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Vasily Shukshin

Pardon me, madam!

When townspeople come to these parts to hunt and ask in the village who could go with them and show them places, they are told:

– And there’s Bronka Pupkov... he’s an expert in these matters. You won't get bored with him. - And they smile somehow strangely.

Bronka (Bronislav) Pupkov, still a strong, well-cut man, blue-eyed, smiling, easy on his feet and with his words. He is over fifty, he was at the front, but his crippled right hand - two fingers were shot off - did not come from the front: the guy was still hunting, got thirsty (winter time), and began to chisel the ice near the shore with his butt. He held the gun by the barrel, two fingers covered the barrel. The safety catch of the Berdanka was on, it broke - and one finger flew off completely, the other dangled on the skin. Bronka tore it off himself. He brought both fingers - the index and middle - and buried them in the garden. And he even said these words:

– My dear fingers, sleep peacefully until the bright morning.

I wanted to put up a cross, but my father wouldn’t let me.

Bronka had a lot of scandals in his life, he fought, he was often and seriously beaten, he lay down, got up and again rushed around the village on his deafening motorized bike ("faggot") - he did not harbor any grudges against anyone. Lived easily.

Bronka waited for the city hunters as if it were a holiday. And when they came, he was ready - even for a week, even for a month. He knew these places like the back of his hand; the hunter was smart and successful.

The city people did not skimp on vodka, sometimes they gave some money, and if they didn’t give, then nothing.

- How long? – Bronka asked busily.

- For three days.

- Everything will be like in a pharmacy. Relax, calm your nerves.

We walked for three, four days, for a week. It was nice. City people are respectful, you didn’t want to fight with them, even when you were drinking. He loved to tell them all sorts of hunting stories.

On the very last day, when they celebrated the dump, Bronka began his main story.

He, too, was looking forward to this day with great impatience, holding on with all his might... And when it came, the longed-for day, there was a sweet aching in his heart in the morning, and Bronka was solemnly silent.

-What's wrong with you? - they asked.

“Yes,” he answered. – Where will we figure out the dump? To the shore?

- You can go to the shore.

...Towards evening we chose a cozy place on the bank of a beautiful fast-flowing river and built a fire. While the chebachka shrub was being cooked, they passed the first one through and talked.

Bronka, knocking over two aluminum glasses, lit a cigarette...

– Have you ever been to the front? – he asked casually. Almost all people over forty were at the front, but he also asked young people: he had to start a story.

- Is this from your front? - in turn, they asked him, referring to his wounded hand.

- No. I was a nurse at the front. Yes... Business, business... - Bronka was silent for a long time. – Have you heard about the assassination attempt on Hitler?

- We heard.

- Not about that. This is when their own generals wanted to kill him?

- No. About something else.

- What else? Was it still there?

- Was. – Bronka put his aluminum cup under the bottle. - Please splash it. - I was drinking. – It was, dear comrades, it was. Kha! That's how far the bullet went from the head. – Bronka showed the tip of his little finger.

- When it was?

– The twenty-fifth of July, one thousand nine hundred and forty-three. - Bronka again thought for a long time, as if he was remembering his own, distant and dear.

- Who shot?

Bronka didn’t hear the question, he smoked and looked at the fire.

– Where was the assassination attempt?

Bronka was silent.

People looked at each other in surprise.

“I shot,” he suddenly said. He spoke quietly, looked at the fire for a while, then raised his eyes... And looked, as if he wanted to say: “Amazing? It’s amazing to me.” And he smiled somehow sadly.

Usually they were silent for a long time, looking at Bronka. He smoked, threw the rebounded coals into the fire with a stick... This is the most burning moment. It was as if a glass of the purest alcohol had gone for a walk in the blood.

- Are you seriously?

- And what do you think? What, I don’t know, what kind of distortion of history happens? I know. I know, dear comrades.

- Well, it’s some kind of nonsense...

-Where did they shoot? How?

- From Browning. Like this: I pressed my finger and there was a fart! - Bronka looked seriously and sadly - that people are so distrustful. He was no longer laughing or making fun of himself.

Distrustful people were lost.

- Why doesn’t anyone know about this?

– Another hundred years will pass, and then much will be covered in darkness. Got it? Otherwise you don’t know... This is the whole tragedy, that many heroes remain under the carpet.

- This looks like something...

- Wait a minute. How it was?

Bronka knew that they would still want to listen.

- You're going to talk, aren't you? Confusion again.

- Let's not talk...

- Honest party?

- Let's not talk! Tell us.

- No, honest party? Otherwise, you know what kind of people we have in the village... They’ll start wagging their tongues.

- Yes, everything will be all right! “People couldn’t wait to listen.” - Tell me.

- Please splash it. – Bronka put the glass out again.

He looked completely sober.

– It was, as I already said, the twenty-fifth of July forty-three. Kha! We were advancing. When they attack, the orderlies have more work to do. That day I dragged twelve people to the infirmary - I brought one heavy lieutenant, put him in the ward... And there was some general in the ward. Major General. His wound was small - it hit his leg, above the knee. He was just being bandaged. That general saw me and said: “Wait a minute, orderly, don’t leave.” Well, I think he needs to go somewhere, he wants me to support him. I am waiting. Life is much more interesting with generals: the whole situation is at your fingertips.

People listen carefully. Shoots, puffs a cheerful light; twilight steals from the forest, creeps onto the water, but the middle of the river, the very rapids, still shines and sparkles, like a huge long fish rushing through the middle of the river, playing in the dusk with its silvery body.

- Well, they bandaged the general... The doctor told him: “You need to lie down!” - “Fuck you!” - the general answers. We were the ones who were afraid of doctors back then, but the generals weren’t very afraid of them. The general and I got into the car and were driving somewhere. The general asks me: where am I from? Where did you work? How many education classes? I explain everything in detail: I come from somewhere (I was born here), I worked, they say, on a collective farm, but I mostly hunted. “That’s good,” says the general. “Are you shooting accurately?” Yes, I say, so as not to chatter in vain: at fifty steps I will extinguish the candle from the propeller. But as far as classes are concerned, it’s not so much: my father started carrying them around the taiga with him since childhood. Well, it’s okay, he says, there won’t be a need for higher education there. But if, he says, you extinguish for us one evil candle that fanned the world fire, then the Motherland will not forget you. A subtle hint at thick circumstances. Do you understand?.. But I don’t have a clue yet.

