You can talk about Mothers endlessly. For several weeks now the city had been surrounded by a close ring of enemies clad in iron; bonfires were lit at night, and the fire looked from the black darkness at the walls of the city with many red eyes - they glowed with malevolent joy, and this lurking burning caused gloomy thoughts in the besieged city. From the walls they saw how the enemy's noose tightened more and more tightly, how their black shadows flickered around the lights; the neighing of well-fed horses was heard, the clatter of weapons, loud laughter could be heard, the cheerful songs of people confident of victory were heard - and what is more painful to hear than the laughter and songs of the enemy? All the streams that fed the city with water were thrown by the enemies with corpses, they burned the vineyards around the walls, trampled the fields, cut down the gardens - the city was open on all sides, and almost every day the cannons and muskets of the enemies showered it with iron and lead. Detachments of soldiers, exhausted by battles, half-starved, marched sullenly along the narrow streets of the city; the groans of the wounded, the cries of delirium, the prayers of women and the crying of children poured out from the windows of the houses. They spoke subduedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, listened intently to see if the enemies were attacking? Life became especially unbearable in the evening, when in the silence groans and cries sounded clearer and more abundant, when blue-black shadows crawled out of the gorges of distant mountains and, hiding the enemy camp, moved towards the half-broken walls, and above the black teeth of the mountains the moon appeared like a lost shield. beaten with swords. Without expecting help, exhausted by toil and hunger, losing hope every day, people looked in fear at this moon, the sharp teeth of the mountains, the black mouths of the gorges and at the noisy camp of enemies - everything reminded them of death, and not a single star shone consolingly for them. They were afraid to light fires in the houses, thick darkness flooded the streets, and in this darkness, like a fish in the depths of a river, a woman silently flashed, wrapped in a black cloak with her head. When people saw her, they asked each other:
- That's her? - She is!
And they hid in niches under the gates or, with their heads down, silently ran past her, and the patrol leaders warned her sternly: “Are you out on the street again, Monna Marianne?” Look, you can be killed, and no one will look for the culprit in this ... She straightened up, waited, but the patrol passed by, not daring or disdaining to raise a hand against her; armed men walked around her like a corpse, but she remained in the darkness and again quietly, alone, walked somewhere, going from street to street, mute and black, like the embodiment of the misfortunes of the city, and all around, pursuing her, sad sounds crept plaintively: groans , crying, prayers and gloomy talk of soldiers who have lost hope of victory. A citizen and mother, she thought about her son and homeland: at the head of the people who destroyed the city was her son, a cheerful and ruthless handsome man; until recently she looked at him with pride, as at her precious gift to her homeland, as at good power, born by her to help the people of the city - the nest where she was born herself, gave birth and brought him up. Hundreds of inextricable threads connected her heart with ancient stones, from which her ancestors built houses and laid the walls of the city, with the earth where the bones of her blood lay, with legends, songs and hopes of people - she lost the heart of the mother of the person closest to him and cried: it was like scales, but, weighing the love for her son and the city, she could not understand what was easier, what was harder. So she walked the streets at night, and many, not recognizing her, were frightened, took the black figure for the personification of death, close to everyone, and recognizing, they silently moved away from the mother of the traitor. But one day, in a deaf corner, near the city wall, she saw another woman: kneeling beside a corpse, motionless, like a piece of earth, she prayed, raising her mournful face to the stars, and on the wall, above her head, watchmen were quietly talking and gnashing weapons, brushing against the stones of the prongs. The traitor's mother asked: "Husband?" - No. - Brother? - A son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one is today. And, rising from her knees, the mother of the murdered man meekly said: “Madonna sees everything, knows everything, and I thank her!” - For what? - the first one asked, and she answered her: - Now that he honestly died fighting for his homeland, I can say that he aroused fear in me: frivolous, he loved a fun life too much, and it was fearful that for this he would betray the city , as did the son of Marianna, the enemy of God and people, the leader of our enemies, curse him, and curse the womb that carried him! .. Covering her face, Marianna walked away, and in the morning the next day she appeared to the defenders of the city and said: Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gates for me, I will go to him... They answered: - You are a man, and the homeland should be dear to you; your son is as much an enemy to you as he is to each of us. - I am a mother, I love him and consider myself guilty of the fact that he is what he has become. Then they began to consult what to do with her, and decided: - By honor - we cannot kill you for the sin of your son, we know that you could not inspire him with this terrible sin, and we guess how you must suffer. But the city does not need you even as a hostage - your son does not care about you, we think that he has forgotten you, the devil, and - here is your punishment if you find that you deserve it! It seems to us worse than death!
- Yes! - she said. - This is scarier.
They opened the gates in front of her, let her out of the city and watched for a long time from the wall as she walked along native land, densely saturated with the blood spilled by her son: she walked slowly, with great difficulty tearing her legs off this earth, bowing to the corpses of the defenders of the city, disgustedly pushing away broken weapons with her foot - mothers hate the weapon of attack, recognizing only that which protects life. She seemed to be carrying in her hands under a cloak a bowl full of moisture, and was afraid to spill it; moving away, it became smaller and smaller, and those who looked at it from the wall, it seemed as if despondency and hopelessness were moving away from them along with it. They saw how she stopped halfway and, throwing off the hood of her cloak, looked at the city for a long time, and there, in the camp of the enemies, they noticed her, alone in the middle of the field, and, slowly, carefully, black figures like her approached her. . They came up and asked who she was, where is going? “Your leader is my son,” she said, and not one of the soldiers doubted it. They walked beside her, speaking in praise of how smart and brave her son was, she listened to them, proudly raising her head, and was not surprised - her son should be like that! And here she is before the man whom she knew nine months before his birth, before the one whom she never felt outside her heart - in silk and velvet he is before her, and his weapon is in precious stones . Everything is as it should be; this is how she saw him many times in her dreams - rich, famous and loved. — Mother! he said, kissing her hands. - You came to me, so you understood me, and tomorrow I will take this damned city! “Where you were born,” she reminded him. Intoxicated by his exploits, maddened by the thirst for even greater glory, he told her with the impudent ardor of youth: - I was born in the world and for the world, to amaze him with surprise! I spared this city for your sake - it is like a thorn in my foot and prevents me from advancing to glory as quickly as I want it. But now - tomorrow - I will destroy the nest of stubborn ones! “Where every stone knows and remembers you as a child,” she said. “Stones are dumb unless a man makes them speak—let the mountains speak of me, that’s what I want!” But people? she asked. — Oh, yes, I remember them, mother! And I need them, because only in the memory of people are heroes immortal! She said: “A hero is one who creates life in spite of death, who conquers death...” “No! he objected. “The one who destroys is as glorious as the one who builds cities. Look - we do not know whether Aeneas or Romulus built Rome, but - the name of Alaric and other heroes who destroyed this city is known for sure. “Who survived all the names,” reminded the mother. So he spoke to her until sunset, she interrupted his crazy speeches less and less, and her proud head sank lower and lower. Mother creates, she protects, and talking about destruction in front of her means talking against her, but he did not know this and denied the meaning of her life. Mother is always against death; the hand that brings death into people's dwellings is hateful and hostile to Mothers - her son did not see this, blinded by the cold glare of glory that kills the heart. And he did not know that the Mother is a beast as smart, ruthless as fearless, when it comes to the life that she, the Mother, creates and protects. She sat bent over, and through the open cloth of the leader's rich tent she could see the city, where she first experienced the sweet trembling of conception and the painful convulsions of the birth of a child who now wants to destroy. The crimson rays of the sun poured blood over the walls and towers of the city, the windows of the windows gleamed ominously, the whole city seemed wounded, and through hundreds of wounds the red juice of life poured; time passed, and now the city began to turn black, like a corpse, and, like funeral candles, the stars lit up above it. She saw there, in the dark houses, where they were afraid to light a fire, so as not to attract the attention of enemies, in the streets full of darkness, the smell of corpses, the suppressed whispers of people awaiting death - she saw everything and everyone; familiar and dear stood close before her, silently awaiting her decision, and she felt like a mother to all the people of her city. Clouds were descending from the black peaks of the mountains into the valley and, as if winged horses, flew to the city, doomed to death. “Perhaps we will attack him at night,” her son said, “if the night is dark enough!” It is inconvenient to kill when the sun looks into the eyes and the glare of the weapon blinds them - there are always many wrong blows, ”he said, examining his sword. His mother told him: “Come here, lay your head on my chest, rest, remembering how cheerful and kind you were as a child and how everyone loved you ... He obeyed, lay down on her knees and closed his eyes, saying: “I love only glory and you, for the fact that you gave birth to me the way I am. - What about women? she asked, leaning over him. - There are a lot of them, they quickly get bored, like everything is too sweet. She asked him to last time: And you don't want to have children? - Why? To kill them? Someone like me will kill them, and it will hurt me, and then I will be old and weak to avenge them.
