Station buffet. Online reading book golden rose old man in station buffet

Current page: 9 (the book has a total of 17 pages)

Font:

100% +

Of course, Tolstoy was largely an improviser. His thought was ahead of his hand.

All writers must be aware of that wonderful state during work, when a new thought or picture appears suddenly, as if bursting like flashes to the surface from the depths of consciousness. If they are not immediately written down, then they can also disappear without a trace.

There is light, awe in them, but they are fragile, like dreams. Those dreams that we remember only for a fraction of a second after waking up, but immediately forget. No matter how much we suffer and no matter how hard we try to remember them later, we fail. From these dreams, only the feeling of something extraordinary, mysterious, something “wondrous,” as Gogol would say, remains.

We must have time to write it down. The slightest delay - and the thought, flashing, will disappear.

Perhaps that is why many writers cannot write on narrow strips of paper, on galleys, as journalists do. You can't take your hand off the paper too often, because even this negligible delay of a fraction of a second can be disastrous. Obviously, the work of consciousness is being carried out with fantastic speed.

The French poet Beranger wrote his songs in cheap cafes. And Ehrenburg, as far as I know, also liked to write in cafes. It's clear. Because there is no better loneliness than among a lively crowd, unless, of course, no one and nothing directly tears you off your thoughts and encroaches on your concentration.

Andersen loved to invent his own fairy tales in the woods. He had good, very strong eyesight. Therefore, he could examine a piece of bark or an old pine cone and see on them, as through a magnifying lens, such details, from which a fairy tale was easily composed.

In general, everything in the forest - every mossy stump and every red robber ant that drags, like a kidnapped, charming princess, a small midge with transparent green wings - all this can turn into a fairy tale.

I would not like to talk about my own literary experience. This is unlikely to add anything significant to what has already been said. But still I will add a few words from myself.

If we want to achieve the highest flowering of our literature, then we must understand that the most fruitful form of social activity of a writer is his creative work... The work of the writer, hidden from everyone until the book is published, turns after its publication into a common human affair.

It is necessary to save the time, effort and talent of writers, and not exchange them for exhausting near-literary fuss and meetings.

A writer, when he is working, needs calmness and, if possible, lack of worries. If some, even distant, trouble awaits ahead, then it is better not to take up the manuscript. The pen will fall out of hand, or tortured empty words will creep out from under it.

Several times in my life I have worked with a light heart, focused and unhurried.

Once I was sailing in winter on a completely empty motor ship from Batum to Odessa. The sea was gray, cold, quiet. The shores were drowning in ashy haze. Heavy clouds, as if in a lethargic dream, lay on the ridges of distant mountains.

I wrote in the cabin, sometimes got up, went up to the window, looked at the coast. Mighty machines sang softly in the iron womb of the motor ship. Seagulls squeaked. It was easy to write. Nobody could take me away from my favorite thoughts. I didn't have to think about anything, absolutely nothing, except for the story that I was writing. I felt it as the greatest happiness. The open sea protected me from all obstacles.

And the consciousness of movement in space, the vague anticipation of the port cities where we had to enter, the premonition, perhaps, of some kind of tireless and short meetings, also helped a lot to work.

The motor ship cut the pale winter water with a steel stem, and it seemed to me that it was carrying me to inevitable happiness. So it seemed to me, obviously, because the story was a success.

And I also remember how easy it was to work on the mezzanine of a country house, in the fall, alone, under the crackling of a candle.

A dark and windless September night surrounded me and, like the sea, protected me from all obstacles.

It's hard to say why, but it helped a lot to write the consciousness that behind the wall all night long flies around the old village garden... I thought of him as a living being. He was silent and patiently waited for the time when I would go to the well in the late evening to fetch water for the kettle. Perhaps it was easier for him to endure this endless night when he heard the sound of a bucket and the steps of a man.

But, in any case, the feeling of a lonely garden and cold forests stretching tens of kilometers beyond the outskirts, forest lakes, where on such a night, of course, there cannot be a single human soul, but only the stars are reflected in the water, as a hundred and a thousand years ago - this feeling helped me. Perhaps I can say that in these autumn evenings I was really happy.

It is good to write when there is something interesting, joyful, beloved ahead of you, even such a trifle as fishing under black willows on a distant river oxbow.

Old man in the station buffet

A thin old man with prickly stubble on his face was sitting in the corner of the station buffet in Majori. Winter squalls swept over the Gulf of Riga with hanging stripes. There was thick ice along the coast. Through the snowy smoke one could hear the rumbling of the surf, hitting the solid ice rim.

The old man went into the buffet, obviously to warm up. He ordered nothing and sat dejectedly on the wooden sofa, his hands in the sleeves of a clumsily patched fisherman's jacket.

A white furry dog ​​came with the old man. She sat huddled against his leg and trembled.

Nearby at the table, young people with tight, red heads were drinking beer noisily. The snow was melting on their hats. Melt water dripped into glasses of beer and smoked sausage sandwiches. But the young people argued about football match and did not pay attention to it.

When one of the young men took a sandwich and bit off half at once, the dog could not stand it. She went to the table, stood on her hind legs and, curryingly, began to look into the young man's mouth.

- Petit! The old man called softly. - Shame on you! Why are you bothering people, Petit?

But Petya continued to stand, and only her front paws were trembling and drooping from fatigue all the time. When they touched the wet belly, the dog caught himself and lifted them up again.

But the young people did not notice her. They were carried away by the conversation and now and then poured cold beer into their glasses.

Snow covered the windows, and a shiver ran down my spine at the sight of people drinking completely ice-cold beer in such a cold.

- Petit! The old man called again. - And Petit! Come here!

The dog quickly wagged its tail several times, as if making it clear to the old man that she hears him and apologizes, but she cannot help herself. She did not look at the old man and even averted her eyes to a completely different direction. She seemed to be saying: “I myself know that this is not good. But you can’t buy me a sandwich like that. ”

- Eh, Petit! Petit! - the old man said in a whisper, and his voice trembled slightly with chagrin.

Petya wagged her tail again and casually, pleadingly looked at the old man. She kind of asked him not to call him anymore and not to shame him, because she herself is not good at heart and she, if not for the extreme, would never, of course, ask strangers.