We arrive at a large dugout. The general kicked everyone out, and he keeps asking me questions. Do you have any relatives abroad, he asks? From where, they say! Eternal Siberian. We come from the Cossacks, who built a fortress near Biy-Katunsk. This happened even under Tsar Peter. From there we went, honoring the whole village...

"Where did you get this name - Bronislav?"

“The priest came up with a hangover. I, the maned gelding, hit him once for this when I accompanied him to the GPU in the year thirty-three...”

"Where is this? Where were they escorted?"

“And to the city. We took him, but there is no one to lead him. Come on, they say, Bronka, you have a grudge against him - lead him.”

“Why, isn’t it a good name?”

“You need a suitable surname for such a name. And I’m Bronislav Pupkov. Just like roll call in the army, there’s laughter. And here we have Vanka Pupkov – whatever.”

- The general is asking...

- Yes. Well, he asked everything, then he said: “The party and the government are entrusting” you, Comrade Pupkov, with a very important task. Hitler came here, to the front line, incognito. We have a chance to slam him. We, he says, took one bastard who was sent to us on a special mission. He completed the task, but got into trouble himself. And here I had to cross the front line and hand over very important documents to Hitler himself. Personally. And Hitler and all his gang know that man by sight.”

- What do you have to do with it?

- Those who are interrupted will receive a restraining. Please splash. Kha! Let me explain: I look like that bastard like two peas in a pod. Well, life begins, my brothers! “Bronka indulges in memories with such voluptuousness, with such hidden passion that the listeners also involuntarily experience a pleasant, exceptional feeling. They smile. A certain quiet delight is being established. – They placed me in a separate room right next to the hospital, assigned two orderlies... One was with the rank of sergeant major, and I was a private. “Come on, I say, Comrade Sergeant Major, give me my boots.” Serves. An order - you can’t do anything, he obeys. Meanwhile, they are preparing me. I'm undergoing training...

- Special training. I can’t talk about this yet, I gave a subscription. After fifty years, it is possible. It just passed... - Bronka moved his lips - he was counting. - Twenty-five have passed. But that goes without saying. Life continues! I get up in the morning and have breakfast: first course, second course, third course. The orderly will bring some lousy port wine, I’m like shugan!.. He’s carrying alcohol - there’s a lot of it in the hospital. I take it myself, dilute it as I want, and port wine for him. This is how the week goes by. I wonder how long this will last? Well, the general finally calls: “How, Comrade Pupkov?” Ready, I say, to complete the task! Come on, he says. Godspeed, he says. We are waiting for you from there as a Hero of the Soviet Union. Just don't miss! I say: if I miss, I will be the last traitor and enemy of the people! Either, I say, I will lie down next to Hitler, or you will help out the Hero of the Soviet Union Pupkov Bronislav Ivanovich. But the fact is that our grandiose offensive was planned. So, infantry was coming from the flanks, and in front there was a powerful frontal attack by tanks.

In Shukshin’s work “Mille pardon, madam,” the author talks about the drunkard and joker Bronka Pupkov. His distinguishing feature was that he loved to lie. Pupkov’s favorite expression was “Pardon me, madam.” With particular pleasure, he told the story of how, on a special assignment, he snuck into Adolf Hitler’s bunker and wanted to kill him. By accident, Bronka missed and the attempt failed.

In the village where he lived, everyone had known this story for a long time and only mocked and laughed at the inventor. Therefore, Bronka was no longer interested in talking about the assassination attempt to the locals, and he switched to the visitors. Pupkov asked to accompany them and with all enthusiasm told about his feat. During the story, he got into character so much that he himself began to believe that this event actually happened. Everything was described in the brightest colors, the eyes burned, and the actions acquired more and more new details.

As a result, the villagers always found out that Bronka again wanted to appear like a hero in front of the visitors, and they laughed at him. His wife was very angry and threatened that Pupkov would be convicted of distorting historical events. To this he answered her that they would not go to prison for such a thing, since such an article did not exist at all.

For his immeasurable lies, the main character was reprimanded more than once in the village council. However, understanding and realizing everything, he simply cannot resist and again not succumb to those genuine sensations that he experiences during his story. Therefore, the story again finds its audience. Readers may get the feeling that Bronka Pupkov is mentally ill. But he is completely adequate in his actions. It’s just that the story is so believable every time, so detailed in various details and little things, that it’s hard not to believe in it.

Picture or drawing Mili pardon me, madam

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Pardon me, madam!

When townspeople come to these parts to hunt and ask in the village who could go with them and show them places, they are told:

And there’s Bronka Pupkov... he’s an expert in these matters. You won't get bored with him. - And they smile somehow strangely.

Bronka (Bronislav) Pupkov, still a strong, well-cut man, blue-eyed, smiling, easy on his feet and with his words. He is over fifty, he was at the front, but his crippled right hand - two fingers were shot off - did not come from the front: the guy was still hunting, got thirsty (winter time), and began to chisel the ice near the shore with his butt. He held the gun by the barrel, two fingers covered the barrel. The safety catch of the Berdanka was on, it came off - and one finger flew off completely, the other dangled on the skin. Bronka tore it off himself. He brought both fingers - the index and middle - and buried them in the garden. And he even said these words:

My dear fingers, sleep peacefully until the bright morning.

I wanted to put up a cross, but my father wouldn’t let me.

Bronka had a lot of scandals in his life, he fought, he was often and seriously beaten, he lay down, got up and again rushed around the village on his deafening motorized bike (“faggot”) - he didn’t harbor any grudges against anyone. Lived easily.

Bronka waited for the city hunters as if it were a holiday. And when they came, he was ready - at least for a week, at least for a month. He knew these places like the back of his hand; the hunter was smart and successful.

The city people did not skimp on vodka, sometimes they gave some money, and if they didn’t give, then nothing.

How long? - Bronka asked busily.

For three days.

Everything will be like in a pharmacy. Relax, calm your nerves.

