"Worn out by longing and sickness" "EXHAUSTED BY LONGER AND ILLNESS", poem. early L. (1832), addressed to N.F. Ivanova. The beginning of the verse. sustained in the usual spirit of romanticism (a crowd of “mad young people” surrounds the beauty, the young poet “fades out”, “exhausted by longing and illness”), but as the conflict unfolds love feeling poem. acquires a "Lermontov" meaning. Poem. reveals a plot similarity with "Justification" (1824-27) by E. A. Baratynsky, where the lyric. the hero justifies himself to his beloved for “glorifying the wives of others”; in L. - "I'm to blame, I could praise another." However, if the hero of Baratynsky tries to “beg” for forgiveness, the hero of L. demands it: “But didn’t I demand forgiveness / At your feet?”. Poem. Baratynsky, for all his psychol. accuracy, sustained in general in the traditions of " light poetry”, while L. sounds tragic. a note of vulnerability and unrecognized. Poetic tension. speech is achieved due to the diversity of iambs, syntactic. transfers (enjambement), forcing questions. intonations. Conclude. the lines - "You were for me like the happiness of paradise / For the demon, the exile of heaven" - unexpectedly bring out the verse. from a concrete psychological love situation in another art. dimension: there is a breakthrough into the "transcendence", which allowed L. to express the strength and exclusivity of the feeling of the lyric. hero. Autograph - IRLI, book. IV. For the first time - "RM", 1884, No. 4, p. 60. Dated according to the position in the notebook.
Lit.: Andronikov(13), p. 140.
V. N. Shikin Lermontov Encyclopedia / USSR Academy of Sciences. In-t rus. lit. (Pushkin. House); Scientific-ed. Council of the publishing house "Sov. Enzikl."; Ch. ed. Manuilov V. A., Editorial staff: Andronikov I. L., Bazanov V. G., Bushmin A. S., Vatsuro V. E., Zhdanov V. V., Khrapchenko M. B. - M .: Sov. Encycl., 1981
See what "" Exhausted by longing and illness "" is in other dictionaries:
- (1800 44), Russian. poet. His personal acquaintance with L. took place on 3 Feb. 1840 at V.F. Odoevsky in St. Petersburg (G. Khetso, p. 213). B. told his wife: “I met Lermontov, who read an excellent new play; a man without a doubt with a great ... ... Lermontov Encyclopedia
IVANOVSK CYCLE, a large cycle of youthful love lyrics L. 1830 32, addressed to N.F. Ivanova (see Cycles). In the editions of L. 19 beginning. 20th century the poems of this cycle were published without specifying the addressee. In 1916, B. Neumann suggested that the verse., ... ... Lermontov Encyclopedia
- “LISTEN, IT MAYBE WHEN WE LEAVE”, verse. L. (1832), apparently addressed to V.A. Lopukhina. It clearly traces a parallel with the theme and images of the poem "The Demon", which also emerged in the verses of the 1st floor. 1832. For example, in verse. "Exhausted... ... Lermontov Encyclopedia
When I met Vasily Petrovich, he was already called "Musk Ox". This nickname was given to him because his appearance unusually resembled a musk ox, which can be seen in the illustrated guide to zoology by Julian Simashka. He was twenty-eight years old, but he looked much older. He was not an athlete, not a hero, but a very strong and healthy man, small in stature, stocky and broad-shouldered. Vasily Petrovich's face was gray and round, but only one face was round, and the skull was strangely ugly. At first glance, it seemed to resemble a somewhat Kaffir skull, but, peering and studying this head closer, you could not bring it under any phrenological system. He wore his hair in such a way as if he deliberately wanted to mislead everyone about the figure of his “upper floor”. At the back, he cut the entire back of his head very short, and in front of his ears, his dark brown hair went in two long and thick braids. Vassily Petrovich used to twirl these braids, and they constantly lay rolled up rollers on his temples, and curled up on his cheeks, resembling the horns of the animal in whose honor he received his nickname. Vasily Petrovich most of all owed his resemblance to a musk ox to these pigtails. In the figure of Vasily Petrovich, however, there was nothing funny. The person who met him for the first time saw only that Vassily Petrovich was, as they say, “badly cut, but tightly sewn,” and looking into his wide-set brown eyes, it was impossible not to see in them a healthy mind, will and decisiveness. The character of Vasily Petrovich had a lot of originality. His distinguishing feature was evangelical carelessness about himself. The son of a rural deacon, who grew up in bitter poverty and, moreover, was orphaned at an early age, he never cared not only about a lasting improvement in his existence, but it seems he never even thought about tomorrow. He had nothing to give, but he was able to take off his last shirt and assumed the