Finally one of the young men, cheekbones, wearing a green hat, noticed the dog.

- You ask, you bitch? - he asked. - Where is your master?

Petya happily wagged her tail, glanced at the old man and even screamed a little.

- What are you, citizen! - said the young man. - Since you keep the dog, so should feed. And it turns out uncivilized. The dog begs for alms from you. Begging is prohibited by law in our country.

The young people burst out laughing.

- Well, soaked it, Valka! - Shouted one of them and threw a piece of sausage to the dog.

- Petit, don't you dare! - shouted the old man. His weathered face and lean, sinewy neck flushed.

The dog shrank and, drooping its tail, went up to the old man, without even looking at the sausage.

- Don't you dare take a crumb from them! - said the old man.

He began frantically rummaging in his pockets, took out some silver and copper coins and counted them in his palm, blowing away the debris that had stuck to the coins. His fingers were trembling.

- Still offended! - said the high-cheeked young man. - What an independent, please tell me.

- Oh, leave him! What did you get it for! One of his comrades said conciliatoryly, pouring beer for everyone.

The old man did not say a word. He walked over to the counter and put some coins on the wet counter.

- One sandwich! He said hoarsely.

The dog stood next to him, tail between his legs.

The saleswoman served the old man two sandwiches on a plate.

- One! - said the old man.

- Take it! The saleswoman said quietly. - I will not go broke on you ...

- Paldies! - said the old man. - Thanks!

He took the sandwiches and walked out onto the platform. There was no one there. One flurry passed, the second came up, but was still far on the horizon. Even weak sunlight fell on the white forests beyond the Lielupa River.

The old man sat down on the bench, gave one sandwich to Petit, and wrapped the other in a gray handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

The dog ate convulsively, and the old man, looking at it, said:

- Oh, Petit, Petit! Silly dog!

But the dog did not listen to him. She only ate. The old man looked at her and wiped his eyes with his sleeve - surely they were watering from the wind.

That, in fact, is the whole little story that happened at the Majori station on the Riga seaside.

Why did I tell her?

Reflecting on the meaning of details in prose, I remembered this story and realized that if you convey it without one main detail - without the fact that the dog apologized to the owner with all its appearance, without this ingratiating gesture of a small creature, then this story will become coarser than it was actually.

And if we throw out other details - an ineptly patched jacket, testifying to widowhood or loneliness, drops of melt water falling from the hats of young people, ice-cold beer, small money with litter sticking to them from the pocket, and, finally, even squalls that flew from the sea white walls, then the story from this would become much drier and bloodless.

V last years details began to disappear from our fiction, especially in the belongings of young writers.

But a thing does not live without details. Any story then turns into that dry stick of smoked whitefish, which Chekhov mentioned. The whitefish itself is not there, but one skinny sliver sticks out.

The meaning of detail is that, according to Pushkin, a trifle that usually escapes the eye would flash large, become visible to everyone.

On the other hand, there are writers who suffer from tedious and boring observation. They fill their essays with heaps of details - without selection, without understanding that a detail has the right to live and is necessary only if it is characteristic, if it can immediately, like a ray of light, wrest any person or any phenomenon out of the dark.

For example, to give an idea of ​​the beginning of a large rain, it is enough to write that the first drops of it loudly clicked on the newspaper lying on the ground under the window.

Or, in order to convey the terrible feeling of the death of an infant, it is enough to say about it as Alexei Tolstoy said in "Walking through the agony":

Exhausted Dasha fell asleep, and when she woke up, her child was dead.

“She grabbed him, turned him around, - on a high skull, his blond and sparse hair stood on end.

... Dasha said to her husband:

- While sleeping, death came to him ... You must understand - his hairs stood on end ... One was tormented ... I was sleeping ...

No persuasion could drive away from her the vision of the boy's lonely struggle with death. "

This detail (light baby hair standing on end) is worth many pages of accurate description of death.

Both of these details hit the mark. This is the only detail that should be - defining the whole and, moreover, obligatory.

In the manuscript of a young writer, I came across this dialogue:

“Great, Aunt Pasha! - said, entering, Alexey. (Before that, the author says that Alexey opened the door to Aunt Pasha's room with his hand, as if the door could be opened head.)

– Hello Alyosha,- Aunt Pasha exclaimed affably, looked up from her sewing and looked at Alexei. - Why haven't you come in for a long time?

- Yes, all the time. I spent all week meetings.

– All week, you say?

– Exactly, Aunt Pasha! Whole week. Isn't Volodka there? - asked Alexey, looking around the empty room.

– No. He's in production.

– Well then I went. Goodbye, Aunt Pasha. Be healthy.

– Goodbye, Alyosha, - answered Aunt Pasha. - Be healthy.

Alexey went to the door, opened it and went out. Aunt Pasha looked after him and shook her head.

- Fightful guy. Motor".

This whole passage consists, in addition to negligence and slovenly manner of writing, of completely unnecessary and empty things (they are underlined). All these are unnecessary, uncharacteristic, non-defining details.

In the search and definition, the strictest selection is needed.

Detail is closely related to what we call intuition.

I imagine intuition as the ability to reconstruct a picture of the whole in a separate particular, in detail, in a single property.

Intuition helps authors historical works to recreate not only the true picture of the life of past eras, but their very unique flavor, the feelings of people, their psyche, which, in comparison with ours, was, of course, somewhat different.

Intuition helped Pushkin, who had never been to Spain or England, to write magnificent Spanish poems, write "The Stone Guest", and in "Feast in the Time of Plague" to give a picture of medieval England, no worse than Walter Scott or Burns could have done. - the natives of this foggy country.

A good detail also evokes in the reader an intuitive and correct idea of ​​the whole - about a person and his condition, about an event, or, finally, about an era.

White Night

The old steamer rolled away from the pier at Ascension and went out to Lake Onega.

The white night spread all around. For the first time I saw this night not over the Neva and the palaces of Leningrad, but among the northern wooded areas and lakes.

A pale moon hung low to the east. She gave no light.

Waves from the steamer ran silently into the distance, swaying pieces of pine bark. On the shore, probably in some ancient churchyard, the watchman struck the clock on the bell tower - twelve beats. And although it was far from the shore, this ringing reached us, passed the steamer and went along the water surface into the transparent dusk, where the moon hung.

