The feat of man in war. A. Fadeev “Young Guard. Secrets of the "Young Guard": why did Fadeev shoot himself after the book was published? Young Guard summary analysis

A. Fadeev’s novel “The Young Guard” was written immediately after the war in 1946. A huge amount of both fiction and non-fiction literature has been written about the Great Patriotic War.

The further the war moves away from us, the more controversy and discrepancies are caused by new facts that constantly appear about the role of the USSR in it. But be that as it may, the Second World War is a terrible tragedy of the Soviet Union and the Soviet people.

A time when the people, the citizens of the country, showed incomparable courage, unparalleled patriotism and superhuman endurance in the fight against the enemy.

This work refers precisely to those books that, using historical material, reflect the attitude of the younger generation to the Second World War, genocide and apartheid, and fascism in general.

The idea of ​​the novel

The author of the novel himself, as a truly Soviet man and patriot, tried to show the reader his attitude towards fascism. Explain that there is nothing more expensive than the Motherland and its laws; for the sake of the Fatherland, any true citizen will gladly and proudly give his life.

Undoubtedly, Soviet ideology is also present here, but still the novel has enormous educational significance, and the example of the Young Guards went down in the history not only of the Patriotic War, but also of the entire history of the USSR, as a symbol of courage and perseverance.

Theme of the novel

The events of the novel take place in Krasnodon, occupied by German troops. Some residents left their hometown, while others stayed and are actively fighting the enemy. An organized partisan detachment operates in the area. And in the city itself, young people - Komsomol members, yesterday's schoolchildren - are waging their own guerrilla war, not intending to sit idly by.

There are also obvious enemies of the Soviet regime in the city, they work for the fascists and are trying in every possible way to expose former party leaders, military personnel, and are trying to expose connected partisans. The situation in the city is still heating up after numerous arrests and executions of people loyal to Soviet power.

During this difficult time, the Young Guard organization managed to contact the partisan organization through their contact Lyubov Shevtsova, who was specially left in the city to work undercover.

Now the young people had more work: they posted leaflets, issued Information Bureau reports, sentenced policemen to death and carried out the sentence, helped escape Soviet prisoners of war, and took part in military skirmishes with the Nazis. They always acted bravely and did not try to spare themselves.

Unfortunately, it was their youthful recklessness that led to the tragedy. The guys took one careless step and the police, who made every effort to catch them, were on their trail. Although the leader of the partisan movement in the city of Lyutikov gave the order to everyone to immediately leave the city and region, perhaps because of their youthful carelessness the underground fighters did not do this.

Arrests and torture began. The Komsomol members remained very steadfast. Only one of the first arrested, Stakhovich, could not withstand the torture and began to testify. The arrests continued, almost all members of the Young Guard, and a group of adult workers of the underground organization, along with Lyutikov, were captured. Although the torture was truly savage, everyone stood firm, and no one else betrayed their comrades.

All underground workers were executed - thrown alive into an abandoned mine. The names of the heroic Young Guards Oleg Koshevoy, Ulyana Gromova, Ivan Zemnukhov, Sergei Tyulenin, Lyubov Shevtsova, became a symbol of courage and perseverance, a symbol of the greatest love for one’s Motherland, for which one would not be sorry to give one’s life. Many generations of young people learned and were educated by their example.

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Alexander Fadeev
Young guard

Forward, towards the dawn, comrades in the struggle!

We will pave the way for ourselves with bayonets and grapeshot...

So that labor becomes the ruler of the world

And he welded everyone into one family,

To battle, young guard of workers and peasants!

Song of Youth

© Children's Literature Publishing House. Design of the series, preface, 2005

© A. A. Fadeev. Text, heirs

© V. Shcheglov. Illustrations, heirs

* * *

Briefly about the author

Alexander Alexandrovich Fadeev was born in the city of Kimry, Tver province on December 11 (24), 1901. In 1908, the family moved to the Far East. In 1912–1919, Alexander Fadeev studied at a commercial school, met the Bolsheviks, embarked on the path of revolutionary struggle, and participated in the partisan movement. During the suppression of the Kronstadt rebellion he was wounded and left in Moscow for treatment. This was followed by two years of study at the Moscow Mining Academy. In 1924–1926 - responsible party work in Krasnodar and Rostov-on-Don.

He published his first story “Against the Current” in 1923, and in 1924 his story “Spill” was published. Fadeev, who was inclined towards literary activity, was sent to Moscow. At the request of M. Gorky, Fadeev prepared as a member of the organizing committee for the First All-Union Congress of Soviet Writers. From 1946 to 1953 he headed the Writers' Union of the USSR. In 1927, Fadeev’s famous novel “Destruction” was published. In 1930–1940, chapters of his novel “The Last of the Udege” were published. During the Great Patriotic War, Fadeev was a correspondent for the newspaper Pravda and the Sovinformburo.

After the liberation of Krasnodon, he came there to get acquainted with the activities of the underground youth organization “Young Guard” and was shocked by the feat of yesterday’s schoolchildren. In 1946, the novel “The Young Guard” was published as a separate book and received the widest popular recognition. However, in 1947, the novel was sharply criticized in the newspaper Pravda: it supposedly omitted the most important thing that characterizes the work of the Komsomol - the leading role of the party. Fadeev was acutely sensitive to criticism. In 1951, a new edition of the novel was published, and although it was considered successful, Fadeev was eventually removed from the leadership of the Writers' Union.

By the mid-1950s, many problems had accumulated in the life of Alexander Fadeev that he could not resolve. The country's party leadership did not listen to his opinion about the situation in literature. Some of his comrades in the leadership of the Writers' Union became his enemies.

“I don’t see the possibility of continuing to live,” he wrote in a letter to the Central Committee of the CPSU, “since the art to which I gave my life has been ruined by the self-confident and ignorant leadership of the party and now can no longer be corrected... Literature - this holy of holies - has been given over to be torn to pieces bureaucrats and the most backward elements of the people..."

Unable to cope with the current circumstances, on May 13, 1956, Fadeev committed suicide.

Chapter first

- No, just look, Valya, what a miracle this is! Lovely... Like a statue - but from what wonderful material! After all, she is not marble, not alabaster, but alive, but how cold! And what a delicate, delicate work - human hands could never do this. Look how she rests on the water, pure, strict, indifferent... And this is her reflection in the water - it’s even difficult to say which one is more beautiful - and the colors? Look, look, it’s not white, that is, it’s white, but there are so many shades - yellowish, pinkish, some kind of heavenly, and inside, with this moisture, it’s pearly, simply dazzling - people have such colors and names No!..

