A soldier is a defender of his Fatherland. Honor and dignity of a soldier of the armed forces of Russia Lesson 23 (1) Topic: “A serviceman is a patriot, bearing the title of defender of the Fatherland with honor and dignity.” Type of lesson. Lesson-lecture. Questions of the lesson. 1. The feeling of patriotism is the most important

Yagodinsky Victor

And the smoke of the fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us

UNKNOWN! FIGHT AND SEARCH

Victor YAGODINSKY

And the smoke of the fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us ...

Homesickness. A long-exposed confusion.

I don't care at all...

And yet, everything is the same.

But if a bush stands on the road, especially mountain ash ...

M. Tsvetaeva

Great sense of the motherland! Source of strength and inspiration. Unquenchable ardor of the soul. Joy and suffering. The courage and courage of those who defend the Fatherland, their native home and their parents, their king ... This is their native language, native culture, history ... Grief and longing for those who left their native places ... .

But I would like to highlight one small issue in this immense topic, one side of love for one's native places. Why are people drawn to their native places like a bird? Why does a person return to his father's house? Why is he looking for fellow countrymen in a foreign land? There can be many answers, of course. I dare to touch the topic of memory ...

A whirlwind of questions arose after a small local airline plane made an emergency landing in a field somewhere in the Kurgan region. I went out, preoccupied with an unexpected flight delay, and suddenly ... turned into a child. No, not right away. Perhaps, at first, I smelled some painfully familiar steppe wind. Warm, wormwood and full of childhood. For some reason, I found myself next to the horse, on a haystack. The horse is big, and the haystack is huge. Both creepy and joyful, and the tart taste of herbs tickles in the nostrils, giving a special taste to new sensations.

Having already sobered up from the first blow of smells, lying in the spikey grass, I firmly believed that I had been in childhood, about which I had not remembered anything for a long time (or maybe I didn’t know?). The steppe was stirred by the wind, touched the deep layers of memory, and from there, as from the silty bowels of a steppe lake, bubbles-memories began to rise and burst. Then I checked them with maternity hospitals and friends. Yes, no error, everything was accurate. I happened to be near the village where I was born...

Secondarily, my interest in this phenomenon revived after a conversation with a Spaniard, who was taken to the USSR as a baby, in 1937.

I asked him how he felt when he first returned to his homeland, Spain? And he replied: the smell! Or rather, the smell. One - sea wind, and the other - soap, from a marble trough for public washing, which stood in the depths of the Spanish courtyard.

Well, what else? I went to Spain in a Zhiguli through all of Europe. The radio is on most of the time. Alien voices, music. But here in the Pyrenees, on some turn of the mountain road, unfamiliar music suddenly became familiar, and he, like a boy on his mother's breast, choked with tears of joy. And after that there was, native Spanish music, there were songs familiar from childhood, but this feeling did not happen again.

What is this, a simple coincidence of our intimate (and highly subjective) feelings?

But here I am reading Marcel Proust: “In Search of Lost Time”: “I ate my aunt’s cookies, and my memory restored the pictures of my childhood. Herman Hesse describes such sensations in more detail, who devotes quite a lot of space in his biography to such a phenomenon: “My birth took place in the early evening on a warm July day, and the temperature of that hour is the very one that I loved and unconsciously sought all my life and the absence of which I perceived as deprivation. I have never been able to live in cold countries, and all the voluntarily undertaken wanderings of my life are directed to the south ... "But still, most of the evidence is in favor of smells.

Sometimes these testimonies are firmly connected with a complex sense of beauty and closeness of one's native places. I. S. Turgenev: "I love these alleys, I love the delicate gray-green color and the delicate smell of the air under the arches ..." And here is the famous oak planted by Ivan Sergeevich as a child in a clearing behind the old Lutovinovsky house: "My beloved the oak has already become a young oak. Yesterday in the middle of the day I sat for more than an hour in its shade on a bench. I felt very good. All around the grass was so merry; a golden light lay on everything, strong and soft ... "- Turgenev was constantly drawn to Spasskoye, from everywhere - from Moscow, I. Petersburg, Paris and Rome, Berlin and London, he again and again returned to where he spent most of his childhood, where he comprehended the soul of his people, absorbed his speech: "The air of the homeland has something inexplicable in it. .." "When you are in Spasskoye, bow from me to the house, garden, my young oak, bow to the motherland," he wills.

And A. Kuprin - "even flowers at home smell differently. Their aroma is strong, more spicy than the aroma of flowers abroad." M. Prishvin and other writers have a lot of evidence of the connection between the feeling of the motherland and nature. But the letter of A. K. Tolstoy to his future wife Sofya Andreevna dated August 22, 1851 stands apart - in its clarity and certainty: “I just returned from the forest, where I searched and found a lot of mushrooms. and to what extent they can remind what has been forgotten for many years... It seems to me that forest smells have this property most of all... Right now, sniffing the camelina, I saw in front of me, as if in lightning, all my childhood in all details until the age of seven."