I don’t know how to better name the weary light of the white night. Mysterious? Or magical?

These nights always seem to me to be an excessive generosity of nature - there is so much pale air and the ghostly shine of foil and silver in them.

Man cannot come to terms with the inevitable disappearance of this beauty, these enchanted nights. Therefore, it must be that white nights cause a slight sadness with their fragility, like everything beautiful when it is doomed to live for a short time.

This was my first trip to the north, but everything seemed familiar to me here, especially the piles of white bird cherry, which faded that late spring in the dead gardens.

A lot of this cold and fragrant bird cherry was in Ascension. No one here cut it off and put it on the tables in jugs.

I went to Petrozavodsk. At that time, Aleksey Maksimovich Gorky conceived to publish a series of books under the heading "History of Factories and Plants". He attracted many writers to this business, and it was decided to work in teams - then this word first appeared in literature.

Gorky offered me several factories to choose from. I stopped at the old Petrovsky plant in Petrozavodsk. It was founded by Peter the Great and existed at first as a cannon and anchor plant, then it was engaged in bronze casting, and after the revolution it switched to the manufacture of road cars.

I gave up teamwork. I was sure then (as now) that there are areas of human activity where artisanal work is simply unthinkable, especially work on a book. In the best case, the result may be a collection of heterogeneous essays, and not a whole book. In it, in my opinion, despite the peculiarities of the material, the individuality of the writer with all the qualities of his perception of reality, his style and language should still be present.

I believed that just as it is impossible to play the same violin together or three at the same time, it is also impossible to write the same book together.

I told Alexey Maksimovich about this. He frowned, drummed, as usual, his fingers on the table, thought and answered:

- You, young man, will be accused of self-confidence. But, in general, go ahead! Only you cannot be embarrassed - you must bring the book. By all means!

On the boat, I remembered this conversation and believed that I would write a book. I really liked the north. This circumstance, as it seemed to me then, should have greatly facilitated the work. Obviously, I hoped to smuggle into this book about the Petrovsky plant the features of the north that captivated me - white nights, calm waters, forests, bird cherry trees, a melodious Novgorod dialect, black canoes with curved noses like swan necks, rocker arms painted with multi-colored grasses.

Petrozavodsk was at that time quiet and deserted. Large mossy boulders lay in the streets. The city was all some kind of mica - it must have been from the slight brilliance emanating from the lake, and from the whitish, nondescript, but sweet sky.

In Petrozavodsk, I sat down in the archives and the library and began to read everything related to the Petrovsky plant. The history of the plant turned out to be complex and interesting. Peter the Great, Scottish engineers, our talented serfs, the Carronian method of casting, water machines, peculiar customs - all this provided abundant material for the book.

First of all, I sketched her plan. It had a lot of history and descriptions, but few people.

I decided to write a book right there, in Karelia, and therefore I rented a room from the former teacher Serafima Ionovna - a completely simplistic old woman who did not resemble a teacher in any way, except for glasses and knowledge of the French language.

I began to write the book according to the plan, but no matter how hard I struggled, the book just crumbled under my hands. I never managed to solder the material, cement it, give it a natural flow.

The material was spreading out. Interesting chunks sagged, not supported by neighboring interesting chunks. They stuck out alone, not supported by the only thing that could breathe life into these archival facts - a picturesque detail, the air of time, a human destiny close to me.

I wrote about water machines, about production, about craftsmen, I wrote with deep anguish, realizing that until I have my own attitude to all this, until at least the weakest lyrical breath revives this material, nothing will come of the book. And there won't be any book at all.

(By the way, at that time I realized that you need to write about cars in the same way as we write about people - feeling them, loving them, rejoicing and suffering for them. I don't know how who, but I always feel physical pain for the car, at least for "Victory", when she, straining, takes a steep climb from her last strength. I get tired of this, perhaps no less than a car. Maybe this example is not very successful, but I am convinced that cars, if if you want to write about them, you must treat them as living beings. I noticed that good masters and the workers treat them that way.)

There is nothing more disgusting and heavier than helplessness in front of the material.

I felt like a person who had taken on something else, as if I had to perform in ballet or edit Kant's philosophy.

And my memory no, no, yes, and pricked me with the words of Gorky: "Only you cannot be embarrassed - you must bring the book."

I was also depressed by the crumbling of one of the foundations of writing, which I sacredly revered. I believed that a writer can only be one who can easily master any material without losing his individuality.

This state of mine ended in the fact that I decided to give up, write nothing and leave Petrozavodsk.

“You’re like my idiots schoolgirls before the exam,” she told me. - So they will clog their heads that they see nothing and cannot understand what is important and what is nonsense. Just overworked. I don’t know your business as a writer, but it seems to me that you can’t take anything with pressure. You will only pull your nerves. And this is both harmful and simply dangerous. Do not leave in the heat of the moment. Relax, ride on the lake, take a walk around the city. He's nice, simple. Maybe it will.

But I decided to leave. Before leaving, I went to wander around Petrozavodsk. Until then, I had not seen him properly.

I wandered north along the lake and came out to the outskirts of the city. The houses are over. Vegetables stretched out. Among them, here and there, there were crosses and grave monuments.

An old man was weeding carrot beds. I asked him what these crosses were.

“There was a graveyard here,” the old man replied. - It seems like foreigners were buried here. And now this land has become a vegetable garden, the monuments have been removed. And what remains is not for long. Until next spring they will stand, no longer.

Monuments, however, were few - only five or six. One of them was fenced in with a splendid heavy cast iron fence.

I went up to him. The broken granite column bore an inscription on French... High burdock covered almost all of this inscription.

I broke the burdock and read: “Charles-Eugene Lonseville, artillery engineer The great army Emperor Napoleon. Born in 1778 in Perpignan, died in the summer of 1816 in Petrozavodsk, far from his homeland. May the world descend on his tormented heart. "

I realized that in front of me was the grave of an extraordinary man, a man with a sad fate, and that it was he who would help me out.

I returned home, told Serafima Ionovna that I was staying in Petrozavodsk, and immediately went to the archive.

There worked a completely dry, even as if transparent from thinness, an old man with glasses, a former teacher of mathematics. The archive had not yet been completely dismantled, but the old man was perfectly managed in it.

