About two hours later we were all sitting, dried as much as possible, in a large hay barn and getting ready to have dinner. The coachman Yehudiel, an extremely slow man, slow to move, thoughtful and sleepy, stood at the gate and diligently treated Sochochka with tobacco. (I noticed that coachmen in Russia very quickly become friends.) The twig sniffed furiously, to the point of nausea: he spat, coughed and, apparently, felt great pleasure. Vladimir assumed a languid look, tilted his head to the side and spoke little. Yermolai wiped our guns. The dogs swung their tails with exaggerated speed in anticipation of the oatmeal; the horses stamped and neighed under the canopy... The sun was setting; its last rays scattered in wide crimson stripes; golden clouds spread across the sky smaller and smaller, like a washed, combed wave... Songs were heard in the village.
Bezhin meadow
It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happen when the weather has settled for a long time. From early morning the sky is clear; The morning dawn does not burn with fire: it spreads with a gentle blush. The sun - not fiery, not hot, as during a sultry drought, not dull crimson, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - floats up peacefully under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and plunges into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their shine is like the shine of forged silver... But then the playing rays poured out again, and the mighty luminary rose cheerfully and majestically, as if taking off. Around noon there usually appear many round high clouds, golden-gray, with delicate white edges. Like islands scattered along an endlessly overflowing river, flowing around them with deeply transparent branches of even blue, they hardly move from their place; further, towards the horizon, they move, crowd together, the blue between them is no longer visible; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all thoroughly imbued with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around; It doesn’t get dark anywhere, the thunderstorm doesn’t thicken; unless here and there bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then barely noticeable rain is falling. By evening these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and vague, like smoke, lie in pink clouds opposite the setting sun; at the place where it set as calmly as it calmly rose into the sky, a scarlet glow stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star glows on it. On days like these, the colors are all softened; light, but not bright; everything bears the stamp of some touching meekness. On such days, the heat is sometimes very strong, sometimes even “soaring” along the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes apart the accumulated heat, and the vortex-gyres - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk in tall white columns along the roads through the arable land. The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, and buckwheat; even an hour before night you do not feel damp. The farmer wishes for similar weather for harvesting grain...
On just such a day I was once hunting for black grouse in Chernsky district, Tula province. I found and shot quite a lot of game; the filled bag mercilessly cut my shoulder; but the evening dawn was already fading, and in the air, still bright, although no longer illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, cold shadows began to thicken and spread when I finally decided to return to my home. With quick steps I passed a long “square” of bushes, climbed a hill and, instead of the expected familiar plain with an oak forest to the right and a low white church in the distance, I saw completely different Famous places. At my feet stretched a narrow valley; directly opposite, a dense aspen tree rose like a steep wall. I stopped in bewilderment, looked around... “Hey! “- I thought, “Yes, I ended up in the wrong place at all: I took it too far to the right,” and, marveling at my mistake, I quickly went down the hill. I was immediately overcome by an unpleasant, motionless dampness, as if I had entered a cellar; thick high grass at the bottom of the valley, all wet, white as an even tablecloth; it was somehow creepy to walk on it. I quickly climbed out to the other side and walked, turning to the left, along the aspen tree. The bats were already hovering over its sleeping tops, mysteriously circling and trembling in the vaguely clear sky; A belated hawk flew briskly and straight overhead, hurrying to its nest. “As soon as I get to that corner,” I thought to myself, “there will be a road right here, but I gave a detour a mile away!”
I finally reached the corner of the forest, but there was no road there: some unmown, low bushes spread wide in front of me, and behind them, far, far away, a deserted field could be seen. I stopped again. “What kind of parable?.. But where am I?” I began to remember how and where I went during the day... “Eh! Yes, these are Parakhin bushes! – I finally exclaimed, “exactly!” this must be the Sindeevskaya Grove... How did I come here? So far?.. Strange”! Now we need to take the right again."