For us, this evidence is especially important, since it is known that A. K. Tolstoy suffered from asthma. That is, he had a pronounced tendency to allergic reactions. Isn't this the source of such a clear vision of the whole picture of childhood from the smell of camelina alone?

Let us agree that all further discussions on this subject concern the purely biological side of the alleged connection between the feeling of native places and their natural environment. A person can have another, second, homeland, which he loves no less than the place of his birth. For people of our time, the determining factor in the feeling of the motherland is, of course, the psycho-emotional background that has been formed in accordance with the social conditions of life and upbringing.

But still:

You remember not a big country,

Which you traveled and learned

Do you remember such a Motherland,

How did you see her as a child?

K. Simonov

So. If we talk about the biochemistry of nostalgia, if we think that antigenic influences such as allergic reactions are to blame for its formation, then everything is explained quite harmoniously.

The essence of the matter lies in the fact that the very first encounter of the organism, for example, with the influenza virus (and in humans during the epidemic years this usually occurs in infancy) produces such a strong immunological effect that the cells that form the counterbodies “remember” the pattern for life mosaics of the antigenic shell of the virus that first struck the child. Subsequently, when meeting with other influenza viruses, the body, along with new antibodies, continues to churn out antibodies to the "example-strain" of the virus.

A person throughout his life carries in the blood anti-bodies not only to viruses and bacteria, but also to any biological and chemical substances that can cause an immunological reaction. Such reactions can be allergic in nature, if their occurrence is based on the introduction into the body of a foreign protein or even inorganic substances that have allergenic properties.

Words of the poem by G.R. Derzhavin, in which the lyrical hero, listening to the sounds of the harp, indulges in memories of his native Kazan, will eventually become a catch phrase. What lies behind the bright image? Smoke that hides the true outlines of objects and clouds the faces of people, restricts breathing and corrodes the eyes. But even he, a symbol of the native hearth, instills joy in the soul of a weary traveler, because it is in love for the father's coffins that the human heart “gains food”.

That is why it seems by no means accidental that the monastery, founded in the 13th century by the disciple Anthony, 15 fields from Tikhvin, was called the “Monastery of Ontonia on Dymekh”, and Anthony himself began to be called Dymsky: indeed, the history of the monastery itself and the memory of its reverend founder as if shrouded in a foggy veil and a haze of oblivion, the evidence of his Life was recognized as unreliable for a long time, and Anthony himself was considered an almost mythical, legendary person. And despite this, already in the mid-1990s, after the installation of a worship cross in the waters of Dymskoye Lake opposite the place where, according to legend, the monk prayed, the memory of the ascetic of bygone times began to revive in the hearts of the surrounding residents, and the path to the waters of the saint The lake widened day by day.

"Dedicating Yourself to God"

The historical Anthony was born in 1206 in Veliky Novgorod. The only thing known about the parents of Anthony (the secular name of the monk, presumably, has not been preserved) from the Life is that they were pious Christians and raised their son “in good punishment”, that is, literally as Sylvester advises to do it, author of the famous Domostroy. Anthony spent his youth in Novgorod, diligently visiting churches and moving away from the noisy companies of his peers. During the service, a young parishioner stood aside in one of the aisles, avoiding conversations even with pious prayer books: a conversation with God did not require witnesses, and in the soul of a young man there was no place for everyday husks.

In this inner youthful concentration on prayer, in this self-sufficiency, not feeling awkward from its solitude, one can foresee the ease with which Antony later decided to leave a warm place within the walls of the monastery of tonsure, if circumstances required it from him. Here, perhaps, is the key to explaining the nature of the conflict that arose later between Anthony and the brethren of his native monastery: the inner freedom and emotional isolation of the monk aroused hostile feelings and set the lesser brethren against him.

One day, having heard during the service the words of the Gospel about the need to take up the cross and follow Christ, Anthony leaves the world and becomes a monk in the Khutyn Monastery, taking tonsure from the hands of the illustrious abbot and founder of this monastery, Varlaam. The Life does not name Anthony's age at that moment, however, since the hagiographer does not point out any obstacles that could delay parting with the world, and at the same time does not focus on the youth of the ascetic, it can be assumed that Anthony was about 20 years old, that is this happened around 1226.

Under the vigilant patronage of the Monk Varlaam, about ten years of Anthony's monastic life passed. During these years, the spiritual mind of the young monk grew, matured and strengthened: “From then on, Anthony betrayed God to himself in everything, obeying his mentor Barlaam in everything, and doing more than anyone else in that monastery.” All this time, says the Life, the monk "with diligence and humility in the simplicity of his heart" passed monastic services, not abandoning the cell and conciliar prayer rules.