same ability in each of the people with whom he got along, and he usually called all the rest briefly and clearly “pigs”. When Vasily Petrovich did not have boots, that is, if his boots, as he put it, "opened his mouth completely," then he would go to me or to you, without any ceremony, he would take your spare boots if they somehow climbed onto his leg. , and left his marks to you as a keepsake. Whether you were at home or not, it was all the same to Vassily Petrovich; boots, and more often it happened that he did not say anything about such trifles. new literature he could not stand it and read only the gospel and the ancient classics; he could not hear any conversation about women, considered them all without exception fools and very seriously regretted that his old mother was a woman, and not some kind of sexless creature. Vasily Petrovich's selflessness knew no bounds. He never showed any of us that he loved anyone; but everyone knew very well that there is no sacrifice that the Musk Ox would not make for each of his relatives and friends. It never occurred to anyone to doubt his readiness to sacrifice himself for the chosen idea, but this idea was not easy to find under the skull of our Musk Ox. He did not laugh at many of the theories in which we then passionately believed, but deeply and sincerely despised them.
Musk Ox did not like conversations, did everything in silence, and did exactly what you could least expect from him at the given moment.
How and why did he come into contact with the little circle to which I also belonged during my short stay in our provincial city, - I don't know. The musk ox completed a course at the Kursk seminary three years before my arrival. His mother, who fed him with the crumbs collected for the sake of Christ, was impatiently waiting for her son to become a priest and live in the parish with his young wife. But the son had no thought of a young wife. Vasily Petrovich did not have the slightest desire to marry. The course was over; mother kept inquiring about the brides, but Vassily Petrovich was silent, and one fine morning he disappeared to no one knows where. Only six months later he sent his mother twenty-five rubles and a letter in which he informed the begging old woman that he had come to Kazan and entered the local theological academy. How he reached Kazan, breaking off more than a thousand miles, and how he got twenty-five rubles - this remained unknown. The musk ox never wrote a word to his mother about it. But before the old woman had time to rejoice that her Vasya would someday be a bishop and she would then live with him in a bright room with a white stove and drink tea with raisins twice a day, Vasya seemed to have fallen from the sky - unexpectedly, unexpectedly appeared again in Kursk. Many asked him: what is it? How? why did he come back? but learned little. “He didn’t get along,” the Musk Ox answered shortly, and nothing more could be obtained from him. Only to one person did he say a little more: “I don’t want to be a monk,” and no one else got anything from him.
The man to whom the Musk Ox told more than anyone else was Yakov Chelnovsky, a kind, good fellow, incapable of hurting flies and ready for any service to his neighbor. Chelnovsky was brought to me by a relative in some distant tribe. It was at Chelnovsky's that I met the stocky hero of my story.
It was in the summer of 1854. I had to take care of the process, which was carried out in the Kursk government offices.
I arrived in Kursk at seven o'clock in the morning in the month of May, directly to Chelnovsky. At that time he was preparing young people for the university, gave Russian language and history lessons in two women's boarding houses and lived not badly: he had a decent three-room apartment from the front, a hefty library, upholstered furniture, several pots of exotic plants and Box's bulldog, with bared teeth, a very indecent bustle and a gait that slightly looked like a can-can.
Chelnovsky was extremely delighted at my arrival and made me promise to stay with him for the entire duration of my stay in Kursk. He himself used to run around the whole day for lessons, and then I visited civil chamber, then wandered aimlessly near Tuskari or Seim. You will not find the first of these rivers at all on many maps of Russia, and the second is famous for its especially tasty crayfish, but it gained even greater fame through the lock system built on it, which absorbed huge capitals without freeing the Seim from the reputation of the river, “inconvenient for navigation” .
Two weeks have passed since the day of arrival in Kursk. There was never any talk about the Musk Ox, I did not suspect at all the existence of such a strange beast within the boundaries of our black earth belt, abounding in bread, beggars and thieves.