I told him what had happened to me. The old man was terribly agitated. He was used to issuing, and even then rarely, boring certificates, mainly extracts from church registers, but now it was necessary to carry out a difficult and interesting archival search - to find everything that concerned the mysterious Napoleonic officer, who for some reason died in Petrozavodsk more than a hundred years ago ...

The old man and I were both worried. Will there be any traces of Lonseville in the archives, so that it would be more or less likely to restore his life? Or will we find nothing?

In general, the old man unexpectedly announced that he would not go home to spend the night, but would rummage through the archive all night. I wanted to stay with him, but it turned out that outsiders could not be in the archive. Then I went to the city, bought bread, sausages, tea and sugar, brought all this to the old man so that he could eat at night, and left.

The search lasted nine days. Every morning the old man showed me a to-do list where he guessed there might be some mention of Lonseville. Against the most interesting cases, he put "birds", but called them, as a mathematician, "radicals."

Only on the seventh day was an entry found in the cemetery book about the burial under somewhat strange circumstances of the captain of the French army, Charles-Eugene Lonseville.

On the ninth day, mentions of Lonseville were found in two private letters, and on the tenth - an unsigned report from the Olonets governor about the short stay in Petrozavodsk of the wife of "the designated Lonseville, Maria-Cecilia Trinite, who came from France to erect a monument on his grave."

Materials have been exhausted. But what the old archivist, beaming with this good fortune, found was enough to bring Lonseville to life in my imagination.

As soon as Lonseville appeared, I immediately sat down to the book - and all the material on the history of the plant, which until recently had so hopelessly crumbled, suddenly fell into it. He lay down tightly and as if by himself around this artilleryman, a participant French revolution and the Napoleonic campaign to Russia, taken prisoner by the Cossacks near Gzhatsk, exiled to the Petrozavodsk plant and died there of fever.

This is how the story "The Fate of Charles Lonseville" was written.

The material was dead until a human appeared.

In addition, the entire pre-drawn plan of the book was shattered to smithereens. Lonseville was now confidently leading the story. He, like a magnet, attracted not only historical facts but also much of what I saw in the north.

The story contains a scene of mourning for the deceased Lonseville. I took the words of a woman's weeping over him from genuine lamentations. This case deserves to be mentioned.

I rode on a steamer up the Svir, from Lake Ladoga to Onega. Somewhere, it seems in Sviritsa, a simple pine coffin was brought to the lower deck from the pier.

In Sviritsa, it turns out, the oldest and most experienced pilot on Svir died. His friends-pilots decided to carry the coffin with his body all over the river - from Sviritsa to Ascension, so that the deceased would say goodbye to his beloved river. And besides, to give the coastal residents the opportunity to say goodbye to this very respected in those places, a kind of famous person.

The fact is that the Svir is a rapid and rapid river. Steamers without an experienced pilot cannot pass the Svir rapids. Therefore, for a long time there was a whole tribe of pilots on the Svir, very closely related to each other.

When we passed the rapids - rapids, our steamer was dragged by two tugs, despite the fact that it itself was working at full speed.

Downstream steamers went to reverse order- both the steamer and the tug worked in reverse against the current in order to slow down the descent and not bump into the rapids.

They sent a telegram up the river that a deceased pilot was being carried on our steamer. Therefore, crowds of residents greeted the steamer at each pier. In front stood the old mourning women in black kerchiefs. As soon as the steamer rolled to the pier, they began to mourn the deceased in high, weary voices.

The words of this poetic lamentation were never repeated. In my opinion, every cry was an improvisation.

Here is one of the laments:

“Why flew away from us in the mortal direction, why did he leave us, orphans? Did we not greet you, did we not greet you with a kind and gentle word? Look at the Svir, father, look one last time - the steep slopes are caked with ore with blood, a river flows from some of our women’s tears. Oh, why did death come to you at the wrong time? Oh, why are funeral candles burning all over the Svir River? "

So we sailed to Ascension under this cry, which did not stop even at night.

And at Ascension they boarded the steamer harsh people- pilots - and removed the lid from the coffin. There lay a gray-haired, mighty old man with a weathered face.

The coffin was lifted on linen towels and carried ashore to the sound of crying. A young woman walked behind the coffin, covering her pale face with a shawl. She led the white-headed boy by the hand. Behind her, a middle-aged man in the uniform of a river captain walked a few steps behind. They were the daughter, grandson and son-in-law of the deceased.

The flag was lowered on the steamer, and when the coffin was carried to the cemetery, the steamer gave several long beeps.

And one more impression was reflected in this story. There was nothing significant in this impression, but for some reason in my memory it is firmly connected with the north. This is the extraordinary brilliance of Venus.

Never before have I seen a brilliance of such intensity and purity. Venus shimmered like a drop of diamond moisture against the greenish predawn sky.

It was truly the messenger of heaven, the harbinger of the beautiful morning dawn. In the middle latitudes and in the south, I somehow never noticed her. And here it seemed - she alone sparkles in her virgin beauty over the wastelands and forests, alone dominates in the early hours over the entire northern land, over Onega and Zavoloch, over Ladoga and Zaonezhie.

Problem-dialogical literature lesson

Literature Grade 6 "School 2100»

The book is a textbook of life

/ K.G. Paustovsky "The old man in the station buffet" /

Objectives: 1. To get acquainted with the life of K.G. Paustovsky and his short story "The Old Man in the Station Buffet"

2.To teach children with the help of a book to peer into themselves, analyze their own actions

