strand of black hair to the wound on her chest, and through her dark, thin fingers blood oozed drop by drop, falling to the ground in fiery red stars.

And at her heels floated the daring fellow Loiko Zobar; his face was covered with strands of thick black curls, and from under them frequent, cold and large tears dripped...

The rain was getting heavier, and the sea was singing a gloomy and solemn hymn to the proud couple of handsome gypsies - Loiko Zobar and Radda, the daughter of the old soldier Danila.

And they both circled in the darkness of the night smoothly and silently, and the handsome Loiko could not catch up with the proud Radda.

Job source: Solution 5051. Unified State Exam 2017. Russian language. I.P. Tsybulko. 36 options.

Task 16. Place all punctuation marks: indicate the number(s) in whose place(s) there should be a comma(s) in the sentence.

A damp, cold wind blew from the sea (1), spreading across the steppe (2) the thoughtful melody of the splash (3) of a wave (4) running onto the shore.

Solution.

In this task you need to put commas to highlight adverbial or participial phrases. We remember that the participle phrase is isolated in any case, the participial phrase is isolated only after the word being defined.

1. Let’s find participial and participial phrases in the sentence.

A damp, cold wind blew from the sea (1), spreading across the steppe (2) the thoughtful melody of splashing (3) waves (4) running ashore.

2. Let’s highlight the commas and participial phrases:

(1) spreading across the steppe (2) the thoughtful melody of splashing (3) waves (4) running ashore.

3. Let’s determine the place of the participial phrase in relation to the word being defined.

waves (4-which one?) running ashore.

The phrase comes after the word being defined, we separate it. Commas (2) and (3) are not placed because (2) and (3) are inside the adverbial phrase.

4. We write down the numbers where commas should appear in the sentence.