“You are beautiful, but barren as lightning,” she said with a sigh. He replied smiling: Yes, like lightning...
And dozed off on his mother's chest, like a child. Then she, covering him with her black cloak, stuck a knife into his heart, and he, shuddering, immediately died - after all, she knew very well where her son's heart was beating. And, throwing his corpse from her knees at the feet of the astonished guards, she said towards the city: - Man - I did everything I could for the motherland; Mother - I stay with my son! It's too late for me to give birth to another, nobody needs my life. And the same knife, still warm from his blood - her blood - she plunged with a firm hand into her chest and also correctly hit the heart - if it hurts, it is easy to hit it.
- former people
- Mother
- Chelkash
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- Output.
- Call of interest.
- I don't want you to get the impression that a mother's sense of citizenship can only defeat the feeling of love for her child in a fairy tale.
- Or kill me
- Deadline to keep the answer! -
- Go away! -
- Or die yourself
- Go away, - shouts, -
- Analytical conversation.
- students will think about the role of a mother in a person's life, reading M. Gorky's story "The Mother of the Traitor" (XI from "Tales of Italy");
- students will develop the ability to analyze the text, highlight the main problem;
- students will learn the culture of communication, perceiving correctly any opinion.
From the first pages of the novel, we see a factory settlement in which poor workers lived. The whole area around the factory was riddled with total poverty. The surroundings were dirty and gloomy. From the very early morning, the whistle called everyone to work, and late in the evening everyone returned home tired and hungry. And the work was so hard that the men wanted one thing - to drink alcohol and lie down to rest. There was a lot of malice towards these workers, which led them to disgusting acts. So it went day after day.
The main character of the work, Nilovna, also lived. She had a son, Pavel, who takes an example from his father. Mikhail got drunk all day after working days, and even got into a fight. He insulted everyone in a row, and naturally, his relatives with obscene words. And he did not consider his wife a woman at all. But, nevertheless, Pavel has not yet fully become the same as the rest of the workers. He stands up for his mother when his father wants to beat her.
Nilovna was not an old woman, but all this life had turned her into a tortured old woman.
Soon his father dies, and Pavel continues to live just like everyone else. He buys himself a beautiful shirt, an accordion and goes to dances, where he comes from, always drunk.
But, soon, some incomprehensible people came to their village, spoke strange speeches. And Paul listened attentively to their words.
Then in holidays he went to the city, began to take a great interest in literature and brought home books for political themes. Pavel's speech also changed, he began to address Nilovna politely. And this frightened Pelageya. She suspected that something serious was happening to him, but what it was, she did not understand.
Later, the son tells Pelageya that he wants to know what she is like. it's true oh told by the revolutionaries. He said that he would study, and he would tell his comrades about new trends about freedom, about a good life. But here, he warns her that for such sedition he can be sent to hard labor and even shot.
At the end of November, Pavel warned Nilovna that guests would come to him. Pelageya met them cautiously, but as it turned out, they were friendly people. The most surprising thing for her was that Nikolai Vyesovshchikov joined them, whom everyone bypassed and did not even try to speak. And all this happened because his father was a crook. A girl named Natasha came there. She was from rich family and from childhood I saw tyranny and arbitrariness in the house. She did not want such an existence for herself and others and joined the workers' circle.
Among the factory workers there was a rumor that they were going to the Vlasovs' house suspicious people and talk about something. They tried to find out in different ways, someone asked Pelageya about his son, and sometimes at night they wanted to peep out the window, but, frightened, they ran away. Then agitation papers began to be distributed among the workers, everyone read them, but reacted differently. Someone believed in the written text, there were those who only waved their hand hopelessly.
Once Maria met Nilovna on the street and whispered to her that many activists had been searched, and another one was being prepared in the Vlasovs' house. That night passed in expectation and anxiety, but no one came. However, the gendarmes arrived a month later and began looking for forbidden literature. At the same time, Andrei Nakhodka was present, who could not stand it and began to talk with representatives of the law, as a result of which he was arrested. Paul, on the other hand, was confident and calm.
Workers began to come to Pavel more and more often, whom Vlasov helped with advice in this or that matter, and sometimes sent them to the city for advice. After one story at the factory, people began to treat Pavel more respectfully. The crux of the matter was that their owner decided to dry up the swamp, and explained to everyone that it would go to improve their health, but in doing so, he would deduct a certain amount from their salary. Vlasov was ill that day, and when his comrades came to him, he immediately wrote something on a piece of paper and sent it to the city to be published there in the editorial office.
Pavel was ill for a single day, and the factory workers asked him to come to work and explain what was happening. Speech young man everyone listened spellbound, many already believed in his words. But when they were ordered to disperse, the workers obeyed, and Pavel was taken away by the police.
Soon, one of the party workers appeared at Nilovna's, who explained to her what needs to be done so that Pavel is released from prison. And Pelageya begins to scatter leaflets at the factory, under the guise of an assistant to a woman who delivers meals. And no one could have guessed that the distribution of these pieces of paper was the work of some old woman.
Due to lack of evidence, Nakhodka and Vlasov are released, but they cannot calm down and arrange a rally at a demonstration dedicated to May 1. Pavel delivers a fiery speech, holding a red banner in his hands. The speakers were again subject to arrest, and Nilovna kept the banner.
Yegor Ivanovich asks Pelageya to pour over to him in the city, where she and his sister continue the work of her son. She travels around the villages and distributes proclamations there.
Mother constantly comes to Pavel in prison, and even sends a letter where a girl who loves him offers him an escape plan. But, he refuses because he wants to give a fiery speech in court.
