“Strong economy – prosperous Russia!”

Results of the All-Russian economic dictation

The all-Russian educational campaign "All-Russian Economic Dictation" was first held on October 12, 2017 at 638 venues in 80 regions of the Russian Federation, bringing together more than 59 thousand participants.

The most active participation (in terms of the number of participants) in the Dictation was taken by the following regions: Belgorod Region, Vladimir Region, Voronezh Region, Kirov Region, Kursk Region, Lipetsk Region, Moscow, Moscow Region, Novosibirsk Region, Omsk Region, Republic of Sakha, Republic of Tatarstan, Rostov Region region, Tambov region, Ulyanovsk region, Chelyabinsk region, Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug.

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The Free Economic Society of Russia and the Organizing Committee of the all-Russian educational action "All-Russian Economic Dictation" thank the participants of the action and the organizers of regional sites for holding the Dictation at a high organizational level.

The Organizing Committee of the Dictation informs that according to the action plan for the action Certificates of participants in the All-Russian Economic Dictation can be obtained, by contacting the organizers of regional venues, from November 14 to December 29, 2017. Organizers of regional venues will be provided with an electronic version of the certificate, which can be printed and filled out on the spot.

The Organizing Committee of the Dictation also asks the participants of the Dictation, pupils and students who scored more than 80 points according to its results, send by e-mail to the Organizing Committee a scanned copy of the personal tear-off sheet with the last name and first name of the participant, as well as provide your contact details (telephone, place of residence, email address) by October 31, 2017.

In addition, the Organizing Committee informs that the results of the All-Russian Economic Dictation will be presented at the All-Russian Economic Meeting in the State Kremlin Palace on November 11, 2017, an analytical report on the results of the Dictation will be published on the website of the Free Economic Society of Russia, in Rossiyskaya Gazeta, as well as on the resources leading media.

We also inform you that Letters of thanks from the Organizing Committee will be sent to the organizers of the regional venues for the All-Russian Economic Dictation from November 15 to December 15, 2017.

Purpose of Dictation

Determination and improvement of the level of economic literacy of the population as a whole and its individual age and professional groups, development of the intellectual potential of young people, assessment of economic activity and economic literacy of the population of various constituent entities of the Russian Federation.

Who will take part?

Anyone who wants:

• Students of grades 9-11 of educational institutions of secondary general and vocational education;
• Students of higher educational institutions of Russia, heads and teachers of higher educational institutions, specialists, experts, business representatives, government and public figures and many others.

Participation in Dictation is completely free.

When will the dictation take place?

Where will the dictation take place?

The dictation is held on the same day in all subjects of the Russian Federation.

Central sites:

Moscow, Leningradsky prospect, 49 (Financial University under the Government of the Russian Federation)

Moscow, Stremyanny per., 36 (Plekhanov Russian University of Economics)

Moscow, Volokolamsk highway, 4, A-80, GSP-3 (Moscow Aviation Institute)

Moscow, Leninsky Prospekt, 4 (NUST MISIS)

Moscow, Leningradsky prospect, 17 (Moscow International University)

A complete list with addresses and contacts of regional Dictation sites

What is an economic dictation?

Dictation form - test task.

Why write an economic dictation?

• Test your knowledge
• Assess your economic literacy
• Find out if you are able to make economically sound decisions
• Improve your economic knowledge
• Compare your results with friends, colleagues, famous people

How to write a dictation?

Option 1: Come to any Dictation site.

Test tasks for full-time writing are made in two versions (for schoolchildren, students and other persons).

Option 2: Pass the on-line version of the Dictation on the website of the promotion (on-line activity begins on 10/12/2017 from 12:00 to 24:00 Moscow time).

Please note that the on-line version is the same for all age categories of participants and, unlike the first option, is a simplified version of the test.

Features of the emergence and formation of the economic thought of Ancient Rus'.

Economic views in Russia in the XVIII century.

The revolutionary direction of economic thought in Russia in the first half of the 19th century.

Academic and university economics in Russia at the beginning of the 20th century.

Domestic economic science in the USSR.

Domestic economic thought in the period of transition to market relations.

Topics of reports:

The origin of economic science in Russia (I.T. Pososhkov).

Contribution of A.N. Radishchev in the development of economic science.

The essence of the theory of "peasant socialism" N.G. Chernyshevsky.

The specifics of the doctrine of wages M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky.

Economic views of N.D. Kondratiev.

The theory of peasant economy A.V. Chayanov.

Monetary reform S.Yu. Witte.

Causes of the crisis state of domestic economic science in the 90s.

Economic dictation:

Code of legal norms, economic concepts; a document prescribing the rules of conduct established by law and custom, revealing a picture of socio-economic, economic relations, economic ideas and ideas of the ancient Russian people.

The new code of laws adopted under Ivan the Terrible, which introduced changes corresponding to the strengthening of centralized power, in taxation, the right to collect trade duties was transferred to the state, the ratio of forms of land ownership changed in favor of the nobility - the oprichnina.

The initiator of the creation of the first organization of economists in Russia - the Free Economic Society.

The period of the creation of the first courses of political economy, the publication of the first textbooks, the dissemination of economic knowledge, the organizational formation of Russian economic thought.

The founder of the Constitution in Russia, thanks to this statesman, serfdom was abolished in Russia.

Ancestor of the introduction of central planning.

Economist and statistician, one of the first Russian representatives of the mathematical school.

Russian economist, mathematician and statistician, is considered one of the founders of the ordinal approach to assessing the utility of goods, the author of the income effect and substitution.

A prominent Russian figure, proclaimed the end of political economy and outlined the main ideas of a planned economy under socialism.

Lines on the map connecting points on the surface that have the same price for that product.

Creator of the theory of large cycles in economics.

Russian mathematician and economist, is the founder of the theory of linear programming, the only Russian winner of the Nobel Prize in Economics for his contribution to the theory of optimal resource allocation.

Tests:

1. List the features of Russian economic thought:

a) the strong influence of the theory of Marxism on all areas of economic thought, starting from the second half of the 19th century;

b) the special role of the peasant question;

c) creating ideals of the future without relying on the real state of affairs.

2. Name the main work of Ivan Tikhonovich Pososhkov:

a) "The Tale of King Constantine";

b) "The Book of Poverty and Wealth";

3. What economic ideas did I.T. Pososhkov:

a) sought to justify practical measures aimed at eliminating "poverty" and increasing national wealth;

b) productive labor, the elimination of idleness and excesses, labor with "profit";

c) abolish the poll tax, strengthen finances by introducing a general land tax;

d) all answers are correct.

4. Name the main work of Alexander Nikolaevich Radishchev:

a) "Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow";

b) Russkaya Pravda;

c) "On land ownership".

a) A.N. Radishchev;

b) A.T. Bolotov;

c) H. Schlozer.

6. According to M.M. Speransky, the costs are divided into:

a) temporary;

b) necessary;

c) military;

d) useful;

d) redundant.

7. Representatives of the historical school in Russia were:

a) A.N. Radishchev;

b) V.V. Svyatlovsky;

c) M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky;

d) P.I. Pestel;

e) A.I. Chuprov;

f) I.I. Kaufman.

8. Which of the representatives of Russian economic thought believed that Russia could move to socialism, bypassing capitalism:

a) A.N. Radishchev;

b) M.A. Bakunin;

c) N.G. Chernyshevsky.

9. Which of the representatives of Russian economic thought recognized the labor theory of value, considering labor "the only owner of production values":

a) A.N. Radishchev;

b) P.I. Pestel;

c) N.G. Chernyshevsky.

10. What are the main works of M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky:

a) "Industrial crises in modern England, their causes and influence on the life of the people";

b) "Russian factory in the past and present";

c) "Social bases of cooperation";

d) "Socialism as a positive doctrine";

e) Russian Truth.

11. What are the main principles of cooperation identified by M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky:

a) material interest;

b) voluntariness;

c) the use of labor only of members of the cooperative;

d) public property.

12. Investment interpretation of the theory of cycles was formulated:

a) Yu.G. Zhukovsky;

b) M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky;

c) S.Yu. Witte;

d) N.I. Bukharin.

13. Representatives of the Russian mathematical school were:

a) M.I. Tugan-Baranovsky;

b) Yu.G. Zhukovsky;

c) I.A. Stolyarov;

d) V.K. Dmitriev;

e) I.I. Yanzhul;

f) I.M. Kulisher.

14. Economic doctrine of V.I. Lenin was the basis:

a) the economic model of the new society - state socialism;

b) analysis of the monopoly stage of capitalism;

c) the process of formation of the Russian market, the involvement of peasant farms in the system of market relations.

15. In his work “The Economy in Transition” N.I. Bukharin considers socialism:

a) as a subsistence economy;

b) the economic model of the new society;

c) a single labor enterprise, where everyone works according to a strictly calculated plan;

d) distribution of products on the basis of accounting for needs and accounting for stocks.

16. The concept of large cycles developed by N.D. Kondratiev, allows us to present:

a) the duration of the cycles;

b) general patterns of socio-economic development inherent in both individual countries and the global process;

c) the permanent nature of the investment.

17. Linear programming method developed by:

a) N.D. Kondratiev;

b) A.A. Bogdanov;

c) N.N. Cutler;

d) L.V. Kantorovich.

18. The transition to the market has begun (1992):

a) from the revision of traditional views on the development of economic processes;

b) according to the model of "shock therapy";

c) with the improvement of planning and management.

Total dictation: examples of texts.

War and Peace (L.N. Tolstoy). 2004 text

The next day, having said goodbye to only one count, without waiting for the ladies to leave, Prince Andrei went home.

It was already the beginning of June, when Prince Andrei, returning home, drove again into that birch grove in which this old, gnarled oak struck him so strangely and memorable. The bells rang even more muffled in the forest than a month and a half ago; everything was full, shady and dense; and young spruce trees scattered throughout the forest did not disturb the general beauty and, imitation of the general character, tenderly turned green with fluffy young shoots.

The whole day was hot, a thunderstorm was gathering somewhere, but only a small cloud splashed on the dust of the road and on the succulent leaves. The left side of the forest was dark, in shadow; the right one, wet and glossy, shone in the sun, slightly swaying in the wind. Everything was in bloom; the nightingales chirped and rolled now close, now far away.

“Yes, here, in this forest, there was this oak, with which we agreed,” thought Prince Andrei. “Yes, where is he,” thought Prince Andrei again, looking at the left side of the road and without knowing it, not recognizing him, admired the oak he was looking for. The old oak tree, all transformed, stretched out in a tent of juicy, dark greenery, was thrilled, slightly swaying in the rays of the evening sun. No clumsy fingers, no sores, no old distrust and grief - nothing was visible. Juicy, young leaves broke through the tough, hundred-year-old bark without knots, so that it was impossible to believe that this old man had produced them. “Yes, this is the same oak tree,” thought Prince Andrei, and a causeless, spring feeling of joy and renewal suddenly came over him. All the best moments of his life were suddenly remembered to him at the same time. And Austerlitz with a high sky, and the dead, reproachful face of his wife, and Pierre on the ferry, and the girl, excited by the beauty of the night, and this night, and the moon, - and he suddenly remembered all this.

“No, life is not over at the age of 31, suddenly, Prince Andrei decided completely, without change. Not only do I know everything that is in me, it is necessary that everyone knows this: both Pierre and this girl who wanted to fly into the sky, it is necessary that everyone knows me, so that my life goes not for me alone so that they do not live so independently of my life, so that it is reflected on everyone and that they all live with me together!

Volokolamsk Highway (Alexander Beck, text 2005)

In the evening we set out on a night march to the Ruza River, thirty kilometers from Volokolamsk. A resident of southern Kazakhstan, I am used to late winter, but here, in the Moscow region, in early October it was already freezing in the morning. At dawn, along the frost-bitten road, along the hardened mud uprooted by wheels, we approached the village of Novlyanskoye. Leaving the battalion near the village, in the forest, I went with the company commanders for reconnaissance. My battalion was measured seven kilometers along the coast of the winding Ruza. In battle, according to our regulations, such a sector is large even for a regiment. This, however, did not disturb. I was sure that if the enemy ever really came here, he would be met at our seven kilometers not by a battalion, but by five or ten battalions. With such a calculation, I thought, it is necessary to prepare fortifications.