So said, leaning out of a willow bush onto the river, a girl with black wavy braids, in a bright white blouse and with such beautiful, wet black eyes, opened from the sudden strong light gushing out of them, that she herself resembled this lily reflected in the dark water .

– I found time to admire! And you are wonderful, Ulya, by God! - another girl, Valya, answered her, following her, sticking out onto the river her slightly high-cheekboned and slightly snub-nosed, but very pretty face with its fresh youth and kindness. And, without looking at the lily, she restlessly looked along the shore for the girls they had strayed from. - Aw!..

“Come here!.. Ulya found a lily,” said Valya, looking lovingly and mockingly at her friend.

And at this time, again, like the echoes of distant thunder, the rolling of gun shots was heard - from there, from the north-west, from near Voroshilovgrad.

“Again...” Ulya repeated silently, and the light that poured out of her eyes with such force went out.

- Surely they will come in this time! My God! - Valya said. – Do you remember how worried you were last year? And everything worked out! But last year they didn't come that close. Do you hear how it thumps?

They were silent, listening.

“When I hear this and see the sky, so clear, I see the branches of the trees, the grass under my feet, I feel how the sun warmed it, how delicious it smells, it hurts me so much, as if all this had already left me forever, forever,” Ulya spoke in a deep, worried voice. “The soul, it seems, has become so hardened by this war, you have already taught it not to allow anything into itself that can soften it, and suddenly such love, such pity for everything will break through!.. You know, I can only talk about this to you.” .

Their faces came so close among the foliage that their breath mingled, and they looked directly into each other’s eyes. Valya’s eyes were bright, kind, widely spaced, they met her friend’s gaze with humility and adoration. And Uli’s eyes were large, dark brown—not eyes, but eyes, with long eyelashes, milky whites, black mysterious pupils, from the very depths of which, it seemed, this moist, strong light again flowed.

The distant, echoing rumbles of gun salvos, even here, in the lowlands near the river, echoing with a slight trembling of the foliage, were each time reflected as a restless shadow on the faces of the girls. But all their spiritual strength was devoted to what they were talking about.

– Do you remember how good it was yesterday evening in the steppe, remember? – Ulya asked, lowering her voice.

“I remember,” Valya whispered. - This sunset. Do you remember?

- Yes, yes... You know, everyone scolds our steppe, they say it’s boring, red, hills and hills, as if it’s homeless, but I love it. I remember when my mother was still healthy, she was working on the tower, and I, still very small, was lying on my back and looking high, high, thinking, how high can I look into the sky, you know, to the very heights? And yesterday it hurt me so much when we looked at the sunset, and then at these wet horses, guns, carts, and the wounded... The Red Army soldiers are walking so exhausted, covered in dust. I suddenly realized with such force that this was not a regrouping at all, but a terrible, yes, just terrible, retreat. That's why they are afraid to look you in the eye. Did you notice?

Valya silently nodded her head.

“I looked at the steppe, where we sang so many songs, and at this sunset, and I could barely hold back my tears. Have you often seen me cry? Do you remember when it started to get dark?.. They keep walking, walking in the twilight, and all the time there is this roar, flashes on the horizon and a glow - it must be in Rovenki - and the sunset is so heavy, crimson. You know, I’m not afraid of anything in the world, I’m not afraid of any struggle, difficulty, torment, but if I knew what to do... something menacing hung over our souls,” said Ulya, and a gloomy, dim fire gilded her eyes.

– But we lived so well, didn’t we, Ulechka? – Valya said with tears welling up in her eyes.

- How well all the people in the world could live, if they only wanted, if only they understood! - said Ulya. - But what to do, what to do! – she said in a completely different, childish voice, and a mischievous expression sparkled in her eyes.

She quickly kicked off the shoes she was wearing on her bare feet, and, grabbing the hem of her dark skirt into her narrow tanned skin, boldly entered the water.

“Girls, lily!..” exclaimed a thin and flexible girl with boyish desperate eyes who jumped out of the bushes. - No, my dear! – she squealed and, with a sharp movement, grabbing her skirt with both hands, flashing her dark bare feet, she jumped into the water, dousing both herself and Ulya with a fan of amber splashes. - Oh, it’s deep here! – she said with a laugh, sinking one foot into the seaweed and backing away.

The girls - there were six more of them - poured out onto the shore with noisy talk. All of them, like Ulya, and Valya, and the thin girl Sasha who had just jumped into the water, were in short skirts and simple sweaters. Donetsk hot winds and the scorching sun, as if on purpose, to highlight the physical nature of each of the girls, one was gilded, another was darkened, and another was calcined, as if in a fiery font, arms and legs, face and neck to the very shoulder blades.

Like all girls in the world, when there are more than two of them, they spoke without listening to each other, so loudly, desperately, in such extremely high, screeching notes, as if everything they said was an expression of the very last extreme and it was necessary, so that the whole world knows and hears it.

-...He jumped with a parachute, by God! So nice, curly, white, eyes like buttons!

“But I couldn’t be my sister, really, I’m terribly afraid of blood!”

- Surely they will abandon us, how can you say that! That can't be true!

- Oh, what a lily!

- Mayechka, gypsy girl, what if they leave you?

- Look, Sashka, Sashka!

- So immediately fall in love, that you, that you!

- Ulka, weirdo, where did you go?

– You’ll drown yet, you said!..

They spoke that mixed, rough dialect characteristic of the Donbass, which was formed by crossing the language of the central Russian provinces with the Ukrainian folk dialect, the Don Cossack dialect and the colloquial manner of the Azov port cities - Mariupol, Taganrog, Rostov-on-Don. But no matter how girls all over the world talk, everything becomes sweet in their mouths.

- Ulechka, why did she surrender to you, my dear? - Valya said, looking worriedly with her kind, wide-set eyes, as not only her tanned calves, but also her friend’s white round knees went under the water.

Carefully feeling the algae-covered bottom with one foot and lifting the hem higher, so that the edges of her black panties became visible, Ulya took another step and, bending her tall slender figure, picked up the lily with her free hand. One of the heavy black braids with a fluffy braided end overturned into the water and floated, but at that moment Ulya made a final effort, with just her fingers, and pulled out the lily along with the long, long stem.

- Well done, Ulka! By your action you have fully deserved the title of hero of the union... Not of the entire Soviet Union, but, say, of our union of restless girls from the Pervomaika mine! – standing calf-deep in the water and staring at her friend with rounded, boyish brown eyes, Sasha said. - Let's say kvyat! - And she, holding her skirt between her knees, with her dexterous thin fingers, tucked the lily into Ulina’s black hair, which curled coarsely over her temples and in her braids. “Oh, how it suits you, I’m already envious!.. Wait,” she suddenly said, raising her head and listening. – It’s scratching somewhere... Do you hear, girls? Damn it!..