On the day of the trial, Nilovna was especially anxious, since only relatives were allowed there. This was done with the aim that the people did not hear what the worker was accused of. And Paul, after hearing the verdict, makes a speech, where he speaks about the goal of the struggle of his party. Reading these lines, the author shows us a man who has studied many books and is well versed in revolutionary theory.
The last word of the judge said that all the convicts were sent to hard labor. Sashenka is ready to follow him, the mother also wants to be close to her son. It is a pity that such words were not heard by the workers, and then Nikolai Ivanovich takes the text he wrote down on paper to the editorial office to be printed.
Pavel's mother agrees to take the campaign leaflets to another city, but they track her down and want to take her to the police. But, Nilovna, escaping from the hands of the detective, scatters all the leaflets on the platform of the station, explaining that this is the speech of her convicted son. She does not have time to finish, as one of the policemen squeezes her throat.
The novel teaches us to constantly improve ourselves, gain new knowledge and pass it on to other people. After all, receiving certain knowledge, a person becomes free. And freedom helps to lead others.
You can use this text for reader's diary
Bitter. All works
Mother. Picture for the story
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Part I
1
Every day, over the working settlement, in the smoky, oily air, the factory horn trembled and roared, and, obedient to the call, from the small gray houses ran out into the street, like frightened cockroaches, sullen people who had not had time to refresh their muscles with sleep. In the cold dusk they walked along the unpaved street to the high stone cages of the factory; she waited for them with indifferent confidence, illuminating dirty road dozens of fat square eyes. Mud smacked underfoot. There were hoarse exclamations of sleepy voices, rude swearing angrily tore the air, and other sounds floated to meet people - the heavy fuss of cars, the grumbling of steam. Tall black chimneys loomed sullenly and sternly, rising above the settlement like thick sticks.
In the evening, when the sun was setting, and its red rays wearily shone on the windows of the houses, the factory threw people out of their stone bowels like waste slag, and they again walked through the streets, sooty, with black faces, spreading the sticky smell of engine oil in the air, gleaming hungry teeth. Now there was animation in their voices, and even joy - for today the hard labor was over, dinner and rest were waiting at home.
The day was swallowed up by the factory, the machines sucked as much strength out of the muscles of the people as they needed. The day was erased from life without a trace, the man took another step towards his grave, but he saw close before him the pleasure of rest, the joy of a smoky tavern, and was pleased.
On holidays, they slept until ten o'clock, then respectable and married people dressed in their best clothes and went to listen to mass, along the way scolding the youth for their indifference to the church. They returned home from the church, ate pies and went to bed again - until the evening.
Fatigue, accumulated over the years, deprived people of their appetite, and in order to eat, they drank a lot, irritating the stomach with sharp burns of vodka. In the evening they walked lazily through the streets, and those who had galoshes put them on, even if it was dry, and having a rain umbrella, carried it with them, even if the sun shone.
Meeting each other, they talked about the factory, about the machines, scolded the craftsmen - they talked and thought only about what was connected with work. Lonely sparks of clumsy, powerless thought barely flickered in the dull monotony of the days. Returning home, they quarreled with their wives and often beat them, not sparing their fists. Young people sat in taverns or arranged parties with each other, played the harmonica, sang obscene, ugly songs, danced, swearing and drinking. Exhausted by labor, people quickly got drunk, incomprehensible, painful irritation awakened in all their breasts. It needed an exit. And, tenaciously grasping at every opportunity to defuse this disturbing feeling, people, over trifles, rushed at each other with the anger of animals. arose bloody fights. Sometimes they ended in serious injuries, occasionally - murder.
In the relations of people, there was most of all a feeling of lurking malice, it was as old as the incurable fatigue of the muscles. People were born with this disease of the soul, inheriting it from their fathers, and it accompanied them like a black shadow to the grave, inducing them to a number of deeds during their life, disgusting with their aimless cruelty.
On holidays, young people came home late at night in torn clothes, in mud and dust, with broken faces, gloatingly showing off the blows inflicted on their comrades, or offended, in anger or tears of resentment, drunk and pitiful, unhappy and disgusting. Sometimes the boys were brought home by their mothers and fathers. They looked for them somewhere under a fence on the street or in taverns insensibly drunk, scolded them badly, beat their soft, vodka-thinned bodies with their fists, then more or less carefully put them to bed, so that early in the morning, when an angry roar of a whistle would flow in the air in a dark stream , wake them up for work.
The children were scolded and beaten heavily, but the drunkenness and fights of the youth seemed to the old men to be quite a legitimate phenomenon - when the fathers were young, they also drank and fought, they were also beaten by their mothers and fathers. Life has always been like this - it flowed smoothly and slowly somewhere in a muddy stream for years and years and was all bound by strong, long-standing habits of thinking and doing the same thing, day after day. And no one had the desire to try to change it.
From time to time strangers came from somewhere. At first they drew attention to themselves simply by the fact that they were strangers, then they aroused a slight, external interest in themselves with stories about the places where they worked, then the novelty was erased from them, they got used to them, and they became invisible. From their stories it was clear: the life of a worker is the same everywhere. And if so, what is there to talk about?
But sometimes some of them said something unheard of in the settlement. They did not argue with them, but listened to their strange speeches incredulously. These speeches aroused blind irritation in some, vague anxiety in others, a slight shadow of hope for something obscure bothered others, and they began to drink more in order to expel unnecessary, interfering anxiety.
Noticing something unusual in someone else, the Slobozhans could not forget it for a long time and treated a person who was not like them with unaccountable fear. They were definitely afraid that a person would throw something into life that would disturb its sadly correct course, although heavy, but calm. People are accustomed to life always crushing them with the same force, and, not expecting any changes for the better, they considered all changes only capable of increasing oppression.
From people who said new things, the Slobozhans silently shunned. Then these people disappeared, again leaving somewhere, and remaining at the factory, they lived on the sidelines, if they did not know how to merge into one whole with the monotonous mass of Slobozhans ...
Having lived such a life for fifty years, a person was dying.
2
So lived Mikhail Vlasov, a locksmith, hairy, gloomy, with small eyes; they looked suspiciously from under thick brows, with a wicked smile. The best locksmith at the factory and the first strongman in the settlement, he behaved rudely with his superiors and therefore earned little, every holiday he beat someone, and everyone did not like him, they were afraid. They also tried to beat him, but to no avail. When Vlasov saw that people were coming at him, he grabbed a stone, a board, a piece of iron in his hands and, legs wide apart, silently awaited the enemies. His face, overgrown with a black beard from eyes to neck, and hairy hands inspired fear in everyone. His eyes were especially feared - small, sharp, they drilled people like steel gimlets, and everyone who met their gaze felt a wild force in front of him, inaccessible to fear, ready to beat mercilessly.
- Well, go away, you bastard! he said dully. Large yellow teeth gleamed through thick hair on his face. People dispersed, cursing him with cowardly howling curses.
- Bastard! he said shortly after them, and his eyes shone with a sharp, awl-like grin. Then, holding his head defiantly straight, he followed them and called out:
Well, who wants to die?
Nobody wanted.
He spoke little, and "bastard" was his favorite word. He called them the factory authorities and the police, with him he turned to his wife:
- You, bastard, do not see - the pants are torn!