I went to the right, through the bushes. Meanwhile, the night was approaching and growing like a thundercloud; It seemed that, along with the evening vapors, darkness was rising from everywhere and even pouring from above. I came across some kind of unmarked, overgrown path; I walked along it, carefully looking ahead. Everything around quickly turned black and fell silent - only the quails squawked occasionally. A small night bird, silently and low rushing on its soft wings, almost stumbled upon me and timidly dived to the side. I went out to the edge of the bushes and wandered across the field. I was already having difficulty distinguishing distant objects; the field was vaguely white around; behind him, approaching with every moment, gloomy darkness rose in huge clouds. My steps echoed dully in the frozen air. The pale sky began to turn blue again - but it was already the blue of night. The stars flickered and moved on it.
AdjectiveAnalysis of the excerpt by I. S. Turgenev “Bezhin Meadow”
Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev loved his native nature very much. In it he saw the guarantee of the future of his homeland. For the writer, native nature is the personification of a vigorous, healthy, lively beginning in life. Read excerpts from I.S. Turgenev’s story “Bezhin Meadow.” Listen to the poetic lines describing the picture of a summer day.
BEZHIN LUG
Was wonderfulJuly day, one of those days that only happens when the weather has settled for a long time. From early morning the sky is clear; The morning dawn does not burn with fire: it spreads with a gentle blush. The sun - not fiery, not hot, as during a sultry drought, not dull purple, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - floats up peacefully under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and plunges into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their shine is like the shine of forged silver... But then the playing rays poured out again, and the mighty luminary rose cheerfully and majestically, as if taking off. Around noon there usually appear many round high clouds, golden-gray, with delicate white edges. Like islands scattered along an endlessly overflowing river, flowing around them with deeply transparent branches of even blue, they hardly move from their place; further, towards the horizon, they move, crowd together, the blue between them is no longer visible; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all thoroughly imbued with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around; It doesn’t get dark anywhere, the thunderstorm doesn’t thicken; unless here and there bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then barely noticeable rain is falling. By evening these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and vague, like smoke, lie in pink clouds opposite the setting sun; at the place where it set as calmly as it calmly rose into the sky, a scarlet glow stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star glows on it. On days like these, the colors are all softened; light, but not bright; everything bears the stamp of some touching meekness. On such days, the heat is sometimes very strong, sometimes even “soaring” along the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes apart the accumulated heat, and whirlwind vortices - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk in tall white columns along the roads through the arable land. The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, and buckwheat; even an hour before night you do not feel damp. The farmer wishes for similar weather for harvesting grain...
Let's repeat
Epithet - this is an artistic definition that gives the expression imagery and emotionality (golden streams, living sounds, pure and clear sounds, a smoking river).
Metaphor is a word or expression used in figurative meaning, based on similarity (large drops of dew glowed like radiant diamonds, streams of light flowed).
Personification - this is animation inanimate nature(a stream ran through, the leaves fogged up, the breeze began to wander and flutter, sounds came bells).
Inversion - violation direct order words (the earth became damp, the leaves began to sweat, streams flowed, drops glowed).
Comparison, expressed by a noun in the instrumental case(indirect): radiantdiamonds The dew drops began to glow.
Test
1. I.S. Turgenev’s nature is alive, spiritual, and man is inextricably linked with it.
What helps a writer create an image of living nature?
Artistic means of language
pictures of nature
descriptions
story
2. In which answer option can all words be used to characterize the July day?
Clear, sunny, hot
rainy, warm, dim,
light, radiant, cloudy
sultry, long, difficult
3 .What type of speech predominates in the text?
Description
narration
reasoning
description and reasoning
4. Determine the main idea of the text.
The artist vividly expressed the feeling of love for his homeland and its nature
It was a beautiful July day
The farmer desires similar weather for harvesting grain.