One day, tired and exhausted, I returned home at one o'clock in the afternoon. In the hall I was met by Box, who guarded our dwelling much more diligently than the eighteen-year-old boy who was our valet. On the table in the hall lay a cloth cap, utterly worn; one dirty suspender with a strap tied to it, a greasy black scarf twisted with a cord, and a thin wand made of hazelnut. In the second room, lined with bookcases and rather dapper cabinet furniture, a man who was utterly dusty was sitting on a sofa. He was wearing a pink print shirt and light yellow trousers with worn knees. The stranger's boots were covered with a thick layer of white highway dust, and on his knees lay a thick book, which he read without lowering his head. As I entered the study, the dusty figure cast one cursory glance at me and again fixed her eyes on the book. Everything was fine in the bedroom. Chelnovsky's striped canvas blouse, which he put on immediately upon returning home, hung in its place and testified that the owner was not at home. In no way could I guess who this strange guest, who settled down so unceremoniously. Fierce Box looked at him as if he were his own person and did not caress only because the tenderness characteristic of the dogs of the French breed is not in the nature of the dogs of the Anglo-Saxon dog race. I again went into the hall, having two purposes: firstly, to ask the boy about the guest, and secondly, to provoke the guest himself to some word by my appearance. I didn't manage to do either. The hall was still empty, and the guest did not even raise his eyes to me and sat quietly in the same position in which I found him five minutes ago. There was only one remedy: to address the guest directly.
“Are you sure you are waiting for Yakov Ivanych?” I asked, stopping in front of the stranger.
The guest looked at me lazily, then got up from the sofa, spat through his teeth, as only Great Russian philistines and seminarians can spit, and said in a thick bass: "No."
- Who would you like to see? I asked, surprised by the strange answer.
- I just came in, - the guest answered, striding around the room and twisting his pigtails.
“Allow me to inquire to whom I have the honor of speaking?”
At the same time, I gave my last name and said that I was a relative of Yakov Ivanovich.
“But I’m so simple,” answered the guest, and again took up his book.
With that, the conversation ended. Abandoning any attempt to resolve the appearance of this person for myself, I lit a cigarette and lay down on my bed with a book in my hands. When you come from under the sun to a clean and cool room, where there are no annoying flies, but there is a tidy bed, it is unusually easy to fall asleep. This time I found it out by experience and did not notice how the book slipped from my hands. Through the sweet dream that people who are full of hopes and hopes sleep in, I heard Chelnovsky read the notation to the boy, to which he had long been accustomed and did not pay any attention to them. My full awakening was accomplished only when my relative entered the office and shouted:
- A! Musk ox! What fates?
- He came, - the guest answered the original greeting.
- I know that he came, but where did he come from? where have you been?
- You can't see it from here.
- What a jester! How long have you been deigning to complain? Yakov Ivanovich asked his guest again as he entered the bedroom. - E! Yes, you are sleeping,” he said, turning to me. - Get up, brother, I'll show you the beast.
- What animal? I asked, not yet quite returning to what is called wakefulness, from what is called sleep.
Chelnovsky did not answer me, but took off his frock coat and threw on his blouse, which was the work of one minute, went into the office and, dragging my stranger by the hand, bowed comically and, pointing at the stubborn guest, said:
I got up and held out my hand to the Musk Ox, who, throughout the entire recommendation, calmly looked at the thick branch of lilac that covered the open window of our bedroom.
- I heard it, - answered the Musk Ox, - and I am Vasily Bogoslovsky, a caterer.
- Yes, I found Vasily here ... I don’t have the honor to know, how about the priest?
“Petrov was,” answered Bogoslovsky.
“That was him, now just call him Musk Ox.”
- I don't care what you call me.
- Oh, no, brother! You are a Musk Ox, so you should be a Musk Ox.
We sat at the table. Vasily Petrovich poured himself a glass of vodka, poured it into his mouth, holding it behind his cheekbone for a few seconds, and, having swallowed it, glanced meaningfully at the bowl of soup in front of him.
- Isn't there a student? he asked the owner.
- No, brother, no. They didn’t expect a dear guest today,” Chelnovsky answered, “and they didn’t prepare it.
- They could eat.
We can eat soup.
- Sauces! added the Musk Ox. - And there is no goose? he asked with even greater surprise when the zrazy was served.
“And there is no goose,” the owner answered him, smiling his gentle smile. - Tomorrow you will have jelly, and goose, and porridge with goose fat.
Tomorrow is not today.
- Well, what to do? You haven't eaten goose in a long time, have you?