Sasha and Ulya quickly crawled ashore.

All the girls, raising their heads, listened to the intermittent, thin, wasp-like, or low, rumbling rumble, trying to make out the plane in the white-hot air.

- Not one, but three!

- Where where? I can not see anything…

- I don’t see either, I hear by sound...

The vibrating sounds of engines either merged into one looming menacing hum, or broke up into separate, piercing or low, rumbling sounds. The planes were already buzzing somewhere overhead, and although they were not visible, it was as if a black shadow from their wings passed across the girls’ faces.

- They must have flown to Kamensk to bomb the crossing...

– Or to Millerovo.

- You say - to Millerovo! They passed Millerovo, didn’t you hear the report yesterday?

– It’s all the same, the fighting is going on further south.

- What should we do, girls? - the girls said, again involuntarily listening to the roar of long-range artillery fire, which seemed to be approaching them.

No matter how difficult and terrible the war is, no matter how cruel the losses and suffering it brings to people, youth with its health and joy of life, with its naive kind egoism, love and dreams of the future does not want and does not know how to see the danger behind the general danger and suffering and suffering for herself until they come and disturb her happy walk.

Ulya Gromova, Valya Filatova, Sasha Bondareva and all the other girls graduated from the ten-year school at the Pervomaisky mine just this spring.

Graduating from school is an important event in the life of a young man, and graduating from school during the war is a very special event.

All last summer, when the war began, high school students, boys and girls, as they were still called, worked on the collective and state farms adjacent to the city of Krasnodon, in the mines, at the steam locomotive plant in Voroshilovgrad, and some even went to the Stalingrad tractor factory, which made now tanks.

In the fall, the Germans invaded Donbass and occupied Taganrog and Rostov-on-Don. Of all Ukraine, only the Voroshilovgrad region still remained free from the Germans, and the power from Kyiv, retreating with army units, moved to Voroshilovgrad, and the regional institutions of Voroshilovgrad and Stalino, the former Yuzovka, were now located in Krasnodon.

Until late autumn, while the front was established in the south, people from the German-occupied regions of Donbass kept walking and walking through Krasnodon, kneading the red mud through the streets, and it seemed that the mud was getting more and more because people were bringing it from the steppe on their boots. The schoolchildren were completely prepared to be evacuated to the Saratov region along with their school, but the evacuation was canceled. The Germans were detained far beyond Voroshilovgrad, Rostov-on-Don was recaptured from the Germans, and in the winter the Germans were defeated near Moscow, the offensive of the Red Army began, and people hoped that everything would work out.

Schoolchildren are accustomed to the fact that in their cozy apartments, in standard stone houses under eternit roofs in Krasnodon, and in the farm huts of Pervomaika, and even in clay huts in Shanghai - in these small apartments that seemed empty in the first weeks of the war because a father or brother has gone to the front - now strangers live, spend the night, and change: workers of foreign institutions, soldiers and commanders of Red Army units stationed or passing to the front.

They learned to recognize all branches of the military, military ranks, types of weapons, brands of motorcycles, trucks and cars, their own and captured ones, and at first glance they could guess the types of tanks - not only when the tanks were resting heavily somewhere on the side of the street, under the cover of poplars , in the haze of hot air flowing from the armor, and when, like thunder, they rolled along the dusty Voroshilovgrad highway, and when they skidded along the autumn, spreading, and along the winter, snow-covered military roads to the west.

They could no longer distinguish their own and German planes not only by appearance, but also by sound; they could distinguish them in the blazing sun, and red with dust, and in the starry sky, and in the black Donetsk sky, rushing like a whirlwind like soot in hell.

“These are our “lags” (or “migi”, or “yaks”),” they said calmly.

- There's the Messera, let's go!..

“It was the Yu-87 that went to Rostov,” they said casually.

They were accustomed to night duty in the air defense detachment, duty with a gas mask over their shoulder, in mines, on the roofs of schools, hospitals, and their hearts no longer shuddered when the air shook from long-range bombing and the beams of searchlights, like spokes, crossed in the distance, in the night sky above Voroshilovgrad, and the glow of fires rose here and there along the horizon; and when enemy dive-bombers, in broad daylight, suddenly turned out of the depths of the sky, with a howl, rained down landmines on columns of trucks stretching far in the steppe, and then for a long time fired from cannons and machine guns along the highway, from which in both directions, like water ripped apart by a glider, The soldiers and horses scattered.

They fell in love with the long journey to the collective farm fields, songs at the top of their voices in the wind from trucks in the steppe, summer suffering among the vast wheat fields languishing under the weight of grain, intimate conversations and sudden laughter in the silence of the night, somewhere in the oat floor, and long sleepless nights on the roof, when the hot palm of a girl, without moving, rests in the rough hand of a young man for an hour, and two, and three, and the morning dawn rises over the pale hills, and the dew glistens on the grayish-pink ethernite roofs, on red tomatoes and droplets from curled yellow autumn leaves of acacias, like mimosa flowers, right on the ground in the front garden, and the smell of the roots of withered flowers rotting in the damp earth, the smoke of distant fires, and the rooster crows as if nothing had happened...

And this spring they graduated from school, said goodbye to their teachers and organizations, and the war, as if it was waiting for them, looked straight into their eyes.

On June 23, our troops retreated to the Kharkov direction. On July 2, fighting broke out in the Belgorod and Volchansky directions with the enemy going on the offensive. And on July 3, like thunder, a radio message broke out that our troops had abandoned the city of Sevastopol after an eight-month defense.

Stary Oskol, Rossosh, Kantemirovka, battles west of Voronezh, battles on the outskirts of Voronezh, July 12 - Lisichansk. And suddenly our retreating units poured through Krasnodon.

Lisichansk was already very close. Lisichansk - this meant that tomorrow to Voroshilovgrad, and the day after tomorrow here, to Krasnodon and Pervomaika, to the streets familiar to every blade of grass with dusty jasmines and lilacs protruding from the front gardens, to the grandfather’s garden with apple trees and to the cool, with shutters closed from the sun, hut, where still hanging on a nail, to the right of the door, is my father’s miner’s jacket, as he hung it himself when he came home from work, before going to the military registration and enlistment office - in the hut, where his mother’s warm, veiny hands washed every floorboard until it shined , and watered the Chinese rose on the windowsill, and threw a colorful tablecloth on the table, smelling of the freshness of a harsh linen, - maybe a German will come in!