Learning tools: 1.Presentation

2.Control sheet

Lesson steps - Time	Teacher	Students	Board and equipment
1.Orgmoment	We have an unusual lesson today. Guests have come to us, let's welcome them. Tune in to work.	They turn to the guests. Say hello.
2.Creating a problem situation	Reading the epigraph What questions would Leo Tolstoy be asked using this epigraph? How would you answer Leo Tolstoy's question? Output: Your answer suggests that you are now at the age of adolescence and feel like a part of the common world.	2.Set? to the epigraph? / - What does the famous time of life mean? What does it mean to turn to the unknown side? What helps me to open an unfamiliar world? /	1.Tutorial page 67 Leo Tolstoy's epigraph "Boyhood" Slide number 1 / highlight the words to which they are assigned? /
3.Formulation of the problem (5-7min) 4. Making hypotheses - - - - - - - - -- - - - - 5. Actualization of knowledge. Activity planning (5-10 minutes) 6.Discovery of new knowledge - - - - - - - - - - - - Stage 1: before reading Gymnastics for the eyes: - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - Stage 2: while reading 1. Discussion of the episodes that the students have highlighted in the text. - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - -- - - - - - -- - - Working with text after reading	What or who is helping you see the unknown side of life? What assumptions? Insert one of the words you suggested, in the place of the missing one and formulate the topic of the lesson. Read carefully the title of the topic, think and put question for today's lesson. What do we need to remember to answer this question? What to speculate about? - - -- - -- - - -- - - - - - -- - - - - - - Do all books help a person? Which ones help? Only real books, i.e. books by talented writers who see the world in a special way, rejoice and suffer along with their heroes and make us, readers, not be indifferent Whose predictions were more accurate, we will find out at the end of the lesson.. Now let's remember What talented writers have you met? In this small list you came across the surname K, D. Paustovsky. What do you remember about him and his stories? Teacher: Not once during the years of study will we turn to the work of this wonderful Russian writer. After all, each new appeal to him is fraught with new discoveries. You still know very little about Paustovsky, but his very life, which is the basis of his stories, can help us. .Love for people, animals, nature forced the writer to peer, listen to the world to understand yourself - as a part of this world. What else is new and interesting to say about Paustovsky? Find in the passages what you don't already know about him. And maybe you will discover another Paustovsky? What discoveries have you made? Output: Indeed, Paustovsky noticed a lot around him that not everyone sees. Therefore, he teaches us to look attentively. How can we learn from him? - - - - - - - -- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Let's turn to the story, withwhom you met at home. What did you pay attention to before reading? What is the name of the story? Do you understand it? Who the main character story? What questions do you have before reading? What is this story about? Or about whom? What did you expect from the story? What was a surprise to you in the story? What is the name of the genre of a story with an unexpected ending? Gymnastics - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - Let's check your assumptions by referring to the text. When you first read at home, you highlighted the parts that particularly excited you: 1 how you felt characters: old man, dog, young people? 1.Choose from the text words that express the feelings of the heroes 1c-old man; 2c - dog; 3c-young people? 2.Let's check if you understand the heroes? 3. Make a score of feelings using words for reference. Output: 1. How did the image of the old man make you feel? dogs? Young people? 2. Why is there such a variety of colors that express the feelings of the heroes? Output: - Find confirmation of this idea in the biography of Paustovsky? - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - 2.- Can the old man be called a positive hero? What little things in describing the old man and his behavior helped you to visualize the image and answer this question? Find proof of your thought in 1-2 paragraphs What is the name of this artistic device in literature? Give the concept of artistic children. What is the role of the artistic part? Output : artistic details help to understand the character of the old man, give an idea of ​​his life, make it possible to understand what kind of relationship the old man and the dog had. What artistic details of the story do you still remember? Why are they important? The plot of the story is complete, but the story is over? What surprised you in this part? What lesson does Paustovsky give to a novice writer, and to a reader as well? Output: He encourages us to look more closely at the world around us. With the help of artistic detail (details), he teaches to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. The detailed description in the book (appearance, landscape, speech, interior) gives the reader an opportunity to empathize, sympathize, reflect, study himself and other people. - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - -- - - What made you think about Paustovsky's story? What is its theme, the main problem? The problem of mutual understanding, mercy, compassion is very relevant in our time. Not by chance modern poets also talk about it. And this means that the problems raised by P. are everlasting. And the most important thought of P. and other talented writers is to enrich a person emotionally.	1.See the illustration in the tutorial 2.Answer: Book Parents Older guys Textbook idols Why a textbook of life? The role of the book in human life Reading books helps a person open the world around you: helps you understand other people and yourself; explain actionsthe characters of the person. - - - - - - - -- - - - - No. He talked about nature, animals, homeland, known from an early age student responses 2) Find out why it is interesting? - - - - - - - - - - - - Heading Old man… Old man About the old man in the station buffet / youth and old age, mercy and compassion, attitude towards our smaller brothers, human dignity, mutual understanding Final story short story Gymnastics - - - - - - - - - - - -- Populating the table Checking the job Empathy, compassion The world is complex: good and evil are near. / sympathy - a responsive, sympathetic attitude to someone else's grief, compassion - pity, sympathy caused by the misfortune of another person / to voice pos. No. 3,4,5 - - - - - - -- - - - - give the answer: yes, no Evidence from the text / yes ... No…/ Artistic detail Student response Description of appearance, speech, landscape. Find in text Young people, barmaid, landscape. - -- - - - - - - - - - About the relationship between youth and old age, about mercy, about self-esteem, Through artistic detail, novel genre	A list of answer options is compiled. (On the board) Slide number 2 The book is a textbook of life. Writing a topic in a notebook Slad 2 Slide number 3 (scheme: teaches, opens, - - - - - - - - - - Slide 5 Working in pairs Back No. 2 - - - - - - - - - - gymnastics - - - - - - - - Working in pairs Back No. 4 Slide 6 Slide: old man, dog, young people Task 2 Individual work Return to the "control sheet" -- - - - - - - - - Slide 7 Slide 8 - -- - -- - - --
7 applying new knowledge	How did you manage to hear Paustovsky today, you will check by doing your homework Page 72 - creative work	Choose 1 out of 2 = x tasks, what is closer to you. Write in your diary
8. Lesson summary. Conclusion on the problem. Evaluation	Thanks to the writer Paustovsky, you felt life together with the heroes of his story. Remember the main question of the lesson and the original versions of the answers. Why is a book a textbook for life? How justified were they? Output: Book draws life in all its complexity and diversity, awakens we have the best feelings; opens the world; teaches to empathize; Lets you feelthe beauty and richness of the language that allows you to make speech truthful and accurate; advice such books can be useful for both adults and children. Today in the lesson helped usto discover the world Paustovsky's story "The Old Man in the Station Buffet", included in the collection of short stories "The Golden Rose". Studying the works of Turgenev, Pushkin, L. Tolstoy, included in this section, we will meet with that more than once. That well-known objects will turn to us with an unknown side, and we will discover something new for ourselves.		Slide 2 Control sheet.