The musk ox looked at him intently and with an expression of some pleasure said:
- And you better ask if I have eaten anything for a long time.
- On the fourth day in the evening I ate a kalach in Sevsk.
- In Sevsk?
The musk ox waved his hand affirmatively.
– Why were you in Sevsk?
- Walked through.
“Yes, where did it take you?”
The musk ox stopped the fork with which he was dragging huge pieces of meat into his mouth, again looked intently at Chelnovsky and, without answering his question, said:
- Have you been sniffing tobacco today?
How did you sniff tobacco?
Chelnovsky and I burst out laughing at the strange question.
“Speak, dear beast!
- That your tongue is itching today.
- Why not ask? After all whole month disappeared.
- Lost? repeated the Musk Ox. - I, brother, will not be lost, but I will be lost, so not for nothing.
“Preaching has got us hooked! - Chelnovsky responded to me. - "The hunt is mortal, but the fate is bitter!" It is not allowed to preach in marketplaces and stalls in our enlightened age; in the butts we can't go to do not touch the wife, like a vessel of a snake, and something prevents going to monks too. But what exactly is hindering here - I don’t know about that.
And it's good that you don't know.
- Why is it good? The more you know, the better.
“Become a monk yourself, and you will know.”
“Don’t you want to serve humanity with your experience?”
“Someone else’s experience, brother, is an empty thing,” said the original, getting up from the table and wiping his whole face with a napkin, covered with sweat from zeal at dinner. Putting down his napkin, he went into the ante-room and there took out from his overcoat a small earthenware pipe with a black nibbled chisel and a chintz pouch; filled his pipe, put the pouch in his pants pocket and went back to the front.
“Smoke here,” Chelnovsky told him.
- Sneeze unevenly. Heads will hurt.
The musk ox stood and smiled. I have never met a person who would smile as much as Bogoslovsky. His face remained perfectly calm; not a single feature moved, and a deep, sad expression remained in the eyes, but meanwhile you saw that these eyes were laughing, and laughing with the kindest laugh that a Russian person sometimes makes fun of himself and his lack of share.
– New Diogenes! - said Chelnovsky after the musk ox who came out, - he is looking for all the people of the gospel.
We lit cigars and, lying down on our beds, talked about the various human oddities that occurred to us in connection with the oddities of Vassily Petrovich. A quarter of an hour later Vasily Petrovich also came in. He put his pipe on the floor by the stove, sat down at Chelnovsky's feet, and, scratching right hand left shoulder, said in an undertone:
- I was looking for conditions.
- When? Chelnovsky asked him.
- Yes, now.
- Who were you looking for?
- On the way to.
Chelnovsky laughed again; but the Musk Ox paid no attention to it.
- Well, what did God give? Chelnovsky asked him.
- There is not a shish.
- Yes, you are such a joke! Who is looking for conditions on the road?
“I went into the landowners’ houses and asked there,” Musk Ox continued seriously.
- So what?
- They don't.
Yes, of course they won't.
The musk ox looked at Chelnovsky with his fixed gaze and asked in the same even tone:
Why won't they take it?
- Because a stranger from the wind, without a recommendation, is not taken into the house.
- I showed my certificate.
“Does it say ‘pretty decent behavior’?”
- Well, so what? I, brother, will tell you that this is not because, but because ...
“You are a Musk Ox,” prompted Chelnovsky.
- Yes, Musk Ox, perhaps.
- What are you thinking of doing now?
"I'm thinking about smoking another pipe," replied Vasily Petrovich, getting up and again taking up his chubuchok.
- Yes, smoke here.
- No need.
- Smoke: after all, the window is open.
- No need.
- What do you want, the first time, perhaps, to smoke your dubek at my place?
“They won’t like it,” Musk Ox said, pointing at me.
- Please, smoke, Vasily Petrovich; I am an accustomed person; For me, not a single dubek means anything.
“Why, I have that oak tree from which the devil ran away,” answered the Musk Ox, leaning on the letter y in the word oak k, and in his kind eyes again flashed his sympathetic smile.
Well, I won't run away.
“So you are stronger than the devil.
- For this occasion.
“He has the highest opinion of the strength of the devil,” Chelnovsky said.
- One woman, brother, only worse than the devil.
Vasily Petrovich stuffed his pipe with shag and, blowing a thin stream of caustic smoke from his mouth, besieged the burning tobacco with his finger and said:
- I'm going to rewrite assignments.