Very positive, sensible, shaved quartermaster majors, who always knew everything, settled in the city so firmly, as if for life, who exchanged cards with their owners with cheerful jokes, bought salted kavuns at the market, willingly explained the situation at the fronts and, on occasion, even did not They spared canned food for the owner's borscht. In the Gorky Club at Mine No. 1-bis and in the Lenin Club in the city park there were always a lot of lieutenants hanging around, lovers of dancing, cheerful and either courteous or mischievous - you won’t understand. The lieutenants appeared in the city and then disappeared, but many new ones always arrived, and the girls were so accustomed to their constantly changing tanned, courageous faces that they all seemed equally at home.

And suddenly there were none of them at once.

At the Verkhneduvannaya station, this peaceful stop, where, returning from a business trip, or a trip to visit relatives, or on summer vacation after a year of studying at a university, every Krasnodon resident considered himself already at home - at this Verkhneduvannaya and at all other stations of the railway to Likhaya - Morozovskaya - Stalingrad was filled with machines, people, shells, cars, bread.

From the windows of the houses, shaded by acacias, maples, and poplars, the crying of children and women could be heard. There the mother equipped the child who was leaving the orphanage or school, there they saw off their daughter or son, there the husband and father, who left the city with their organization, said goodbye to the family. And in some houses with the shutters tightly closed, there was such silence that it was even worse than a mother’s crying - the house was either completely empty, or, perhaps, one old woman, the mother, having seen off the whole family, with her black hands hanging down, sat motionless in the upper room, no longer able to and cry, with iron flour in my heart.

The girls woke up in the morning to the sounds of distant gun shots, quarreled with their parents - the girls convinced their parents to leave immediately and leave them alone, and the parents said that their lives had already passed, but the Komsomol girls needed to get away from sin and misfortune - the girls quickly had breakfast and ran one to another for news. And so, huddled in a flock like birds, exhausted from the heat and restlessness, they either sat for hours in a dimly lit little room with one of their friends or under an apple tree in a little garden, or ran away into a shady forest gully by the river, in a secret premonition of misfortune, which they even They were unable to grasp it either with their hearts or their minds.

And then it broke out.

- Voroshilovgrad has already been surrendered, but they don’t tell us! - said a small, wide-faced girl with a pointed nose, shiny, smooth, as if glued-on hair, and two short and lively braids sticking out forward, in a sharp voice.

This girl's last name was Vyrikova, and her name was Zina, but since childhood no one at school called her by her first name, but only by her last name: Vyrikova and Vyrikova.

– How can you talk like that, Vyrikova? If they don’t say it, it means they haven’t passed yet,” said Maya Peglivanova, a naturally dark-skinned, beautiful, black-eyed girl, like a gypsy, and proudly pursed her lower, full, willful lip.

At school, before graduating this spring, Maya was the secretary of the Komsomol organization, she was used to correcting everyone and educating everyone, and she generally wanted everything to always be correct.

- We have long known everything that you can say: “Girls, you don’t know dialectics!” – Vyrikova said, sounding so much like Maya that all the girls laughed. - They will tell us the truth, keep your pockets wider! We believed, believed and lost our faith! - said Vyrikova, sparkling with her close eyes and horns like a bug, militantly sticking out her sharp braids sticking out forward. - Rostov has probably been surrendered again, we have nowhere to go. And they themselves are scurrying! – said Vyrikova, apparently repeating words that she often heard.

“You talk strangely, Vyrikova,” Maya said, trying not to raise her voice. - How can you say that? After all, you are a Komsomol member, you were a pioneer leader!

“Don’t mess with her,” said Shura Dubrovina quietly, a silent girl older than the others, with a short manly haircut, no eyebrows, with wild light eyes that gave her face a strange expression.

Shura Dubrovina, a student at Kharkov University, last year, before the Germans occupied Kharkov, fled to Krasnodon to see her father, a shoemaker and saddler. She was about four years older than the other girls, but she always kept in their company; She was secretly, like a girl, in love with Maya Peglivanova and always and everywhere followed Maya - “like a thread following a needle,” the girls said.

- Don't mess with her. If she’s already put on such a cap, you won’t over-cap her,” Shura Dubrovina told Maya.

“We spent the whole summer digging trenches, we spent so much energy doing it, I was so sick for a month, and who is sitting in these trenches now? – Little Vyrikova spoke without listening to Maya. – Grass grows in the trenches! Isn't it true?

Thin Sasha raised her sharp shoulders with feigned surprise and, looking at Vyrikova with rounded eyes, whistled protractedly.

But, apparently, it was not so much what Vyrikova said, but the general state of uncertainty that forced the girls to listen to her words with painful attention.

- No, really, the situation is terrible? – timidly looking first at Vyrikova, then at Maya, said Tonya Ivanikhina, the youngest of the girls, large, long-legged, almost a girl, with a large nose and thick strands of dark brown hair tucked behind her large ears. Tears began to shine in her eyes.

Ever since her beloved older sister Lilya, who had gone to the front as a military paramedic at the beginning of the war, went missing in the battles in the Kharkov direction, everything, everything in the world seemed irreparable and terrible to Tonya Ivanikhin, and her sad eyes were always wet.

And only Ulya did not take part in the girls’ conversation and did not seem to share their excitement. She unraveled the end of a long black braid that had been soaked in the river, wrung out her hair, braided it, then, exposing first one or the other wet legs to the sun, she stood there for a while, bowing her head with this white lily, which suited her black eyes and hair so well, definitely listening to myself. When her feet were dry, Ulya used her long palm to wipe the soles of her feet, which were tanned along the high, dry instep and seemed to have a light rim along the bottom of her feet, wiped her toes and heels, and with a deft, habitual movement, put her feet into her shoes.

- Oh, I’m a fool, a fool! And why didn’t I go to a special school when they offered me? - said thin Sasha. “I was offered to go to a special school for the Enkaveda,” she explained naively, looking at everyone with boyish carelessness, “if I had stayed here, behind German lines, you wouldn’t even know anything.” You'd all be screwed here, but I can't even give a damn. “Why is Sasha so calm?” And it turns out that I am staying here from the Enkavede! I would have these German fools,” she suddenly snorted, looking at Vyrikova with a sly mockery, “I would have played with these German fools as I wanted!”

Ulya raised her head and looked seriously and attentively at Sasha, and something trembled slightly in her face, either her lips, or her thin nostrils, with a rush of blood.

- I will be left without any enkavede. And what? – Vyrikova said, angrily sticking out her braided horns. “Since no one cares about me, I’ll stay and live as I lived.” And what? I am a student, according to German standards, like a high school student: after all, they are cultured people, what will they do to me?

-Like a high school student?! – Maya suddenly exclaimed, turning all pink.