Control sheet

Task number 1 Emphasize what new you learned about Paustovsky

1.Writer Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky is one of the storytellers beloved by children

Traces of wandering are visible in almost every story of his. The poetry of the journey merges with reality.

2. Paustovsky wrote not only about nature. The themes of his works were the life and work of people of literature and art, people of the past and present.

3. “My life as a writer began with a desire to know everything and see everything. I do not know anything closer to me than our common people. I have always lived the same life with my heroes, always tried to open in them kind features... With the same power with which I loved all of humanity, I hated human stupidity and ignorance. "

4. “As soon as I leave the imaginary world, the whole harsh truth of life gets in my way, all the evil, which is much easier to avoid than to overcome. Strength is in the call to

man and humanity "

5. In the relationship of a person to a person, he does not withstand a long conflict. His world is life as it happens, maybe and as it should be.

4. Paustovsky was very fascinated by the language, its richness, which allows him to make speech truthful and accurate. He expressed his attitude to the Russian language and thought in the work "The Golden Rose", which included the story "The Old Man in the Station Buffet". Many of his notes about the language, about how to write, are useful for both adults and children.

Task number 2

A) Select and write down the words expressing the feelings of the heroes in the table

1v.-old man; 2c - dog; 3c - young people.

B) Draw up a score of your character's feelings in color.

Joy

happiness longing

Delight sadness

Pity sadness

love hate

compassion ruthlessness

feeling

self-respect cruelty

mutual understanding evil

goodness indifference

spiritual generosity

Literary theory

Novella - a kind of story, characterized by the severity of the conflict, often having an unexpected ending

Artistic detail- part of a person's image ( appearance, appearance, speech) and the surrounding material-objective world (nature, life, things), which allows you to characterize the hero.

Fiction - Narrative fiction

Vocabulary work

1.Bristle - coarse hairline

2.Funny - sadly, with a bowed head

3.Patched jacket - with a patch supplied (a piece of fabric sewn into place to be repaired)

4 begging - flattering to achieve something

5. Look in the mouth -

6. frantically rummaging in pockets - fidgety, restless

7. Soaked - said something ridiculous, indecent

8. Gulf of Riga - the gulf of the Baltic Sea off the coast of Estonia and Latvia

10 Lielupa - a city in Latvia

11 flurry - a sharp gust of wind

12 surf - sea waves hitting the shore

13 the edge of the ice

Assessment of work in the lesson (from 1 to 5b)

	Student Assessment	Teacher assessment
1. Ability to act according to plan
2.Ability to read information from the text
3. Ability to express your attitude to what you read
4. Activity in the lesson

A thin old man with spiky stubble on his face was sitting in the corner of the station buffet in
Majori. Winter squalls swept in whistling stripes over the Gulf of Riga. There was thick ice along the coast. Through the snowy smoke, one could hear the rumble
surf, crashing into a strong ice rim.
The old man went into the buffet, obviously to warm up. He ordered nothing and
sat dejectedly on a wooden sofa, his hands in the sleeves of an ineptly patched
fishing jacket.
A white furry dog ​​came with the old man. She sat huddled up
to his leg, and trembled.
Nearby at the table, young people with tight, red
nape. The snow was melting on their hats. Melted water dripped into glasses of beer and
for sandwiches with smoked sausage. But young people argued about football
match and did not pay attention to it.
When one of the young men took a sandwich and took a bite of half at once,
the dog could not stand it. She went to the table, stood on her hind legs and,
ingratiating herself, she began to look into the mouth of the young man.
- Petit! the old man called softly. - Shame on you! Why are you
bothering people, Petit?
But Petit continued to stand, and only her front paws were trembling all the time
and sank from fatigue. When they touched a wet belly, doggy
caught herself and raised them again.
But the young people did not notice her. They were carried away by the conversation and now and then
poured cold beer into their glasses.
Snow covered the windows, and shivers ran down my spine at the sight of people drinking in
such a cold absolutely ice cold beer.
- Petit! the old man called again. - And Petit! Come here!
The dog quickly shook its tail several times, as if making it clear
the old man that she hears him and apologizes, but nothing can be done with herself
maybe. She did not look at the old man and even averted her eyes to a completely different
side. She seemed to be saying: “I myself know that this is not good. But you are not
you can buy me such a sandwich. "
- Eh, Petit, Petit! - the old man said in a whisper, and his voice trembled slightly from
upset.
Petya wagged her tail again and casually, pleadingly looked at the old man.
She kind of asked him not to call her anymore and not to shame her, because she
the very bad at heart and she, if not for the extreme, would never, of course,
began to ask strangers.
Finally, one of the young men, with cheekbones and a green hat, noticed
dog.
- You ask, you bitch? - he asked. - Where is your master?
Petit wagged her tail happily, looked at the old man and even slightly
screamed.
- What are you, citizen! - said the young man. - Once a dog
keep, so must be fed. And it turns out uncivilized. You have a dog
begs for alms. Begging is prohibited by law in our country.
The young people burst out laughing.
- Well, soaked it, Valka! - shouted one of them and threw a piece to the dog
sausages.
- Petit, don't you dare! - shouted the old man. Weathered his face and skinny, sinewy
neck flushed.
The dog shrank and, drooping its tail, went up to the old man, without even looking at
sausage.
- Don't you dare take a crumb from them! - said the old man.
He began frantically rummaging in his pockets, took out some silver and copper
little things and began to count it in the palm of your hand, blowing away the debris adhering to
coins. His fingers were trembling.
- Still offended! - said the high-cheeked young man. - What an independent, please tell me!
- Oh, leave him! Why did he surrender to you? - one of the
young people pouring beer for everyone.
The old man said nothing. He walked over to the counter and put a handful of small
money for a wet counter.
- One sandwich! he said hoarsely. The dog stood next to him, tucking
tail. The saleswoman served the old man two sandwiches on a plate.
- One! - said the old man.
- Take it! the saleswoman said quietly. - I will not go broke on you ...
- Paldies! - said the old man. - Thanks!
He took the sandwiches and walked out onto the platform. There was no one there. One flurry
passed, the second came up, but was still far on the horizon. Even weak
sunlight fell on the white forests beyond the Lielupa River.
The old man sat down on a bench, gave one sandwich to Petit, and wrapped the other in
gray handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
The dog ate convulsively, and the old man, looking at it, said:
- Oh, Petit, Petit! Silly dog!
But the dog did not listen to him. She ate. The old man looked at her and wiped
the sleeve of an eye - they were watering from the wind.