Don't expect me to paint nature. I don't know if the view before us was beautiful or not. On the dark mirror of the narrow, sluggish Ruza, large, as if carved leaves were spread out, on which, probably, white lilies bloomed in summer. Maybe it's beautiful, but I noticed for myself: a crappy little river, it is shallow and convenient for the enemy to cross. However, the coastal slopes on our side were inaccessible to tanks: gleaming with freshly cut clay, keeping traces of shovels, a sheer ledge, called in military language the scarp, fell to the water.

Beyond the river one could see the distance - open fields and individual massifs, or, as they say, wedges, forests. In one place, somewhat obliquely from the village of Novlyanskoye, the forest on the opposite bank almost immediately adjoined the water. In it, perhaps, there was everything that an artist who painted a Russian autumn forest would wish for, but this ledge seemed disgusting to me: here, most likely, the enemy, hiding from our fire, could concentrate for an attack. To hell with these pines and firs! Cut them out! Move the forest away from the river! Although none of us, as it was said, did not expect battles here soon, we were given the task of equipping a defensive line, and we had to carry it out with complete conscientiousness, as it should be for officers and soldiers of the Red Army.

Lake Taimyr (Ivan Sokolov-Mikitov, text 2006)

Almost in the very center of the polar station of the country there is a huge Taimyr lake. It stretches from west to east in a long shining strip. Blocks of stone rise to the north, black ridges looming behind them. Until recently, people did not look at all here. Only along the course of the rivers can one find traces of human presence. Spring waters sometimes bring torn nets, floats, broken oars and other simple fishing accessories from the upper reaches.

At the swampy shores of the lake, the tundra is bare, only in some places snow spots turn white and glisten in the sun. Driven by the force of inertia, a huge ice field presses against the shores. The permafrost, bound by an ice shell, still firmly holds its legs. Ice at the mouth of rivers and small rivers will stand for a long time, and the lake will be cleared in ten days. And then the sandy shore, flooded with light, will turn into a mysterious glow of sleepy water, and then - into solemn silhouettes, vague outlines of the opposite shore.

On a clear windy day, inhaling the smells of the awakened earth, we wander through the thawed patches of the tundra and observe a lot of curious phenomena. The combination of the high sky with the cold wind is unusual. Every now and then a partridge runs out from under the feet, falling to the ground; breaks off and immediately, like a shot, a tiny little knick-knack falls to the ground. Trying to lead the uninvited visitor away from its nest, the little sandpiper begins to tumble at its very feet. At the base of the stone placer, a voracious arctic fox, covered with shreds of faded wool, makes its way. Having caught up with the fragments of stones, the arctic fox makes a well-calculated jump and presses down the mouse that has jumped out with its paws. Farther on, a stoat, holding a silver fish in its teeth, gallops towards the heaped boulders.

Near slowly melting glaciers, plants will soon begin to revive and bloom. The first to bloom are kandyk and Goryanka, which develop and fight for life even under a transparent cover of ice. In August, the first mushrooms will appear among the polar birch creeping on the hills.

The tundra overgrown with miserable vegetation has its own wonderful aromas. Summer will come, and the wind will shake the corollas of flowers, the buzz will fly by and the bumblebee will sit on the flower.

The sky is overcast again, the wind starts to whistle furiously. It's time to return to the wooden house of the polar station, where it smells deliciously of baked bread and the comfort of human habitation. Tomorrow we will start reconnaissance work.

Sotnikov (Vasil Bykov, text 2007)

All the last days Sotnikov was as if in prostration. He felt badly: he was exhausted without water and food. And he silently, half-consciously, sat among a close crowd of people on thorny, dry grass without any special thoughts in his head, and, probably, therefore, he did not immediately understand the meaning of the feverish whisper next to him: “At least one, but I will kill. Doesn't matter…". Sotnikov cautiously glanced aside: that same lieutenant of his neighbor, unnoticed by others, was pulling out an ordinary penknife from under dirty bandages on his leg, and such determination lurked in his eyes that Sotnikov thought: you can’t keep this.

Two escorts, having come together, lit a cigarette from a lighter, one on a horse, a little further away, vigilantly examined the column.

They sat still in the sun, maybe fifteen minutes, until some command was heard from the hill, and the Germans began to raise the column. Sotnikov already knew what the neighbor had decided on, who immediately began to take him away from the column, closer to the escort. This escort was a strong, squat German, like everyone else, with a machine gun on his chest, in a tight tunic sweating under his arms; from under the wet bed, from the edges of the cloth cap, something completely different from Aryan was knocked out - a black, almost resin forelock. The German hurriedly finished smoking his cigarette, spat through his teeth and, apparently intending to drive some prisoner, impatiently took two steps towards the column. At the same instant, the lieutenant, like a kite, rushed at him from behind and plunged the knife up to the handle into his tanned neck.

With a short grunt, the German donkey sank to the ground, someone at a distance shouted: “Polundra!” - and several people, as if they were thrown by a spring from the column, rushed into the field. Sotnikov also rushed away.

The confusion of the Germans lasted about five seconds, no more, immediately bursts hit in several places - the first bullets passed over his head. But he ran. It seems that never in his life he raced with such frantic speed, and in several wide leaps he ran up a hillock with pines. The bullets were already densely and randomly piercing the pine thicket, he was showered with needles from all sides, and he rushed on, not making out his way, as far as possible, now and then repeating to himself with joyful amazement: “Alive! Alive!

Naulaka: A Story of West and East (Rudyard Kipling, 2008 text)

After about ten minutes Tarvin began to guess that all these tired, exhausted people represented the interests of half a dozen different firms in Calcutta and Bombay. Like every spring, they besieged the royal palace without any hope of success, trying to get at least something in the accounts from the debtor, which was the king himself. His Majesty ordered everything in a row, indiscriminately, and in huge quantities - he really did not like to pay for purchases. He bought guns, travel bags, mirrors, expensive mantelpieces, embroideries, glittering Christmas tree decorations, saddles and harnesses, mail coaches, carriages with four horses, perfumes, surgical instruments, candlesticks, Chinese porcelain - by the piece or in bulk, for cash or credit, as His Royal Majesty pleases. Losing interest in the acquired things, he immediately lost his desire to pay for them, since there was little that occupied his jaded imagination for more than twenty minutes. Sometimes it happened that the very purchase of a thing satisfied him in full, and the boxes with precious contents that arrived from Calcutta remained unpacked. The peace that reigned in the Indian Empire prevented him from taking up arms and directing them against his fellow kings, and he lost the only joy and fun that had entertained himself and his ancestors for whole millennia. And yet he could play this game even now, though in a slightly modified form - fighting with the clerks, who were trying in vain to get a bill from him.

So, on one side stood the political resident of the state himself, planted in this place in order to teach the king the art of government, and most importantly, economy and frugality, and on the other side - more precisely, at the palace gates, there was usually a traveling salesman, in whose soul contempt for the malicious defaulter and the reverence for the king inherent in every Englishman fought.

Nevsky Prospekt (Nikolai Gogol, text 2009)

There is nothing better than Nevsky Prospekt, at least in St. Petersburg; for him he is everything. What does not shine this street - the beauty of our capital! I know that none of its pale and bureaucratic inhabitants would exchange for all the benefits of Nevsky Prospekt. Not only someone who is twenty-five years old, has a beautiful mustache and a wonderfully tailored frock coat, but even someone who has white hair popping up on his chin and a head as smooth as a silver dish, and he is delighted with Nevsky Prospekt. And ladies! Oh, Nevsky Prospekt is even more pleasant for ladies. And who doesn't like it? As soon as you ascend Nevsky Prospekt, it already smells of one festivities. Even if you have some necessary, necessary business, but, having ascended it, you will surely forget about every business. Here is the only place where people are shown not out of necessity, where their need and mercantile interest, embracing the whole of St. Petersburg, have not driven them.

Nevsky Prospekt is the general communication of St. Petersburg. Here, a resident of the Petersburg or Vyborg part, who for several years has not been to his friend at Sands or at the Moscow outpost, can be sure that he will certainly meet him. No address-calendar and reference place will deliver such true news as Nevsky Prospekt. Almighty Nevsky Prospekt! The only entertainment of the poor in the festivities of St. Petersburg! How cleanly its sidewalks are swept, and, God, how many feet have left their footprints on it! And the clumsy dirty boot of a retired soldier, under the weight of which, it seems, the very granite is cracking, and the miniature, light as smoke, slipper of a young lady, turning her head to the shiny windows of the store, like a sunflower to the sun, and the rattling saber of a hopeful ensign, seeing a sharp scratch on it - everything takes out on it the power of strength or the power of weakness. What a quick phantasmagoria takes place on it in just one day!

What is the reason for the decline of the Russian language and does it exist at all? (Boris Strugatsky, text 2010)

There is no decline, and there cannot be. It’s just that censorship was softened, and in part, thank God, it was completely abolished, and what we used to hear in pubs and gateways now delights our ears, coming from the stage and from television screens. We tend to consider this the onset of lack of culture and the decline of the Language, but lack of culture, like any devastation, is not in books and not on the stage, it is in the souls and in the heads. And with the latter, in my opinion, nothing significant has happened in recent years. Unless our bosses, again, thank God, diverted from ideology and got carried away more by sawing the budget. So the languages ​​have blossomed, and the Language has been enriched with remarkable innovations in the widest range - from “hedging the GKO portfolio with the help of futures” to the emergence of Internet jargon.

Talk about the decline in general and Language in particular is, in fact, the result of the lack of clear instructions from above. Appropriate indications will appear - and the decline will stop as if by itself, immediately giving way to some kind of "new flourishing" and universal sovereign "good air".

Literature is flourishing, finally remaining almost without censorship and in the shadow of liberal laws concerning book publishing. The reader is spoiled to the limit. Every year, several dozen books of such a level of significance appear that, if any of them appeared on the shelves 25 years ago, it would immediately become a sensation of the year, and today it causes only condescendingly approving grumbling of criticism. Talk about the notorious “crisis of literature” does not subside, the public demands the immediate appearance of new Bulgakov, Chekhov, thick ones, forgetting, as usual, that any classic is necessarily a “product of the time”, like good wine and, in general, like all good things. Do not pull the tree up by the branches: it will not grow faster from this. However, there is nothing wrong with talking about a crisis: there is little benefit from them, but there is no harm either.

And Language, as before, lives its own life, slow and incomprehensible, constantly changing and at the same time always remaining itself. Anything can happen to the Russian language: perestroika, transformation, transformation, but not extinction. It is too big, powerful, flexible, dynamic and unpredictable to take and suddenly disappear. Unless - together with us.

Spelling as a law of nature (Dmitry Bykov, text 2011)

The question of why literacy is needed is widely and passionately discussed. It would seem that today, when even a computer program is able to correct not only spelling, but also meaning, the average Russian does not need to know the countless and sometimes meaningless subtleties of his native spelling. I'm not talking about commas that are unlucky twice. At first, in the liberal nineties, they were placed anywhere or ignored altogether, claiming that this was an author's mark. Schoolchildren still widely use the unwritten rule: "If you don't know what to put, put a dash." No wonder it is called so - "a sign of despair." Then, in the stable zero, people began to fearfully play it safe and put commas where they were not needed at all. True, all this confusion with signs does not affect the meaning of the message. Why then write well?

I think this is something like those necessary conventions that replace our specific canine scent when sniffing. A somewhat developed interlocutor, having received an electronic message, identifies the author by a thousand little things: of course, he does not see the handwriting, unless the message came in a bottle, but a letter from a philologist containing spelling errors can be erased without finishing.