The sky is clear from early morning
5. How artistic medium language used by I.S. Turgenev: “clouds, like smoke, fall in clouds”
Comparison
epithet
metaphor
inversion
6. Find an avatar
The sun rises peacefully
mighty luminary
golden gray clouds
as if taking off
Increased level
7. Which sentence is connected with the previous one using lexical repetition.
On such days, the heat is sometimes quite strong, sometimes even “soaring” along the slopes of the fields…
The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, buckwheat...
By evening these clouds disappear...
The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around...
8. Indicate the meaning of the highlighted word “ then a barely noticeable rain SOWS.”
Going
dripping
crumbles
pours out
9. Determine the sequence of changing events in the pictures of nature
The clouds disappear, the star glows, the colors soften
the heat is intense, there are many clouds, the sky is clear
the wind accelerates, clouds appear, it smells of wormwood
the whirlwinds are swirling, the clouds are moving, you don’t feel the dampness
It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happen when the weather has settled for a long time. From early morning the sky is clear; The morning dawn does not burn with fire: it spreads with a gentle blush. The sun - not fiery, not hot, as during a sultry drought, not dull purple, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - floats up peacefully under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and sinks into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their shine is like the shine of forged silver... But then the playing rays poured out again, and the mighty luminary rose merrily and majestic, as if taking off. Around noon there usually appear many round high clouds, golden-gray, with delicate white edges. Like islands scattered along an endlessly overflowing river, flowing around them with deeply transparent branches of even blue, they hardly move from their place; further, towards the horizon, they move, crowd together, the blue between them is no longer visible; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all thoroughly imbued with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around; It doesn’t get dark anywhere, the thunderstorm doesn’t thicken; unless here and there bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then barely noticeable rain is falling. By evening these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and vague, like smoke, lie in pink clouds opposite the setting sun; at the place where it set as calmly as it calmly rose into the sky, a scarlet glow stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star glows on it. On days like these, the colors are all softened; light, but not bright; everything bears the stamp of some touching meekness. On such days, the heat is sometimes very strong, sometimes even “soaring” along the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes apart the accumulated heat, and whirlwind vortices - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk in tall white columns along the roads through the arable land. The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, and buckwheat; even an hour before night you do not feel damp. The farmer wishes for similar weather for harvesting grain...
On just such a day I was once hunting for black grouse in Chernsky district, Tula province. I found and shot quite a lot of game; the filled bag mercilessly cut my shoulder; but the evening dawn was already fading, and in the air, still bright, although no longer illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, cold shadows began to thicken and spread when I finally decided to return to my home. With quick steps I walked through a long “square” of bushes, climbed a hill and, instead of the expected familiar plain with an oak forest to the right and a low white church in the distance, I saw completely different places unknown to me. At my feet stretched a narrow valley; directly opposite, a dense aspen tree rose like a steep wall. I stopped in bewilderment, looked around... “Hey! - I thought, “Yes, I ended up in the wrong place at all: I took it too far to the right,” and, marveling at my mistake, I quickly went down the hill. I was immediately overcome by an unpleasant, motionless dampness, as if I had entered a cellar; the thick tall grass at the bottom of the valley, all wet, turned white like an even tablecloth; it was somehow creepy to walk on it. I quickly climbed out to the other side and walked, turning to the left, along the aspen tree. Bats were already flying over its sleeping tops, mysteriously circling and trembling in the vaguely clear sky; A belated hawk flew briskly and straight overhead, hurrying to its nest. “As soon as I get to that corner,” I thought to myself, “there will be a road right here, but I gave a detour a mile away!”
I finally reached the corner of the forest, but there was no road there: some unmown, low bushes spread wide in front of me, and behind them, far, far away, a deserted field could be seen. I stopped again. “What kind of parable?.. But where am I?” I began to remember how and where I went during the day... “Eh! Yes, these are Parakhin bushes! - I finally exclaimed, “exactly!” this must be the Sindeevskaya Grove... How did I come here? So far?.. Strange”! Now we need to take the right again.”