Tsargrad

Ten years of Anthony in the Khutyn Monastery ended ... with a delegation of the monk to Tsargrad

Anthony's ten years in the Khutyn Monastery ended with a delegation of the monk in 1238 to Constantinople "for the sake of church wines." This honorary business trip of the monk was, on the one hand, a sign of high appreciation by the hierarchs (primarily Varlaam) of his monastic virtue, intelligence, and diplomatic abilities, and on the other hand, it was an ordeal, fraught with many dangers and hardships. Seeing off his beloved student on the road, Varlaam strengthens his spirit, promising to prayerfully support him throughout his journey. The abbot does not hide the fact that the journey will be long and exhausting: “May God arrange your path, if this path is difficult and sorrowful for you, but behold, as a narrow and regrettable gate, it is fitting for us to enter the Kingdom of God.” Anthony himself strengthens himself by relying on, who is strong to protect him from the “men of blood”, who usually attack merchant and pilgrimage caravans marching along the path “from the Varangians to the Greeks”: “Reverend Anthony, putting all this in his heart, to accept a new feat being obedient, having a cure for all embarrassment in the words of Christ the Savior in the Gospel, saying: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body and then are unable to do anything else.”

Anthony spends about five years away from his native monastery, returning only in 1243. In Constantinople, Anthony is honored with an audience with the patriarch and receives instructions on how “in this many-rebellious world it is fitting to manage the ship of temporary life” and in all misadventures “with meekness and humility to be kind.” The monk, perhaps, could not even imagine how soon the spiritual precepts of the patriarch would become relevant for him.

"I betrayed his monastery"

On November 6, at the hour when the dying abbot Varlaam gathered his disciples around him in order to announce to them his will about a successor who should take up the abbot's rod after his death, Anthony passed the last miles of his many-day journey. Hail, snow, nakedness and the spirit of the storms met the monk, who had matured in the processions, on the outskirts of his native Novgorod. How different it was from what he had seen for the last five years under the hot Byzantine sky! More than one gray hair gleamed with moonlight in his hair and bushy beard. Since he, blessed by the hand of the Khutyn elder, set off towards the noon side, more than once I had a chance to look into the eyes of death, into the eyes of those who do not know remorse and the pangs of repentance of the murderers ...

Varlaam's will was clearly expressed: Anthony should be the hegumen, and he was about to knock on the gates of the monastery

Varlaam's will was expressed in an extremely clear, even ultimatum form: the abbot should be Anthony, who in these seconds, as Varlaam revealed to the astonished listeners, who, perhaps, did not even look forward to meeting the monk who left the monastery many years ago, enters the Holy Gates of the Transfiguration Monastery . By the fact that the continuation of this story was by no means benevolent and Varlaam’s decision actually sowed discord among the brethren, one can judge how unpleasant a surprise the news of the abbot about an imminent meeting with the deposed was for some of them was out of account in the struggle for power over the house of the All-Merciful Savior Anthony. Deathly silence hung in the cell of the dying elder, but it echoed in the hearts of those present with an even more deafening ringing, when the almost forgotten voice of Anthony was heard outside the door: “Through the prayers of our holy fathers…” with a mantle of frosty dust, a 37-year-old priest. Varlaam, in the presence of Anthony, repeated his last will, arguing his choice by the fact that Anthony was his “peer”, and this despite the fact that, according to the most conservative calculations, he was forty years younger than his spiritual father and mentor!

Even if Varlaam uses the word “peer” in the sense of “similar”, “similar in spirit”, the obvious discrepancy between the context and the direct meaning of the word makes the hegumen’s statement paradoxical: Antony, as Varlaam claims, being several decades younger than me, achieved spiritual prudence equal to me.

At the base of the conflict between Anthony and the inhabitants of the Khutyn monastery, which will develop to the fullest a little later, lies, apparently, an ordinary human dislike for a pet treated kindly by the abbot: a monk who spent five years, albeit obeying the will of the abbot, away from the monastery, not knowing her current hardships and shortcomings, should not take the place of the abbot ...

In all likelihood, this decision of Varlaam seemed unfair to many, but no one dared to argue with the rector directly during his lifetime. Moreover, Varlaam foresees the doubts that should have arisen in Anthony himself, and addresses him in the presence of the cathedral of the monastery elders with the following enigmatic phrase: “The monastery was delivered into his hand, rivers like this:“ Your thought was before this holy place ”».