"Wonderful Doctor"

Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin.

At the age of six, the boy was sent to the Moscow Razumovsky boarding house (orphanage), from where he left in 1880.Kuprin's first literary experience wouldwhether poems remained unpublished.After the death of her husband, the mother moved to Moscow, where the future writer spent his childhood and adolescence.

Genre is a story.

Two boys from the Mertsalov family are looking at a rich showcase, then they run home, they live in a damp basement. The boys carried a letter to the master asking for help, but the doorman kicked them out. One of their younger sister died, the second was seriously ill. Mom washes the rich for money. Dad. looking for a job. While the children are eating cold borscht, the father wanders around the city. In the park, a gentleman sits down with him and tells him what he will give his children. Their father is very angry and tells everything. The stranger turns out to be a doctor. He examines the sick Masha and helps with food and leaves money. Soon their sister recovered and the family's affairs improved.

The main characters are the Mertsalov family, Dr. Pirogov.

Landscape - the Mertsalovs have lived in this dungeon for more than a year. Both boys have long had time to get used to these smoky walls crying from dampness, and to wet pieces drying on a rope stretched across the room, and to this terrible smell of kerosene child, children's dirty linen and rats really smell of poverty.

The theme is that you need to help a person in whatever critical situation he is, because good is like a boomerang.

"Green Lamp"

Alexander Green.

Alexander Green (real name: Alexander Stepanovich Grinevsky).

Alexander learned to read at the age of 6, his first book read was "Gullever's Travel"... Since childhood, Greene loved books about sailors and travel. He dreamed of going to sea as a sailor and, driven by this dream, made attempts to escape from home. The upbringing of the boy was inconsistent - he was spoiled, then severely punished, then thrown unattended.
Genre - story / parable.
In London in 1920, in winter, at the corner of Piccadilly, two well dressed people They were having dinner in an expensive restaurant. On the street they came across a poorly dressed man lying motionless, who had fainted from hunger. The poor man's name was John Eve. He came to London from Irlanlia. Stilton was forty years old and had a fortune of twenty million pounds. He tried all kinds of entertainment, he languished with boredom. He offered Yves to give him ten pounds a month on the condition that “tomorrow you will rent a room on one of the central streets, on the second floor, with a window on the street." Eve was asked to light the green-shaded lamp in his room every night, and John Eve agreed. Stilton brags to Reimer that he bought a fool for a cheap price who will "get drunk with boredom or go crazy."
Eight years passed. A drunk, unkempt old man was brought to the hospital, who broke his leg. It was Stilton, who went broke and became a beggar. The doctor leaned over him - it was John Eve. John offered Stilton a job.
The main characters are John Eve, Stilton and Raymer.
Stilton and Reimer are two well-dressed middle-aged people.
John Eve is an orphan.
The topic is that one does not need to put on airs and everything in life is changeable, both wealth and poverty.

"The old man in the station buffet"

Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky.
K. Paustovsky's books have been repeatedly translated into many languages ​​of the world. He was baptized in the Church of St. George on Vspolye. The writer's pedigree on the line of his father is associated with the name of the famous Zaporozhye hetman P.K. Sagaidachny.
The genre is prose.

A group of young people sat at the table, enthusiastically discussing football. The young men did not notice how the dog ran up to them and began to ask for a piece of sandwich, which they ate. The dog, despite the prohibitions of its owner, continued to ingratiatingly jump around the table of young people. One of the sitting people looked at the animal, after which he insulted its owner. His friend nevertheless handed the dog a piece of sausage, but he also could not resist stinging insults at the elderly man, calling him a beggar old man who could not even feed a pet. The old man took his dog back and did not accept the treat. young man... He took the last few coins out of his pocket and ordered a sandwich from the barmaid. The woman who watched this situation took pity on the man and gave him another free sandwich, emphasizing that she would not become poor if she treated a small dog. When the old man went outside, he fed his dog. Looking at how she eats greedily, he sadly begins to reproach her for her behavior, without uttering a single offensive word addressed to his offenders.

The main characters are an old man and his dog, a company of young people and a saleswoman.

The old man was poor.

Landscape - there was a downpour, the situation was unfolding in a small town in Latvia.

The idea is that people are different and there is no need to evaluate them by their appearance, because. he may have a rich soul.

"Last page"

O.Henry.

Recognized masterAmerican story.... At the age of three, he lost his mother, who died of tuberculosis, and was brought up by his paternal aunt, who was the owner private school... After school he studied to be a pharmacist, worked in a pharmacy with his uncle. Three years later he left for Texas , tried different professions - worked on a ranch, carried water and hot cakes, served in the land administration.

Genre novel.

Two girls-artists, Sue and Jonesy, rent a room with a huge tree under the window. One of the girls fell seriously ill, she is in despair, does not want to fight, figured for herself that as soon as the last autumn leaf falls from the tree under the window, she will die, lies and quietly awaits death. And the leaf does not fall, does not fall, does not fall ... It turns out that the last leaf fell a long time ago, as it should have happened, and the artist's neighbor, old man Berman, not very talented, but very kind, painted exactly the same leaf in his picture , caught a cold and died. His first and last masterpiece saved the girl because she was suddenly on the mend.

Fr. Henry touches on two serious problems, the first of which: never give up, fight for your life! The second problem is that art and kindness can work miracles.

The main characters are Berman, Sue, Joanna.

Conclusions - all the stories connect the actions of people - all people choose themselves what they will be in this world "sympathetic and kind", "evil and stupid", "to be like an animal or with human dignity" All these stories connect the fact that you are in the pit itself you can get out of it, thanks to willpower and human perseverance, or you can lose everything and fall to the very bottom.

The soul asked for mercy….