It is known that at the end of the war, the Germans, who used Russian labor, threatened to extort a special receipt from the Slavic slaves: "Someone treated me wonderfully and deserves indulgence." The soldiers-liberators, having occupied one of the suburbs of Berlin, read a letter proudly presented by the owner with a dozen gross errors, signed by a student of Moscow University. The extent of the author's sincerity became immediately apparent to them, and the philistine slave owner paid the price for his vile forethought.

Today we have almost no chance to quickly understand who is in front of us: the methods of disguise are cunning and numerous. You can imitate the mind, sociability, even, perhaps, intelligence. It is impossible to play only literacy - a refined form of politeness, the last identification mark of humble and memoryful people who respect the laws of language as the highest form of the laws of nature.

Part 1. Do you care? (Zakhar Prilepin, text 2012)
Recently, one often hears peremptory statements, for example: "I don't owe anything to anyone." They are repeated, considering it good form, by a considerable number of people of all ages, especially young people. And the older and wiser are even more cynical in their judgments: “There is no need to do anything, because while the Russians, having forgotten about the greatness that has fallen under the bench, quietly drink, everything goes on as usual.” Have we really become more inert and emotionally passive today than ever? Now it is not easy to understand, eventually time will tell. If a country called Russia suddenly discovers that it has lost a significant part of its territory and a significant proportion of its population, it will be possible to say that at the beginning of the 2000s we really had nothing to do and that in these years we were engaged in more important things than preserving statehood, national identity and territorial integrity. But if the country survives, then the complaints about the indifference of citizens to the fate of the Motherland were at least groundless.

Nevertheless, there are grounds for a disappointing forecast. Quite often there are young people who perceive themselves not as a link in an unbroken chain of generations, but nothing less than the crown of creation. But there are obvious things: life itself and the existence of the earth on which we walk are possible only because our ancestors treated everything differently.

I remember my old people: how beautiful they were and, my God, how young they were in their military photographs! And how happy they were that we, their children and grandchildren, were tangled among them, thin-legged and tanned, blooming and overcooked in the sun. For some reason, we decided that previous generations owed us, and we, as a new subspecies of individuals, are not responsible for anything and do not want to be indebted to anyone.

There is only one way to preserve the land given to us and the freedom of the people - to gradually and persistently get rid of the mass paroxysms of individualism, so that public statements about independence from the past and non-participation in the future of their homeland become at least a sign of bad taste.

Part 2. I care

Recently, categorical statements such as: "I owe nothing to anyone" are often heard. They are repeated by many, especially young people who consider themselves the crown of creation. It is no coincidence that the position of extreme individualism is a sign of almost good taste today. But first of all, we are social beings and live according to the laws and traditions of society.

Most often, traditional Russian plots are stupid: a pipe has habitually burst there, something has ignited here - and three districts were left either without heat, or without light, or without one or the other. No one is surprised for a long time, because this seems to have happened before.

The fate of society is directly related to the state as such and the actions of those who govern it. The state can ask, strongly recommend, order, in the end force us to do something.

A reasonable question arises: who and what needs to be done with people so that they are concerned not only with their own fate, but also with something more?

Now there is a lot of talk about the awakening of civic consciousness. It seems that society, regardless of someone else's will and orders from above, is recovering. And in this process, as we are convinced, the main thing is to “start with yourself”. I personally started: I screwed in a light bulb in the entrance, paid taxes, improved the demographic situation, provided several people with jobs. And what? And where is the result? It seems to me that while I am busy with small things, someone is doing their own, huge ones, and the vector of application of forces is completely different for us.

Meanwhile, everything that we have: from the land we walk on to the ideals we believe in, is not the result of “small deeds” and cautious steps, but of global projects, huge achievements, and selfless devotion. People are transformed only when they burst into the world with all their might. A person becomes a person in a search, in a feat, in labor, and not in petty introspection, turning the soul inside out.

It is much better to start to change the world around you, because you finally want a big country, big cares for it, big results, big earth and sky. Give a map with a real scale so that at least half a globe can be seen!

Part 3. And we care!

There is a quiet, like an itch, feeling that the state on this earth owes nothing to anyone. Maybe that's why lately we hear so often from people that I, they say, don't owe anything to anyone. And now I don’t understand: how can we all survive here and who will defend this country when it collapses?

If you seriously believe that Russia has exhausted the resources of resilience and we have no future, then, the right word, maybe it’s not worth worrying about? We have good reasons: the people are broken, all empires fall apart sooner or later, and therefore we have no chance.

Russian history, I do not argue, provoked such declarations. Nevertheless, our ancestors never believed in these skeptical nonsense. Who decided that we no longer have a chance, and, for example, the Chinese have more than enough of them? After all, they also have a multinational country that has survived revolutions and wars.

In fact, we live in a funny state. Here, in order to realize your elementary rights - to have a roof over your head and daily bread, you need to perform somersaults of extraordinary beauty: change your native places and jobs, get an education in order to work outside your specialty, go over your heads, and preferably on your hands. You can't just be a peasant, a nurse, an engineer, just a military man - it's not recommended at all.

But for all the, so to speak, "unprofitability" of the population, tens of millions of adult men and women live in Russia - capable, enterprising, enterprising, ready to plow and sow, build and rebuild, give birth and raise children. Therefore, a voluntary farewell to the national future is not at all a sign of common sense and balanced decisions, but a natural betrayal. You can’t give up positions, throw flags and run wherever your eyes look, without even making an attempt to protect your home. This, of course, is a figure of speech inspired by the history and smoke of the fatherland, in which the spiritual and cultural upsurge, the mass desire for reorganization have always been associated with great upheavals and wars. But they were crowned with Victories, which no one can achieve. And we must earn the right to be the heirs of these Victories!

Part 1. Gospel from the Internet (Dina Rubina, text 2013)

Once, many years ago, I got into a conversation with a familiar programmer and, among other remarks, I remember his phrase that a kind of ingenious thing was invented, thanks to which all the knowledge of mankind will become available to any subject - the World Wide Web.

This is amazing,” I said politely, always bored with the word “humanity” and hating the word “individual”.

Imagine,” he continued, “that for a dissertation on the production of pottery among the Etruscans, for example, you no longer need to dig into the archives, but just type in a certain code, and everything you need to work will appear on your computer screen.

But this is wonderful! I exclaimed.

Meanwhile he continued:

Unheard-of opportunities are opening up before mankind - in science, in art, in politics. Everyone will be able to convey their word to the attention of millions. At the same time, any person, he added, will become much more accessible to special services and not protected from all sorts of intruders, especially when hundreds of thousands of online communities emerge.

But it's terrible ... - I thought.

Many years have passed, but I remember this conversation very well. And today, having changed a dozen computers, corresponding - to the accompaniment of the keyboard - with hundreds of correspondents, running another request from Google to Yandex and mentally blessing the great invention, I still can’t unequivocally answer myself: the Internet is “great” or “terrible” ?

Thomas Mann wrote: “...Where you are, there is the world - a narrow circle in which you live, learn and act; the rest is fog…”

The Internet - for good or for evil - dispelled the fog, turning on its merciless searchlights, piercing countries and continents with cutting light to the smallest grain of sand, and at the same time the fragile human soul. And what, by the way, has happened over the past twenty years with this notorious soul, before which dazzling opportunities for self-expression have opened up?

The Internet for me is the third turning point in the history of human culture - after the appearance of the language and the invention of the book. In ancient Greece, a speaker speaking in a square in Athens was heard by no more than twenty thousand people. This was the sonic limit of communication: the geography of the language is the tribe. Then came a book that expanded the circle of communication to the geography of the country. With the invention of the World Wide Web, a new stage of human existence in space arose: the geography of the Internet is the globe!

Part 2: The Dangers of Paradise

The Internet for me is the third turning point in the history of human culture - after the appearance of the language and the invention of the book. In ancient Greece, a speaker speaking in a square in Athens was heard by no more than twenty thousand people. This was the sonic limit of communication: the geography of the language is the tribe. Then came a book that expanded the circle of communication to the geography of the country.

And now there was a dizzying, unprecedented opportunity to instantly deliver the word to countless people. Another change of spaces: the geography of the Internet is the globe. And this is another revolution, and a revolution always breaks quickly, only it builds slowly.

Over time, a new hierarchy of mankind will arise, a new humane civilization. In the meantime ... while the "reverse side" of this grand opening-breakthrough dominates the Internet - its destructive power. It is no coincidence that the World Wide Web becomes a tool in the hands of terrorists, hackers and fanatics of all stripes.

The most obvious fact of our time is that the Internet, which has unthinkably expanded the ability of the common man to speak and act, is at the heart of the current "uprising of the masses." This phenomenon, which arose in the first half of the twentieth century, caused by the vulgarization of culture - material and spiritual - gave rise to both communism and Nazism. Today it is turned to the "mass" in any person, feeds on it and satisfies it in all respects - from linguistic to political and consumer, because it brought the desired "bread and circuses" incredibly close to the people, including the lowest ones. This confidant, preacher and confessor of the crowds turns into “noise” everything he touches, everything that life gives; breeds vulgarity, ignorance and aggression, giving them an unheard of, bewitching way out not just outside, but to the whole world. The most dangerous thing is that this playful and very intelligent "child" of the new civilization destroys the criteria - the spiritual, moral and behavioral codes of the existence of human society. What to do, in the Internet space everyone is equal in the most common sense of the word. And I think: is it not too high a price we pay for a great opportunity to talk with a distant friend, read a rare book, see a brilliant picture and hear a great opera? Was this grandiose discovery too early? In other words, has mankind grown up to itself?

Part 3. Evil for good or good for evil?

Questions relating to the mighty Internet are quite existential, as is the question of what we do in this world.

There is no instrument that can determine the obvious benefit and the equally obvious evil that all great inventions bring us, just as there is no way to separate one from the other.

I would not be in a hurry to criticize the Internet too sharply for all the sins of mankind, - objected my friend, a famous physicist who has lived in Paris for a long time (by the way, we met him via the Internet). - From my point of view, this is a wonderful thing, if only because talented and smart people got the opportunity to communicate, unite and thereby contribute to the great discoveries of modern times. Think, for example, about polar explorers in Antarctica: isn't Internet communication a great boon for them? And the plebs will remain plebs, with or without the Internet. At one time, monsters of the style of Hitler or Mussolini, with only radio and the press, managed to influence the masses with murderous influence. Yes, and the book has always been a very powerful tool: on paper, you can print Shakespeare's poetry and Chekhov's prose, or you can print manuals on terrorism and calls for pogroms - paper will endure everything, just like the Internet. This invention does not in itself fall into the categories of good or evil, just like fire, dynamite, alcohol, nitrates or nuclear energy. It all depends on who is using it. It's so obvious that it's even boring to discuss. Write better about how difficult it is to become an adult in our age, how entire generations are doomed to eternal and irreversible immaturity ...

That is all the same about the World Wide Web? I bluntly stated. - Just there I read the other day: "The best thing that life has given me is a childhood without the Internet."

So what? we, in fact, do in this world, I think, penetrating deeper and deeper into its secrets, trying to get to the bottom of the innermost spring, whose crystal power will quench our thirst for immortality? And does it exist, this spring, or does each next generation, which has removed another veil from the great mystery, only be able to muddy the pure waters of being, given to us by the unknowable genius of the Universe?

Train Chusovskaya - Tagil (Alexey Ivanov, text 2014)

Part 1. On the train through childhood

"Chusovskaya - Tagil" ... I traveled by this train only in the summer.

A string of wagons and a locomotive - angular and massive, it smelled of hot metal and, for some reason, tar. Every day this train departed from the old Chusovoy station, which no longer exists, and the conductors stood in the open doors, putting out yellow flags.

The railway turned decisively from the Chusovaya River into a hollow between the mountains, and then for many hours in a row the train beat fractionally through the dense ravines. From above, the motionless summer sun was frying, and the Urals were swaying around in the blue and haze: either some taiga plant would put up a thick pipe of red brick over the forest, then a gray-gray rock above the valley would sparkle with mica, then in an abandoned quarry, like a rolled coin, a quiet lake would flash . The whole surrounding world outside the window could suddenly fall down - this car raced along a short, like a sigh, bridge over a flat river, riddled with boulders. More than once the train was carried out onto tall embankments, and it flew with a howl at the level of the spruce tops, almost in the sky, and around in a spiral, like circles in a whirlpool, the horizon unfolded with sloping ridges, on which something strange flashed.