A ray of light on the enigmatic words of Varlaam is shed by the inscription on the reliquary of one of his closest disciples and companions, the Monk Xenophon of Robeisky, according to which Xenophon himself and his friend Anthony Dymsky, while ascetic in the Lissitz Monastery, once saw pillars of light and “smoke” at a place called Khutyn. gloomy". The monks, the inscription says, together with their spiritual father Varlaam went to the side of a dense forest, where the light so clearly fought the darkness, as if wanting to take a direct part in this metaphysical opposition of good to evil, and there Xenophon and Varlaam began to work on the foundation of a new monastery. The fact that Anthony, according to the chronology of his Life, could not have participated in the founding of the Khutyn Monastery (the monk was born 15 years later), is clear, but the question is how this legend, reflected in two lives at once, could have arisen. Was Xenophon a friend of Anthony and did he share with him his memories of the signs that preceded the founding of the Khutyn Monastery? One way or another, but Varlaam was convinced that Anthony was connected with the Khutyn monastery by some kind of providential connection and, more than others, was worthy of taking care of its well-being.

Dymsky ascetic

Abbess Anthony in the Khutynsky Monastery lasted less than a year due to the disturbances that arose inside the monastery, during which the abbot managed, however, to complete the construction of the Transfiguration Cathedral in stone, since the work begun by Varlaam was cut short by his death in the middle of the path: the cathedral was built "to the highest Prague" , that is, only to the top of the doorway. Having built the stone cathedral to the end, Anthony considered it good to retire. And here the instructions of the patriarch on keeping the vessel, shaken by demonic machinations, afloat were the best possible way, and the axiom of monastic holiness - by no means every abbot experienced the hardships of a long journey, however, everyone went through the desert temptations of lonely prayer on their own experience - suggested the trajectory of the future. The soul of the saint longed for achievement.

Leaving everything in the monastery - books, treasury, utensils, vestments that could come in handy later, when a new monastery is built (think - acquisitive!), - Antony is alone, without companions and spiritual friends (the principle "walk along the unknown road yourself, and then others will pass along it "became central in his biography) went to the northeast, circled the ancient Tikhvin, walked another 15 miles and finally stopped in the area of ​​\u200b\u200bthe place later called Dymy, near the shore of Dymskoye Lake, not far from the mouth of the stream flowing into it Black Haze. Then, in the middle of the 13th century, this area was deserted, but for many subsequent centuries, the Anthony churchyard and its parish church of St. Nicholas were adjacent to the monastery and its churches of St. Anthony the Great and the Nativity of John the Baptist. However, after one of the ruins of the monastery, both churches were united: the Anthony Throne was located on the first floor, Nikolsky was placed higher - on the second. In one of the miracles of the Life of Anthony, the appearance in a dream to a Tikhvin merchant of the icon of the Mother of God with the Monk Anthony and St. Nicholas coming to her is described. Through the prayers of the patron saints of the Dymskoy monastery, the sufferer was healed of his illness.

Antony put an iron cap on the head, with which he did not part until the end of his days.

How did Anthony's life develop on the shores of Dymskoye Lake? According to the testimony of the Life, the monk came to Dymy even before he was 40 years old. Here the monk dug out a cave, in which he lived for the first time, imitating, perhaps, another famous in the history of Russian monasticism Anthony - the venerable founder of the Caves Monastery. Later, however, Antony emerged from the earth, building himself a cell "for the sake of bodily rest." The ascetic alternated daytime labors in cultivating the fields with nightly prayers, and Anthony placed an iron cap on the head, which he did not part with, apparently, until the end of his days. As you know, with your charter you can’t come only to a strange monastery (and Antony himself learned this the hard way, although the Khutyn monastery was not a stranger in the full sense of the word for him), but here Antony was already building his own monastery, in which the charter was determined his will.

This will, however, turned out to be very attractive for those monks who came to Anthony, as the Life testifies, from other monasteries, despite the fact that traditionally the monasteries were replenished mainly at the expense of the laity, who, having heard about the feat of the monk, left everyday life and came to the ascetic in search of spiritual guidance. What could attract ordinary monks to an old man who settled in the impenetrable forests of the Obonezhskaya Pyatina? What kind of spiritual deficit did the Dymsky prayer book manage to fill? Probably, Anthony attracted other monks with his emphasized asceticism.

The monk arranged his monastery far from the urban centers of civilization - and this was an innovation for the monasticism of that time: it is widely known that the monasteries of the pre-Mongolian and early Mongolian times were urban or at least suburban. Anthony practiced wearing chains, direct asceticism, was a supporter and, perhaps, even an ideologist of the "cruel life". No wonder he was subsequently called one of the first Russian hesychasts. The monk more than once retired to an island on Dymskoye Lake, where he spent time in contemplation and prayer. In addition, Anthony became famous as a disciple of the Monk Barlaam, whose name became a household name already in the years of the life of the ascetic himself: many spiritually gifted chicks flew out of his nest.