- Just back from the gymnasium, hello!

And Sasha portrayed Vyrikova so similar that the girls laughed again.

And at that moment a heavy, terrible blow that shook the earth and air stunned them. Withered leaves, twigs, wood dust from the bark fell from the trees, and even ripples passed through the water.

The girls' faces turned pale and they looked at each other in silence for several seconds.

- Did you really dump it somewhere? – Maya asked.

“They flew by a long time ago, but we haven’t heard anything new!” – Tonya Ivanikhina, who was always the first to feel misfortune, said with widened eyes.

At that moment, two explosions that almost merged together - one very close, and the other a little late, distant - shook the surrounding area.

As if by agreement, without making a sound, the girls rushed towards the village, flashing their tanned calves in the bushes.

During the war, Fadeev worked as a front-line correspondent for the newspaper Pravda and Sovinformburo.

In 1943-1945 he wrote one of the most popular books about the war, about the feat of the Krasnodon underground Komsomol organization - "Young Guard".

The plot is based on real events.

When the small Ukrainian city of Krasnodon was occupied by German troops, Komsomol members created the anti-fascist organization "Young Guard". The underground organized sabotage, distributed leaflets, helped the partisans - and all this was done by young men and women of student and high school age. In the end, the Nazis managed to get on the trail of the organization, and most of its members were captured, subjected to terrible torture and executed.

Those few who managed to survive provided Fadeev with invaluable information.

Hot on the heels, he wrote a fascinating novel, the main characters of which: Oleg Koshevoy, Sergei Tyulenin, Ulyana Gromova, Lyubov Shevtsova and others - acted under their real names. Fadeev managed to show the main thing that was striking in the history of the “Young Guard”: despite their youth and lack of life experience, the Krasnodon Komsomol members managed to become a force that actually opposed the occupiers.

They contrasted the fascist “new order” with all the best that was in them: youthful enthusiasm, liveliness of mind, fearlessness, loyalty to love and friendship, real, not ostentatious patriotism.

The party leadership was dissatisfied with Fadeev's book.

It was explained to the writer that he completely incorrectly portrayed the activities of the underground, who in reality were constantly led by representatives of the party organization. Frightened by criticism from above, Fadeev created a new edition of the novel.

He artificially introduced new characters into the text - communist heroes who directed the work of the Young Guard. The novel became larger in volume, lost its former liveliness, and acquired recognizable features of a literary work of a propaganda nature. The forced revision of the text (and in fact, the need to cripple one’s creation with one’s own hands) became one of the components of Fadeev’s internal drama, which led him to suicide in 1956.

The story of the novel "The Young Guard" acquired historical meaning over time. This is exactly how the literary image of the Great Patriotic War was created in Soviet literature: from the first impulse, from initial sincerity - to the thoughtfulness of propaganda slogans, the clear definition of ideological schemes.

Years passed before the truth about the war became possible - both on the pages of textbooks and in fiction.

"Young guard"

Under the scorching sun of July 1942, retreating units of the Red Army walked along the Donetsk steppe with their convoys, artillery, tanks, orphanages and kindergartens, herds of cattle, trucks, refugees... But they did not have time to cross the Donets: they reached the river parts of the German army. And all this mass of people poured back.

Among them were Vanya Zemnukhov, Ulya Gromova, Oleg Koshevoy, Zhora Harutyunyants.

But not everyone left Krasnodon. The staff of the hospital, where more than a hundred non-ambulatory wounded remained, placed the fighters in the apartments of local residents. Philip Petrovich Lyutikov, left as secretary of the underground district committee, and his underground comrade Matvey Shulga quietly settled in safe houses. Komsomol member Seryozha Tyulenin returned home from digging trenches. It so happened that he took part in the battles, killed two Germans himself and intended to kill them in the future.

The Germans entered the city during the day, and at night the German headquarters burned down. Sergei Tyulenin set it on fire. Oleg Koshevoy was returning from the Donets with the director of mine No. 1 Valko and on the way asked him to help contact the underground. Valko himself did not know who was left in the city, but he was sure that he would find these people.

The Bolshevik and the Komsomol member agreed to keep in touch.

Koshevoy soon met Tyulenin. The guys quickly found a common language and developed an action plan: look for ways to the underground and at the same time independently create an underground youth organization.

Lyutikov, meanwhile, began to work for the Germans in electromechanical workshops as a diversion. He came to the Osmukhin family, whom he had known for a long time, to invite Volodya to work. Volodya was eager to fight and recommended his comrades Tolya Orlov, Zhora Arutyunyants and Ivan Zemnukhov to Lyutikova for underground work.

But when the topic of armed resistance came up with Ivan Zemnukhov, he immediately began to ask permission to include Oleg Koshevoy in the group.

The decisive meeting took place in the “weeds under the barn” at Oleg’s place. A few more meetings - and finally all the links in the Krasnodon underground were closed. A youth organization called the “Young Guard” was formed.

Protsenko at this time was already in the partisan detachment, which was based on the other side of the Donets. At first the detachment acted, and acted well. Then he was surrounded.

Protsenko, among others, sent Komsomol member Stakhovich to the group that was supposed to cover the retreat of the main part of the people. But Stakhovich chickened out, ran away across the Donets and went to Krasnodon.

Having met with Osmukhin, his schoolmate, Stakhovich told him that he had fought in a partisan detachment and was officially sent by headquarters to organize the partisan movement in Krasnodon.

Shulga was immediately betrayed by the owner of the apartment, a former kulak and hidden enemy of Soviet power. The location where Valko was hiding failed by accident, but policeman Ignat Fomin, who conducted the search, immediately identified Valko.

In addition, in the city and in the region, almost all members of the Bolshevik Party who did not have time to evacuate, Soviet workers, social activists, many teachers, engineers, noble miners and some of the military were arrested. The Germans executed many of these people, including Valko and Shulga, by burying them alive.

Lyubov Shevtsova was placed at the disposal of the partisan headquarters ahead of time for use behind enemy lines. She completed airborne courses and then radio operator courses. Having received a signal that she had to go to Voroshilovgrad and bound by the discipline of the Young Guard, she reported her departure to Koshevoy. No one except Osmukhin knew which of the adult underground fighters Oleg was connected with.

But Lyutikov knew perfectly well for what purpose Lyubka was left in Krasnodon, and with whom she was connected in Voroshilovgrad.

So the Young Guard approached the headquarters of the partisan movement.

Bright in appearance, cheerful and sociable, Lyubka was now in full swing making acquaintances with the Germans, introducing herself as the daughter of a mine owner repressed by the Soviet regime, and through the Germans she obtained various intelligence information.