When Pavel, his son, was fourteen years old, Vlasov wanted to pull him by the hair. But Paul picked up a heavy hammer and said curtly:
- Don't touch...
- What? asked the father, advancing on the tall, thin figure of his son, like a shadow on a birch.
- Will! Pavel said. - I won't give up anymore...
And he waved his hammer.
The father looked at him, hid his hairy hands behind his back, and, grinning, said:
- Oh, you bastard...
Shortly thereafter, he told his wife:
- Don't ask me for more money, Pashka will feed you ...
“Are you going to drink everything?” she dared to ask.
"None of your business, you bastard!" I'll take my mistress...
He did not take a mistress, but from that time, for almost two years, until his death, he did not notice his son and did not speak to him.
He had a dog, as big and furry as himself. She accompanied him to the factory every day and waited at the gate every evening. On holidays, Vlasov went to go to taverns. He walked silently and, as if wanting to find someone, scratched people's faces with his eyes. And the dog followed him all day long, with his big, fluffy tail down. Returning home drunk, he sat down to supper and fed the dog from his cup. He did not beat her, did not scold her, but he never caressed her either. After dinner, he threw the dishes from the table to the floor if his wife did not have time to remove them in time, put a bottle of vodka in front of him and, leaning back against the wall, in a dull voice that made me sad, howled a song, opening his mouth wide and closing his eyes. Mournful, ugly sounds tangled in his mustache, knocking bread crumbs off them, the locksmith straightened the hair of his beard and mustache with thick fingers and sang. The words of the song were somehow incomprehensible, stretched out, the melody was reminiscent of the winter howling of wolves. He sang for the time being, while there was vodka in the bottle, and then he fell sideways on a bench or put his head on the table and slept until the whistle. The dog lay next to him.
He died of a hernia. For five days, all blackened, he tossed and turned in bed, tightly closing his eyes, and gritting his teeth. Sometimes he said to his wife:
- Give me arsenic, poison ...
The doctor ordered to give Mikhail a poultice, but said that an operation was needed, and the patient should be taken to the hospital that very day.
- Go to hell - I'll die myself! .. You bastard! Mikhail croaked.
And when the doctor left and his wife, with tears, began to persuade him to agree to the operation, he clenched his fist and, threatening her, declared:
- I'll get better - it will be worse for you!
He died in the morning, in those minutes when the whistle called for work. In the coffin lay with open mouth but his brows were furrowed angrily. His wife, son, dog, old drunkard and thief Danila Vyesovshchikov, who was driven out of the factory, and several suburban beggars were buried. The wife wept quietly and a little, Pavel did not cry. The Slobozhans, meeting the coffin on the street, stopped and, crossing themselves, said to each other:
- Tea, Pelageya is glad, dear, that he died ...
Some have corrected:
- Not dead, but dead...
When the coffin was buried, the people left, but the dog remained and, sitting on fresh ground, sniffed the grave in silence for a long time. A few days later someone killed her...
3
Two weeks after the death of his father, on Sunday, Pavel Vlasov came home very drunk. Swinging, he climbed into the front corner and, banging his fist on the table, as his father did, he shouted to his mother:
- Supper!
The mother came up to him, sat down next to him and hugged her son, pulling his head to her chest. He, resting his hand on her shoulder, resisted and shouted:
- Mom, live! ..
- You are a fool! - sadly and affectionately said the mother, overcoming his resistance.
And I will smoke! Give me my father's phone…” Pavel muttered, moving his naughty tongue heavily.
He got drunk for the first time. Vodka weakened his body, but did not extinguish his consciousness, and the question pounded in his head: “Are you drunk? Drunk?
He was embarrassed by the caresses of his mother and touched by the sadness in her eyes. He wanted to cry, and to suppress this desire, he tried to pretend to be more drunk than he was.
And his mother stroked his sweaty, tangled hair with her hand and said quietly:
"You don't need this...
He started to feel nauseous. After a violent fit of vomiting, his mother put him to bed, covering his pale forehead with a wet towel. He sobered up a little, but everything under him and around him swayed in waves, his eyelids grew heavy and, feeling a bad, bitter taste in his mouth, he looked through his eyelashes at big face mother and thought incoherently:
“Looks like it’s too early for me. Others drink and - nothing, but I feel sick ... "
- What kind of breadwinner will you be to me if you start drinking ...
Closing his eyes tightly, he said:
Everyone drinks...
Mother sighed heavily. He was right. She herself knew that, apart from the tavern, people have nowhere to draw joy. But still she said:
- Don't drink! For you, as much as necessary, father drank. And he tormented me enough ... so you would feel sorry for your mother, huh?
Listening to sad, soft words, Pavel recalled that during the life of his father, his mother was invisible in the house, silent and always lived in anxious expectation of beatings. Avoiding meetings with his father, he was rarely at home recent times, weaned from his mother and now, gradually sobering up, looked at her intently.
She was tall, slightly stooped, her body, shattered by long work and her husband's beatings, moved silently and somehow sideways, as if she was always afraid to hurt something. wide, Oval face, wrinkled and puffy, was illuminated by dark eyes, anxiously sad, like those of most women in the suburbs. There was a deep scar above her right eyebrow; this gave her face an expression as if she had always listened fearfully. Gray strands gleamed in thick dark hair. She was all soft, sad, submissive...
And tears slowly flowed down her cheeks.
- Do not Cry! – quietly asked son. - Give me a drink.
- I'll bring you ice water ...
But when she returned, he was already asleep. She stood over it for a minute, the ladle in her hand trembled, and the ice beat softly against the tin. Putting the ladle on the table, she silently knelt before the images. The sounds of drunken life beat against the glass of the windows. In the darkness and dampness of the autumn evening, the harmonica squealed, someone sang loudly, someone cursed with rotten words, the irritated, tired voices of women sounded alarming ...
Life in the small house of the Vlasovs flowed more quietly and calmly than before, and somewhat differently than anywhere else in the settlement. Their house stood on the edge of the settlement, at a low but steep descent to the swamp. A third of the house was occupied by the kitchen and a small room, separated from it by a thin partition, in which the mother slept. The remaining two-thirds square room with two windows; in one corner of it is Pavel's bed, in the front there is a table and two benches. A few chairs, a chest of drawers for linen, a small mirror on it, a chest with a dress, a clock on the wall and two icons in the corner - that's all.
Paul did everything he had to young guy: bought an accordion, a shirt with a starched chest, a bright tie, galoshes, a cane and became the same as all teenagers of his years. He went to parties, learned to dance the square dance and the polka, returned home drunk on holidays and always suffered greatly from vodka. The next morning I had a headache, suffered from heartburn, my face was pale and dull.
One day his mother asked him:
- Well, did you have fun yesterday?
He replied with sullen irritation:
- Tosca is green! I'd rather fish. Or I'll buy myself a gun.
He worked diligently, without absenteeism and fines, he was silent, and his blue, large, like his mother's eyes looked displeased. He did not buy himself a gun and did not begin to fish, but he noticeably began to deviate from the beaten path of everyone: he attended parties less often and, although he went out somewhere on holidays, he returned sober. The mother, vigilantly watching him, saw that her son's swarthy face was becoming sharper, his eyes were looking more and more seriously, and his lips were compressed strangely sternly. It seemed that he was silently angry at something, or he was sucked by the disease. His comrades used to come to see him, now, not finding him at home, they stopped coming. The mother was pleased to see that her son was becoming different from the factory youth, but when she noticed that he was concentrated and stubbornly swimming somewhere aside from the dark stream of life, this aroused in her soul a feeling of vague fear.