We walked for three, four days, for a week. It was nice. City people are respectful, you didn’t want to fight with them, even when you were drinking. He loved to tell them all sorts of hunting stories.

On the very last day, when they celebrated the dump, Bronka began his main story.

He, too, was looking forward to this day with great impatience, holding on with all his might... And when it came, the longed-for day, there was a sweet aching in his heart in the morning, and Bronka was solemnly silent.

What's wrong with you? - they asked.

Yes, he answered. - Where will we figure out the dump? To the shore?

You can go to the shore.

...Towards evening we chose a cozy place on the bank of a beautiful fast-flowing river and built a fire. While the chebachka shrub was being cooked, they passed the first one through and talked.

Bronka, knocking over two aluminum glasses, lit a cigarette...

Have you ever been to the front? - he asked casually. Almost all people over forty were at the front, but he also asked young people: he had to start a story.

Is this from your front? - in turn, they asked him, referring to his wounded hand.

No. I was a nurse at the front. Yes... Business, business... - Bronka was silent for a long time. -Have you heard about the assassination attempt on Hitler?

We heard.

Not about that. This is when their own generals wanted to kill him?

No. About something else.

What else? Was it still there?

Was. - Bronka put his aluminum cup under the bottle. - Please splash it. - I drank. - It was, dear comrades, it was. Kha! That's how far the bullet went from the head. - Bronka showed the tip of his little finger.

When it was?

Twenty-fifth of July one thousand nine hundred and forty-three. - Bronka again thought for a long time, as if he was remembering his own, distant and dear.

Who shot?

Bronka didn’t hear the question, he smoked and looked at the fire.

Where was the assassination attempt?

Bronka was silent.

People looked at each other in surprise.

“I shot,” he suddenly said. He spoke quietly, looked at the fire for a while, then raised his eyes... And looked, as if he wanted to say: “Amazing? It’s surprising to me.” And he smiled somehow sadly.

Usually they were silent for a long time, looking at Bronka. He smoked, threw the rebounded coals into the fire with a stick... This is the most burning moment. It was as if a glass of the purest alcohol had gone for a walk in the blood.

Are you seriously?

And what do you think? What, I don’t know, what kind of distortion of history happens? I know. I know, dear comrades.

Yeah, well, it’s some kind of nonsense...

Where did they shoot? How?

From Browning. Like this: I pressed my finger and there was a fart! - Bronka looked seriously and sadly - that people are so distrustful. He was no longer laughing or making fun of himself.

Distrustful people were lost.

Why doesn't anyone know about this?

Another hundred years will pass, and then much will be covered in darkness. Got it? Otherwise you don’t know... This is the whole tragedy, that many heroes remain under the carpet.

This looks something like...

Wait a minute. How it was?

Bronka knew that they would still want to listen.

You're going to talk, aren't you? Confusion again.

Let's not talk...

Honest party?

Let's not talk! Tell us.

No, honest party? Otherwise, you know what kind of people we have in the village... They’ll start wagging their tongues.

Everything will be alright! “People couldn’t wait to listen.” - Tell me.

Please splash. - Bronka put the glass out again.

He looked completely sober.

It was, as I already said, the twenty-fifth of July forty-three. Kha! We were advancing. When they attack, the orderlies have more work to do. That day I dragged about twelve people to the infirmary. I brought one heavy lieutenant and put him in the ward... And there was some general in the ward. Major General. His wound was small - it hit his leg, above the knee. He was just being bandaged. That general saw me and said: “Wait a minute, orderly, don’t leave.” Well, I think he needs to go somewhere, he wants me to support him. I am waiting. Life is much more interesting with generals: the whole situation is at your fingertips.

People listen carefully. Shoots, puffs a cheerful light; twilight steals from the forest, creeps onto the water, but the middle of the river, the very rapids, still shines and sparkles, like a huge long fish rushing through the middle of the river, playing in the dusk with its silvery body.

Well, they bandaged the general... The doctor told him: “You need to lie down!” - “Fuck you!” - the general answers. We were the ones who were afraid of doctors back then, but the generals weren’t very afraid of them. The general and I got into the car and were driving somewhere. The general asks me: where am I from? Where did you work? How many education classes? I explain everything in detail: I come from somewhere (I was born here), I worked, they say, on a collective farm, but I mostly hunted. “That’s good,” says the general. “Are you shooting accurately?” Yes, I say, so as not to chatter in vain: at fifty steps I will extinguish the candle from the propeller. But as far as classes are concerned, it’s not so much: my father started carrying them around the taiga with him since childhood. Well, it’s okay, he says, there won’t be a need for higher education there. But if, he says, you extinguish for us one evil candle that fanned the world fire, then the Motherland will not forget you. A subtle hint at thick circumstances. Do you understand?.. But I don’t have a clue yet.

We arrive at a large dugout. The general kicked everyone out, and he keeps asking me questions. Do you have any relatives abroad, he asks? From where, they say! Eternal Siberian. We come from the Cossacks, who built a fortress near Biy-Katunsk. This happened even under Tsar Peter. From there we went, honoring the whole village...

“Where did you get this name - Bronislav?”

“Pop came up with a hangover. I, the maned gelding, hit him once for this when I accompanied him to the GPU in the year thirty-three...”

"Where is it? Where were you escorted?”

“And to the city. We took him, but there was no one to lead him. Come on, they say, Bronka, you have a grudge against him - lead the way.”

“Why, isn’t it a good name?”

“A name like this needs a suitable surname. And I am Bronislav Pupkov. Like roll call in the army, so is laughter. And here we have Vanka Pupkov - at least.”

The general asks...

Yes. Well, he asked everyone, then he said: “The party and the government are entrusting” you, Comrade Pupkov, with a very important task. Hitler came here, to the front line, incognito. We have a chance to slap him. We, he says, took one bastard who was sent to us with a special task. He completed the task, but he got himself into trouble. And here he had to cross the front line and hand over very important documents to Hitler himself. And Hitler and all his gang know that man by sight.”

What does this have to do with you?