The semaphore switched scale, and after grandiose panoramas, the train slowed down at modest sidings with dead ends, where the red-hot wheels of forgotten cars stuck to the red rails. Here, the windows of wooden stations were decorated with architraves, signs “Do not walk along the tracks!” rusted, and under them dogs slept in dandelions. Cows grazed in the weeds of the drainage ditches, and stray raspberries grew behind the creviced plank platforms. The hoarse whistle of the train floated over the station like a local hawk that had long since lost the greatness of a predator and was now stealing chickens from the front gardens, snatching sparrows from the gable slate roof of the sawmill.

Going through the details in my memory, I no longer know and don’t even understand what kind of magical country this train is traveling through - through the Urals or through my childhood.

Part 2. Train and people

"Chusovskaya - Tagil" ... Solar train.

Then, in childhood, everything was different: the days were longer, and the land was larger, and the bread was not imported. I liked my fellow travelers, I was fascinated by the mystery of their life, revealed to me by chance, as if in passing. Here is a clean old woman unfolding a newspaper in which onion feathers, cabbage pies and hard-boiled eggs are neatly folded. Here is an unshaven dad rocking his little daughter sitting on his lap, and there is so much tenderness in that cautious movement with which this man, clumsy and awkward, covers the girl with the skirt of his tattered jacket ... Here are the demobilized demobilized men drinking vodka: it seems, stunned with happiness, they are discordantly they cackle, fraternize, but suddenly, as if remembering something, they begin to fight, then cry from the inability to express the suffering they do not understand, hug again and sing songs. And only after many years I realized how stale the soul is when you live away from home for a long time.

Once, at some station, I saw how all the conductors went to the buffet and chatted, and the train suddenly slowly floated along the platform. The aunts flew out onto the platform and, cursing the jockey driver who didn’t give a whistle, they rushed after him in a crowd, and from the doors of the last car the head of the train shamelessly whistled with two fingers, like a fan at the stadium. Of course, the joke is rude, but no one was offended, and then they all laughed together.

Here, bewildered parents taxied their children to the train on motorcycles with sidecars, kissed and had bitter fun, played harmonicas and used to dance. Here, the conductors told the passengers to calculate how much the ticket costs and bring them “without change”, and the passengers honestly rummaged through their wallets and wallets, looking for a change. Here everyone was involved in the general movement and experienced it in their own way. You could go out into the vestibule, open the door outside, sit on the iron steps and just look at the world, and no one would scold you.

"Chusovskaya - Tagil", the train of my childhood ...

Part 3. When the train returns

My mom and dad worked as engineers, they couldn’t afford the Black Sea, so during the summer holidays they united with friends and on the Chusovskaya - Tagil train they left in cheerful companies for family hikes along the Ural rivers. In those years, the very order of life was as if specially adapted for friendship: all the parents worked together, and all the children studied together. Perhaps this is what is called harmony.

Our dashing and powerful dads threw backpacks with padded sleeping bags and canvas tents heavy as if they were made of sheet iron onto the luggage racks, and our naive mothers, fearing that the children would not find out about the plans of adults, asked in a whisper: “But for the evening they took ? My father, the strongest and most cheerful, not at all embarrassed and not even smiling, answered: “Of course! A loaf of white and a loaf of red.

And we, children, rode towards wonderful adventures - to where there are merciless suns, impregnable rocks and fiery dawns, and we had wonderful dreams while we slept on hard wagon shelves, and these dreams are the most amazing! - have always come true. A hospitable and friendly world opened up before us, life went off into the distance, into a blinding infinity, the future seemed beautiful, and we rolled there in a creaky, shabby carriage. In the railway schedule, our train was listed as a suburban one, but we knew that it was an ultra-long-distance train.

And now the future has become real - not beautiful, but the way it seems to be. I live in it and get to know the homeland through which my train travels better, and it is getting closer to me, but, alas, I remember my childhood less and less, and it is farther and farther away from me - this is very, very sad. However, my present will also soon become the past, and then the same train will take me not to the future, but to the past - the same way, but in the opposite direction of time.

"Chusovskaya - Tagil", the solar train of my childhood.

Magic lantern. (Evgeny Vodolazkin, text 2015)

Part 1. Dacha

Professor's dacha on the coast of the Gulf of Finland. In the absence of the owner, a friend of my father, our family was allowed to live there. Even decades later, I remember how, after a tiring road from the city, the coolness of a wooden house enveloped me, how the body, shaken and disintegrated in the carriage, gathered up. This coolness was not associated with freshness, rather, oddly enough, with an intoxicating mustiness, in which the aromas of old books and numerous ocean trophies merged, it was not clear how the law professor got it. Dried starfish, mother-of-pearl shells, carved masks, a pith helmet, and even a pipefish quill lay on the shelves, spreading a salty smell.

Gently pushing aside the seafood, I took books from the shelves, sat Turkish-style in an armchair with boxwood armrests and read. He leafed through the pages with his right hand, while his left clutched a piece of bread with butter and sugar. I ate thoughtfully and read, and the sugar creaked on my teeth. These were Jules Verne novels or magazine descriptions of exotic countries bound in leather - an unknown world, inaccessible and infinitely far from jurisprudence. At his dacha, the professor obviously collected what he had dreamed of since childhood, which was not provided for by his current position and was not regulated by the Code of Laws of the Russian Empire. In the countries dear to his heart, I suspect there were no laws at all.

From time to time I raised my eyes from the book and, watching the fading of the bay outside the window, tried to understand how lawyers become. Have you dreamed about it since childhood? Doubtful. As a child, I dreamed of being a conductor or, say, a fire chief, but never a lawyer. I also imagined that I stayed in this cool room forever, I live in it, as if in a capsule, and outside the window there are changes, coups, earthquakes, and there is no more sugar, no butter, not even the Russian Empire - and only I am still sitting and I read, I read ... Later life showed that I guessed right with sugar and butter, but to sit and read - this, alas, did not work out.

Part 2. Park

We are in Polezhaevsky Park, mid-June. The river Ligovka flows there, it is quite small, but in the park it turns into a lake. On the water - boats, on the grass - checkered blankets, fringed tablecloths, samovars. I watch as a company sitting nearby starts a gramophone. I don’t remember who exactly is sitting, but I can still see the handle turning. After a moment there is music - hoarse, stuttering, but still music.

A box full of small, cold, singing, even from the outside and invisible - I did not have such a thing. And how I wanted to have it: take care of it, cherish it, put it by the stove in the winter, but most importantly, wind it up with regal carelessness, as they do a long-familiar thing. The rotation of the handle seemed to me a simple and at the same time non-obvious cause of flowing sounds, a kind of universal master key to beauty. There was something Mozartian in this, something like a wave of a conductor's baton, reviving dumb instruments and also not quite explainable by earthly laws. I used to conduct by myself, humming the tunes I heard, and I did pretty well. If it weren't for the dream of becoming a firemaster, then I would like to be, of course, a conductor.

On that June day we also saw the conductor. With an orchestra obedient to his hand, he slowly moved away from the shore. It was not a park orchestra, not a wind orchestra - a symphony one. He stood on a raft, not knowing how to fit in, and his music spread over the water, and the rest listened to it half-heartedly. Boats and ducks floated around the raft, now the creak of the oarlocks, now the quacking were heard, but all this easily grew into the music and was received by the conductor favorably on the whole. Surrounded by musicians, the conductor was at the same time lonely: there is an incomprehensible tragedy in this profession. He, perhaps, is not expressed as clearly as that of the firemaster, since he is not connected either with fire or with external circumstances in general, but this inner, hidden nature of him burns hearts all the more.

Part 3. Nevsky

I saw how they drove along the Nevsky to put out a fire - in early autumn, at the end of the day. Ahead on a black horse is a “leap” (as the advanced rider of the fire wagon was called), with a pipe at his mouth, like an angel of the Apocalypse. The leap trumpets, clearing the way, and everyone rushes in all directions. The cab drivers whip the horses, press them to the side of the road and freeze, standing half-turned towards the firemen. And now, along the seething Nevsky in the resulting void, a chariot carrying firefighters rushes: they sit on a long bench, back to back, in copper helmets, and the banner of the fire department flutters over them; at the banner - the fireman, he rings the bell. In their dispassion, the firefighters are tragic, on their faces there are reflections of a flame that has already flared up somewhere, already somewhere waiting for them, invisible for the time being.

Fiery yellow leaves from the Catherine's Garden, where there is a fire, sadly fly down on those traveling. My mother and I are standing by the wrought-iron grate and watching how the weightlessness of the leaves is transferred to the convoy: it slowly breaks away from the paving stones and flies over the Nevsky Prospect at a low altitude. A wagon with a steam pump floats behind the line with firefighters (steam from the boiler, smoke from the chimney), followed by a medical van to rescue the burnt. I cry, and my mother says that I should not be afraid, but I am crying not from fear - from an excess of feelings, from admiration for the courage and great glory of these people, because they float so majestically past the frozen crowd to the sound of bells.

I really wanted to become a fireman, and every time I saw firefighters, I turned to them with a silent request to accept me into their ranks. She, of course, was not heard, but now, years later, I do not regret it. At the same time, driving along the Nevsky on the imperial, I invariably imagined that I was heading for a fire: I behaved solemnly and a little sadly, and did not know how everything would turn out there when extinguishing, and caught enthusiastic glances, and at the greetings of the crowd, slightly tilting my head to one side answered with one eye.

This ancient-ancient-ancient world! (Alexander Usachev, text 2016)

Part 1. Briefly about the history of the theater

It is said that the ancient Greeks were very fond of grapes and after harvesting they held a festival in honor of Dionysus, the god of grapes. The retinue of Dionysus was made up of goat-footed creatures - satyrs. Depicting them, the Hellenes put on goat skins, galloped wildly and sang - in a word, they selflessly indulged in fun. Such performances were called tragedies, which in ancient Greek meant "singing goats." Subsequently, the Hellenes thought about what else to dedicate such games to?
Ordinary people have always been interested in knowing how the rich live. The playwright Sophocles began to write plays about kings, and it immediately became clear: kings often cry and their personal life is unsafe and by no means simple. And in order to make the story entertaining, Sophocles decided to attract actors who could play his works - this is how the theater appeared.
At first, art lovers were very unhappy: only those who sat in the front row saw the action, and, since tickets were not yet provided for then, the strongest and tallest occupied the best seats. Then the Hellenes decided to eliminate this inequality and built an amphitheater, where each next row was higher than the previous one, and everything that happened on the stage became visible to everyone who came to the performance.
The performance usually involved not only actors, but also the choir, broadcasting on behalf of the people. For example, a hero entered the arena and said:
"I'm going to do something bad now!"
- To do bad shamelessly! howled the choir.
“All right,” the hero agreed reluctantly on reflection. "Then I'll go and do something good."
“Doing good is good,” the choir approved of him, thus, as if inadvertently pushing the hero to death: after all, as it should be in tragedy, retribution inevitably comes for good deeds.
True, sometimes a “god from the machine” appeared (a machine was called a special crane on which the “god” was lowered onto the stage) and unexpectedly saved the hero. Whether it was really a real god or still an actor is still unclear, but it is known for certain that both the word “machine” and theatrical cranes were invented in Ancient Greece.