“Perhaps you are unwell, Pavlusha?” she asked him sometimes.
- No, I'm fine! he answered.
- You are very skinny! Sighing, her mother said. He began to bring books and tried to read them unnoticed, and after reading, he hid them somewhere. Sometimes he wrote out something from books on a separate piece of paper and also hid it ...
They spoke little and saw little of each other. In the morning he silently drank tea and went to work, at noon he appeared for dinner, at the table they exchanged insignificant words, and again he disappeared until the evening. And in the evening he thoroughly washed himself, ate supper, and then read his books for a long time. On holidays, he left early in the morning and returned late at night. She knew that he goes to the city, goes to the theater there, but no one came to him from the city. It seemed to her that over time her son spoke less and less, and, at the same time, she noticed that sometimes he used some new words that were incomprehensible to her, and her usual rough and harsh expressions fell out of his speech. There were many little things in his behavior that attracted her attention: he gave up panache, began to take more care of the cleanliness of his body and dress, moved more freely, more dexterously, and, becoming outwardly simpler, softer, aroused anxious attention in his mother. And there was something new in his attitude to his mother: he sometimes swept the floor in the room, he made his own bed on holidays, in general he tried to make her work easier. No one in the community did this.
Once he brought and hung a picture on the wall - three people, talking, walked somewhere easily and cheerfully.
It is the risen Christ going to Emmaus! Pavel explained.
Mother liked the picture, but she thought: “You revere Christ, but you don’t go to church…”
There were more and more books on the shelf, beautifully made to Pavel by a fellow carpenter. The room looked pleasant.
He called her “you” and called her “mother”, but sometimes, suddenly, he turned to her affectionately:
“You, mother, please don’t worry, I’ll be back home late…”
She liked it, in his words she felt something serious and strong.
But her anxiety grew. Not becoming clearer from time to time, it tickled my heart more and more sharply with a premonition of something unusual. Sometimes the mother was dissatisfied with her son, she thought: “All people are like people, and he is like a monk. It's very strict. It's not for years…”
Sometimes she thought: “Maybe he got himself some kind of girl?”
But fussing with girls requires money, and he gave her almost all of his earnings.
Weeks, months passed like that, and two years of a strange, silent life, full of vague thoughts and ever-increasing fears, passed imperceptibly.
4
One day, after dinner, Pavel lowered the curtain on the window, sat down in a corner and began to read, hanging a tin lamp on the wall above his head. The mother cleared away the dishes and, coming out of the kitchen, cautiously approached him. He lifted his head and looked inquiringly into her face.
- Nothing, Pasha, it's me! she said hurriedly and left, moving her eyebrows in confusion. But after standing in the middle of the kitchen for a minute, motionless, thoughtful, preoccupied, she washed her hands cleanly and again went out to her son.
“I want to ask you,” she said softly, “what are you reading all the time?
He folded the book.
- You - sit down, mother ...
His mother sank heavily beside him and straightened up, alert, expecting something important.
Without looking at her, softly and for some reason very sternly, Pavel spoke:
I read forbidden books. They are forbidden to read because they tell the truth about ours, working life... They are printed quietly, secretly, and if they are found with me, they will put me in jail - in jail because I want to know the truth. Understood?
It suddenly became difficult for her to breathe. Opening her eyes wide, she looked at her son, he seemed alien to her. He had a different voice - lower, thicker and more resonant. He plucked his thin, fluffy mustache with his fingers and strangely, frowningly looked somewhere in the corner. She was afraid for her son and felt sorry for him.
- Why are you doing this, Pasha? she said. He raised his head, looked at her, and quietly, calmly answered:
- I want to know the truth.
His voice was soft but firm, and his eyes shone stubbornly. She realized in her heart that her son had doomed himself forever to something secret and terrible. Everything in life seemed inevitable to her, she was accustomed to obey without thinking, and now she only wept softly, unable to find words in her heart, compressed by grief and longing.
- Do not Cry! - Pavel spoke affectionately and quietly, and it seemed to her that he was saying goodbye. Think about the kind of life we live. You are forty years old, have you lived? Your father beat you - I now understand that he took out his grief on your sides - the grief of his life; it crushed him, but he did not understand - where did it come from? He worked for thirty years, started working when the whole factory was placed in two buildings, and now there are seven of them!
She listened to him with fear and avidity. The son's eyes burned beautifully and brightly; leaning his chest on the table, he moved closer to her and spoke directly to her face, wet with tears, his first speech about the truth, understood by him. With all the strength of youth and the ardor of a student, proud of knowledge, piously believing in their truth, he spoke about what was clear to him - he spoke not so much for his mother, as testing himself. Sometimes he stopped, unable to find words, and then he saw in front of him a distressed face, on which dimly shone clouded with tears, kind eyes. They looked with fear, with bewilderment. He felt sorry for his mother, he began to talk again, but about her, about her life.
What joys did you know? he asked. - How can you remember the past?
She listened and shook her head sadly, feeling something new, unknown to her, mournful and joyful - it gently caressed her sore heart. It was the first time she had heard such speeches about herself, about her life, and they awakened in her long dormant, indistinct thoughts, quietly inflated the extinguished feelings of vague dissatisfaction with life - thoughts and feelings of distant youth. She talked about life with her friends, talked for a long time, about everything, but everyone - including herself - only complained, no one explained why life was so hard and difficult. And now her son is sitting in front of her, and what his eyes, face, words say - all this touches the heart, filling him with a sense of pride for his son, who correctly understood the life of his mother, tells her about her suffering, pities her .
Mothers are not sorry.
She knew it. Everything the son said about women's life, - was the bitter familiar truth, and in her chest a ball of sensations fluttered softly, warming her more and more with an unfamiliar caress.
– What do you want to do? she asked, interrupting his speech.
Learn and then teach others. We workers need to learn. We must find out, we must understand why life is so hard for us.
It was sweet for her to see that Blue eyes, always serious and strict, now burned so softly and affectionately. A satisfied, quiet smile appeared on her lips, although tears still trembled in the wrinkles of her cheeks. An ambivalent sense of pride in her son, who sees the grief of life so well, wavered in her, but she could not forget about his youth and that he did not speak like everyone else, that he alone decided to enter into an argument with this habitual for everyone - and for her, life. She wanted to tell him, "Darling, what can you do?"
But she was afraid to prevent herself from admiring her son, who suddenly opened up to her so smart ... although a little alien to her.
Pavel saw the smile on his mother's lips, the attention on her face, the love in her eyes; it seemed to him that he made her understand her truth, and youthful pride, by the power of the word, raised his faith in himself. Overwhelmed by excitement, he spoke, now smiling, now knitting his eyebrows, sometimes hatred sounded in his words, and when the mother heard her ringing, harsh words, she, frightened, shook her head and quietly asked her son:
Is that right, Pasha?
- So! He answered firmly and strongly. And he told her about people who, wishing the people well, sowed the truth in it, and for this the enemies of life caught them like animals, put them in prisons, sent them to hard labor ...