Those who are interrupted will receive a replacement. Please splash. Kha! Let me explain: I look like that bastard like two peas in a pod. Well, life begins, my brothers! - Bronka indulges in memories with such voluptuousness, with such hidden passion that the listeners also involuntarily experience a pleasant, exceptional feeling. They smile. A certain quiet delight is being established. - They placed me in a separate room right next to the hospital, assigned two orderlies... One was with the rank of sergeant major, and I was a private. “Come on, I say, Comrade Sergeant Major, give me my boots.” Serves. An order - you can’t do anything, he obeys. Meanwhile, they are preparing me. I'm undergoing training...

Special training. I can’t talk about this yet, I gave a subscription. After fifty years, it is possible. It only passed... - Bronka moved his lips - he was counting. - Twenty-five have passed. But that goes without saying. Life continues! I get up in the morning - breakfast: first, second, third. The orderly will bring some lousy port wine, I’m like shugan!.. He’s carrying alcohol - there’s a lot of it in the hospital. I take it myself, dilute it as I want, and port wine for him. This is how the week goes by. I wonder how long this will last? Well, the general finally calls: “How, Comrade Pupkov?” Ready, I say, to complete the task! Come on, he says. Godspeed, he says. We are waiting for you from there as a Hero of the Soviet Union. Just don't miss! I say: if I miss, I will be the last traitor and enemy of the people! Either, I say, I will lie down next to Hitler, or you will help out the Hero of the Soviet Union Pupkov Bronislav Ivanovich. But the fact is that our grandiose offensive was planned. So, infantry was coming from the flanks, and in front there was a powerful frontal attack by tanks.

Bronka’s eyes burn dryly, like coals glistening. He doesn’t even put out an aluminum cup - he forgot. The glare of the fire plays on his dry, regular face - he is handsome and nervous.

I won’t tell you, dear comrades, how I was thrown across the front line and how I ended up in Hitler’s bunker. They got me! - Bronka gets up. - I got it!.. I take the last step up the steps and find myself in a large reinforced concrete hall. A bright electric light is on, there are a lot of generals... I quickly get my bearings: where is Hitler?

The heart is right here... it’s in my throat. Where is Hitler?! I examined his fox face microscopically and planned in advance where to shoot - at the antennae. I make a gesture with my hand: “Heil Hitler!” In my hand I have a large package, in the package there is a Browning gun loaded with explosive poisoned bullets. One general comes up and reaches for the package: come on, they say. I politely hand him a hand - sorry, madam, only to the Fuhrer. In pure German I say: Fuhrer! - Bronka swallowed. - And then... he came out. I felt like an electric shock... I remembered my distant homeland... Mother and father... I didn’t have a wife then... - Bronka is silent for a while, ready to cry, howl, tear his shirt off his chest... - You know, it happens: your whole life flashes in your memory... It’s the same with a bear, nose to nose. Kha!.. I can’t! - Bronka is crying.

Well? - someone asks quietly.

He comes towards me. The generals all stood at attention... He smiled. And then I tore the bag... You're laughing, you bastard! So get it for our suffering!.. For our wounds! For the blood of Soviet people!.. For destroyed cities and villages! For the tears of our wives and mothers!.. - Bronka screams, holds his hand as if he was shooting. Everyone feels uneasy. - Did you laugh?! Now wash yourself with your blood, you creeping bastard!! - This is already a heartbreaking cry. Then deathly silence... And a whisper, hurried, almost inaudible: - I shot... - Bronka drops her head on her chest, silently cries for a long time, bares her teeth, grinds her good teeth, shakes her head inconsolably. Raises his head - his face is in tears. And again quietly, very quietly, with horror, he says: “I missed.”

Everyone is silent. Bronka’s condition is so powerful and surprising that it’s not good to say anything.

Please splash it,” Bronka says quietly, demandingly. He drinks and goes to the water. And he sits alone on the shore for a long time, exhausted by the excitement he has experienced. He sighs and coughs. Uhu refuses to eat.

...Usually in the village they find out that Bronka was talking about the “attempt” again.

Bronka comes home looking gloomy, ready to listen to insults and insult himself. His wife, an ugly, thick-lipped woman, immediately pounces:

Why are you trundling along like a beaten dog? Again!..

Fuck you!.. - Bronka snaps sluggishly. - Let me eat it.

You don’t need to devour, not devour, but break your whole head with a steelyard! - the wife yells. - After all, there is no way out of people!..

So, stay at home, don’t wander around.

No, I’ll go in a minute!.. I’ll go to the village council in a minute, let them call you again, you fool! After all, you, the fingerless fool, will be sued someday! For distorting history...

They do not have the right: this is not a printed work. It's clear? Let me eat it.

They laugh, they laugh in his eyes, but to him... it’s all God’s dew. You unwashed mug, forest beast!.. Do you have a conscience? Or has it all been knocked off? Ugh! - in your shameless eyes! Navel!..

Bronka gives his wife a stern, angry look. He speaks quietly, with force:

Pardon me, madam... I'll hit you in a minute!.. The wife slammed the door and walked away - complaining about her “forest cattle”.

She shouldn’t have said that Bronka didn’t care. No. He was very worried, suffered, got angry... And for two days he drank at home. He sent his teenage son to the shop to get vodka.

“Don’t listen to anyone there,” he told his son guiltily and angrily. - Take the bottle and go straight home.

Indeed, he was summoned several times to the village council, they were conscience-stricken, they threatened to take action... The sober Bronka, without looking the chairman in the eye, spoke angrily, indistinctly:

Come on!.. Come on! Well?.. Just think!..

Then he drank a “can” in a shop, sat a little on the porch to “get it,” stood up, rolled up his sleeves and announced loudly:

Well, please!.. Who? If I mutilate you a little, please don’t be offended. Miles sorry!..

And he was truly a rare shooter.

LESSONS ON THE CREATIVITY OF V. M. SHUKSHINA.

“VILLAGE PROSE”: ORIGINS, PROBLEMS, HEROES.

HEROES OF SHUKSHINA.

Objective of the lessons: give an idea of ​​“village” prose; introduce creativity (review).

Lesson equipment: portraits of writers; Possible fragments of the film “Kalina Krasnaya”, a computer presentation of the student.

Methodical techniques: lecture; analytical conversation.