The Young Guards got to work. They posted subversive leaflets and issued Sovinformburo reports. Policeman Ignat Fomin was hanged. They freed a group of Soviet prisoners of war who were working in logging. They collected weapons from the Donets battle area and stole them.

Ulya Gromova was in charge of the work against the recruitment and deportation of young people to Germany.

The labor exchange was set on fire, and along with it, the lists of people whom the Germans were going to deport to Germany were burned. Three permanent combat groups of the Young Guard operated on the roads of the region and beyond. One attacked mainly cars with German officers. This group was led by Viktor Petrov.

The second group dealt with tank cars. This group was led by Soviet Army lieutenant Zhenya Moshkov, released from captivity.

The third group - Tyulenin's group - operated everywhere.

At this time - November, December 1942 - the battle of Stalingrad was ending.

On the evening of December 30, the guys discovered a German car loaded with New Year's gifts for Reich soldiers. The car was cleaned out, and they decided to immediately sell some of the gifts on the market: the organization needed money. Following this trail, the police, who had been looking for them for a long time, found the underground fighters. At first they took Moshkov, Zemnukhov and Stakhovich.

Upon learning of the arrest, Lyutikov immediately gave the order to all members of the headquarters and those close to those arrested to leave the city. You should have hidden in the village or tried to cross the front line. But many, including Gromova, due to youthful carelessness, stayed or were unable to find reliable shelter and were forced to return home.

The order was given while Stakhovich began to testify under torture. Arrests began. Few were able to leave. Stakhovich did not know through whom Koshevoy communicated with the district committee, but he accidentally remembered the messenger, and as a result the Germans reached Lyutikov.

A group of adult underground fighters led by Lyutikov and members of the Young Guard ended up in the hands of the executioners. No one admitted to belonging to the organization or pointed to their comrades. Oleg Koshevoy was one of the last to be captured - he ran into a gendarme post in the steppe. During the search, they found a Komsomol card on him.

During interrogation by the Gestapo, Oleg said that he was the leader of the Young Guard, alone responsible for all its actions, and then remained silent even under torture.

The enemies did not manage to find out that Lyutikov was the head of the underground Bolshevik organization, but they felt that he was the largest person they had captured.

All Young Guards were terribly beaten and tortured. Uli Gromova had a star carved on her back. Reclining on her side, she tapped into the next cell: “Be strong... Our guys are coming anyway...”

Lyutikov and Koshevoy were interrogated in Rovenki and also tortured, “but one can say that they no longer felt anything: their spirit soared infinitely high, as only the great creative spirit of man can soar.” All arrested underground workers were executed: they were thrown into a mine. Before their deaths, they sang revolutionary songs.

On February 15, Soviet tanks entered Krasnodon. The few surviving members of the Krasnodon underground took part in the funeral of the Young Guards.

4. Muromsky V.P. “...to live and fulfill one’s duties.” Creative drama by A. Fadeev // Literature at school - 2005 - No. 3 - pp. 2 - 8.

Photo source: trueinform.ru

Young guard

"Young guard"- a novel by Soviet writer Alexander Fadeev, dedicated to an underground youth organization operating in Krasnodon during the Great Patriotic War called the “Young Guard” (1942-1943), many of whose members died in fascist dungeons.

Most of the main characters of the novel: Oleg Koshevoy, Ulyana Gromova, Lyubov Shevtsova, Ivan Zemnukhov, Sergei Tyulenin and others are real people. Along with them, there are also fictional characters in the novel. In addition, the author, using the names of actually existing young underground fighters known to him, endowed them with literary features, characters and actions, creatively rethinking the images of these characters.

There are two editions of the novel.

History of creation

Fadeev took the idea for his book from the book “Hearts of the Brave” by V. G. Lyaskovsky and M. Kotov, published in 1944.2012

Immediately after the end of the war, Fadeev began writing a work of fiction about the Krasnodon underground, shocked by the feat of very young boys and girls, high school students and recent graduates of the local school.

In mid-February 1943, after the liberation of Donetsk Krasnodon by Soviet troops, several dozen corpses of teenagers tortured by the Nazis, who were members of the underground organization “Young Guard” during the occupation, were recovered from the pit of the N5 mine located near the city.

And a few months later, Pravda published an article by Alexander Fadeev “Immortality”, on the basis of which the novel “The Young Guard” was written a little later.

The writer in Krasnodon collected material, examined documents, and talked with eyewitnesses. The novel was written very quickly. The book was first published in 1946.

Second edition of the novel

Fadeev was sharply criticized for not clearly depicting the “leading and directing” role of the Communist Party in the novel. Serious ideological accusations were brought against the work in the newspaper Pravda, the organ of the CPSU Central Committee, and, presumably, from Stalin himself.

The writer’s biography cites Stalin’s words, said, according to one of the legends, to Fadeev personally:

Not only did you write a helpless book, you also wrote an ideologically harmful book. You portrayed the Young Guards as almost Makhnovists. But could an organization exist and effectively fight the enemy in occupied territory without party leadership? Judging by your book, it could.

Fadeev sat down to rewrite the novel, adding new communist characters, and in 1951 the second edition of the novel “The Young Guard” was published.

The meaning of the book

The book was considered necessary for the patriotic education of the younger generation and was included in the school curriculum, making it mandatory reading. Until the late 1980s, The Young Guard was perceived as an ideologically approved history of the organization.

The heroes of Fadeev's novel were posthumously awarded orders, streets in different cities were named in their honor, rallies and gatherings of pioneers were held, they swore by their names and demanded cruel punishment for the guilty traitors.

Not all the events described by the author actually happened. Several people who are prototypes for characters described as traitors have been accused of treason in real life, maintained their innocence, and were exonerated.

Fadeev tried to explain:

I was not writing a true history of the Young Guard, but a novel that not only allows, but even presupposes artistic fiction.

Investigations based on the novel

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, research into the underground movement in Krasnodon continued:

The “Young Guard” website provides a number of testimonies, including surviving human prototypes of Fadeev’s characters, in order to clarify the actual role in the events of the people described in the book as traitors, and who actually led the organization.

History of creation

Immediately after the end of the war, Fadeev began writing a work of fiction about the Krasnodon underground, shocked by the feat of very young boys and girls, high school students and recent graduates of the local school.

In mid-February 1943, after the liberation of Donetsk Krasnodon by Soviet troops, several dozen corpses of teenagers tortured by the occupiers, who were members of the underground organization “Young Guard” during the occupation, were recovered from the pit of the N5 mine located near the city. And a few months later, Pravda published an article by Alexander Fadeev “Immortality”, on the basis of which the novel “The Young Guard” was written a little later.