I have seen such people! he exclaimed hotly. - This the best people on the ground!
These people aroused fear in her, she again wanted to ask her son: “Is it so?”
But she did not dare, and, dying, she listened to stories about people, incomprehensible to her, who had taught her son to speak and think so dangerously for him. Finally she told him:
- Soon it will be dawn, if you lay down, fell asleep!
Yes, I'm going to bed now! he agreed. Leaning towards her, he asked: “Do you understand me?
- Understood! Sighing, she replied. Tears rolled down from her eyes again, and with a sob, she added:
- You will be lost!
He got up, walked around the room, then said:
- Well, now you know what I do, where I go, I told you everything! I ask you, mother, if you love me, do not bother me! ..
- You are my dove! - she exclaimed. “Perhaps it would be better for me not to know anything!”
He took her hand and squeezed it tightly in his.
She was shocked by the word "mother" he said with ardent force, and this handshake, new and strange.
"I won't do anything!" she said in a broken voice. “Just take care of yourself, take care of yourself!”
Not knowing what to watch out for, she added wistfully:
- You're losing weight...
And, embracing his strong, slender body with a caressing, warm look, she spoke hastily and quietly:
- God is with you! Live as you wish, I will not interfere with you. I ask only one thing - do not talk to people without fear! It is necessary to be afraid of people - everyone hates each other! Live in greed, live in jealousy. Everyone is happy to do evil. When you begin to rebuke and judge them, they will hate you and destroy you!
The son stood at the door, listening to the dreary speech, and when the mother had finished, he said, smiling:
People are bad, yes. But when I found out that there is truth in the world, people became better! ..
He smiled again and continued:
“I don’t understand how it happened! Since childhood, I was afraid of everyone, I began to grow up - I began to hate, which ones for meanness, which ones - I don’t know why, it’s so simple! And now everything stood up differently for me - it's a pity for everyone, or what? I can’t understand, but my heart became softer when I found out that not everyone is to blame for their dirt ...
He fell silent, as if listening to something in himself, then quietly and thoughtfully said:
“This is how the truth breathes!
She looked at him and said softly:
- Dangerously you have changed, oh my God!
When he lay down and fell asleep, his mother carefully got up from her bed and quietly approached him. Pavel lay with his chest up, and his dark, stubborn and stern face was clearly drawn on the white pillow. Pressing her hands to her chest, his mother, barefoot and in only a shirt, stood by his bed, her lips moved soundlessly, and big muddy tears flowed from her eyes slowly and evenly one after another.
Similar material:
Topic: “A man has one mother, he has one motherland”
Goals:
General - to bring students to the understanding that a person,
He who betrays his homeland betrays his own mother
private - to analyze M. Gorky's fairy tale "Mother
Traitor” and “Mother’s Ballad” by L. Tatyanicheva;
Answer the questions:
Is it possible to remain a faithful son, becoming a traitor to the Motherland?
Is it possible to change the Motherland without changing the mother?
Equipment for the lesson: texts of the fairy tale "The Mother of the Traitor", "Ballads of the Mother", reproductions of paintings.
Epigraph to the lesson:
It's easier to punish your heart
It is easier with the mind to be in discord.
With maternal grief
Compare
You can only mother's grief ...L. Tatyanicheva
Lesson structure:
1. Call of interest.
2. Reading and analytical activities based on the fairy tale Mother of the Traitor.
3. Reading and analytical activity on the poem
L. Tatyanicheva "The Ballad of the Mother."
During the classes:
1. The word of the teacher.
What can be in the world more sacred than the name mothers!..
A person who has not yet taken a step on the ground and is just starting to babble, uncertainly and diligently adds up the syllables “ma-ma” and, feeling his luck, laughs, happy ...
The grain grower, blackened from sleepless work, presses to his blackened lips a handful of the same dark earth, which has given birth to both rye and wheat, and says gratefully: “Thank you, nurse-mother ...”
A soldier who stumbled upon an oncoming fragment and fell to the ground, with a weakening hand, sends the last bullet to the enemy: “For the Motherland!”
All the most precious shrines are named and illuminated by the name of the mother, because the very concept of life is connected with this name.
2 folk wisdom the word "mother" put next to another great word - "Motherland".
What proverbs about these words do you know?
Motherland is the mother of all mothers.
Mother nature is the beginning of all beginnings.
One per person own mother, he has one and his homeland
Native land is a mother, know how to stand up for her.
In the difficult years of the war, in the minds of the people, the concepts of "Motherland" and "mother" merge into one. Mothers bless their sons for the battle to save the Motherland.
Is it possible to remain a faithful son, becoming a traitor to the Motherland? Is it possible to change the Motherland without changing the mother?
We will try to answer these questions after we read one chapter from "Tales of Italy" by M. Gorky and "The Ballad of the Mother" by L. Tatyanicheva.
II. Reading and analytical activities based on M. Gorky's fairy tale "The Mother of the Traitor".
“Tales about Italy” are prefaced with the words of G.H. Andersen: “There are no fairy tales better than those that life itself creates.”
Several tales from this book are dedicated to mothers: “Glory to the mother!”, “Mother of the traitor”, “Nuncha”. All of them sing of the ever-existing and eternal feeling of motherhood.
2. Commented reading of the fairy tale "The mother of the traitor." (During the reading, a reference plan and unfamiliar words are explained).
1. City surrounded by enemies.
2. A woman wrapped in a cloak.
3. Meeting Marianne with another woman, grieving over her dead son.
4. Care of Marianne from the city.
5. Meeting with the son and trying to reason with him.
6. Retribution for betrayal.
3. Analytical conversation.
Why did Marianne become a stranger in her hometown? (Because her son is a traitor, the leader of the enemies who besieged the city).
Find and read the passage that talks about the feelings of the mother for the betrayal of her son.
Why did Marianne walk around the city only at night?
What made Marianna leave the city? (In the city they took her for death itself, they didn’t want to communicate with her, but the main thing that made her leave the city was that she was a “citizen and mother” and she didn’t want to hear more curses against her son).
How did she try to awaken in her son a feeling of love for the Motherland, her city, repentance for betrayal? (She tried to persuade him and said that this was his hometown, where "every stone knows and remembers you as a child").
Why couldn't the mother convince her son to lift the siege and stop sowing death? (The son thought of nothing but fame).
How did mother save her hometown? (She killed her son by plunging a knife into his heart - "because she knew where her son's heart was beating").
Why did she plunge the same knife into her heart? (It hurt her and was torn between love for the Motherland and her son, because the son killed, and “Mother is always against death; the hand that introduces death into people’s homes is hateful and hostile”),
III. Reading and analytical activities based on the poem by L. Tatyanicheva "The Ballad of the Mother".
As an epigraph to her ballad, Lyudmila Tatyanicheva took lines from newspapers of the war years: “Here is a loaded gun. Dali faithful people. I will leave the hut, and you shoot yourself. Or kill me.” The fascist hireling did not have the courage to disobey his mother. He shot himself."
2. Reading the ballad by the teacher.
L. Tatyanicheva
BALLAD ABOUT A PARTISAN
Burgomaster's house
In the middle of the village
Like unexpected thunder
The mother came to the son.