Part 2. Briefly about the history of writing

In those ancient times, when the Sumerians came to the interfluve of the Tigris and Euphrates, they spoke an incomprehensible language: after all, the Sumerians were the discoverers of new lands and their language was like that of real scouts - secret, encrypted. No one had and does not have such a language, except perhaps for other intelligence officers.
Meanwhile, the people in Mesopotamia were already using wedges with might and main: young men knocked wedges under the girls (this is how they courted them); swords and knives forged from Damascus steel were wedge-shaped; even cranes in the sky - and they flew in a wedge. The Sumerians saw so many wedges around them that they invented writing - wedges. This is how cuneiform writing, the oldest writing system in the world, was born.
During the lessons in the Sumerian school, students squeezed out wedges on clay tablets with wooden sticks, and therefore everything around was smeared with clay - from floor to ceiling. The cleaners eventually became furious, because such study at school is nothing but dirt, and they have to keep it clean. And in order to maintain cleanliness, it must be clean, otherwise there is nothing to maintain.
But in ancient Egypt, writing consisted of drawings. The Egyptians thought: why write the word "bull" if you can just draw this bull? The ancient Greeks (or Hellenes, as they called themselves) later called such words-drawings hieroglyphs. Writing lessons in ancient Egyptian were more like drawing lessons, and drawing hieroglyphs was a real art.
“Well, no,” said the Phoenicians. – We are hard-working people, artisans and sailors, and we do not need sophisticated calligraphy, let us have simpler writing.
And they came up with letters - this is how the alphabet turned out. People began to write in letters, and the further, the faster. And the faster they wrote, the uglier they got. Doctors wrote the most: they wrote prescriptions. Therefore, some of them still have such a handwriting that they seem to write letters, but hieroglyphs come out.

Part 3. Briefly about the history of the Olympic Games

The ancient Greeks came up with the Olympic Games while they were waging one of their never-ending wars. There were two main reasons: firstly, during battles, soldiers and officers had no time to go in for sports, but the Hellenes (as the ancient Greeks called themselves) tried to train all the time not busy with exercises in philosophy; secondly, the soldiers wanted to return home as soon as possible, and vacation in the war was not provided. It was clear that the troops needed a truce and that the only way to declare it could be the Olympic Games: after all, an indispensable condition for the Olympics is an end to the war.
At first, the Hellenes wanted to hold the Olympic Games annually, but later they realized that frequent breaks in hostilities endlessly lengthen wars, so the Olympic Games began to be announced only once every four years. Of course, there were no Winter Games in those days, because there were no ice arenas or ski slopes in Hellas.
Any citizen could participate in the Olympic Games, but the rich could afford expensive sports equipment, while the poor could not. To prevent the rich from defeating the poor just because their sports equipment is better, all athletes measured their strength and agility naked.
Why were the games called the Olympic Games? - you ask. - Did the gods from Olympus also take part in them?
No, the gods, apart from quarrels among themselves, did not engage in any other sport, but they loved to follow sports competitions from the skies with undisguised excitement from mortals. And to make it more convenient for the gods to observe the ups and downs of the competition, the first stadium was built in the sanctuary, which was called Olympia - this is how the games got their name.
The gods, even for the time of the games, concluded a truce between themselves and swore not to help their chosen ones. Moreover, they even allowed the Hellenes to consider the winners as gods - however, temporary, only for one day. Olympic champions were awarded olive and laurel wreaths: medals had not yet been invented, and laurel in ancient Greece was worth its weight in gold, so a laurel wreath then was the same as a gold medal today.

City on the river (Leonid Yuzefovich, text 2017)

Part 1. St. Petersburg. Neva
My grandfather was born in Kronstadt, my wife is from Leningrad, so in St. Petersburg I feel not quite a stranger. However, in Russia it is difficult to find a person in whose life this city would mean nothing. We are all connected in one way or another with him, and through him with each other.

There is little greenery in St. Petersburg, but there is a lot of water and sky. The city is spread out on a plain, and the sky above it is immense. You can enjoy the performances played on this stage by clouds and sunsets for a long time. The actors are controlled by the best director in the world - the wind. The scenery of roofs, domes and spiers remains unchanged, but never gets bored.
In 1941, Hitler decided to starve out Leningraders and wipe the city off the face of the earth. “The Fuhrer did not understand that the order to blow up Leningrad was tantamount to an order to blow up the Alps,” noted writer Daniil Granin. St. Petersburg is a stone bulk, which in its unity and power has no equal among European capitals. It has preserved over eighteen thousand buildings built before 1917. This is more than in London and Paris, not to mention Moscow.
The Neva with its tributaries, channels and canals flows through an indestructible labyrinth carved from stone. Unlike the sky, the water here is not free, it speaks of the power of the empire, which managed to forge it in granite. In summer, fishermen with fishing rods stand by the parapets on the embankments. Under their feet are plastic bags in which caught fish tremble. The same roach and fish catchers stood here under Pushkin. The bastions of the Peter and Paul Fortress turned gray then, and the Bronze Horseman reared his horse. Except that the Winter Palace was dark red, not green, as it is now.
It seems that nothing around reminds us that in the twentieth century a crack in Russian history passed through St. Petersburg. His beauty allows us to forget about the unimaginable trials he endured.

Part 2. Perm. Kama
When from the left bank of the Kama, on which my native Perm lies, you look at the right bank with its forests turning blue to the horizon, you feel the fragility of the border between civilization and the primordial forest element. Only a strip of water separates them, and it also unites them. If as a child you lived in a city on a large river, you were lucky: you understand the essence of life better than those who were deprived of this happiness.
In my childhood, sterlet was still found in Kama. In the old days, it was sent to St. Petersburg to the royal table, and in order not to deteriorate on the way, cotton wool soaked in cognac was placed under the gills. As a boy, I saw a small sturgeon on the sand with a jagged back stained with fuel oil: the whole Kama was then covered in fuel oil from tugboats. These dirty hard workers dragged rafts and barges behind them. Children ran on the decks and clothes dried in the sun. Endless strings of stapled, slimy logs vanished along with the tugs and barges. Kama became cleaner, but the sterlet never returned to it.
It was said that Perm, like Moscow and Rome, lay on seven hills. It was enough to feel the breath of history blowing over my wooden city, studded with factory pipes. Its streets run either parallel to the Kama or perpendicular to it. Before the revolution, the first ones were named after the churches that stood on them, such as, for example, Voznesenskaya or Pokrovskaya. The latter bore the names of the places where the roads flowing from them led: Siberian, Solikamsk, Verkhoturskaya. Where they intersected, the heavenly met the earthly. Here I realized that sooner or later converges with the mountain, you just need to be patient and wait.
Permians argue that it is not the Kama that flows into the Volga, but, on the contrary, the Volga flows into the Kama. It does not matter to me which of these two great rivers is a tributary of the other. In any case, Kama is the river that flows through my heart.

Part 3. Ulan-Ude. Selenga
The names of the rivers are older than all other names on maps. We do not always understand their meaning, so the Selenga keeps the secret of its name. It came either from the Buryat word "sel", which means "spill", or from the Evenk "sele", that is, "iron", but I heard in it the name of the Greek goddess of the moon, Selena. Squeezed by forested hills, often shrouded in mist, the Selenga was for me a mysterious “moon river”. In the noise of its current, I, a young lieutenant, seemed to be a promise of love and happiness. It seemed that they were waiting for me ahead as immutably as Baikal was waiting for the Selenga.
Maybe she promised the same to the twenty-year-old lieutenant Anatoly Pepelyaev, the future white general and poet. Shortly before the First World War, he secretly married his chosen one in a poor rural church on the banks of the Selenga. The noble father did not give his son a blessing for an unequal marriage. The bride was the granddaughter of the exiles and the daughter of a simple railroad worker from Verkhneudinsk, as Ulan-Ude used to be called.
I found this city almost the same as Pepelyaev saw it. In the market, Buryats who came from the outback in traditional blue robes traded lamb and women in museum sundresses walked around. They sold circles of frozen milk strung on their hands like rolls. They were “family”, as the Old Believers, who used to live in large families, are called in Transbaikalia. True, something appeared that did not exist under Pepelyaev. I remember how the most original of all the monuments to Lenin I have seen was placed on the main square: on a low pedestal, a huge granite head of the leader, without a neck and torso, was rounded, similar to the head of a giant hero from Ruslan and Lyudmila. It still stands in the capital of Buryatia and has become one of its symbols. Here history and modernity, Orthodoxy and Buddhism do not reject or suppress each other. Ulan-Ude gave me hope that this is possible in other places.

Language teacher.
Part 1. Morning
Every morning, still by the light of the stars, Yakob Ivanovich Bach woke up and, lying under a thick quilted duck down feather bed, listened to the world. The quiet discordant sounds of someone else's life flowing somewhere around him and above him calmed him down. Winds blew over the rooftops - heavy in winter, densely mixed with snow and ice grains, resilient in spring, breathing moisture and heavenly electricity, sluggish, dry in summer, mixed with dust and light feather grass seed. Dogs barked, welcoming the sleepy owners who came out onto the porch, and cattle roared in a bass voice on their way to the watering hole. The world breathed, crackled, whistled, mooed, clapped its hooves, rang and sang in different voices.

The sounds of his own life were so meager and blatantly insignificant that Bach forgot how to hear them: he isolated them in the general sound stream and let them pass by his ears. The glass of the only window in the room rattled under the gusts of wind; That, perhaps, is all. It was much more interesting to listen to the great life. Sometimes, having listened, Bach even forgot that he himself was a part of this world, that he could, having gone out onto the porch, join the polyphony: sing something perky, or slam the door loudly, or, at worst, just sneeze. But Bach preferred to listen.

At six in the morning, carefully dressed and combed, he was already standing at the school bell tower with a pocket watch in his hands. After waiting for both hands to merge into a single line (hours at six, minutes at twelve), he pulled the rope with all his strength - and the bronze bell resounded. Over many years of practice, Bach achieved such mastery in this matter that the sound of a blow was heard exactly at the moment when the minute hand touched the zenith of the dial, and not a second later. A moment later, everyone in the village turned towards the sound and whispered a short prayer. A new day has dawned...

Part 2. Day
... Over the years of teaching, each of which resembled the previous one and did not stand out in anything special, Yakob Ivanovich was so used to pronouncing the same words and reading the same tasks that he learned to mentally split inside his body: his tongue muttered the text of the next grammatical rule, the hand clamped in it with a ruler languidly slapped the back of the head of an overly talkative student, the legs sedately carried the body around the classroom from the pulpit to the back wall, then back, back and forth. And the thought dozed, lulled by his own voice and measured shaking of his head in time with unhurried steps.

German speech was the only subject during which Bach's thought regained its former freshness and vivacity. We started the lesson with oral exercises. The students were asked to tell something, Bach listened and translated: he turned short dialect turns into elegant phrases of literary German. They moved slowly, sentence by sentence, word by word, as if they were walking somewhere in deep snow - trail after trail. Yakob Ivanovich did not like to delve into the alphabet and calligraphy and, having finished with conversations, hastily rushed the lesson to the poetic part: verses poured generously on young shaggy heads, like water from a pelvis on a bathing day.

Bach's love for poetry burned even in his youth. Then it seemed that he did not eat potato soup and sauerkraut, but only ballads and hymns. It seemed that he could feed everyone around with them - that's why he became a teacher. Until now, reciting his favorite stanzas in class, Bach still felt a cool flutter of delight in his chest. The children did not share the teacher's passion: their faces, usually playful or concentrated, acquired a submissive somnambulistic expression with the very first sounds of poetic lines. German romanticism had an effect on the class better than sleeping pills. Perhaps the reading of poetry could be used to calm the naughty audience instead of the usual screams and hits with a ruler ...

Part 3. Evening
... Bach descended from the porch of the school and found himself on the square, at the foot of the majestic church with a spacious prayer hall in the lace of lancet windows and a huge bell tower resembling a sharpened pencil. I walked past neat wooden houses with sky-blue, berry-red and corn-yellow architraves; past planed fences; past boats overturned in anticipation of the flood; past front gardens with rowan bushes. He walked so swiftly, loudly crunching his boots in the snow or squelching his boots in the spring mud, that one might think that he had a dozen urgent matters that should certainly be settled today ...

Passers-by, noticing the mincing figure of the teacher, sometimes called out to him and talked about the school successes of their offspring. However, he, out of breath from a quick walk, answered reluctantly, in short phrases: time was running out. In confirmation, he took out a watch from his pocket, threw a contrite glance at them and, shaking his head, ran on. Where he fled, Bach himself could not explain.