Through the veil of years

The Dymskaya monastery settled down quite well during the lifetime of its founder, and after his death in 1273 continued its existence through the centuries of Russian history. This centuries-old path of the Antoniev Monastery was reflected with diligent diligence in the Life of its founder by the hagiographer. Thus, the birth of the monk takes place during the reign of Mstislav Udatny in Novgorod, the blessed charter for the establishment of the monastery is presented to Anthony by the grandson of Mstislav Alexander Nevsky, whom the monk met, probably at the funeral of his teacher Varlaam, and the first acquisition of his relics takes place during the reign of Dimitry Donskoy, it was then that the local canonization of Anthony took place, perhaps the first life is being created. Describing the tragic events of the Time of Troubles, the hagiographer bitterly laments the deposition of Vasily Shuisky by the seditious, which led to pernicious anarchy and brought countless troubles to the inhabitants of the Muscovite kingdom: Vasily Ioannovich, the Swedes, having captured Novgorod, plundered and devastated many monasteries and churches.

The evidence of Antoniev's Life supplements historical documents. So, the scribal book of the Obonezhskaya Pyatina of 1496 tells about the “Ontonyevsky churchyard in the Dymsky Grand Duke of the village”, the refuse book of 1573 already mentions the peasants of the Dymsky monastery, and the scribal book of the clerk Semyon Kuzmin for 1583 tells about the churchyard with a wooden church of St. Anthony and a refectory the church of John the Baptist, thirteen cells and a wooden fence, behind which there were a stable and a cowshed.

The monastery survived the ruin in 1408, during the campaign of Edygei, when many other monasteries of the Muscovite kingdom also suffered. In those days, when the Monk Nikon of Radonezh, together with the Trinity brethren, took refuge in the dense Yaroslavl forests, the monks of the Anthony monastery saved the shrines of the monastery in the waters of Dymskoye Lake, plunging to its bottom the famous iron cap, which the monk had once consecrated with his feat. During the Time of Troubles, the well-maintained Dymsky Monastery sheltered within its walls the monks of the Valaam Monastery, expelled from the place of their heroism by foreign invaders.

In the middle of the 17th century, the stone construction of the churches of the monastery began. The year 1764, tragic in the history of modern Russian monasticism, when a parish community was organized on the site of the monastery, briefly interrupted the course of monastic deeds within the walls of the ancient monastery: already at the end of the same century, the monastery was renewed. Throughout the 19th century, the monastery was visited by crowds of pilgrims, in 1864 alone there were more than 25 thousand of them ...

For so many centuries, could a monastery remote from big cities, a monastery associated with the veneration of a mythical person and a legendary character, as it was considered in scientific literature quite recently, could flourish, renew each time after another historical blow and attract crowds of pilgrims from all of Rus'? It seems the answer is obvious.

The image of St. Anthony is clearly drawn in the smoky sky over the contours of the monastery buildings, because it was his paternal intercession that made possible this centuries-old prayer standing of his monastery. So the smoke that enveloped the "Ontonian churchyard" and the temple buildings of the ancient monastery gradually dissipates, and the truth appears before the readers of the ancient Life in its holy simplicity.

Secular Living Room "AND THE SMOKE OF THE HOMELAND IS SWEET AND PLEASANT FOR US."
Different attitude to the revolution. Dispute about the fate of Russia. The fate of the intelligentsia

LEADING During the years of the revolution and civil war, about 3 million people went into exile, scattered all over the world. In many ways, it was the Russian intelligentsia: writers, poets, artists, actors, famous scientists. In 1917-1923, KUPRIN, BUNIN, L.ANDREEV, V.NABOKOV, M.TSVETAEVA, AVERCHENKO, TEFFI found themselves outside Russia. For them, creative life began in a new way. They wrote only about the Motherland. They say that if you look at the wounds all the time, they do not heal. Such an unhealed wound for them was the memory of the lost Motherland. However, not only lost, but also acquired in a new way.
In Paris, France, in the Merezhkovsky house, a literary branch of the Green Lamp salon was created, which included Berdyaev, Khodosevich, Teffi, Bunin, Balmont, Kuprin gathered there
Bunin “We acted…on behalf of Russia: not the one that betrayed Christ for 30 pieces of silver and mired in abomination, but another Russia…suffering, but still not completely conquered. What happened? The great fall of Russia took place, and at the same time the fall of man in general. The fall of Russia is not justified by anything.
LEADING Without hiding their anger and compassion through tears of love, they looked back at the departing Russia, understanding the revolution as a discord inside the human soul and their mission in protecting the moral values ​​developed by Russian life from the violence of the brutal crowd, the destructive elements of godlessness and social chaos.
Bunin Every minute I think: what a strange and terrible thing our existence is - every second you hang by a thread! Here I am. Alive, healthy, and who knows what will happen in a second with my heart! And my happiness hangs on the same thread, that is, the health of all those whom I love, whom I value more than myself. For what and why all this?
BALMONT I'm on the edge of the earth. I'm far south.
In the south of different countries, in the south of the whole earth.
My dawn burns on the polar circle,
In my seas, ships do not often get up.
My light-flare of the ice floe
Here the mountains are icy - one floating temple.
But beyond the dream, my thought is one
Leads my spirit back to my native fields.
And no matter how many spaces, no matter what element
Neither turned me around, in fire or in water, -
Swimming, I will proclaim a single cry: "RUSSIA!
Grief, I will sing: "I love you - everywhere"!