I went to the right, through the bushes. Meanwhile, the night was approaching and growing like a thundercloud; It seemed that, along with the evening vapors, darkness was rising from everywhere and even pouring from above. I came across some kind of unmarked, overgrown path; I walked along it, carefully looking ahead. Everything around quickly turned black and fell silent - only the quails squawked occasionally. A small night bird, silently and low rushing on its soft wings, almost stumbled upon me and timidly dived to the side. I went out to the edge of the bushes and wandered across the field. I was already having difficulty distinguishing distant objects; the field was vaguely white around; behind him, approaching with every moment, gloomy darkness rose in huge clouds. My steps echoed dully in the frozen air. The pale sky began to turn blue again - but it was already the blue of night. The stars flickered and moved on it.
What I had taken for a grove turned out to be a dark and round mound. “Where am I?” - I repeated again out loud, stopped for the third time and looked questioningly at my English yellow-piebald dog Dianka, decidedly the smartest of all four-legged creatures. But the smartest of the four-legged creatures only wagged her tail, blinked her tired eyes sadly and did not give me any good advice. I felt ashamed of her, and I desperately rushed forward, as if I had suddenly guessed where I should go, rounded the hillock and found myself in a shallow, plowed-out ravine all around. A strange feeling immediately took possession of me. This hollow had the appearance of an almost regular cauldron with gentle sides; at the bottom of it several large, white stones stood upright - it seemed that they had crawled there for a secret meeting - and it was so mute and dull in it, the sky hung so flat, so sadly above it that my heart sank. Some animal squeaked weakly and pitifully between the stones. I hurried to get back onto the hill. Until now I still had not lost hope of finding my way home; but then I was finally convinced that I was completely lost, and, no longer trying at all to recognize the surrounding places, which were almost completely drowned in darkness, I walked straight ahead, following the stars - at random... I walked like this for about half an hour, with difficulty moving my legs. It seemed like I had never been in such empty places in my life: no lights flickered anywhere, no sound was heard. One gentle hill gave way to another, fields stretched endlessly after fields, bushes seemed to suddenly rise out of the ground right in front of my nose. I kept walking and was about to lie down somewhere until the morning, when suddenly I found myself over a terrible abyss.
Ivan Turgenev's story about nature for middle-aged children school age. A story about summer, about summer weather, about rain.
BEZHIN LUG (excerpt)
It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happen when the weather has settled for a long time. From early morning the sky is clear; The morning dawn does not burn with fire: it spreads with a gentle blush. The sun - not fiery, not hot, as during a sultry drought, not dull crimson, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - floats up peacefully under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and plunges into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their brilliance is like the brilliance of forged silver... But then again the playing rays gushed out, and the mighty luminary rises both cheerfully and majestically, as if taking off. Around noon there usually appear many round high clouds, golden-gray, with delicate white edges. Like islands scattered along an endlessly overflowing river, flowing around them with deeply transparent branches of even blue, they hardly move from their place; further, towards the horizon, they move, crowd together, the blue between them is no longer visible; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all thoroughly imbued with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around; It doesn’t get dark anywhere, the thunderstorm doesn’t thicken; unless here and there bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then barely noticeable rain is falling. By evening these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and vague, like smoke, lie in pink clouds opposite the setting sun; at the place where it set as calmly as it calmly rose into the sky, the scarlet glow stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star glows on it. On days like these, the colors are all softened; light, but not bright; everything bears the stamp of some touching meekness. On such days, the heat is sometimes very strong, sometimes even “soaring” along the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes apart the accumulated heat, and whirlwind vortices - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk in tall white columns along the roads through the arable land. The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, and buckwheat; even an hour before night you do not feel damp. The farmer wishes for similar weather for harvesting grain...