I must say, there was another reason for his haste: when talking with people, Yakob Ivanovich stuttered. His trained language, which worked steadily and without fail during the lessons and without a single hesitation uttered the multi-component words of literary German, easily gave out such complex subordinating knees that some student would forget even the beginning until he listened to the end. The same language suddenly began to refuse the owner when Bach switched to a dialect in conversations with his fellow villagers. To read by heart passages from Faust, for example, the tongue desired; to tell the neighbor: “But your dunce has been mischievous again today!” didn’t want to in any way, stuck to the palate and interfered between the teeth, like an oversized and poorly cooked dumpling. It seemed to Bach that stuttering intensified over the years, but it was difficult to verify this: he talked with people less and less often ... So a life flowed in which there was everything except life itself, calm, full of penny joys and meager anxieties, in some way even happy .

How does an increase in the influx of tourists affect the exchange rate? What is included in tax revenues? No, this is not a final exam for bankers, but the second All-Russian Economic Dictation, which took place yesterday. The correspondent of "VM" checked her financial literacy

On a standard examination form - 20 questions. There are at least several hundred Muscovites in the audience. By the way, this year the economic dictation is written not only in the regions of Russia, but also in Tajikistan, Mongolia and the Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic. However, despite all the organizers' assurances that the questions are aimed at the average citizen without a specialized education, a stupor sets in in the first minutes. So: “With what precious metal or other values ​​is the ratio of the Russian ruble established?”

It seems to be easy, even a schoolboy knows that the rate of the domestic currency has long been independent of gold or anything else. But with the third you have to remember all the latest news. “Is Cryptocurrency Legal Tender in Russia?” It seems that no restrictions on the use were introduced, crypto-conferences are held almost every week, which means “yes”.

The All-Russian economic dictation was conceived as one of the stages in solving the problem with gaps in the knowledge of the economy among our population, - says Sergey Bodrunov, chairman of the organizing committee of the action. - Not everyone is well versed in where we are moving, how banks work, how the tax system functions. And our main goal is to pay attention to these critical moments. Dreaming of your own business? And what body carries out registration of an individual entrepreneur, you know? And here is one more question that will baffle even a person with a philological education: “What business deal was the cat Matroskin going to make with his cow in the Prostokvashino cartoon: leasing, franchise, loan or rent?”

This year's questions affect both theory, banking, and the taxation system, says Mikhail Eskindarov, rector of the Financial University under the Government of Russia. - I would tie this action to the program to improve the level of financial literacy of the population, which is already in full swing.

The action "All-Russian economic dictation" was organized by the Free Economic Society of Russia with the participation of the Financial University under the Government of the Russian Federation, Plekhanov Russian University of Economics,. Last year, during the action, the All-Russian economic dictation was written by more than 59 thousand participants at 638 sites in 80 regions of the Russian Federation. The topic of this year's dictation is "Strong economy - prosperous Russia!".

Grade 10
Diagnostic dictation

Pushkin House

Pushkin's house in Mikhailovsky, though a museum, is alive. It is filled with warmth, friendly and bright. His rooms are always permeated with the smells of good wood and fresh earth. When pine trees bloom in the groves, fragrant pollen rises in a cloud over the house.

But now the time comes, and lindens bloom on the estate. Then the house is saturated with the smells of wax and honey. Limes stand next to the house, and wild bees live in their hollows.

The house has a lot of good Pskov linen - tablecloths, towels, curtains. Flax has its own aroma - cool, strong. When the linen things in the house get old, they are replaced with fresh, newly woven rural weavers on old mills.

Things made of linen have an amazing property - where they are, they always smell of freshness. Scientists say that flax preserves human health. The one who sleeps on a coarse linen sheet, wears a linen shirt on his body, wipes himself with a linen towel - almost never gets sick with a cold.

Pushkin's peasants, like all Pskovians, from ancient times loved to grow flax, and it was famous throughout Russia and abroad. Two hundred years ago, there was even an English trading office in Pskov, which bought linen and linen products and sent them to England.

Linen, flowers, apples in Pushkin's rooms always smell of sunshine and cleanliness, although on some days thousands of people pass through the museum. (According to S. Geichenko.)

Silence

And behind the oaks - Dikanka with its magnificent palace, surrounded by a park, merging with oak forests, in which there were even herds of wild goats.

I spent the whole day in this forest, a sunny October day.

The silence is amazing. Neither leaf nor twig moves. If you just look at the sun, a transparent, shiny cobweb shimmers in the air between thin shoots, and if you listen, an oak leaf that has fallen from a tree rustles for a moment. The ground was strewn with yellow leaves tightly nailed the day before by rain, above which stand still green ones, which had not had time to turn yellow and fall off the leaves of young shoots. No sound, no movement.

Only the palmate maple leaf, transparent yellow in the sun, stands sideways to the stem and stubbornly swings to the sides with a correct movement, like a pendulum: now to the right, then to the left. It swayed for a long time and calmed down only when it broke away, flew down in zigzags and merged with the yellow carpet. Moreover, the silence was broken by two beauties - wild goats, who quickly swept past me and disappeared into the forest beam ... And there is no end to this forest. And in the middle of it are glades where herds graze...

Here is Volchiy Yar, from where an immense horizon opens far, far below, cut through by the blue ribbon of the Vorskla, now with a smooth steppe, now with a wooded steep bank ... (According to V. A. Gilyarovsky.)

Dikanka, Vorskla, Volchiy Yar - write the words on the board.

Noble estates

Reader, are you familiar with those small noble estates that our Ukraine abounded twenty-five, thirty years ago? Now they are rarely seen, and in ten years, and the last of them, perhaps, will disappear without a trace.

A flowing pond, overgrown with willows and reeds, a roost of busy ducks, to which occasionally a cautious teal joins. Behind the pond is a garden with alleys of lindens, of this beauty and honor of our black earth plains, with dead ridges of wild strawberries, with a continuous thicket of gooseberries, currants, raspberries, in the midst of which, in the dark hour of the motionless midday heat, the yard girl’s colorful handkerchief will certainly flash and her piercing voice will ring out. There is also a barn on chicken legs, a greenhouse, a poor vegetable garden, with a flock of sparrows on stamens and a cat crouching near a failed well. And then - curly apple trees over high, green below, gray grass above, liquid cherries, pears, on which there is never a fruit. Then flowerbeds with poppies, peonies, pansies, bushes of honeysuckle, wild jasmine, lilac and acacia, with incessant bee, bumblebee buzzing in thick, fragrant, sticky branches.

Finally, the manor house, one-story, on a brick foundation, with greenish glass in narrow frames, with a sloping, once painted roof, with a balcony from which jug-shaped railings fell out, with a crooked mezzanine, with a voiceless old dog in a hole under the porch ... ( According to I. S. Turgenev.)

(191 words.)

gypsies

The performance with the learned bear was the only folk theater at that time. Although it served as entertainment for the people, but, like many other things at that time, this performance was extremely rude, harmful and even dangerous. The enraged beast often reared up, bared its terrible teeth and uttered a tremendous roar. Horror seized the domestic animals then, and a terrible commotion arose in the barnyard: the horses neighed, and often broke off the leash, the cows mooed, the sheep bleated more and more pitifully.

In spring and summer, a gypsy camp also appeared and was located near one or another landowner's estate. With the onset of dusk, the gypsies lit fires and prepared their dinner, after which the sounds of music and singing were heard. People flocked to look at them from all villages, and aside from their fun and dancing, gypsies predicted the future for women, girls and young ladies.

I was especially attracted to Masha - a beautiful swarthy, red-cheeked gypsy with black eyes that burned with fire, with wavy jet-black hair, curls and curls of which completely covered her forehead, with black thick eyebrows in an arch. Of all the wanderings, Masha always brought me gifts: either some especially large hazelnuts, or sunflowers, or black pods, or a clay cockerel, or some tiny clay pot.

(According to E. N. Vodovozova.)

Early morning

The heavy, thick hands on the huge dial, whitened obliquely from the watchmaker's sign, showed thirty-six minutes past seven. In the light blue of the sky, which had not yet warmed up after the night, one thin cloud turned pink, and there was something unearthly graceful in its elongated outline. The footsteps of infrequent passers-by sounded especially clear in the desert air, and in the distance the bodily ebb trembled on the tram rails. A wagon loaded with huge bundles of violets, covered with half-striped coarse cloth, rolled quietly along the panel; the trader helped to drag her to a big red dog, which, sticking out his tongue, leaned forward all over, straining all his dry, devoted to man muscles.

Sparrows flew up from the black branches of slightly green trees with an airy rustle and sat on a narrow ledge of a high brick wall.

The shops were still sleeping behind bars, the houses were lit only from above, but it was impossible to imagine that it was sunset and not early morning. Due to the fact that the shadows lay in the other direction, strange combinations were created, unexpected for the eye, well accustomed to evening shadows...

Everything seemed not so set, fragile, turned upside down, as in a mirror...

He looked around and at the end of the street saw a lighted corner of the house where he had just lived in the past and where he would never return again. And in this departure of the whole house from his life there was a beautiful mystery. (According to V. Nabokov.)

Control dictation based on the results of the 1st half of the year

Guest

(194 words.)

Assignments to the text

AT 3. Write out from 10 sentences the word corresponding to the scheme: one prefix + root + one suffix + ending.

AT 4. Find in the text simple sentences complicated by isolated circumstances. Write down their numbers.

AT 5. Find in the text sentences with homogeneous predicates. Write down their numbers.

Sea and forest

(1) Shaggy gray clouds, like a broken flock of frightened birds, rush low over the sea. (2) A piercing, sharp wind from the ocean either knocks them into a dark solid mass, then, as if playing, it tears and flies, piling up into bizarre outlines.

(3) The sea turned white, the weather rustled. (4) Leaden waters rise heavily and, swirling with bubbling foam, roll with a dull roar into the hazy distance. (5) The wind angrily digs along their shaggy surface, far spreading salt spray. (6) And along the snaking coast, white jagged piles of ice piled up on the shallows rise massively in a colossal ridge. (7) As if the titans in a heavy grip threw these giant fragments.

(8) Breaking off with steep ledges from coastal heights, a dense forest gloomy approached the sea itself. (9) The wind hums with the red trunks of centuries-old pines, heels slender fir trees, shaking them with sharp tops and showering fluffy snow from sadly drooping green branches.

(10) Gray centuries pass without a trace over a silent country, and a dense forest stands and calmly, gloomy, as if in deep thought, shakes its dark peaks. (11) Not one of his mighty trunks has yet fallen under the daring ax of the greedy lumberjack: swamps and impenetrable swamps lay in his dark thicket. (12) And where the century-old pines turned into small shrubs, the lifeless tundra stretched like a dead expanse and was lost by an endless border in the cold haze of a low-hanging fog. (According to A. Serafimovich.)

Assignments to the text

IN 1. What is the most generalized sentence that expresses the main idea of ​​the text?

AT 2. What type of speech is presented in the text?

AT 3. Explain the lexical meaning of the words "titans", "greedy".

AT 4. From 12 sentences, write down the words formed in different ways.

AT 5. Write out from 2 sentences the word(s) corresponding to the scheme: one prefix + root + one suffix + ending.

AT 6. From 1 sentence, write out phrases with the connection adjunction, control, coordination.

AT 7. Find in the text simple sentences complicated by isolated circumstances. Write down their numbers.

AT 8. Find in the text sentences with homogeneous predicates. Write down their numbers.

AT 9. Determine what types of complex sentences are used in the text.

AT 10 O'CLOCK. What linguistic means are used to link between sentences, between paragraphs?

wonderful night

(1) Spring night, exciting, fragrant, full of mysterious charms and passionate fading, floats across the sky. (2) The shepherd's pipe fell silent. (3) All sounds gradually subsided. (4) The frogs subsided, and the mosquitoes calmed down. (5) From time to time, some strange rustling in the bushes will sweep, or a gust of wind will blow away the howl of a watch dog from a distant village, languishing in loneliness on this wonderful night.