The writer in Krasnodon collected material, examined documents, and talked with eyewitnesses. The novel was written very quickly, as a result of which it contained a lot of inaccuracies and errors, which later most seriously affected the fate of many real living people mentioned on the pages of the novel. The book was first published in 1946.

Second edition of the novel

Fadeev was sharply criticized for not clearly depicting the “leading and directing” role of the Communist Party in the novel. Serious ideological accusations were brought against the work in the newspaper Pravda, the organ of the CPSU Central Committee, and, presumably, from Stalin himself.

The writer’s biography cites the words of Stalin, said, according to one of the legends, to Fadeev personally:

- Not only did you write a helpless book, you also wrote an ideologically harmful book. You portrayed the Young Guards as almost Makhnovists. But could an organization exist and effectively fight the enemy in occupied territory without party leadership? Judging by your book, it could.

Fadeev sat down to rewrite the novel, adding new communist characters, and in 1951 the second edition of the novel “The Young Guard” was published.

The meaning of the book

The book was considered necessary for the patriotic education of the younger generation and was included in the school curriculum, making it mandatory reading. Until the late 1980s, The Young Guard was perceived as an ideologically approved history of the organization. The heroes of Fadeev's novel were posthumously awarded orders, streets in different cities were named in their honor, rallies and gatherings of pioneers were held, they swore by their names and demanded cruel punishment for the guilty traitors.

Not all the events described by the author actually happened. Several people, who are the prototypes of the characters, presented as traitors in the novel and as a result accused of treason in real life, insisted on their innocence and were later rehabilitated. .

Fadeev tried to explain:

I was not writing a true history of the Young Guard, but a novel that not only allows, but even presupposes artistic fiction.

According to the memoirs of surviving Young Guard member Georgy Harutyunyants, Fadeev told him:

- You, of course, are primarily interested in the question of why in the novel the historicism is violated in some places, perhaps the roles of individual characters are combined, and some are not shown at all...

No, no, don’t be embarrassed,” Alexander Alexandrovich reacted to the expression on my face, “These are natural questions.” Many of the guys you knew so closely and well could end up in the book connected with events in which they did not participate, and, conversely, not end up where they actually were. All this may cause confusion among eyewitnesses of these events. But listen to what I tell you...

I really want you to understand me correctly,” said Alexander Alexandrovich. - I could not and did not set myself the task of describing the history of the “Young Guard” day by day or episode by episode. Historians will do this later, without looking back at the novel. In the images of the Young Guards, I wanted to show the heroism of all Soviet youth, their enormous faith in victory and the rightness of our cause. Death itself - cruel, terrible in torture and torment - could not shake the spirit, will, and courage of the young men and women. They died surprising and even frightening their enemies. Such was life, such were the facts. And this was to become the leitmotif of the novel...

“I won’t reveal a secret to you,” continued Alexander Alexandrovich, “if I say that I deeply fell in love with these simple, wonderful guys. I admired their spontaneity, sincerity, incorruptible honesty and loyalty to their Komsomol duty. That’s why I wrote some people as I would like to see them in life. I was amazed by Seryozha Tyulenin, Lyuba Shevtsova, I fell in love with Oleg, Ulya, Zemnukhov. And I know that by generalizing the individual traits of my heroes, I thereby took a step away from history, albeit a small one, noticeable only to you. And yet he did it deliberately...

Investigations based on the novel

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, research into the underground movement in Krasnodon continued:

In 1993, a press conference of a special commission to study the history of the Young Guard was held in Lugansk. As Izvestia wrote then (05/12/1993), after two years of work, the commission gave its assessment of the versions that had excited the public for almost half a century. The researchers' conclusions boiled down to several fundamental points. In July-August 1942, after the Germans captured the Luhansk region, many underground youth groups spontaneously arose in the mining town of Krasnodon and the surrounding villages. They, according to the memoirs of contemporaries, were called “Star”, “Sickle”, “Hammer”, etc. However, there is no need to talk about any party leadership of them. In October 1942, Viktor Tretyakevich united them into the “Young Guard”. It was he, and not Oleg Koshevoy, according to the commission’s findings, who became the commissioner of the underground organization. There were almost twice as many “Young Guard” participants as was later recognized by the competent authorities. The guys fought like a guerrilla, taking risks, suffering heavy losses, and this, as was noted at the press conference, ultimately led to the failure of the organization.

- //SMI.ru

The site provides a lot of interesting materials, documents and testimonies, including surviving human prototypes of Fadeev’s characters, in order to clarify the actual role in the events of many people who were described in the book as traitors, and who actually led the organization .

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Notes

see also

Literature

• Minaev V. P.,
• Documentary

Links

• in the library of Maxim Moshkov

Excerpt characterizing The Young Guard (novel)

- That's how it is! So what are you doing?
- I? – Natasha asked again, and a happy smile lit up her face. -Have you seen Duport?
- No.
– Have you seen the famous Duport the dancer? Well, you won't understand. That's what I am. – Natasha took her skirt, rounding her arms, as they dance, ran a few steps, turned over, made an entreche, kicked her leg against the leg and, standing on the very tips of her socks, walked a few steps.
- Am I standing? after all, she said; but couldn’t help herself on her tiptoes. - So that’s what I am! I will never marry anyone, but will become a dancer. But do not tell anyone.
Rostov laughed so loudly and cheerfully that Denisov from his room became envious, and Natasha could not resist laughing with him. - No, it’s good, isn’t it? – she kept saying.
- Okay, don’t you want to marry Boris anymore?
Natasha flushed. - I don’t want to marry anyone. I'll tell him the same thing when I see him.
- That's how it is! - said Rostov.
“Well, yes, it’s all nothing,” Natasha continued to chatter. – Why is Denisov good? – she asked.
- Good.
- Well, goodbye, get dressed. Is he scary, Denisov?
- Why is it scary? – asked Nicholas. - No. Vaska is nice.
- You call him Vaska - strange. And that he is very good?
- Very good.
- Well, come quickly and drink tea. Together.
And Natasha stood on tiptoe and walked out of the room the way dancers do, but smiling the way only happy 15-year-old girls smile. Having met Sonya in the living room, Rostov blushed. He didn't know how to deal with her. Yesterday they kissed in the first minute of the joy of their date, but today they felt that it was impossible to do this; he felt that everyone, his mother and sisters, looked at him questioningly and expected from him how he would behave with her. He kissed her hand and called her you - Sonya. But their eyes, having met, said “you” to each other and kissed tenderly. With her gaze she asked him for forgiveness for the fact that at Natasha’s embassy she dared to remind him of his promise and thanked him for his love. With his gaze he thanked her for the offer of freedom and said that one way or another, he would never stop loving her, because it was impossible not to love her.
“How strange it is,” said Vera, choosing a general moment of silence, “that Sonya and Nikolenka now met like strangers.” – Vera’s remark was fair, like all her comments; but like most of her remarks, everyone felt awkward, and not only Sonya, Nikolai and Natasha, but also the old countess, who was afraid of this son’s love for Sonya, which could deprive him of a brilliant party, also blushed like a girl. Denisov, to Rostov’s surprise, in a new uniform, pomaded and perfumed, appeared in the living room as dandy as he was in battle, and as amiable with ladies and gentlemen as Rostov had never expected to see him.

