Russian language as a form of expression of thought (Bylina. Author Commissioner Qatar)

2024 Author: Seth Attwood | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 15:55

The Russian language as a form of expression of thought is simply a unique phenomenon. As an example, I would like to cite the story of a veteran of the Great Patriotic War N. A. Frolova

VISITING THE PRILUKIN ESTATE

Before the Orthodox patronal feast day of the Monk Panteleimon, Peter Petrovich Polenov received a letter by mail. The overweight postman Prokofiy Peresypkin brought the heavy package after the afternoon snack. Having thanked, seeing off the letter carrier, Polenov read the letter full of pleasant wishes. “Petr Petrovich,” wrote Polina Pavlovna Prilukina, “come. Let's talk, take a walk, dream. Come, Petr Petrovich, as soon as possible, after the first Friday, while the weather is fine."

Petr Petrovich liked the invitation letter: it is a pleasure to receive a message from Polina Pavlovna. Thoughtful, dreamed.

I recalled the first pre-fall trip of the year before last, last year's return visit to the Prilukinsky estate after the Easter holiday.

Anticipating an excellent reception, Polenov analyzed the letter, thought about the trip, and made the right plan: to go at the invitation of Prilukina, to see Polina Pavlovna, who she liked.

After dinner, Pyotr Petrovich cleaned his low shoes, blackened the scuffs, put the coat under the raincoat, prepared a pullover, a jacket, checked the strength of the sewn buttons, and hemmed the collar. He brought the briefcase, opened it slightly, put the present intended for Polina Pavlovna. Then he put in a towel, a purse, a first aid dressing bag, tweezers, a pipette, pills, a plaster. Polenov almost constantly when traveling prudently took on such things: sometimes he had to dress the passengers, help the victims. Covering his briefcase, Polenov aired the room, prepared the bed, extinguished the plafond.

Pyotr Petrovich woke up early in the morning, stretched. I got up, straightened myself: I did five-minute squats, turns of the lower back, jumps. I had breakfast. He dressed up in a festive way, straightened the fastened suspenders.

After leaving the Penates, Polenov hurried to visit the hairdresser: shaved, cut his hair, combed his hair. Having thanked the hairdresser in a friendly manner, Pyotr Petrovich overcame a half-kilometer path along Privalovsky Prospect, crossed the underground passage, crossed the rebuilt square, embellished after the redevelopment. There are plenty of passengers. Walking along the platform crowded with passengers, Polenov, aside, respectfully greeted the strolling postmaster Petukhov. My friend Porfiry Plitchenko met. We stood and chatted about everyday problems. On the way I grabbed a half-liter of semi-sweet port and bought some peonies. Having served the seller a five-dollar one, I received a couple of packs of shortbread cookies. “Shopping will come in handy,” Polenov summed up.

Buying a five-ruble reserved seat, I recalled the Prilukins' estate, I realized: I would like Polina Pavlovna.

The post-passenger train, having passed Pskov, Ponyri, Pristen, Prokhorovka, Pyatikhatki, arrived in the afternoon.

The conductor showed the Pryluky station and wiped the handrails. The train slowed down gradually. Polenov, thanking the conductor, left the train, crossed the access roads, the platform. He greeted the track-walker and walked along the station lane. Turning to the right, went straight. The Prilukins' estate appeared.

In front of the front entrance, Pyotr Petrovich was greeted by Pavel Panteleevich, the most respectable gray-haired father of Polina Pavlovna. Have greeted.

“We’re waiting, we’re waiting,” said the respectable, docile Pavel Panteleevich, puffing on a cigarette. - Please, Petr Petrovich, have a seat, rest after the trip. Let's wait for Polina Pavlovna, then let's go have a snack.

A bald nephew approached with a springy penguin gait and greeted Pyotr Petrovich who had arrived.

Let me introduce myself: Prokhor Polikarpovich, - said Prilukin's nephew, adjusting his pince-nez.

The half-blind Pinscher Polkan hobbled along with a limp. At first the dog barked slowly, then, sniffing Polenov's low shoes, quieted down, cuddled, lay down.

In front of the painted front garden appeared the magnificent-haired Polina Pavlovna, covered with a panama. Waving a blue handkerchief, she smoothly approached.

Pyotr Petrovich bowed affably, presented the peonies, kissed the outstretched fingers.

We talked for half an hour, joked, recalled Polenov's past visits. Pyotr Petrovich turned and looked: the fence, intertwined with wire, still divided the landlord's courtyard in half. The first half of the courtyard was a rectangular clearing intersected by pedestrian lanes sprinkled with sand. The right half of the courtyard was intended for basements and outbuildings.

We walked along the trampled meadow. Polenov was faced with a one-and-a-half-story solid five-walled structure. “Perhaps the building is half a century old,” thought Polenov. We passed the portico.

Holding Polina Pavlovna, Pyotr Petrovich crossed the threshold of the hallway, stepped over the threshold of the spacious room. I looked closely. There is complete order everywhere. I was amazed at the pomp of the room, the splendor. Brocade curtains, touching the floor, covered the primroses placed on the windowsills. The parquet floor is covered with elongated semi-woolen, tight-fitting rugs.