On just such a day I was once hunting for black grouse in the Chernsky district of the Tula province. I found and shot quite a lot of game; the filled bag was mercilessly cutting my shoulder, but the evening dawn was already fading, and in the air, still bright, although no longer illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, cold shadows began to thicken and spread when I finally decided to return to my home. With quick steps I walked through a long “square” of bushes, climbed a hill and, instead of the expected familiar plain with an oak forest to the right and a low white church in the distance, I saw completely different, unknown places. At my feet stretched a narrow valley; directly opposite, a dense aspen tree rose like a steep wall. I stopped in bewilderment, looked around... “Hey! — I thought, “Yes, I ended up in the wrong place at all: I took it too far to the right,” and, marveling at my mistake, I quickly went down the hill. I was immediately overcome by an unpleasant, motionless dampness, as if I had entered a cellar; the thick tall grass at the bottom of the valley, all wet, turned white like an even tablecloth; it was somehow creepy to walk on it. I quickly climbed out to the other side and walked, turning to the left, along the aspen tree. Bats were already flying over its sleeping tops, mysteriously circling and trembling in the vaguely clear sky; A belated hawk flew briskly and straight overhead, hurrying to its nest. “As soon as I get to that corner,” I thought to myself, “there will be a road right here, but I gave a detour a mile away!”
I finally reached the corner of the forest, but there was no road there: some uncut, low bushes spread wide in front of me, and behind them a deserted field could be seen far, far away. I stopped again. “What kind of parable?.. But where am I?” I began to remember how and where I went during the day... “Eh! Yes, these are Parakhin bushes! - I finally exclaimed, - exactly! this must be the Sindeevskaya Grove... How did I come here? So far?.. Strange! Now we need to take the right again.”
I went to the right, through the bushes. Meanwhile, the night was approaching and growing like a thundercloud; It seemed that, along with the evening vapors, darkness was rising from everywhere and even pouring from above. I came across some kind of unmarked, overgrown path; I walked along it, carefully looking ahead. Everything around quickly turned black and died down, only the quails screamed occasionally. A small night bird, silently and low rushing on its soft wings, almost stumbled upon me and timidly dived to the side. I went out to the edge of the bushes and wandered across the field. I was already having difficulty distinguishing distant objects; the field was vaguely white around; behind it, looming in huge clouds every moment, rose the gloomy darkness. My steps echoed dully in the frozen air. The pale sky began to turn blue again - but it was already the blue of night. The stars flickered and moved on it.
What I had taken for a grove turned out to be a dark and round mound. “Where am I?” - I repeated again out loud, stopped for the third time and looked questioningly at my English yellow-piebald dog Dianka, decidedly the smartest of all four-legged creatures. But the smartest of the four-legged creatures only wagged her tail, blinked her tired eyes sadly and did not give me any practical advice. I felt ashamed of her, and I desperately rushed forward, as if I had suddenly guessed where I should go, went around the hill and found myself in a shallow, plowed-out ravine all around. A strange feeling immediately took possession of me. This hollow had the appearance of an almost regular cauldron with gentle sides; at the bottom of it stood several large white stones standing upright - it seemed that they had crawled there for a secret meeting - and it was so mute and dull in it, the sky hung so flat, so sadly above it that my heart sank. Some animal squeaked weakly and pitifully between the stones. I hurried to get back onto the hill. Until now I still had not lost hope of finding my way home; but then I was finally convinced that I was completely lost, and, no longer trying at all to recognize the surrounding places, which were almost completely drowned in darkness, I walked straight, following the stars - at random... I walked like this for about half an hour, with difficulty moving my legs. It seemed like I had never been in such empty places in my life: no lights flickered anywhere, no sound was heard. One gentle hill gave way to another, fields stretched endlessly after fields, bushes seemed to suddenly rise out of the ground right in front of my nose. I kept walking and was about to lie down somewhere until the morning, when suddenly I found myself over a terrible abyss.