Returning to Moscow from the army, Nikolai Rostov was accepted by his family as the best son, hero and beloved Nikolushka; relatives - as a sweet, pleasant and respectful young man; acquaintances - like a handsome hussar lieutenant, a deft dancer and one of the best grooms in Moscow.
The Rostovs knew all of Moscow; this year the old count had enough money, because all his estates had been re-mortgaged, and therefore Nikolushka, having got his own trotter and the most fashionable leggings, special ones that no one else in Moscow had, and boots, the most fashionable, with the most pointed socks and little silver spurs, had a lot of fun. Rostov, returning home, experienced a pleasant feeling after some period of time trying on himself to the old living conditions. It seemed to him that he had matured and grown very much. Despair for failing to pass an exam according to the law of God, borrowing money from Gavrila for a cab driver, secret kisses with Sonya, he remembered all this as childishness, from which he was now immeasurably far away. Now he is a hussar lieutenant in a silver mentic, with a soldier's George, preparing his trotter to run, together with famous hunters, elderly, respectable. He knows a lady on the boulevard whom he goes to see in the evening. He conducted a mazurka at the Arkharovs’ ball, talked about the war with Field Marshal Kamensky, visited an English club, and was on friendly terms with a forty-year-old colonel whom Denisov introduced him to.
His passion for the sovereign weakened somewhat in Moscow, since during this time he did not see him. But he often talked about the sovereign, about his love for him, making it felt that he was not telling everything yet, that there was something else in his feelings for the sovereign that could not be understood by everyone; and with all my heart he shared the general feeling of adoration in Moscow at that time for Emperor Alexander Pavlovich, who in Moscow at that time was given the name of an angel in the flesh.
During this short stay of Rostov in Moscow, before leaving for the army, he did not become close, but on the contrary, broke up with Sonya. She was very pretty, sweet, and obviously passionately in love with him; but he was in that time of youth when there seems to be so much to do that there is no time to do it, and the young man is afraid to get involved - he values ​​​​his freedom, which he needs for many other things. When he thought about Sonya during this new stay in Moscow, he said to himself: Eh! there will be many more, many more of these, somewhere, still unknown to me. I’ll still have time to make love when I want, but now there’s no time. In addition, it seemed to him that there was something humiliating for his courage in female society. He went to balls and sororities, pretending that he was doing it against his will. Running, an English club, carousing with Denisov, a trip there - that was another matter: it was befitting of a fine hussar.
At the beginning of March, the old Count Ilya Andreich Rostov was preoccupied with arranging a dinner at an English club to receive Prince Bagration.
The Count in a dressing gown walked around the hall, giving orders to the club housekeeper and the famous Theoktistus, the senior cook of the English club, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal and fish for Prince Bagration's dinner. The Count, from the day the club was founded, was its member and foreman. He was entrusted by the club with arranging a celebration for Bagration, because rarely did anyone know how to organize a feast in such a grand manner, hospitably, especially because rarely did anyone know how and want to contribute their money if they were needed to organize the feast. The cook and housekeeper of the club listened to the count's orders with cheerful faces, because they knew that under no one else could they profit better from a dinner that cost several thousand.
- So look, put scallops, scallops in the cake, you know! “So there are three cold ones?...” asked the cook. The Count thought about it. “No less, three... mayonnaise times,” he said, bending his finger...
- So, will you order us to take large sterlets? - asked the housekeeper. - What can we do, take it if they don’t give in. Yes, my father, I forgot. After all, we need another entrée for the table. Ah, my fathers! “He grabbed his head. - Who will bring me flowers?
- Mitinka! And Mitinka! “Ride off, Mitinka, to the Moscow region,” he turned to the manager who came in at his call, “jump to the Moscow region and now tell Maximka to dress up the corvée for the gardener. Tell them to drag all the greenhouses here and wrap them in felt. Yes, so that I have two hundred pots here by Friday.
Having given more and more different orders, he went out to rest with the countess, but remembered something else he needed, returned himself, brought back the cook and the housekeeper, and again began to give orders. A light, masculine gait and the clanking of spurs were heard at the door, and a handsome, ruddy, with a black mustache, apparently rested and well-groomed from his quiet life in Moscow, entered the young count.
- Oh, my brother! “My head is spinning,” the old man said, as if ashamed, smiling in front of his son. - At least you could help! We need more songwriters. I have music, but should I invite the gypsies? Your military brethren love this.
“Really, daddy, I think Prince Bagration, when he was preparing for the Battle of Shengraben, bothered less than you do now,” said the son, smiling.
The old count pretended to be angry. - Yes, you interpret it, you try it!
And the count turned to the cook, who, with an intelligent and respectable face, looked observantly and affectionately at father and son.
- What are young people like, eh, Feoktist? - he said, - the old people are laughing at our brother.
“Well, Your Excellency, they just want to eat well, but how to assemble and serve everything is not their business.”
“Well, well,” the count shouted, and cheerfully grabbing his son by both hands, he shouted: “So that’s it, I got you!” Now take the pair of sleighs and go to Bezukhov, and say that the count, they say, Ilya Andreich sent to ask you for fresh strawberries and pineapples. You won't get it from anyone else. It’s not there, so you go in, tell the princesses, and from there, that’s what, go to Razgulay - Ipatka the coachman knows - find Ilyushka the gypsy there, that’s what Count Orlov was dancing with, remember, in a white Cossack, and bring him back here to me.
- And bring him here with the gypsies? – Nikolai asked laughing. - Oh well!…
At this time, with silent steps, with a businesslike, preoccupied and at the same time Christianly meek look that never left her, Anna Mikhailovna entered the room. Despite the fact that every day Anna Mikhailovna found the count in a dressing gown, every time he was embarrassed in front of her and asked to apologize for his suit.
“Nothing, Count, my dear,” she said, meekly closing her eyes. “And I’ll go to Bezukhoy,” she said. “Pierre has arrived, and now we’ll get everything, Count, from his greenhouses.” I needed to see him. He sent me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Borya is now at headquarters.