The fawn semi-matt panels were illuminated by candlesticks attached almost to the ceiling. It smelled like paraffin. The perimeter ceiling was supported by rectangular pilasters covered with varnish. Hanging under the candlesticks are attractive landscape panels, portraits of the great-grandfather Pavel Panteleevich of Polish origin, the politician Peter the Great, Lieutenant of the Poltava Infantry Regiment Pashchenko, the writers Pisemsky, Pomyalovsky, the poets Pushkin, Prokofiev, Pestel, the travelers Przhevalsky, Potanin. Pavel Panteleevich admired Pushkin's poetry, periodically re-read Pushkin's poems and prose stories.

Petr Petrovich asked Pavel Panteleevich to explain why a bandolier was suspended under the landscape panel. Prilukin came closer, opened the cartridge belt, showed Polenov the cartridges, said:

- At the friendly proposal of the St. Petersburg landowner Pautov, you periodically have to hunt, relax after the everyday vicissitudes of the household. The last half of the year has shown an increase in floating birds. The poultry population is constantly replenished everywhere.

Pavel Panteleevich accepted Pyotr Petrovich's request to try to hunt, to wander around the floodplain area of the winding Potudani flowing nearby.

An invitation to dinner followed. They were treated beautifully. Oiled dumplings sprinkled with pepper, fried liver, garnished with fragrant parsley, pilaf, pickles, pate, spiced tomatoes, salted boletus boletus, boletus boletus, portioned pudding, mashed puree, hearth pie, chilled sauerkraut, were served. We put in orange, port, pepper, beer, punch.

Pavel Panteleevich crossed himself, rubbed the bridge of his nose, crunched his fingers, smacked his lips. After skipping half a glass of orange, he began to eat dumplings. Polina Pavlovna took a sip of port. Pyotr Petrovich, following the example of Polina Pavlovna, took a sip of semi-sweet port. Shemyannik tried the pepper vodka. Polenov was offered to try the frothy beer. I liked the beer.

We drank a little, ate tightly. Supporting a polished tray, a servant brought in lush, toasted donuts anointed with peach jam. We feasted on shortbread cookies, gingerbread cookies, pastries, marshmallows, peaches, ice cream.

At Polenov's request, Pavel Panteleevich invited a cook. The complete cook came.

Introduced herself: "Pelageya Prokhorovna Postolova." Pyotr Petrovich got up, personally thanked Pelageya Prokhorovna, praised the prepared food. Sitting down, I felt a pleasant satiety.

After eating we went to rest. Polina Pavlovna invited Polenov to see a sparrowhawk. Then she showed the attractive purple parrot Petrusha. The parrot greeted them with a respectful bow. He jumped, began to beg, repeating constantly: "Petrusha to eat, Petrusha to eat …"., An elderly co-worker Praskovya Patrikeevna, covered with a worn, variegated handkerchief, came up, nibbled a lean pie, and laid it in front of the parrot. Petrusha sniffed, nibbled, bowed, brushed his feathers. Jumping on the rungs, he began to repeat: "Petrusha ate, Petrusha ate …".

Having looked at the parrot, we visited Polina Pavlovna's reception room, admired the repainted floor, in the middle covered with a semi-carved carpet. Polenov asked Polina Pavlovna to sing. Polina Pavlovna sang popular songs. The audience applauded. "Captivating songstress", - said Petr Petrovich.

Polina Pavlovna stroked the piano with her fingers: the forgotten potpourri flowed smoothly.

After a pause, we danced to the gramophone brought by our nephew. Polina Pavlovna turned in a pirouette, then made a "pas" in a semicircle. The nephew wound up the spring of the gramophone, rearranged the record. We listened to the polonaise, danced a pole. Daddy started to dance akimbo.

After leaving the premises, Pavel Panteleevich sent a servant to call the clerk. The bailiff tried to arrive as quickly as possible. Pavel Panteleevich meticulously asked:

- Has the carpenter repaired the cab?

Having received positive confirmation, he ordered the clerk to submit a couple of piebald ones. A prepared landlord's parokonny cab rolled up. "Skewbald breeders," thought Polenov.

The bailiff looked at the horseshoes, straightened, trimming, trims, bandaging, fitted the girth, tied the leash, checked the strength of the screwed semicircular wire footboard, rubbed the front of the carriage with a bundle of semi-damp tow. The plush pillows were covered with a bedspread. Polina Pavlovna went to change.

While Polina Pavlovna was changing clothes, Pyotr Petrovich watched with understanding the process of the firefighter's meticulous checking of the pump and fire-fighting devices. After watching, the fireman recommended that the clerk who came up to fill the sandbox with sand, paint the stage.

Polina Pavlovna came, taking a starchy cape. Petr Petrovich helped Polina Pavlovna to climb the footboard. We sat down more comfortably.

The well-dressed clerk, imitating the landowner, got up, whistled, waved his whip, whipped up the piebald ones, shouted:

- Come on, pegasus, let's go!

The carriage flew off. We were shocked by the order, so we drove slower. Drove

© Copyright: Commissioner Qatar, 2017