- What tasks? Chelnovsky asked, putting his hand to his ear.
- Problems, seminar problems, they say, I will rewrite for now. Well, student's notebooks, don't you understand, or what? he explained.
- I understand now. Bad job brother.
- Doesn't matter.
“Two cents a month is just enough to earn.
- Find me the conditions.
– Back to the village?
- The village is better.
"And you'll be gone again in a week." You know what he did last spring,” Chelnovsky said, addressing me. - I put him in his place, one hundred and twenty rubles a year of payment, with everything ready, so that he would prepare one boy for the second grade of the gymnasium. We sent him everything he needed, equipped good fellow. Well, I think our Musk Ox is in place! And a month later he again grew up in front of us. He also left his underwear there for his science.
“Well, if it couldn’t be otherwise,” said the Musk Ox, frowning, and got up from his chair.
“Ask him why not? Chelnovsky said, turning to me again. “Because they didn’t let you pinch the boy by the hair.”
- More lies! muttered the Musk Ox.
- Well, how was it?
“So it was that it couldn’t be otherwise.
The musk ox stopped in front of me and, after thinking for a moment, said:
- It was a very special thing!
"Sit down, Vasily Petrovich," I said, shifting on the bed.
- No, you don't have to. Quite a special case,” he began again. - The boy is fifteen years old, and meanwhile he is quite a nobleman, that is, a shameless rogue.
- Here's how we do it! Chelnovsky joked.
“Yes,” Musk Ox continued. - Their cook was Yegor, a young guy. He married, took a deacon's daughter from our spiritual beggary. The barchonok had already been trained in everything, and let's clang to her. And the wench is young, not one of those; complained to her husband, and the husband complained to the lady. She said something to her son, and he again spoke for his own. So another time, the third - the cook again to the mistress, that there is no end to the wife from the barchuk - again nothing. Annoyance took me. “Listen,” I tell him, “if you pinch Alyonka again, I’ll crack you.” He blushed with vexation; noble blood leaped up, you know; flew to my mother, and I followed him. I look: she is sitting in armchairs, and also all red; and my son writes her complaint against me in French. As she saw me, she now took his hand and smiles, the devil knows what. “Enough, my friend says. Vassily Petrovich must have imagined something; he's joking, and you'll prove him wrong." And I see myself looking askance at me. My little boy went, and instead of talking to me about her son, she said: “What a knight you are, Vasily Petrovich! Do you have a heartbreak? Well, I can’t stand these things,” said the Musk Ox, waving his hand vigorously. “I can’t listen to this,” he repeated once more, raising his voice, and started walking again.
- Well, you immediately left this house?
No, in a month and a half.
- And lived in harmony?
Well, I didn't talk to anyone.
- And at the table?
- I had lunch with the clerk.
- How about the clerk?
- Just say, at the table. Yes, it's nothing to me. You can't offend me.
- How can you not?
“Of course, you can’t ... well, what’s the point of talking about it ... Only once after dinner I sit under the window, reading Tacitus, and in the servants’ room, I hear someone screaming. What screams - I can’t make out, but Alenkin’s voice. Barchuk, I think, is really amusing himself. I got up, I went to the human. I hear Alenka crying and shouting through her tears: “shame on you”, “you are not afraid of God” and all sorts of things like that. I saw that Alenka was standing in the attic above the ladder, and my little boy was under the ladder, so that the woman could not possibly get down. It's embarrassing... well, you know how they walk... simple. And he still teases her: “climb, he says, otherwise I’ll put down the stairs.” Evil took such a hold of me that I entered the hallway, and gave him a slap.
- Such that blood gushed out of his ear and nose, - Chelnovsky suggested, laughing.
– What there on his share has grown.
- What is your mother?
Yes, I haven't looked at it since. I went straight from the staff quarters to Kursk.
- How many miles is that?
- One hundred seventy; Yes, even if it’s a thousand seven hundred, it’s all the same.
If you had seen the Musk Ox at that moment, you would not have doubted that it really did not matter to him how many versts he walked and to whom he gave a slap, if, in his opinion, this slap should be given.
The poem was written in 1832. Addressed to N. F. Ivanova, one of the poet's acquaintances, who was the subject of his hobbies in his youth. Perhaps it was Natalya Fedorovna Lermontov who dedicated the largest number of his poems, the motive of which was: at the beginning of the acquaintance - delight and admiration, and at the end - deceived hopes and a vain thirst for love.