Stood at the door
At the bottom of the dawn:
A mournful look is heavy:
Mother put.
And the revolver lies
Rounding your eye.
Right judgment to administer
The mother took it upon herself.
What will the son decide?
At this terrible hour?
He takes a revolver
Like a beast, enraged.
He yells at his mother:
Blood taste in the mouth.
Drawn by death
A line in front of him.
The mother is standing.
How carved.
And looks straight ahead
And in the eyes of reproach.
And in the eyes of the storm
The power is hidden
And more tears
Unspilled…
The ray of dawn has grown
In a red column of fire.
The son shuddered.
Like a beaten animal.
He cocked a tight trigger.
Oh, and a steep threshold!
And there was thunder
Shaking the house.
... A shaky step is not fast.
Fractional heart beat.
Partisan Forest
Noisy around.
Frost whined
Dog on a leash.
The mother cries without tears:
The tears are gone!
Who came to judge in the burgomaster's house? ("The right court to administer the mother herself undertook")
What do you understand by the expression "justice"? (This is a court of honor, conscience, it is not subject to anyone, because it is right.)
How did the son meet his mother? (He was furious because his mother made a demand: "Or kill me, or die yourself!")
What words characterize the state of a traitor son? (The son is "furious", "silent, like a wounded beast", "I can't live now")
What lines show that her mission is difficult for the mother? (In the eyes of the mother
“thunderstorm, power, hidden, and even an unshed tear ...”)
What means of expression does the author use to convey the power of the mother's demand? (At the beginning of the poem, when the mother came to her son’s house, the dawn was busy - “She stood at the door on the hem of the dawn”, and then her demands become categorical, and the dawn turns “into a red pillar of fire”)
How can we understand that the betrayal of a son is a terrible grief for a mother? (After the death of her son, “the mother cries without tears: the tears are frozen!”)
IV. Output.
At all times, people associate the word "mother" with the word "motherland". One cannot remain a loving and devoted son without being a devoted son of one's Motherland. And you can not remain a real citizen, forgetting or betraying his own mother.
V. Creative work.
Write an essay "My attitude to the act of the mother."
"A hero is the one who creates life in spite of death..." (according to M. Gorky's story "The Traitor's Mother")
Methods: five lines - characteristics (syncwines), directed reading, double entry diary, essay. (The class is divided into 4 groups of 5-6 people..
Equipment: printouts of text for each student, presentation, sheets, markers.
During the classes
I. Stimulation of interest in learning.
Every day you are escorted to classes, the same person takes care of you - your mother. Everyone can talk about mom endlessly. The story of M. Gorky, which is included in the cycle of stories “Tales of Italy” under number XI, begins with a similar phrase. We will read the story, but not to the end. The ending is up to you to write.
1A. Reading a story. (Up to 6 parts).
The task: - Try to write the ending of this piece.
(They write for 5 minutes, then read, the options are posted on the board).
There is a discussion.
II. Implementation of the doctrine. Tasks for the 1st part.
You can talk about Mothers endlessly.
For several weeks now the city had been surrounded by a close ring of enemies clad in iron; bonfires were lit at night, and the fire looked from the black darkness at the walls of the city with many red eyes - they glowed maliciously, and this burning burning evoked gloomy thoughts in the besieged city. From the walls they saw how the enemy's noose tightened more and more tightly, how their black shadows flickered around the lights; the neighing of well-fed horses was heard, the ringing of weapons, loud laughter was heard, cheerful songs of people confident of victory were heard - and what is more painful to hear than the laughter and songs of the enemy?
All the streams that fed the city with water were thrown by the enemies with corpses, they burned the vineyards around the walls, trampled the fields, cut down the gardens - the city was open on all sides, and almost every day the cannons and muskets of the enemies showered it with iron and lead. Detachments of soldiers, exhausted by battles, half-starved, marched sullenly along the narrow streets of the city; the groans of the wounded, the cries of delirium, the prayers of women and the crying of children poured out from the windows of the houses. They talked depressedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, listened intently - were the enemies going to attack? “...” Not expecting help, exhausted by labor and hunger, people lost hope every day. They were afraid to light fires in the houses, thick darkness flooded the streets, and inIn this darkness, like a fish in the depths of a river, a woman silently flickered, her head wrapped in a black cloak. When people saw her, they asked each other:
That's her?
She is! - and hid in niches under the gates or, with lowered heads, silently ran past her, and the patrol leaders warned her sternly: “Are you out on the street again, Monna Marianne? Look, you can be killed, and no one will look for the culprit...”. She straightened up, waited, but the patrol passed by, not daring or disdaining to raise a hand against her; armed men walked around her like a corpse, but she remained in the darkness and again quietly, alone, walked somewhere, from street to street, mute and black, like the embodiment of the misfortunes of the city, and all around, pursuing her, mournful sounds crawled: groans, weeping, prayers and gloomy talk of soldiers who have lost hope of victory.
What is the title of part 1? (Unbearable life in the ring of enemies.)
Make up the characteristics - five lines according to the text of Part I by groups:
What questions arise when reading the 1st part?
(What is this woman who is known and shunned by all the people of the besieged city?)
Reading the 2nd part.
A citizen and mother, she thought about her son and homeland: at the head of the people who destroyed the city was her son, a cheerful and ruthless handsome man; until recently, she looked at him with pride, as her precious gift to her homeland, as a good force born by her to help the people of the city - the nest where she was born herself, gave birth and nursed him. Hundreds of inseparable threads connected her heart with ancient stones, of which her ancestors built houses and laid the walls of the city, with the land where the bones of her blood lay, with legends, songs and hopes of people - the mother of the person closest to him lost the heart and cried: it was like scales, but, weighing love for her son and city , could not understand - what is easier, what is harder.
So she walked the streets at night, and many, not recognizing her, were frightened, mistaking the black figure for the personification of death, close to everyone, and recognizing, they silently moved away from the mother of the traitor.
But one day, in a deaf corner, near the city wall, she saw another woman: kneeling beside a corpse, motionless, like a piece of earth, she prayed, raising her mournful face to the stars. The traitor's mother asked:
- Husband?
- No.
- Brother?
- A son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one is today, - and, rising from her knees, the mother of the murdered man meekly said:
– Madonna sees everything, knows everything, and I thank her!
- For what? the first one asked, and she answered her:
- Now that he honestly died fighting for his homeland, I can say that he aroused fear in me: frivolous, he loved too much happy life, and it was fearful that for this he would betray the city, as did the son of Marianne, the enemy of God and people, the leader of our enemies, damn him, damn the womb that carried him! ..
Covering her face, Marianne walked away, and in the morning...
What is the name of this part? Write for the name any phrase suitable for the name. (The heart of a mother is like a scale; the mother of a traitor is like the personification of death.)
– What do you think, what can happen after that, because it ends with the word “and in the morning...”?
Reading the 3rd part.
The next day, the mother appeared to the defenders of the city and said:
- Either kill me because my son became your enemy, or open the gate for me, I will go to him ...
They have replyed:
- You are a person, and the homeland should be dear to you; your son is as much an enemy to you as he is to each of us.
- I am a mother, I love him and consider myself guilty that he is what he has become.