During the classes.

I. Teacher's word.

The works that were landmarks during the “thaw” period became the impetus for the development of new directions in literature: “village prose,” “urban” or “intellectual” prose. These names are conventional, but they took root in criticism and among readers and formed a stable range of topics that was developed by writers in the 60-80s.

The focus of the “village writers” was the post-war village, impoverished and powerless (collective farmers until the early 60s did not even have their own passports and could not leave their “place of registration” without special permission). The writers themselves were mostly from the villages. The essence of this direction was the revival of traditional morality. It was in the vein of “village prose” that such great artists as Vasily Belov, Valentin Rasputin, Vasily Shukshin, Viktor Astafiev, Fyodor Abramov, Boris Mozhaev emerged. The culture of classical Russian prose is close to them, they restore the traditions of tale Russian speech, develop what was done by “Peasant Literature” of the 20s. The poetics of “village prose” was focused on searching for the deep foundations of people’s life, which were supposed to replace the discredited state ideology.

After the peasantry finally received passports and were able to independently choose their place of residence, a massive outflow of the population, especially young people, from rural areas to cities began. Half-empty or even completely deserted villages remained, where blatant mismanagement and almost universal drunkenness reigned among the remaining residents. What is the reason for such troubles? The “village writers” saw the answer to this question in the consequences of the war years, when the strength of the village was strained, in the “Lysenkoism” that disfigured the natural ways of farming. The main reason for de-peasantization stemmed from the “Great Turning Point” (“the breaking of the backbone of the Russian people”, by definition) - forced collectivization. "Village Prose" gave a picture of the life of the Russian peasantry inXXcentury, reflecting the main events that influenced its fate: the October revolution and the civil war, war communism and the New Economic Policy, collectivization and famine, collective farm construction and industrialization, war and post-war deprivation, all kinds of experiments on agriculture and its current degradation. She continued the tradition of revealing the “Russian character” and created a number of types of “ordinary people”. These are Shukshin’s “eccentrics”, and Rasputin’s wise old women, and “Arkharovites” dangerous in their ignorance and vandalism, and Belov’s long-suffering Ivan Afrikanovich.

The bitter conclusion of the “village prose” was summed up by Viktor Astafiev: “We sang the last lament - about fifteen people were mourners for the former village. We sang her praises at the same time. As they say, we cried well, at a decent level, worthy of our history, our village, our peasantry. But it's over. Now there are pathetic imitations of books that were created twenty or thirty years ago. Those naive people who write about an already extinct village imitate. Literature must now break through the asphalt.”

One of the most talented writers who wrote about the people and problems of the village is Vasily Makarovich Shukshin.

II.Presentation by a pre-prepared student. Biography (computer presentation including family photographs, excerpts from films).

Vasily Shukshin was born in the small Altai village of Srostki. He did not remember his father, since shortly before the birth of his son he was repressed. For many years, Shukshin knew nothing about his fate and only shortly before his own death he saw his name on one of the lists of those executed. At that time his father was only twenty-two years old.

The mother was left with two small children and soon remarried. The stepfather turned out to be a kind and loving person. However, he did not live with his wife and raise their children for long: a few years later the war began, his stepfather went to the front, and died in 1942.

Before graduating from school, Vasily Shukshin began working on a collective farm, and then went to work in Central Asia. For some time he studied at the Biysk Automotive College, but was drafted into the army and first served in Leningrad, where he completed a course for a young fighter in a training detachment, and then was sent to the Black Sea Fleet. The future writer spent two years in Sevastopol. He devoted all his free time to reading, because it was then that he decided to become a writer and actor. In deep secret, even from close friends, he began to write.

His naval service ended unexpectedly: Shukshin fell ill and was demobilized for health reasons. So, after a six-year absence, he again found himself in his home. Since doctors forbade him to engage in heavy physical work, Shukshin became a teacher in a rural school, and a little later its director.

Just at this time, his first articles and short stories appeared in the regional newspaper “Battle Cry”. But as Shukshin grew older, he understood more and more clearly that it was necessary to receive a more systematic and in-depth education, and in 1954 he went to Moscow to enter VGIK. There he was lucky again: he was accepted into the workshop of the famous director M. Romm. Shukshin graduated from the directing department of VGIK in 1960. Already from his third year, Shukshin began acting in films. In total, the actor starred in more than 20 films, moving from typical images of “people of the people” to vivid screen portraits of his contemporaries, people of principle and purpose. This is how Shukshin shows the virgin miner Stepan in the 1962 film “Alenka”, the director of the Chernykh plant in the film “By the Lake”, which was awarded the USSR State Prize. Other images performed by Shukshin became no less memorable - the peasant Ivan Rastorguev in the film “Stoves and Benches” and the soldier Lopatin in the film “They Fought for the Motherland.” And a year before that, Shukshin played perhaps his most poignant role - Yegor Prokudin in the film “Kalina Krasnaya”, which received the main prize at the International Film Festival in Moscow. The last image became a kind of result of the artist’s entire creative activity, since in it Shukshin managed to reveal the themes that constantly worried him, and above all the theme of moral duty, guilt and retribution. In 1958, the magazine “Smena” published Shukshin’s first story, “Rural Residents,” which gave the title to the collection that appeared a few years later. His heroes were people whom he knew well - residents of small villages, drivers, students. With barely noticeable irony, Shukshin talks about their difficult life. But even every minor incident becomes a reason for the author’s deep thoughts. The writer’s favorite heroes were the so-called “eccentrics” - people who retained the childlike spontaneity of their worldview. In 1964, Shukshin’s first big film, “There Lives a Guy,” was released, in which he was also a screenwriter, director and leading actor. She brought Shukshin international fame and was awarded the Golden Lion of St. Mark at the Venice Film Festival. The film attracted the attention of critics and viewers with its freshness, humor, and charming image of the young hero - the Altai driver Pashka Kolokolnikov. Continuing to work simultaneously in cinema and literature, Shukshin combines several professions: actor, director, writer. And they all turn out to be of equal importance to him; we can say that Shukshin’s writing and cinematic activities complement each other. He writes practically on the same topic, talking mainly about a simple rural resident, talented, unpretentious, a little impractical, who does not care about tomorrow, lives only with today's problems and does not fit into the world of technology and urbanization. At the same time, Shukshin managed to accurately reflect the social and social problems of his time, when intense changes were taking place in people's consciousness. Along with such famous writers as V. Belov and V. Rasputin, Shukshin entered the galaxy of so-called village writers who were concerned about how to preserve the traditional way of life as a system of moral values. The problems that emerged in his short stories and novellas are also reflected in Shukshin’s films. In 1966, the film “Your Son and Brother” was released, which was awarded the State Prize of the RSFSR; in 1970, another of his films on the same topic, “Strange People”, appeared, and two years later Shukshin made his famous film “Stoves and Benches” ", in which the intelligentsia, perhaps for the first time in recent years, discovered the moral world of the common man. In addition, in these films, Shukshin continued his social and psychological analysis of the processes that were going on in society at that time. Shukshin's film dramaturgy is closely connected with his prose; the characters of the stories often turned into scripts, always preserving folk colloquial speech, reliability and authenticity of situations, and the capacity of psychological characteristics. Shukshin's style as a director is characterized by laconic simplicity, clarity of expressive means combined with a poetic depiction of nature, and a special rhythm of editing. Outside of the realized script for the film about Stepan Razin, which was later reworked into the novel “I Came to Give You Freedom,” Shukshin tried to give a broader view of the problems that worried his people and turned to studying the character of the people’s leader, the causes and consequences of the “Russian rebellion.” Here Shukshin also retained a strong social orientation, and many read the hint of a possible rebellion against state power. Another, last film by Shukshin, based on his own film story, released three years earlier, “Kalina Krasnaya”, caused no less resonance, in which the writer told the tragic story of the former criminal Yegor Prokudin. In this film, Shukshin himself played the main role, and his beloved was Lydia Fedoseeva, his wife. Literary talent, acting talent and the desire to live in truth brought Vasily Shukshin in common with his friend Vladimir Vysotsky. Unfortunately, early death also brought them together. Shukshin’s last story and last film was “Kalina Krasnaya” (1974). He died on October 2, 1974 during the filming of S. Bondarchuk’s film “They Fought for the Motherland.” He was buried in Moscow at the Novodevichy cemetery.