LIVING ROOM
Romance of Vertinsky" JUNKER

I don't know why and who needs it,
Who sent these them to death with an unwavering hand
Only so hopelessly, so evil and unnecessary
Lowered them into eternal rest.

Tired spectators silently wrapped themselves in fur coats.
And some woman with a distorted face
Kissed the dead man on blue lips.
And threw a wedding ring at the priest.

They threw trees at them, covered them with mud.
And went home to talk among themselves,
That it's time to put an end to the disgrace,
That and so we will soon begin to starve.

But no one thought to just kneel
And tell these boys that in a mediocre country
Even bright feats are only steps
In the endless abyss to the inaccessible spring. (REPEAT 1 VERSE)

Bunin And flowers, and bumblebees, and grass, and ears of corn,
And azure, and midday heat ...
The time will come - the Lord will ask the prodigal son,
Were you happy in your earthly life?
And I'll forget everything, I'll remember only these
Field paths between ears and grasses.
And from sweet tears I will not have time to answer,
Falling on merciful knees.
LEADING Literature created in a foreign land turned out to be the custodian of that spiritual power that is necessary for the future good of the people, for our cultural renaissance. In depth, this literature is not about the past, but about the future, because. fills the level of spiritual spiritual values, without which neither the people nor literature can exist. And our literature will draw the energy of its revival in the feat of the literature of the Russian abroad
Well, what about in Russia? BLOCK WILL SAY: “With all your body, with all your heart, with all your consciousness - listen to the Revolution! "
Mayakovsky: "My revolution ... I went to Smolny, I worked what I had to"
LEADING Those were difficult years. Bureaucrats, sycophants and drunkards raised their heads. Philistinism flourished. “The philistine life is worse than Wrangel.” And all this had to be dealt with.
READER 1 The hell of a job will be done. And it's already done
Illuminating, we dress poverty and bare.
The extraction of coal and ore is expanding.
And besides this, of course, there are many
A lot of different rubbish and nonsense ...
A lot of different bastards
Walk on our land and around.
They don't have a number or a name.
A whole tape of types stretches:
Fists and draggers,
Toadies, sectarians and drunkards.
They walk proudly puffing out their chests,
In the pens all the time and in the badges of the breastplate.
We will twist them all, of course,
But it is terribly difficult to twist everyone ...
READER 2(man in the street) The inhabitants were buried behind the kitchen, for diapers.
Don't touch us, we are chickens
We are only midges, we are waiting for feeders.
Close, time, your mouth. We are inhabitants
You dress us, and we are already for your power.
READER 3(man in the street) We are powerless to understand your enthusiasm.
What are they excited about? What are they singing about?
What are orange fruits
Grow in your Bolshevik paradise?
What did you know besides bread and water,
With difficulty breaking through from day to day?
Such a fatherland such a smoke
Is it really that pleasant?
What are you going for, if they say, “Fight! "
You can be torn apart by a bomb
You can die for your land,
But how to die for the common!
It's nice for a Russian to hug a Russian,
But you have lost the name of Russia.
What kind of Fatherland is this for those who have forgotten about the nation?
What nation are you? Comintern?
Wife, yes apartment, yes current account-
This is the Fatherland, paradise!
LEADING(patriot) Listen, national drone.
Our day is good because it is difficult.
This song will be a song
Our troubles, victories and everyday life!
READER 4 I strayed a lot in different countries,
But only this winter
The warmth became clearer to me
Love, friendship and families.
Only lying in such icy conditions,
Teeth flashing together
You understand, you can not feel sorry for people
No blanket, no caresses.
Earth, where the air is like a sweet fruit drink,
Throw and rush the wheels,
But the land with which it froze together
IN THE CENTURY IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO STOP LOVE!

READER 5 The clouds have gone to fat countries.
Behind the cloud lies America.
Lying, drinking coffee, cocoa.
In your face, fatter than pig's quirks
I scream from the poor earth.
I love this land. You can forget where and when
Puzu raised and goiter. But the land with which the two starved,
NEVER FORGET.
READER 6 From combat to labor - from labor to attacks
In hunger, cold and nakedness
They kept the conquered yes so,
That blood was coming out from under the nails.