Reflection lesson

based on the story of K. Paustovsky

» Old man in the station buffet »

The sculpture garden of the Odessa Literary Museum. Paustovsky, depicted as a sphinx, who knows and keeps secret knowledge in this life: about the world, about people, about Odessa, looks at others with philosophical wisdom.

"The Sphinx is a symbol of time, the keeper of wisdom."

Marlene Dietrich visiting Soviet Union, knelt down in front of the writer and kissed his hand, although she had read only one of his short stories - "Telegram". “Only a great master can write this way,” the actress said in an interview with one of the Soviet newspapers.

• The writer Paustovsky did not live here, What is everyone around singing about him? Why, among the mossy everyday life, Fooled by endless troubles, People strive for this house, Like butterflies from darkness to light? And not with the curiosity of mouths, And with hope, timid as a chick, To a truly folk museum We go completely distrustful. To warm your soul from the cold And scoop up a living word, So that through the thunderstorms Golden Rose She highlighted the path for everyone. This quiet corner of Moscow Kuzminsky park, a wooden house ... The writer Paustovsky lives here -
• Come to tea in the evening .

• Konstantin Georgievich was called a wizard. He knew how to write so that a person reading his books the eyes became magical.
• It was also said about him that "in the official and boring sea of ​​newspapers, he was an island with flowering grass."

• On the platform, the lanterns are on until late.
• Express trains and the wind are rushing by ...
• He sits all evening and sits by the window -
• Who pointed it out to him?
• Are there brothers and children anywhere?
• An unnamed village. Deserted station.
• The man in the station buffet.
• No briefcase in hand, no suitcase at my feet
• No worries about a reserved seat ticket.
• As if he crossed the threshold of alienation,
• The man in the station buffet.
• A detective is on the Orbit program.
• Near the counter the "third" was worn out.
• He is impassive and dry. And silent like a shadow
• The man in the station buffet.

“- Don't you dare take a crumb from them! - said the old man.

He began frantically rummaging in his pockets, took out some silver and copper coins and began to count them in his palm, blowing off debris adhering to coins . His fingers were trembling. "

• There is no vice more destructive
• Than indifference in the heart to shelter
• To cure this heart ailment
• Do not be afraid to sympathize, regret, love.

• Indifference is the worst disease of the soul

• Alexis Tocqueville

• The only person who showed concern for the old man is the saleswoman.
• Young people can be called indifferent, because they behaved rudely, tactlessly towards an elderly, possibly sick person, mocking, humiliating him.
• The already difficult situation of the old man from their ridicule was aggravated by an even greater awareness of his loneliness and defenselessness.
• However, despite this, one can note the dignity of the old man, his independence, pride.

The mood of the heroes

Old man

Dog

• Dejectedly sat quietly called
• The voice trembled with chagrin

• She sat, clinging to her leg, trembling, could not stand it, beginning to look into my mouth
• she is his
• hears and apologizes, averted her eyes

The dog quickly wagged its tail several times, as if making it clear to the old man that she hears him and apologizes, but she cannot help herself. She did not look at the old man and even averted her eyes to a completely different direction. She seemed to say: "I myself know that this is not good. But you cannot buy me such a sandwich

lonely

independent

proud

old man

poor

sense of dignity

YOUNG PEOPLE

BARMAID

• Good
• Cardiac
• Understanding
• Feeds
• Sympathizes
• Generous

• Human

• Indifferent
• Rough
• Soulless
• Humiliate
• Insult
• Drink

• Boors

• Why is the dog begging?
• What is the relationship between a dog and an old man?
• What is the life of an old man, what details say about it
• How does the old man react to the begging of the dog, what does he feel?

• How do young people feel about an old man and a dog?
• Why do they still throw food at her?
• How do they behave?

• Why doesn't the dog take food from the hands of young people?
• -Why is she taking a sandwich from the barmaid?
• -What is the role of the landscape in the story?

• Not gold and silver ,
• And in life everything is above
• Goodness was appreciated in people.
• Good And a hearth under the roof.
• And no matter how anyone wants,
• Let it be in the safes
• And it didn’t mean
• The good of selfless deeds
• A spiritual tribute was paid.
• And with this simple faith,
• The whole world suddenly looked round,
• Become wise like Leo Tolstoy,
• Explosive, like Blok's poems.
• And everyone of yours will find a trace
• (All good things will not be lost)
• Immortality is brought to earth
• People who create joy ...
• Shedding hair silver
• And rushing into boundless distances,
• Hurry to do good
• Before you get tired.

• What impression did the story make on you? Why?
• Which of the heroes showed responsiveness to the old man?
• Can young people be called indifferent? Why?

• What is the difference between responsiveness and indifference?
• What qualities of a person contribute to the manifestation of responsiveness?
• Have you ever faced indifference?
• What an indifferent attitude towards others can lead to ?

• There is a lot of evil
• In any human destiny.
• And they will only say a kind word -
• And it's easier on your heart.
• But a kind word is
• Not everyone knows how to find
• To cope with longing for a friend,
• Overcome adversity on the way.
• There is no kind word dearer
• Of the cherished word
• But rarely, my friends, yet
• We pronounce it out loud.

• How easy it is to offend an old man! Tell him something awkwardly - Immediately look at a homeless puppy: Nobody needs me now! You already forgot what you said And he has a wound on his heart, Tears come to my eyes Like a child from deception. Life is gone. And tomorrow night will come. Will take away. Neither get up nor look back. But it's so easy to help him - Just smile like a child! What's in store for us? Perhaps RAI or HELL? It may be that nothing will happen. The old people are standing over the very abyss. Always remember this, PEOPLE!

• Formula and portrait of kindness.
• ACTIONS + WORDS = KIND A

• Learning to be kind is difficult. The path to kindness is not easy, so a person should stop more often and reflect on the actions he has done and the words he has spoken. Every person, big and small, has his own path to Kindness.
• So take care of your soul and do not let it overgrow with weeds, fill your soul with sunshine, kind words and good deeds. Hurry to do good before it's too late. We must hurry with good, otherwise it may be left without an address.

Paustovsky Tarusa buried, I carried it in my arms, did not drop it, did not scream, did not rush, only tear fell after tear. They all left, she was left alone And then she struck with a thunderstorm ...

• Over a high fresh grave the sky moaned, thunder rumbled, blazed with fierce force. Funeral service for the Paustov era.