In 1976, Shukshin was awarded the Lenin Prize for his work in cinema.

III. Conversation based on the stories of V. Shukshin.

- What stories by V. Shukshin have you read?

- What traditions did Shukshin continue in his work?

In the development of the short story genre he was a continuator of traditions. The artistic purpose of depicting a chain of comic episodes occurring with the hero was to reveal his character. The main means of expression became, just as in Chekhov’s works, capacious emotionally charged detail and dramatization of the narrative using someone else’s speech in dialogues. The plot is built on reproducing the climactic, “most burning”, long-awaited moments when the hero is given the opportunity to fully demonstrate his “peculiarity”. Innovation is associated with appealing to a special type - “eccentrics”, who cause rejection from others with their desire to live in accordance with their own ideas about goodness, beauty, and justice.

The person in V. Shukshin’s stories is often not satisfied with his life, he feels the onset of general standardization, boring philistine averageness and tries to express his own individuality, usually with somewhat standard actions. Such Shukshin heroes are called “freaks”.

- What “weirdos” do you remember? ?

The hero of Shukshin’s early stories, which tell about “incidents from life,” is a simple person, like Pashka Kholmansky (“Cool Driver”), strange, kind, and often unlucky. The author admires an original man from the people, who knows how to work bravely and feel sincerely and innocently. Makarov, reviewing the collection “There, Far Away” (1968), wrote about Shukshin: “He wants to awaken the reader’s interest in these people and their lives, to show how, in essence, kind and good a simple person is, living in an embrace with nature and physical labor, what an attractive life it is, incomparable to the city life, in which a person deteriorates and becomes stale.”

Over time, the image of the hero becomes more complex, and the author’s attitude towards the heroes changes somewhat - from admiration to empathy, doubt, and philosophical reflection. Alyosha Beskonvoyny wins for himself on the collective farm the right to a non-working Saturday in order to devote it to the bathhouse. Only on this “bath” day can he belong to himself, can alone indulge in memories, reflections, and dreams. It reveals the ability to notice the beauty of existence in the small, in the ordinary details of everyday life. The very process of comprehending existence constitutes Alyosha’s main joy: “That’s why Alyosha loved Saturday: on Saturday he reflected, remembered, thought so much, like on no other day.”

The actions of Shukshin's heroes often turn out to be eccentricities. Sometimes it can be kind and harmless, like decorating a baby stroller with cranes, flowers, or ant grass (“Weirdo”), and it doesn’t cause problems for anyone except the hero himself. Sometimes eccentricities are not at all harmless. In the collection “Characters,” the writer’s warning against the strange, destructive possibilities that lurk in a strong nature that does not have a high goal was sounded for the first time.

“Stubborn” invents a perpetual motion machine in his spare time, another hero buys a microscope with saved money and dreams of inventing a remedy against microbes, some heroes philosophize, trying to outdo, “cut down” the “city people.” The desire to “cut off,” to be rude, to humiliate a person in order to rise above him (“Cut off”) is a consequence of unsatisfied pride and ignorance, which has dire consequences. Often, villagers no longer see the meaning of their existence in working on the land, like their ancestors, and either leave for the cities, or engage in the invention of “perpetual motion machines”, writing “stories” (“Raskas”), or, returning after “serving time”, They don’t know how to live in freedom now.

These are not “Cranks”, far from reality, living in an ideal world, but rather “Cranks”, living in reality, but striving for the ideal and not knowing where to look for it, what to do with the power accumulated in the soul.

- What do Shukshin’s heroes think and reflect on?

Shukshin’s heroes are occupied with the “main” questions: “Why, one might ask, was life given to me?” (“Alone”), “Why was this overwhelming beauty given?” (“Countrymen”), “What kind of secret is there in her, should we feel sorry for her, for example, or can we die in peace - there’s nothing special left here?” (“Alyosha Beskonvoyny”). Often heroes are in a state of internal discord: “So what?” thought Maxim angrily. – It was also a hundred years ago. What's new? And it will always be like this... Why?” (“I believe”) The soul is filled with anxiety, it hurts because it vividly feels everything around it, trying to find the answer. Matvey Ryazantsev (Dumas) calls this condition an “illness,” but a “desired” illness—“without it, something is missing.”