I saw places where figs with quince
Grow without difficulty at my mouth
Treat them differently
But the land that I conquered
And half-dead nursed
Where you get up with a bullet, lie down with a rifle,
Where you pour with the masses like a drop,
With such land you will go to life,
TO WORK AND TO DEATH!

M. BULGAKOV "DAYS OF THE TURBINS". SCENE 1
CHARACTERS:
Turbin Aleksey Vasilyevich - colonel of artillery, 30 years old.
Elena Vasilievna - his sister, 24 years old
Myshlaevsky Victor Viktorovich - staff captain of artillery, 38 years old.
Shervinsky Leonid Yurievich-lieutenant, personal captain of the Hetman
Studzinsky Alexandrovich Bronislavovich, captain, 29 years old
Cousin Lariosik, 21
Time of action - winter, 1918.
Living room. Guests and hosts are at the table.

LARIOSIK Dear Elena Vasilievna! I can't express how good you make me!
ELENA Very nice.
LARIOSIK Those cream curtains…Gentlemen! Behind them you rest your soul, you forget about all the horrors of the civil war. And our wounded souls are so waiting for rest.
MYSHLAEVSKY(plays and sings Vertinsky's romance)
SHERVINSKY(enters, gives flowers to Elena, kisses her hand)
LARIOSIK(gets up with a glass of wine) Excuse me, gentlemen. I am a non-military person. Cream curtains… They separate us from the whole world. However, I am a non-military person.

ROMANCE All night the nightingale whistled to us,
The city fell asleep, and the houses fell asleep.

They drove us crazy all night long.

Garden, all washed with spring leaves,
There was water in the dark alleys.
God, how naive we were.
How young we were then!

Years have flown by, making us gray-haired,
Where is the purity of these living branches?
Only winter and this white blizzard
Remind them today.

At the hour when the wind is raging furious,
With renewed vigor I feel
Fragrant bunches of white acacia
Unique as youth itself.-2 times

LARIOSIK Eh, you're good!
MYSHLAEVSKY You are a nice guy, Lariosik, but you make speeches like a highly respected boot.
LARIOSIK No, don't tell me, Viktor Viktorovich. I made speeches more than once in the company of my late dad's colleagues ... in Zhytomyr.
MYSHLAEVSKY(starts to sing) Tell me. Magician, lover of the Gods.
What will come true in my life
And soon, to the delight of neighbors-enemies
I will fill the grave with earth
LARIOSIK(sings loudly. Alexey stops him. Everyone sings without words and only loudly the phrase "We will burst out loud Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!"
SHERVINSKY Lord! The health of his lordship Hetman of all Ukraine, cheers!
Pause
STUDZINSKY Guilty. Tomorrow I will go to fight, but I will not drink this toast and I do not advise other officers.
SHERVINSKY Mister Captain!
LARIOSIK A completely unexpected occurrence. Let me tell! To the health of Elena Vasilievna!
STUDZINSKY This Hetman of yours...
ALEXEI If your hetman would begin to form an officer corps, there would be no petliura and spirit in Little Russia. But this is not enough. We would have swatted the Bolsheviks in Moscow like flies. They say they eat cats there. He would have saved Russia, the bastard.
SHERVINSKY The Germans would not allow the formation of an army, they are afraid of it.
ALEXEI Not true. We need to explain to the Germans that we are not dangerous to them. We lost the war. We are now more terrible than war. Bolsheviks. For 100 junkers - one hundred and twenty students And they hold a rifle like a shovel Oh, if, gentlemen, they could foresee earlier ... In Russia, gentlemen, there are 2 forces: the Bolsheviks and we Or we will bury them, or, rather, they drink us for a meeting, gentlemen!
LARIOSIK(Crying)
MYSHLAEVSKY Why are you crying, Lariosik?
LARIOSIK I was afraid.
MYSHLAEVSKY Whom? Bolsheviks? We have them now (shoots)
ALEXEI Don't listen gentlemen. This is my fault. Don't listen to what I said. I just got on my nerves.
STUDZINSKY We will always defend the Russian Empire!
LONG LIVE RUSSIA!
EVERYONE sings "So loud music play victory
We have won, and the enemy is running, running. running,
SO FOR THE KING, FOR THE HOMELAND, FOR THE FAITH
WE'LL GET A HURRAY OF THUNDER!"

LAVRENEV "FORTY-ONE" SCENE FROM THE PERFORMANCE.
(Maryutka-Red Army soldier leads a captured lieutenant to headquarters).