(6) It is stuffy in a large cool room. (7) You get out of bed, open the window and put your hot cheek to the glass. (8) But the face is still burning, and the heart stops just as painfully.

(9) All around is quiet! (10) The grove seems huge. (11) The trees seem to have moved together and seem to be conspiring, as if they are revealing an important secret. (12) Suddenly, an iridescent ringing is heard: this is a mail carriage driving along a high road. (13) The rattling of bells can be heard from afar. (14) For a minute it will be silent, it must be that the troika drove over the mountain.

(15) How exciting is the sound of postal bells at night! (16) After all, you know - there is no one to wait. (17) And yet, as soon as you hear this silvery ringing on the road, your heart will beat and suddenly pull you somewhere far away, to some unknown countries. (18) How good life is! (According to S. Kovalevskaya.)

(164 words.)

Tasks

I option

AT 2. From sentence 5, write out a separate, common, agreed-upon definition.

AT 3. Among sentences 1-5 find compound sentences. List their numbers.

AT 4. Write out all the pronouns from sentence 5.

AT 5. From sentences 1 - 4 write out a word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. Among sentences 6−10 find a simple one-part definite-personal. Enter his number.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word is formed little by little (sentence 3).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 11) built on the basis of control.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 16.

II option

AT 2. From sentence 1, write out a separate, common, agreed-upon definition.

AT 3. Among sentences 11-17 find non-union compound sentences. List their numbers.

AT 4. From sentence 11 write out all unions.

AT 5. From sentences 6-14, write out the word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. Among sentences 15−18, find such a complex one, both parts of which are one-part. Enter his number.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word is formed from afar (sentence 13).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 12) built on the basis of adjacency.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 17.

Literacy in Rus'

(1) Now no one considers it supernatural and inexplicable the fact that from the beginning of Christianity to the Mongol-Tatar invasion, Kievan Rus was a country of high and beautiful written culture. (2) The introduction of Christianity and its introduction to Byzantine literacy established the continuity of the two written cultures. (3) This greatly increased the interest of the Eastern Slavs in the book and contributed to the spread of writing at the dawn of its civilization.

(4) It is not without reason to assume that literacy was perceived by us in the shortest possible time and developed unhindered at first. (5) Nothing blocked the people's path to literacy, and our forefathers quickly mastered a relatively high level of writing. (6) This is confirmed by the surviving inscriptions on wooden objects, for example, on spinning wheels, on fancy combs for combing flax, on unpretentious pottery, on various pieces of wood that are not suitable for exhibiting.

(7) It is not for nothing that science attaches great importance to the study of ancient objects. (8) Without exaggeration, we can say that the archaeological finds exceeded all the expectations of scientists, revealing pictures of living antiquity. (9) In the notorious excavations near Novgorod, which were carried out for ten years, super interesting writings on birch bark were found. (10) This is an unprecedented discovery in archeology: they capture the original prehistory of the Russian book.

(According to I. Golub.)

Tasks
I option

IN 1. In one or two sentences, state the main idea of ​​the text.

AT 2. Among sentences 5-6, find a sentence with an introductory word. Enter his number.

AT 3. Among sentences 4-6, find a compound sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 4 write out all the prepositions.

AT 5. From sentences 1-3 write out a word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. From sentences 4−6 write out a separate definition.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word is formed not without reason (sentence 7).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 7) built on the basis of adjacency.

II option

IN 1. How else could the text be titled? Write down 2 of your headings to the text.

AT 2. Among sentences 1-4, find a sentence with an introductory construction. Enter his number.

AT 3. Among sentences 7-10, find a non-union complex sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 9 write out all the prepositions.

AT 5. From sentences 4-6, write out a word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. From sentences 7−10 write out a separate circumstance.

AT 7. Indicate the method of formation of the written word (sentence 3).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 4) built on the basis of adjacency.

From high

(1) A metal fence separated the mourners from those departing. (2) On the plane, we stuck to the windows, and a wonderful picture appeared before us. (3) The mountains met us with bad weather, giant streams of water rushed down. (4) A river rumbled nearby, carrying whitish water under a steep slope, as if whitened with milk, but not at all dirty. (5) Immediately behind the river, rocky mountains rose, outlined by a broken line. (6) In a clearing bounded on three sides by low shrubs, and on one side by a mountain river with icy water, novice climbers were engaged in exercises.

(7) Even when we were walking here, having risen from the gorge and went out into the mountainous expanse, the whistles of marmots were heard to the right and left. (8) The speed with which they dive into their holes is amazing. (9) Even a mortally wounded marmot still manages to hide in a hole. (10) Frozen, they can stand for a very long time in complete immobility, as if petrified, but with a sharp movement of one of us, they disappear instantly.

(11) We walked along the edge of a very deep gorge, at the bottom of which water ran towards us from glaciers, trying to merge with other rivers. (12) The sky above the peaks surrounding us cleared up, and within an hour the stars lit up on it. (According to V. Soloukhin.)

Tasks
I option

IN 1. In one or two sentences, state the main idea of ​​the text.

AT 2. From sentences 1-7 write out homogeneous isolated circumstances.

AT 3. Among sentences 1-8, find the non-union compound. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 11 write out all the prepositions.

AT 5. From sentences 1-6, write out a word with an unpronounceable consonant in the root.

AT 6. Among sentences 3–11, find a complex subordinate with a clause of time. Enter his number.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word whitish is formed (sentence 4).

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 8.

II option

IN 1. How else could the text be titled? Write down 2 of your headings to the text.

AT 2. From sentences 8−10 write out isolated circumstances.

AT 3. Among sentences 7-12 find compound sentences. List their numbers.

AT 4. From sentence 12 write out all the prepositions.

AT 5. From sentences 8-12, write out words with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. Among sentences 3-11, find complex subordinate clauses with attributive clauses. Enter his number.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word is formed by bad weather (sentence 3).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 12) built on the basis of agreement.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical basics of sentence 10.

funny game

(1) Everything in the house has changed, everything has become a match for the new inhabitants. (2) The beardless yard guys, merry fellows and jokers, replaced the former sedate old men. (3) Lean pacers, rooters and zealous harnesses started up in the stables.

(4) On that evening, which was discussed, the inhabitants of the house were engaged in a little complicated, but, judging by the friendly laughter, a very funny game for them: they ran around the living rooms and halls and caught each other. (5) The dogs ran and barked, and the canaries hanging in the cages, fluttering incessantly, vied with each other to tear their throats.

(6) In the midst of too deafening fun, inaccessible to the understanding of the courtyards, a polluted tarantass drove up to the gate, and a man of about forty slowly got out of it and stopped in amazement. (7) He stood for a while, as if dumbfounded, looked around the house with an attentive gaze, entered through the ajar gate into the wooden front garden and slowly climbed onto the porch with railings cut from pine. (8) No one met him in the hall, but the door of the hall quickly swung open, and Shurochka jumped out of it, all flushed. (9) Instantly, the whole young company ran out after her with a loud cry. (10) Surprised by the appearance of an unexpected and uninvited visitor, Shurochka suddenly calmed down, but her bright eyes fixed on him looked just as kindly.

(11) The guest, and it was none other than Lavretsky, introduced himself, and confusion was visible on his face. (According to I. Turgenev.)

(193 words.)

Tasks
I option

IN 1. In one or two sentences, state the main idea of ​​the text.

AT 2. From sentences 1-5 write out isolated circumstances.

AT 5. From sentences 6–7, write out the word with a prefix in -з, -с.

AT 6. What part of speech is the word chopped (sentence 7)? What part of speech in another context can it still be?

AT 7. Indicate the way of forming the word laconic (sentence 4).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 1) built on the basis of agreement.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 11.

II option

IN 1. How else could the text be titled? Write down 2 of your headings to the text.

AT 2. From sentences 6−10 write out a separate circumstance.

AT 3. Among sentences 6-10 find a simple complicated sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 8 write out all the pronouns.

AT 5. From sentences 8–10, write out the words with a prefix in -з, -с.

AT 6. What part of speech are the word front (8 sentence)? What part of speech in another context can it still be?

AT 7. Indicate the way of forming the word incessantly (sentence 5).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 2) built on the basis of control.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 5.

The beauty of autumn

(1) There was a bright farewell day at the end of October on the canvas. (2) The white sun stood low, shone through between the trunks of distant birches, which seemed black on the slope against the sun. (3) The wind blew and exposed the abandoned monastery garden. (4) A blue, quite summer sky with summer clouds shone over the waving treetops, over a destroyed stone wall, illuminated from the side. (5) A lone apple that fell into the grass lay near the wall, barely visible through the leaves that stuck around it.

(6) Yes, he was completely alone in the vicinity of that monastery, and it was then a sunny, dry, spacious day. (7) There was a thick noise, shimmering with gold of the remaining foliage, old maples, a crimson blizzard chalked along the overgrown paths of the garden. (8) Everything was transparent, fresh, farewell. (9) Why farewell? (10) Why, after fifty years, especially on the bright, dry, sonorous days of autumn, he could not escape the feeling that what happened to millions of people would soon happen to him, just like him, who walked along the paths near other walls? (11) Perhaps beauty is realized only at the fatal and timid moment of its inception and before its inevitable disappearance, withering, on the verge of an end and a beginning, on the edge of an abyss?

(12) There is nothing short-lived beauty, but how unbearably terrible it is that in every birth of the beautiful there is its end, its death. (13) The day dies in the evening, youth - in old age, love - in cooling and indifference.

(According to Yu. Bondarev.)

Tasks
I option

IN 1. In one or two sentences, state the main idea of ​​the text.

AT 2. What part of speech is the word beautiful (12th sentence)? What part of speech in another context can it still be?

AT 3. Among sentences 6-11 find a compound sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 12 write out all the pronouns.

AT 5. From sentences 6-11 write out a word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. From sentences 1−4 write out a separate definition.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word slope is formed (sentence 2).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 2) built on the basis of adjacency.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of the sentence 2.

II option

IN 1. How else could the text be titled? Write down 2 of your headings to the text.

AT 2. What part of speech is the word against (2nd sentence)? What part of speech in another context can it still be?

AT 3. Among sentences 6-11 find an unassociated complex sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 10 write out all the pronouns.

AT 5. From sentences 12–13, write out a word with an alternating unstressed vowel in the root.

AT 6. From sentences 5−10 write out a separate definition.

AT 7. Indicate the way the word is formed from the side (sentence 4).

AT 8. Write out a phrase (sentence 3) built on the basis of control.

AT 9. Write down the grammatical foundations of sentence 13.

Control dictation based on the results of the 2nd half of the year

Happiness

1 In fact, when is a person happy? 2 When he gets what he wants. 3 The strength of experience depends on the strength of desire. And if a person passionately desires to achieve some goal, if this desire haunts him, if he does not sleep at night because of this passion, then the satisfaction of desire brings him such happiness that the whole world seems to him shining, the earth sings under him .

(According to S. Chekmarev.)

Tasks
IN 1. How else could the text be titled? Write down 2 of your headings to the text.

AT 2. Indicate the way the word experience is formed (sentence 3).

AT 3. Among sentences 1-5, find a non-union complex sentence. Enter his number.

AT 4. From sentence 4 write down all the pronouns.

AT 5. Write down the grammatical basics of sentence 5

Christmas tree in the trench

It was the winter of 1941 in besieged Leningrad. For many days and nights there was no electricity, water froze in the pipes, for the last three December days no one in the whole city received bread.

In these most difficult days for Leningrad, the Nazis intensified the bombardment of the city. We boys often spent the night in trenches dug in front of our house. It was warmer in them, almost always a candle stub or a lantern was burning, and most importantly, it was always crowded. Not far from us was a battery of anti-aircraft guns guarding one of the Neva bridges. Sometimes artillerymen peered into our trench. How we rejoiced every time they came! They arranged a Christmas tree for us.