- What, according to Shukshin, is the “wisdom of life”?

Shukshin looks for sources of wisdom in the historical and everyday experience of the people, in the destinies of old people. For the old saddler Antipas (“Alone”), neither hunger nor need can suppress the eternal need for beauty. The chairman of the collective farm, Matvey Ryazantsev, lived a decent working life, but he still regrets some unfelt joys and sorrows (“Duma”). The letter of the old woman Kandaurova (“Letter”) is the result of a long peasant life, a wise teaching: “Well, work, work, but the man is not made of stone. Yes, if you pet him, he will do three times more. Any animal loves affection, and humans even more so.” One dream, one desire is repeated three times in the letter: “You live and be happy, and make others happy,” “She is my dear daughter, my soul hurts, I also want her to be happy in this world,” “At least I am happy for you.” " Old woman Kandaurova teaches the ability to feel the beauty of life, the ability to rejoice and please others, teaches spiritual sensitivity and affection. These are the highest values ​​that she came to through difficult experience.

IV. Teacher's word.

The image of the old woman Kandaurova is one of many images of Shukshinsky mothers, embodying love, wisdom, dedication, merging into the image of the “earthly mother of God” (“At the Cemetery”). Let us recall the story “A Mother’s Heart,” in which a mother defends her unlucky son, her only joy, in front of the whole world; the story “Vanka Teplyashin”, where the hero, having ended up in the hospital, felt lonely, sad, and rejoiced like a child when he saw his mother: “What was his surprise, joy, when he suddenly saw his mother in this world below... Ah, you are dear, dear!” This is the voice of the author himself, who always writes about the Mother with great love, tenderness, gratitude and at the same time with a feeling of some guilt. Let us remember the scene of Yegor Prokudin’s meeting with his mother (if possible, watch footage from the film “Kalina Krasnaya”). The wisdom of the old woman Kandaurova is consistent with the space and peace in the world around her: “It was evening. Somewhere they were playing the accordion..."; “The accordion kept playing, playing well. And a softly unfamiliar female voice sang along with her”; “Lord,” thought the old woman, “it’s good, it’s good on earth, it’s good.” But the state of peace in Shukshin’s stories is unstable and short-lived, it is replaced by new anxieties, new reflections, new searches for harmony, and agreement with the eternal laws of life.

V. Analysis of the stories "Weirdo" and "Pardon me, madam!"

The story “Weirdo! (1967).

- How do we see the main character of the story?

The hero of the story, the title of which became his nickname (“My wife called him “Weirdo.” Sometimes affectionately”), stands out from his environment. First of all, “something was constantly happening to him,” he “every now and then got involved in some kind of story.” These were not socially significant actions or adventurous adventures. "Chudi" suffered from minor incidents caused by his own oversights.

- Give examples of such incidents and oversights.

While going to the Urals to visit his brother’s family, he dropped the money (“...fifty rubles, I have to work for half a month”) and, deciding that “there is no owner of the piece of paper,” he “lightly and cheerfully” joked for “those in line”: “You live well, citizens ! Here, for example, they don’t throw such pieces of paper around.” After that, he could not “overpower himself” to pick up the “damned piece of paper.”

Wanting to “do something nice” for his daughter-in-law who disliked him, Chudik painted his little nephew’s stroller so that it became “unrecognizable.” She, not understanding “folk art,” “made a noise” so much that he had to go home. In addition to this, other misunderstandings happen to the hero (a story about the “rude, tactless” behavior of a “drunk fool” from a village across the river, whom an “intelligent comrade” did not believe; the search for an artificial jaw of a “bald reader” of a newspaper on an airplane, which is why he even his bald head turned purple; an attempt to send a telegram to his wife, which the “stern, dry” telegraph operator had to completely correct), revealing the inconsistency of his ideas with the usual logic.

- How do others react to his “antics”?

His desire to make life “more fun” is met with misunderstanding from those around him. Sometimes he “guesses” that the outcome will be the same as in the story with his daughter-in-law. Often “lost”, as in the case of a neighbor on a plane or with an “intelligent comrade” on a train - Chudik repeats the words of the “woman with painted lips” who was “assented” by a man in a hat from a regional town, but for some reason he has them come out unconvincing. His dissatisfaction always turns towards himself (“He didn’t want this, he suffered...”, “A weirdo, killed by his insignificance...”, “Why am I like this?”), and not at life, which he is unable to change .

All these traits have no motivation; they are inherent in the hero from the very beginning, determining the originality of his personality. On the contrary, the profession reflects the internal desire to escape from reality (“He worked as a projectionist in the village”), and dreams are arbitrary and unrealizable (“Mountains of clouds below... fall into them, into the clouds, like cotton wool”). The hero’s nickname reveals not only his “eccentricity,” but also his desire for a miracle. In this regard, the characterization of reality as dull, evil everyday life is sharpened (“the daughter-in-law... asked evil...”, “I don’t understand; why did they become evil?”).

In relation to the outside world, a series of antitheses are built in which on the side of the hero (as opposed to “unfortunate incidents”, which are “bitter”, “painful”, “scary”) there are signs of the pure, simple-minded, creative nature of the “villager”. Chudik is “struck to the quick” by doubts that “in the village people are better, more pain-free,” “the air alone is worth it!.. it’s so fresh and fragrant, it smells of different herbs, different flowers...”, that it’s “warm... land" and freedom. From which his “trembling”, “quiet” voice sounds “loud”.

- Why do we learn the name of the main character only at the end of the story?

The depiction of the hero’s individuality is combined with the author’s desire for generalization: his nickname is not accidental (name and age are mentioned at the end as an insignificant characteristic: “His name was . He was thirty-nine years old”): it expresses the originality of popular ideas about personality. “Freak” is a variation of the “stupid” essence of national nature, created using comic elements.

The story "Pardon me, madam!" (1968).

- What is the genre of this story ?

The genre is a story within a story.