MARYUTKA(sits leaning against the tent and writes something)
Lieutenant What are you writing?
MARYUTKA What's your fuss? (squinted)
Lieutenant Maybe write a letter? You dictate, I'll write.
MARYUTKA Look, you swindler. This means you untie your hands, and you me on the snout and on the run? You attacked the wrong one, falcon. And I don't need your help. I'm not writing a letter, but poetry.
Lieutenant Verses-hee-and? Do you write poetry?
MARYUTKA Do you think that only padekators dance, and I'm a peasant fool? Don't be dumber than you.
Lieutenant I don't think you are stupid. I'm just surprised. Is now the time for poetry?
MARUSHKA Freak! And if my soul boils? If I dream of meaning how we, hungry, cold, pearled on the sands. Lay out everything so that people swear in their chests. I put all my blood into them. They just don't want to spread. They say you have to study. Where will you find the time? I write from the heart, from simplicity.
Lieutenant And you would read! Really curious. I understand poetry.
MARYUTKA You won't understand. The blood in you is master. You need to describe flowers and a woman, but I have everything about poor people, about the revolution.
Lieutenant Why don't I understand? Maybe they are alien to me in content, but a person can always understand a person.
MARUSHKA Well, to hell with you. Listen, don't laugh.
Lieutenant No! Honestly I won't laugh
MARUSHKA(coughed, lowered her voice to bass, chopped words, rolling her pupils)
And then it doesn’t climb in any way, even though you crack, fish cholera, I don’t know how to insert camels?
Lieutenant Yes, great! Apparently from the heart. Just do not be offended, but the poetry is very bad. Raw, inept.
MARUSHKA(sadly) I told you they were sensitive. I cry all over when I talk about it. That's all they say raw. And how to dress them up? What's the trick? Here you are an entillegent. Maybe you know?
Lieutenant It's hard to answer. Poems, you see, art. And every art requires learning. Now, if, for example, an engineer does not know all the rules for building a bridge, then he will either not build it at all, or he will build an unusable one.
MARUSHKA So that's the bridge. For his arithmetic, it is necessary to happen, there are various engineering tricks. And I have verses from the cradle in the middle. Let's say talent.
Lieutenant So what? Talent is developed by learning.
MARUSHKA Well, we’ll finish the war, I’ll definitely go to school to learn how to write poetry! They seized my life, these same verses. So the soul burns, so that they squeeze in the book and put down the signature everywhere "Verse of Maria Bosova"
Listen, cadet. Do your hands hurt?
Lieutenant Not really, just numb!
MARUSHKA That's what, you swear to me that you don't want to run away. I will untie you.
Lieutenant Where should I run? Into the sands? To jackals bullied? I am not my own enemy.
MARUSHKA No, you swear. Speak after me: I swear by the poor proletariat, who is fighting for their rights, before the Red Army soldier Maria Bosova, that I don’t want to run away.
Lieutenant Repeated.
MARUSHKA(unties) .Look, you will run away, you will be the last scoundrel.
Lieutenant I'll tell you what. I'm fed up with all this nonsense. So many years of bloodshed and malice. I didn't become a soldier from the cradle. Before the German war, I was a student. I had many books. You sit down, you do. In an armchair with a book, the soul blooms, you can even hear how the flowers rustle, like almonds in spring. Do you understand?
MARUSHKA Mmm.
Lieutenant One fateful day it burst, scattered. One word - war. And he left sincerely then.
MARUSHKA Something is not clear to me.
Lieutenant You can not understand. Never hung on you this burden. Name, family honor, duty. We value it. The revolution has come. He believed in her as a bride. And she ... For my officership, I didn’t touch a single soldier with my finger, but deserters at the station caught me, tore off my shoulder straps, spat in my face, smeared with toilet slurry. For what? Ran. Again he fought for the trampled Motherland, for his dishonored shoulder straps. He fought and saw that the motherland was such a wasteland as the revolution. Both bloods love. And it’s not worth fighting for shoulder straps (jumped up) To hell! I don't want any truth but my own. Have your Bolsheviks discovered the truth? Enough! I'm out of this business! I don't want to get dirty anymore.
MARUSHKA Celandine? Beloruchka? Let others dig in the shit for your mercy?
Lieutenant Yes, let. Let be. Damn it. Others who like it. I don't want the truth anymore. I want rest.
MARUSHKA I am ashamed that I got involved with such a person. You slug, you lousy wood lice. Others plow the ground under a new hump, and you? Oh, you son of a bitch!
Lieutenant(pursed his lips) Don't you dare swear. Do not forget you ... boorish!
MARUSHKA(hit on the cheek)
Lieutenant(recoiled, clenched his fists) Your happiness is that you are a woman. I hate... Shit! (goes to tent)
MARUSHKA Look, what a nervous master! Oh, you fish cholera!