I quickly pulled back my raised leg and, through the barely transparent darkness of the night, I saw a huge plain far below me. A wide river went around it in a semicircle leaving me. The hill I was on suddenly descended almost vertically; its huge outlines were separated, turning black, from the bluish airy void, and right below me, in the corner formed by that cliff and plain, near the river, which in this place stood as a motionless, dark mirror, under the very steep hill, each other burned and smoked with a red flame there are two lights near the friend. People swarmed around them, shadows wavered, sometimes the front half of a small curly head was brightly illuminated...
I finally found out where I had gone. This meadow is famous in our neighborhoods under the name Bezhina Meadow... But there was no way to return home, especially at night; my legs gave way beneath me from fatigue. I decided to approach the lights and, in the company of those people whom I took to be the herd workers, wait for dawn. I safely went down, but did not have time to let go of the last branch I had grabbed from my hands, when suddenly two large, white, shaggy dogs rushed at me with an angry bark. Children's clear voices were heard around the lights; two or three boys quickly rose from the ground. I responded to their questioning cries. They ran up to me, immediately called back the dogs, who were especially struck by the appearance of my Dianka, and I approached them.
I was mistaken in mistaking the people sitting around those lights for the herd workers. They were simply peasant children from a neighboring village who were guarding the herd. In the hot summer, our horses are driven out to feed in the field at night: during the day, flies and gadflies would not give them rest. Drive out the herd before the evening and bring in the herd at dawn - big celebration for peasant boys. Sitting without hats and in old sheepskin coats on the most lively nags, they rush with a cheerful whoop and scream, dangling their arms and legs, jumping high, laughing loudly. Light dust rises in a yellow column and rushes along the road; A friendly stomp can be heard far away, the horses run with their ears pricked up; in front of everyone, with his tail raised and constantly changing his legs, gallops some red-haired cosmach, with burrs in his tangled mane.
I told the boys that I was lost and sat down with them. They asked me where I was from, remained silent, and stood aside. We talked a little. I lay down under a gnawed bush and began to look around. The picture was wonderful: near the lights, a round reddish reflection trembled and seemed to freeze, resting against the darkness; the flame, flaring up, occasionally threw quick reflections beyond the line of that circle; a thin tongue of light will lick the bare branches of the vine and disappear at once; Sharp, long shadows, rushing in for a moment, in turn reached the very lights: darkness fought with light. Sometimes, when the flame burned weaker and the circle of light narrowed, a horse’s head, bay, with a winding groove, or all white, would suddenly stick out from the approaching darkness, looking at us attentively and stupidly, nimbly chewing long grass, and, lowering itself again, immediately disappeared. You could only hear her continue to chew and snort. From an illuminated place it is difficult to see what is happening in the darkness, and therefore everything up close seemed covered with an almost black curtain; but further towards the horizon, hills and forests were vaguely visible in long spots. Dark clear sky stood solemnly and immensely high above us with all its mysterious splendor. My chest felt sweetly ashamed, inhaling that special, languid and fresh smell - the smell of a Russian summer night. Almost no noise was heard all around... Only occasionally in the nearby river would splash with sudden sonority big fish and the coastal reeds would rustle faintly, barely shaken by the oncoming wave... Only the lights crackled quietly.
The boys sat around them; Sitting right there were the two dogs who so wanted to eat me. For a long time they could not come to terms with my presence and, drowsily squinting and squinting at the fire, occasionally growled with an extraordinary sense of self-esteem; At first they growled, and then squealed slightly, as if regretting the impossibility of fulfilling their desire. There were five boys: Fedya, Pavlusha, Ilyusha, Kostya and Vanya. (From their conversations I learned their names and now intend to introduce them to the reader.)