Ivanova Natalya Fedorovna
(From a portrait drawn
artist W. F. Binneman)
In addition to this poem, Natalya Ivanova was dedicated and converted the following works Lermontov:
. "1831 June 11 days"
. "To the album of N. F. Ivanova"
. "Vision"
. "Time for the heart to be at rest"
. "The Almighty pronounced his judgment"
. "God forbid that you never know"
. "Why a magical smile"
. "When only memories"
. "I have loved since the beginning of my life"
. "Instantly running through the mind"
. “I can’t languish in my homeland”
. "Not you, but fate was to blame"
. "Romance to Ivanova"
. "Sonnet"
. "I'm not worthy, maybe"
. "I will not humiliate myself before you"
Travelers are known to be truly tireless and fearless people.
Our contemporaries circle the globe in no more than a few days and, hoping to penetrate places that have not been explored to the end, they tirelessly plow close and distant seas,
49 frighteningly sweep over the once impenetrable ice cap of Antarctica.
No matter how much people have already learned about the outside world, the still unexplored and inaccessible surrounds them from all sides.
No matter how high a person rises into the stratosphere, no matter how low he descends into the depths of the earth, and there are spaces where a person has not yet been, they spread both above us and below us.
We are separated from the center of the Earth by a distance of 6350 kilometers. But it is impossible to fly, or rush on an express train, or descend on a high-speed elevator, or in any other way rush through this space.
Modern science still does not know exactly what is inside the globe, and our knowledge of the gaseous layer that surrounds us and rises hundreds of kilometers into the air is as imperfect as that of the deep layers of the earth. But for human thought there is nothing inaccessible: it is able to overcome all obstacles on the way to mastering nature.
Undoubtedly, we have a lot to do important discoveries, and it cannot be said that there will soon be nothing to discover on Earth.
Visible in the distance high mountains, but not naked, but all overgrown with forest. Everyone knew that the goddess of death herself, not visible to anyone, was now looking from the secret embrasure of the temple onto the square. Golden streaks from the rays of the sun that had not yet risen stretched upward across the sky from behind the horizon. There is an unfinished sheet of paper on the board, and several of the same sheets are on a chair. Vasily Terentyevich had not yet managed to get out of the carriage, when an unforeseen incident happened. He led me into this engineer's office, as one introduces the uninitiated into a room of miracles. Separate ... understaffed units rushed to the uprising. He looked at the low, as if not standing, but lying along the streets of the hut - with crouched and variegated windows, similar at that time to patches, with roofs almost reaching the ground, with clumsy fences stretched to the sides, and barely recognized them.
They undoubtedly sense in my beard, bekesh and hunting boots a deviation from the norm, something that does not fit into the standard of a Soviet employee traveling on state duty. Mikhail stood up abruptly and stamped on his half-smoked cigarette. For a moment she looked at him with unseeing eyes, as if she did not understand well. There was that bottomless spirituality, without which there is no originality, that infinity that opens from any point in life, in any direction, without which poetry is just a misunderstanding, temporarily
explained. A single moonbeam, seeping through a dusty window that had not been wiped for years, sparingly illuminated the corner where a forgotten icon hung in the dust and cobwebs.
From the lowing of a cow, the barking of a dog, the cry of a cock, human voices stand out and are carried far away, then weathered northeast, sometimes salted with water splashes of the raging sea, sometimes young and sonorous, breathing endless steppe expanses. Along with the slowly cooling and setting sun, hot autumn dust sets, and in windless evening previously invisible pyramidal poplars open to the eye.
In front of a temporary wooden podium hung with bright red patches, windmills, gray-bearded old men in linen shirts and green uniform trousers, lowered low over leather boots, gathered; women in light cotton dresses, with exhausted, dusty faces, who have not yet come to their senses after the morning anxiety; dark-skinned children, as if dried in the sun, deceptively hushed after the frantic bustle of the day.
All of them are drowning in the sea of sailors and soldiers, flooding the entire area, noisily agitating and insistently declaring their rights. Shaggy warlike hats, Circassian hats with holes through the brim, torn tunics, worn Circassians - all this moves, shimmers and at times rumbles with furious cries.
Compound words: north-east (cardinal point), bright red (color name), gray-bearded (gray beard).
Words with unpronounceable consonants: sun, calico, furious, soldier.
IN last sentence a dash comes before the general word all.