Then they began to consult what to do with her, and decided:
- By honor - we cannot kill you for the sin of your son, we know that you could not inspire him with this terrible sin, and we can guess how you must suffer. But the city does not need you even as a hostage - your son does not care about you, we think he has forgotten you, the devil - and - here is your punishment if you think you deserve it! It seems to us more terrible than death!
- Yes! - she said. - It's scarier!
They opened the gates in front of her, let her out of the city and watched for a long time from the wall as she walked along her native land, thickly saturated with the blood spilled by her son: she walked slowly, with great difficulty tearing her legs off this land, bowing to the corpses of the defenders of the city, disgustedly pushing away a broken weapon with their foot, mothers hate the weapon of attack, recognizing only that which protects life.
She seemed to be carrying in her hands under a cloak a bowl full of moisture, and was afraid to spill it; moving away, she became smaller and smaller, and those who looked at her from the wall, it seemed as if despondency and hopelessness were moving away from them along with her. They saw how she stopped halfway and, throwing off the hood of her cloak, looked at the city for a long time, and there, in the camp of the enemies, they noticed her, alone in the middle of the field, and, slowly, carefully, black figures like her approached her. .
What would you call this part? (Punishment is worse than death; Mothers recognize only weapons that protect life; hard road to son.)
Reading the 4th part.
They approached and asked - who is she, where is she going?
“Your leader is my son,” she said, and not one of the soldiers doubted it. They walked beside her, speaking in praise of how smart and brave her son was. She listened to them, proudly raising her head, and was not surprised - her son should be like that!
And here she is in front of a man whom she knew nine months before his birth, in front of one whom she never felt outside her heart - he is in silk and velvet before her, and his weapon is in precious ones. Everything is as it should be; this is how she saw him many times in her dreams - rich, famous and loved.
- Mother! he said, kissing her hands. - You came to me, so you understood me, and tomorrow I will take this damned city!
“Where you were born,” she reminded him.
Intoxicated by his exploits, maddened by the thirst for even greater glory, he spoke to her with the impudent ardor of youth:
-I was born in the world and for the world, to amaze him with surprise! I spared this city for your sake - it is like a thorn in my foot and prevents me from progressing to glory as quickly as I want it. But now - tomorrow - I will destroy the nest of stubborn!
Where every stone knows and remembers you as a child,” she said.
Stones are dumb unless a man makes them speak - let the mountains speak of me, that's what I want!
But - people? she asked.
Oh yes, I remember them, mother! And I need them, because only in the memory of people are heroes immortal! She said:
A hero is one who creates life in spite of death, who conquers death...
No! he objected. He who destroys is as glorious as he who builds cities. Look - we do not know whether Aeneas or Romulus built Rome, but the name of Alaric and other heroes who destroyed this city is known for sure.
Who survived all the names, reminded the mother.
So he spoke to her until sunset, she interrupted his crazy speeches less and less, and her proud head sank lower and lower.
Mother creates, she protects, and to speak about destruction in front of her means to speak against her, but he did not know this and denied the meaning of her life.
Mother is always against death; the hand that brings death into people's dwellings is hateful and hostile to Mothers - her son did not see this, blinded by the cold glare of glory that kills the heart. And he did not know that the Mother is an animal as smart, ruthless as fearless, when it comes to the life that she, the Mother, creates and protects.
She sat bent over, and through the open canvas of the leader’s rich tent she could see the city, where she first experienced the sweet trembling of conception and the painful convulsions of the birth of a child who now wants to destroy.
The crimson rays of the sun poured blood over the walls and towers of the city, the glass of the windows shone ominously, the whole city seemed wounded, and through hundreds of wounds the red juice of life flowed; time passed, and now the city began to turn black, like a corpse, and, like funeral candles, the stars lit up above it.
She saw them in dark houses, where they were afraid to light a fire so as not to attract the attention of enemies, in streets full of darkness, the smell of corpses, the suppressed whispers of people awaiting death - she saw everything and everyone; familiar and dear stood close before her, silently awaiting her decision, and she felt herself a mother to all the people of her city. From the black peaks of the mountains, clouds descended into the valley and, like winged horses, flew to the city, doomed to death.
“Perhaps we will fall on him in the night,” her son said, if the night was dark enough! It is inconvenient to kill when the sun looks into the eyes and the glare of the weapon blinds them - there are always many wrong blows, - he said, examining his sword. The mother told him:
- Come here, lay your head on my chest, rest, remembering how cheerful and kind you were as a child and how everyone loved you ...
He obeyed, lay down on his knees beside her and closed his eyes, saying:
I love only glory and you, because you gave birth to me the way I am.
What about women? she asked, leaning over him.
There are a lot of them, they quickly get bored, like everything is too sweet. She asked him for the last time:
And you don't want to have kids?
What for? To kill them? Someone like me will kill them, and it will hurt me, and then I will be old and weak to avenge them.
You are beautiful, but sterile as lightning,” she said with a sigh.
- Yes, like lightning ... - he answered, smiling, and dozed off on his mother's chest, like a child.
What were you thinking while reading this part of the text? What did you experience?
What would you call this part? (The cold glare of glory that kills the heart.)
Describe the woman's son and the city that is about to be destroyed:
What do you think a mother will do to protect her from her own son favorite city? (Students talk about the possible actions of the mother.)
Why does a mother need her son to calm down and fall asleep? What do you think about it?
Reading the 5th part.
Then she, covering him with her black cloak, stuck a knife into his heart, and he, shuddering, immediately died - after all, she knew well where her son's heart was beating. And, throwing the corpse from her knees at the feet of the astonished guard, she said towards the city:
- Man - I did everything I could for the motherland; Mother - I stay with my son! It's too late for me to give birth to another, nobody needs my life.
And the same knife, still warm from his blood - her blood - she plunged with a firm hand into her chest and also correctly hit the heart - if it hurts, it is easy to hit it.
What impression did this story make on you?
III. Reflection.
What is the name of this story?
Write a cinquain on the topic "Mom", "Life" or
Essay "What is the meaning of human life?"
Students write 5-10 minutes, read each other's essays.
One of the students, selected from the group, reads out his work in front of the "Author's chair" class.
What is the meaning of human life?
Why does a person live? Very often, life is compared to a road that must be passed with dignity from beginning to end, from birth to death. There are stations at different times on this road: childhood, adolescence, youth, adulthood, old age. How to go this way? What is its ultimate goal? What do you need to be so that people remember kind word? Probably the greatest purpose of life is to benefit people, near and far, to increase the good in those around us. And goodness is above all the happiness of all people. It is made up of many things, and every time life sets a task for a person that needs to be able to solve.
M. Gorky wrote about the suffering of the mother who raised her son - a traitor in the story "The Mother of the Traitor". The mother “creates and protects life”, dreams of the glory and well-being of her son. The woman feels guilty that she raised a hard-hearted proud man who wants to destroy his native city. Unable to reason, convince, stop her son, the mother kills him first, and then herself. This double kill gives life hometown, convinces enemies of the senselessness of destruction, restores good name mother protecting LIFE.
So, the path to good - this is the meaning of human life. To be true to your family, friends, city, country, people - walk this path with dignity.
Thanks to everyone for their frankness, we will continue talking about the work of M. Gorky in the next lesson, to which you are invited to readstory "Old Woman Izergil" - Homework.