Don't think it was a big, lush Christmas tree. Its height was no more than a meter, several knots were covered with thin light green needles. But she was all in toys. A few rifle shells hung on the Christmas tree, and on the very top of the head was a brightly polished Red Army badge with a five-pointed star.

Where the gunners got the Christmas tree remains a mystery to us. We all knew that there were no Christmas trees anywhere nearby. We sat spellbound, staring at a few crackling candle stubs, probably from the previous year. There were no dances around our Christmas tree, no cheerful laughter. And instead of gifts, the anti-aircraft gunners gave each of us a piece of sugar.

(According to F. Bezdudny.)

magic street

When a person dreams too much, severe disappointments await him. That's what happened to me.

Immersed in a pink cloud of memories of wonderful fairy tales, I, I don’t know how, wandered into an unfamiliar street. Suddenly I stopped, startled by sounds I had never heard before.

I looked around: the street was paved and swept clean. It became quite clear to me that you would not find anything interesting here.

On both sides of this clean street were lined with beautiful wooden houses, hidden in the greenery of the gardens, like birds' nests.

It was evening. At the back of the street, behind the trees of a large park, the sun was setting. A bright crimson sky shone through the branches. The hot short rays of the sunset blazed in the glass of the windows, even the pavement stones turned bright red.

Streams of light poured from all sides, and it seemed that the whole street was engulfed in the play of a magical flame; in the pink fragrant air, branches dozed, shrouded in golden transparent dust; everything resembled the fabulous cities of heroes, sorceresses and other wonderful creatures.

A house with green shutters peeped out from behind a hedge of acacia and lilac, and from its open windows came sounds like sunbeams kissing the smooth surface of a calm lake.

I immediately guessed that I had entered the confines of a magical kingdom, and, of course, I decided to go on a reconnaissance of a mysterious country in order to touch and enjoy its countless wonders with my own hands.

Rowan

In autumn, when it gets colder, and the river is light to the bottom, and the forest edges shine through, and cobwebs sparkle on the grass wet with dew, and flocks of young ducks rush in the clear, transparent air. Suddenly, from all the copses, elegant rowan berries hung with clusters come to the fore: here we are, don’t overlook it, they say, don’t neglect our berries, we are generous! The breeze strokes them, ruffles them from top to bottom, and the birds on each branch are fattening, flying, as if from guests to guests, from one golden peak to another, and they stand to themselves, swaying a little, and admire themselves.

Rain will pour down - and the entire river bank will sparkle. Water flows from the rowan brushes, drop by drop, the berries are red, and the drops are red. Where one berry hung, now there are two, and both are alive. The more rain, the more berries in the forest.

Everything, of course, can become familiar, you get used to everything with time, but this is hard not to notice. Throw up your head and unexpectedly, as after a long absence, you will see all this beauty in a surprisingly pure, bewitching radiance. You will see, as for the first time, everything anew and rejoice for yourself that you saw. It can never be forgotten either in reality or in a dream. Here it is, our mountain ash!

(According to A. Yashin.)

Blizzard night

It was night and a blizzard was beginning. My hearing caught some strange sounds, as if a quiet whisper or someone's sighs from the street passed through the walls into my small room, two-thirds of which was buried in shadow. It must have been snow, blown up by the wind, rustling against the walls of the house and the glass of the windows. Something light and white swept past the window in the air, swept past and disappeared, blowing cold on the soul.

I went to the window and looked out into the street, leaning my head, heated by the work of the imagination, against the cold frame. The street was deserted. There was a flashlight in front of my window. Its light trembled, fighting the wind, a trembling streak of light stretched in the air like a wide sword, and snow fell from the roofs of houses, flying into this streak, and flying in, flashed in it for a moment with multi-colored sparks. I felt sad and cold to look at this play of the wind. I quickly undressed, put out the lamp and went to bed.

When the fire went out and darkness filled my room, the sounds seemed to be more audible, and the window looked directly at me as a large cloudy white spot. The clock hastily counted the seconds, sometimes the rustle of snow drowned out their impassive work, but then I again heard the sound of seconds falling into eternity. Sometimes they sounded with such distinct clarity, as if the clock was placed in my head.

(194 words.)

Autograph in the elevator

A week in our elevator lasted a duel between fans of wall autographs, on the one hand, and employees of the housing office, on the other. Fairly painted, scratched with keys and nails, the elevator was sheathed with new panels. In a conspicuous place was attached a piece of drawing paper with an appeal: “Dear wits! If any of you can't wait to exercise your wits, this piece of paper is at your service." A few days later I saw the first inscription on the wall. It was like a signal. The intelligent attempt of the ZhEK employees failed.

How, in fact, to get through these "draughtsmen"? To say that behind the polished panels is the work of lumberjacks, carpenters, polishers? What are people of other ideas about order, about cleanliness, their inscriptions and drawings insulting, incomprehensible? It probably won't work for everyone. Disrespect for others started earlier. They failed to inculcate the habit of reckoning with the well-being of another, appreciating the work of others.

Commensurate any of your actions, motivation with how it will affect other people - in this, in my opinion, lies the origins of the education of kindness and humanity.

(According to A. Vasinsky.)

Happiness

In fact, when is a person happy? When he gets what he wants. The strength of experience depends on the strength of desire. And if a person passionately desires to achieve some goal, if this desire haunts him, if he does not sleep at night because of this passion, then the satisfaction of desire brings him such happiness that the whole world seems to him shining, the earth sings under him .

And even if the goal has not yet been achieved, it is important that a person passionately desires to achieve it. Then a person reveals his abilities, recklessly struggles with all obstacles, every step forward showers him with a wave of happiness, every failure whips like a scourge, a person suffers and rejoices, cries and laughs - a person lives. But if there are no such passionate desires, then there is no life. A man without desires is a miserable man. He has nowhere to draw life from, he is deprived of the sources of life.

Pisarev was absolutely right when he said that the greatest happiness of a person lies in falling in love with such an idea, to which one can devote oneself undividedly without hesitation.

In addition, it is pleasant to devote oneself to a cause that ultimately brings the enrichment of the life of all mankind. A person has no right to rejoice and contribute to deeds from which children wither and the eyes of adults grow dim.

(According to S. Chekmarev.)

love for the sea

The night was dark, thick layers of shaggy clouds were moving across the sky, the sea was calm, black and thick as butter. It breathed a damp, salty aroma and sounded tenderly, splashing on the sides of the ships, on the shore, slightly rocking Chelkash's boat. The dark skeletons of ships rose from the sea to a distant space from the coast, piercing into the sky sharp masts with multi-colored lanterns on top. The sea reflected the lights of the lanterns and was dotted with a mass of yellow spots. They fluttered beautifully on his velvet. The sea slept with a healthy, sound sleep of a worker who was very tired during the day.

The clouds crawled slowly, now merging, now overtaking each other, interfered with their colors and shapes, absorbing themselves and reappearing in new outlines, majestic and gloomy ...

He, the thief, loved the sea. His ebullient, nervous nature, greedy for impressions, never got tired of contemplating this dark latitude, boundless, free and powerful. Sitting at the stern, he cut the water with the rudder and looked ahead calmly, full of desire to drive long and far along this velvet surface.

At the sea, a wide, warm feeling always rose in him, embracing his whole soul, it cleansed it a little of worldly filth. At night, the soft noise of his sleepy breathing floats smoothly over the sea, this immense sound pours calmness into the human soul and, gently taming its evil impulses, gives birth to powerful dreams in it ... (According to M. Gorky.)

(192 words.)

Mikhailovskoe and Trigorskoe

The cart drove into a centuries-old pine forest. In the grass, on the side of the road, something turned white.

I jumped off the cart, bent down and saw a plank overgrown with bindweed. It had black ink on it. I took away the wet stalks of the bindweed and read the almost forgotten words: “In different years, under your canopy, Mikhailovsky groves, I appeared.”

Then I came across such boards in the most unexpected places: in the unmowed meadows above Sorotya, on the sandy slopes on the road from Mikhailovsky to Trigorskoye - everywhere simple Pushkin's stanzas sounded from grass, from heather, from dry strawberries.

I have traveled almost the whole country, I have seen many places that are amazing and heartbreaking, but none of them possessed such a sudden lyrical power as Mikhailovskoye.

It was hard to imagine that along these simple roads with traces of bast shoes, over anthills and knotted roots, Pushkin's riding horse was walking and easily carrying his silent rider.

I remember forests, lakes, parks and the sky. This is almost the only thing that has survived here from Pushkin's times. The local nature is not touched by anyone. She is very well protected. When it was necessary to conduct electricity to the reserve, they decided to run the wires underground so as not to put up poles. The pillars would immediately destroy the Pushkin charm of these deserted places. (According to K. Paustovsky.)

Grade 10
Control dictation at the end of the academic year

A drop of heaven on earth

In the forest, tired of the winter burden, when the awakened buds have not yet blossomed, when the woeful stumps of the winter felling have not yet given growth, but are already crying, when the dead brown leaves lie in a layer, when the bare branches do not yet rustle, but only slowly touch each other, unexpectedly the smell of snowdrops!

Barely noticeable, but it is the smell of awakening life, and therefore it is quiveringly joyful, although almost imperceptible. I look around - it turned out that he was nearby. There is a flower on the ground, a tiny drop of heaven, such a simple and frank harbinger of joy and happiness, to whom it is due and accessible. But for everyone, both happy and unhappy, he is now an adornment of life.

This is how it is among us: there are modest people with a pure heart, with a huge soul. It is they who decorate life, containing all the best that is in humanity: kindness, simplicity, trust. So the snowdrop seems like a drop of heaven on earth.

If I were a writer, I would certainly address it like this: “O restless person! If you want to rest your soul, go to the forest in early spring to the snowdrops, and you will see a beautiful dream of reality. Go quickly: in a few days there may not be snowdrops, and you will not be able to remember the magic of the vision given by nature. Snowdrops - fortunately, people say.

(According to G. Troepolsky.)

Grandfather's house

Now, wherever I live, I don’t have even a trace of that hot joyful craving for the city that I had in my youth. On the contrary, more and more often I feel that I miss my grandfather's house.

Maybe because the grandfather's house no longer exists - the old ones have died, and the young ones have moved to the city or closer to it. And when he was, there was still not enough time to go there more often, I kept him in reserve. And now there is no one there, and it seems to me that I have been robbed, that some of my main roots have been chopped off.

Even if I was rarely there, with his very life, with his hearth smoke, with the kind shade of his trees, he helped me from afar, made me bolder and more self-confident. When a person feels his beginning and his continuation, he more generously and more correctly disposes of his life and it is more difficult to rob him, because he does not keep all his wealth with him.

I miss my grandfather's house with its large green yard, with an old apple tree, with a green walnut tent. How many unripe apples we have knocked down from our old apple tree, how many unripe nuts, covered with a thick green skin with a still delicate shell, with a nucleolus that has not yet thickened inside!

(According to F. Iskander.)

Memories of the motherland

Once, starlings flew to me on a watch, October, autumn, rainy. We raced at night from the coast of Iceland to Norway on a motor ship lit by powerful lights. And in this foggy world, weary constellations arose...

When he raised the binoculars to his eyes, the white superstructures of the ship, rescue whaleboats and birds fluttered in the glasses - wet lumps fluffed by the wind. They rushed between the antennas and tried to hide from the wind behind the pipe.

The deck of our ship was chosen by these small fearless birds as a temporary shelter on their long journey to the south. Of course, Savrasov remembered: rooks, spring, there is still snow, and the trees woke up. And everything in general was remembered what happens around us and what happens inside our souls when the Russian spring comes and rooks and starlings arrive. It brings back to childhood.

And let them scold our Russian artists for the old-fashioned and literary plots. The names of Savrasov, Levitan, Serov, Korovin, Kustodiev hide not only the eternal joy of life in art. It is Russian joy that is hidden, with all its tenderness, modesty and depth. And how simple a Russian song is, so simple is painting.

Art is then art when it evokes in a person a feeling of happiness, albeit fleeting. And we are arranged in such a way that the most penetrating happiness arises in us when we feel love for Russia. (According to V. Konetsky.)