The first, the eldest of all, Fedya, you would give about fourteen years. He was a slender boy, with beautiful and delicate, slightly small features, curly blond hair, light eyes and a constant, half-cheerful, half-absent-minded smile. He belonged, by all signs, to rich family and went out into the field not out of necessity, but just for fun. He was wearing a motley cotton shirt with a yellow border; a small new army jacket, worn saddle-back, barely rested on his narrow shoulders; A comb hung from a blue belt. His boots with low tops were just like his boots—not his father’s. The second boy, Pavlusha, had tousled black hair, gray eyes, wide cheekbones, a pale, pockmarked face, a large but regular mouth, a huge head, as they say, the size of a beer cauldron, a squat, awkward body. The guy was unprepossessing - needless to say! - but still, I liked him: he looked very smart and direct, and there was strength in his voice. He could not flaunt his clothes: they all consisted of a simple, dirty shirt and patched ports. The face of the third, Ilyusha, was rather insignificant: hook-nosed, elongated, slightly blind, it expressed a kind of dull, painful solicitude; his compressed lips did not move, his knitted eyebrows did not move apart - it was as if he was squinting in the fire. His yellow, almost white hair stuck out in sharp braids from under a low felt cap, which he pulled over his ears every now and then with both hands. He was wearing new bast shoes and onuchi; a thick rope, twisted three times around the waist, carefully tied his neat black scroll. Both he and Pavlusha looked no more than twelve years old. The fourth, Kostya, a boy of about ten, aroused my curiosity with his thoughtful and sad gaze. His whole face was small, thin, freckled, pointed downward, like a squirrel’s; lips could barely be distinguished; but his large, black eyes, shining with a liquid brilliance, made a strange impression; they seemed to want to express something for which the language, at least in his language, had no words. He was vertically challenged, frail build and dressed rather poorly. The last one, Vanya, I didn’t even notice at first: he was lying on the ground, quietly huddled under the angular matting, and only occasionally stuck his light brown curly head out from under it. This boy was only seven years old.
So, I lay under a bush to the side and looked at the boys. A small cauldron hung over one of the lights; “potatoes” were boiled in it. Pavlusha watched him and, kneeling, poked a sliver of wood into the boiling water. Fedya lay leaning on his elbow and spreading the tails of his overcoat. Ilyusha sat next to Kostya and still squinted intensely. Kostya lowered his head a little and looked somewhere into the distance. Vanya did not move under his matting. I pretended to be asleep. Little by little the boys started talking again.
They chattered about this and that, about tomorrow's work, about horses...
Already more three hours has been leaking since I joined the boys. The moon has finally risen; I didn’t notice it right away: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night, it seemed, was still as magnificent as before... But many stars, which had recently stood high in the sky, were already leaning towards the dark edge of the earth; everything around was completely quiet, as everything usually only calms down in the morning: everything was sleeping in a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. There was no longer such a strong smell in the air; dampness seemed to be spreading in it again... The summer nights were short!.. The boys' conversation faded away along with the lights... The dogs even dozed; the horses, as far as I could discern, in the slightly fading, weakly pouring light of the stars, also lay with their heads bowed... A faint oblivion attacked me; it turned into dormancy.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: the morning was beginning. The dawn had not yet blushed anywhere, but it was already turning white in the east. Everything became visible, although dimly visible, all around. The pale gray sky became lighter, colder, and bluer; the stars blinked with faint light and then disappeared; the earth became damp, the leaves began to sweat, in some places living sounds and voices began to be heard, and the liquid, early breeze had already begun to wander and flutter over the earth. My body responded to him with a light, cheerful trembling. I quickly stood up and went to the boys. They all slept like the dead around the smoldering fire; Pavel alone rose halfway and looked at me intently.
I nodded my head to him and walked home along the smoking river. Before I had gone two miles, it was already pouring all around me across a wide wet meadow, and in front along the green hills, from forest to forest, and behind me along a long dusty road, along sparkling, stained bushes, and along the river, shyly turning blue from under thinning fog - first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light poured... Everything moved, woke up, sang, rustled, spoke. Everywhere large drops of dew began to glow like radiant diamonds; The sounds of a bell came towards me, clean and clear, as if also washed by the morning cool, and suddenly a rested herd rushed past me, driven by familiar boys...