- What is the main character of the story ?

The main character's character is full of inconsistencies. Even his name Bronislav, invented “out of a hangover” by a local priest, contradicts the simple Russian surname Pupkov. A descendant of the Cossacks, who “cut down the Biy-Katunsk fortress,” he is both “strong,” and “a well-cut man,” “a marksman...rare,” but these qualities do not find application in life. During the war, he did not have to show them in battles, since he “was a nurse at the front.” In everyday reality, the hero’s extraordinary nature is reflected in the fact that he “caused a lot of scandals,” fought “seriously,” “rushed around the village on his deafening motorbike” and disappeared with the “city people” in the taiga - he was “an expert in these matters,” “a hunter ... smart and lucky." In the eyes of others, these contradictions are “strange,” stupid, funny (“Like roll call in the army, so is laughter,” “They laugh, they laugh in their faces...”). He himself also usually “laughs”, “plays tricks” in front of people, and in his soul “he doesn’t harbor any grudges against anyone”, he lives “easy.” The inner “tragedy”, unprecedented in this “blue-eyed, smiling” man, becomes obvious only from his own story, a kind of confession in which what he wants is presented as what actually happened.

- What is Pupkov’s story about and how do listeners perceive it?

- an obvious fabrication, which is obvious both to fellow villagers (“He... was called to the village council several times, they were embarrassed, they threatened to take action...”), and to casual listeners (“Are you serious?... Well, some kind of nonsense...”). And he himself, having once again told the story he had invented “under the hood,” after that “was very worried, suffered, got angry, felt “guilty.” But every time it became a “holiday,” an event that he “looked forward to with great impatience,” which made “his heart ache sweetly in the morning.” The incident that Bronka Pupkov narrates (the assassination attempt on Hitler, where he played the main role) is confirmed by reliable details (a meeting with the major general in the “infirmary” ward, where the hero “brought one heavy lieutenant”, a “subscription” on non-disclosure of information about “special training”), psychological specifics (hatred of Hitler’s “fox face”; responsibility for the “Distant Motherland”). There are also fantastic details (two orderlies, “one with the rank of sergeant major”; “life” on “special training” with alcohol and “port”; an appeal to Hitler “in pure German”), which is reminiscent of the lies of Khlestakov, the hero "Inspector".

- For what purpose, in your opinion, does Bronka tell her tale again and again?

The fable he created is a “distortion” of reality. In fact, he, a descendant of the Siberian Cossacks, who became not a hero, but a victim of history, has a pitiful fate: drunkenness, fights, cursing of his “ugly, thick-lipped” wife, working in the village council, “strange” smiles from his fellow villagers about his fantasies. And yet the “solemn”, “most burning” moment of the story about the “attempt” comes again, and for several minutes he is immersed

into the “desired” atmosphere of achievement, “deeds”, not “deeds”. Then his usual proverb, which became the title of the story, takes on a different meaning, containing irony in relation to everyday life, which turns out to be unable to change the inner content of the individual.

MUNICIPAL EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTION

GYMNASIUM

Reading conference in 9th grade.

“Village prose”: origins, problems, heroes.

Heroes.

Prepared and carried out:

students of grades 9-10: Olga Kocharyan, Maria Kushneryuk, Alexander Melnichenko, Inga Brukhal.

didn't wear a shirt. We wrote on old books, yellowed with time, with pens -

with sticks broken from a grass broom. My job was to cook

ink from soot, which I scraped from the stove and diluted with hot water, and

Then she stirred for a long, long time. Potassium permanganate was also grown, but it was in short supply. To the military

harsh years, especially in the summer, men's work fell on the shoulders of women and

teenagers From 11 to 13 year olds the demand was the same as from adults. But it wasn't easy for mom

ask the foreman to take 12-year-old Vasya to the collective farm for some work. He

he loved horses and wanted to be taken as a water carrier, as they said, “for tobacco.” The foreman is not

agreed. He’s still young, he says, and he can’t lift a bucket of water or harness a horse. Heavy

the work that befell our boys did not darken their childhood years. They, although

They grew up early, still played their own games, played mischief in other people’s gardens and vegetable gardens...

Books came to him somehow right away; they had not been his hobby since childhood, but he sharply

exchanged the game of grandmas for books. He read everything indiscriminately, and my mother was afraid that he

will read it and “go crazy.” All his school textbooks were without crusts. When we

were at home, he put a fiction book in these textbook crusts, put it

on the table and read. We saw that he had, for example, “Geography”, and after a while

he set “History” before himself. Vasya took books from the library and secretly from school

cupboard that stood in the hallway. These were thin brochures about Michurin, Lysenko,

“The Origin of Life on Earth” and many, many others. I read day and night. Even

stretched a string (wick) through potato plastic, covered himself with a blanket with

head and read. And one day I fell asleep with this burning fuse and miraculously did not suffocate. But

I still burned the blanket. In winter, the three of us climbed onto our favorite Russian stove,

They placed a lamp nearby. Vasya lay down on the edge, mom was in the middle, and I was against the wall, and he read

us. He was angry and worried when my mother and I started to fall asleep, he forced us

retell what he read or say where he stopped. But since neither one nor

the other could not answer him - he cried. Having completed 7 classes, Vasya and his three others

peer went to study at the Biysk Automotive College. Arriving home on

holidays or on a day off, he had time to go to a party with an accordion, and

fall in love, and sort out the relationship with a rival, and wrote something, but read what was written

didn't give it to anyone. And one day he asked me to send a package to Moscow to a magazine

"Entertainer." On the return address the surname “Shukshin” was written. Next

Upon arrival, I asked him why he wrote this last name and not “Popov”. He replied that he

how everyone knows Popov, but they can only guess about “Shukshin”. The point is that we

Vasya bore his mother’s maiden name Popova, because his father was repressed, and

Mom was afraid to leave us with our father’s last name. And only upon receipt of passports we

an English teacher, and on the third he decided to leave it. Mom was worried

and he told her: “I still won’t work in this specialty, even if I finish.”

technical College". And he told us that he would go to Moscow because he sent stories to a magazine

“Entertainer” and they wrote to him to come to the editorial office. It was a deception. Me too