Lesson 61 extracurricular reading. story "mother of a traitor" from "fairy tales about italy" by m. gorky

Goals: check reading comprehension, develop the ability to characterize characters based on their deeds.

Equipment: works by A.M. Gorky, portrait.

During the classes

I. Organizational moment.

II. Work on cards.

Card 1.

Analyze an excerpt from The Legend of Danko. What artistic means does the author use?

And the forest kept singing its gloomy song, and thunder thundered, and it was pouring rain ...

- What will I do for people ?! - Danko shouted louder than thunder.

And suddenly he tore open his chest with his hands and tore his heart out of it and raised it high above his head.

It blazed as brightly as the sun, and brighter than the sun, and the whole forest fell silent, illuminated by this torch of great love for people, and the darkness scattered from its light and there, deep in the forest, trembling fell into the rotten anger of the swamp. People, amazed, became like stones.

- Let's go! - shouted Danko. And he rushed forward to his place, holding his burning heart high and illuminating the way for people.

They rushed after him, fascinated. Then the forest began to rustle again, shaking the peaks in surprise, but its noise was drowned out by the stomping of running people. Everyone ran quickly and boldly, carried away by the wonderful sight of a burning heart. And now they died, but they died without complaints or tears. And Danko was still ahead, and his heart was all flaming, flaming!

And then suddenly the forest parted in front of him, parted and remained behind, dense and dumb, and Danko and all those people immediately plunged into the sea of ​​sunlight and clean air washed by the rain. There was a thunderstorm - there, behind them, over the forest, and here the sun was shining, the steppe sighed, the grass glistened in rain diamonds and the river sparkled with gold ... It was evening, and from the rays of the sunset the river seemed red like the blood that gushed in a hot stream from Danko's torn chest.

The proud daredevil Danko threw his gaze ahead of himself on the breadth of the steppe, - he threw a joyful gaze at the free land and laughed proudly. And then he fell and died.

The people, joyful and full of hope, did not notice his death and did not see that his brave heart was still burning next to Danko's corpse. Only one careful person noticed this and, being afraid of something, stepped on the proud heart with his foot ... And here it, disintegrating into sparks, died out ...

Answer: This is the final part of "Legend ...", which tells about the glorious feat of Danko, who illuminated the way for people with his heart and died for them, leaving a memory of himself. Danko's heart is compared to the sun, a hostile forest, darkness, adversity are forced to retreat. People change. Carried away by a miracle, they again become, as before, strong and courageous. The magnificent landscape, opened by the victorious forest and thunderstorm, conquers with an abundance of light, richness of colors. People are now "joyful and full of hope", but also ruthless, indifferent. They did not notice the death of the hero. And one (very similar to the Uzh from "Song of the Falcon") even "stepped on a proud heart with his foot."

M. Gorky uses in his legend many techniques traditional for folklore: inversion, repetitions, rhythm, personification, comparison. There are many epithets in this passage (in the form stand-alone definitions), among them color.

Card 2.

What ancient hero's feat, similar to the feat of Danko, can you name? What was it?

Answer. This is the feat of Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods for people in order to warm the earthly inhabitants, illuminate their life, and change it for the better. A terrible punishment befell him: chained to a rock, he could not move, and huge eagles tormented his liver. The torment of the glorious hero lasted for an infinitely long time, but people did not forget him. The name Prometheus has become a household name, as they call people who are ready for the feat of self-sacrifice for others, about people who neglect their interests for the good of everyone.

Card 3.

Draw a verbal portrait of Danko. Try to include in it the words that characterize the hero M. Gorky.

Answer. Danko is a young handsome man. He is tall, slender, has a proud posture and the broad shoulders of an athlete. His eyes are striking in his face, they rivet attention with some extraordinary, supernatural radiance - it burns in them great love to people, the desire to help them become better, stronger, bolder.

It's hard to imagine what Danko is wearing, but it probably doesn't matter, like his eye color, hair length, nose shape ...

Although his forehead is probably high and clear, and his profile is clear, like that of a very handsome person.

III. Communication of the topic and objectives of the lesson.

IV. Tour of the exhibition of books, composed of the works of Gorky, his portraits.

The tour is led by a librarian; among the books - "Tales of Italy".

V. Study of a new topic.

1. Retelling the story"Mother of the Traitor" (content, heroes).

2. Conversation on questions.

- How does the author describe the troubled life of the besieged city? ("... A tight ring of enemies ...", "the clang of weapons, loud laughter ... songs of people confident of victory ...", "... burned out the vineyards ...", "trampled the fields ...", "... guns and muskets of enemies showered the city ... with cast iron and lead ", The groans of the wounded", "the prayers of women and the crying of children.")

“Are you back on the street, Monna Marianne?

- To whom are these words addressed? (A citizen and a mother, she thought about her son and homeland: her son stood at the head of the people who destroyed the city ... ".)

- For what does a woman mourning her murdered son thank Madonna? ("Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gate and I will go to him ...")

- Why does the mother go to her son? ("Mother! You came to me ... tomorrow I will take this damned city ... I will destroy the nest of stubborn people!"

"Mother - creates ... protects, and talking to her about destruction means talking against her ...")

- What did the mother do? ("Man - I did everything I could for my homeland. Mother - I stay with my son.")

Conclusion D. The grief of a mother who has lost her son is immeasurable, this is a terrible punishment, but worse than this punishment is the betrayal of her son - this is the leitmotif romantic story A. M. Gorky.

Vi. Summing up the lesson.

- What other "Tales of Italy" have you read? Did they like them?

Homework: read "Tales of Italy" independently.

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Part I

1

Every day, above the workers' suburb, in the smoky, oily air, the factory whistle trembled and roared, and, obedient to the call, from small gray houses ran out into the street like frightened cockroaches, gloomy people who had not had time to refresh their muscles with sleep. In the cold gloom they walked down the unpaved street to the tall stone cages of the factory; she waited for them with indifferent confidence, illuminating the dirt road with dozens of fat square eyes. Dirt smacked underfoot. The hoarse exclamations of sleepy voices were heard, coarse curses tore the air, and other sounds floated towards the people - heavy fidgeting of cars, grumbling steam. Tall black pipes loomed gloomily and sternly, rising above the suburb like thick sticks.

In the evening, when the sun was setting, and its red rays shone wearily on the windows of the houses, the factory threw people out of their stone depths, like waste slag, and they again walked through the streets, smoky, with black faces, spreading the sticky smell of machine oil in the air, glistening with hungry teeth. Now there was animation in their voices, and even joy - for today the hard labor was over, supper and rest awaited at home.

The day has been swallowed by the factory, the machines have sucked as much strength from the muscles of the people as they needed. The day was erased without a trace from life, the man took another step to his grave, but he saw close in front of him the pleasure of rest, the joy of a smoky tavern, and - he was pleased.

On holidays, they slept until ten o'clock, then respectable and married people dressed in their best dress and went to listen to mass, along the way scolding the youth for their indifference to the church. They returned home from church, ate pies and went to bed again - until evening.

Fatigue, accumulated over the years, deprived people of their appetite, and in order to eat, they drank a lot, irritating the stomach with sharp burns of vodka. In the evening they walked lazily along the streets, and those who had galoshes put them on, even if it was dry, and having a rain umbrella, carried it with them, even if the sun was shining.

Meeting each other, they talked about the factory, about the machines, scolded the foremen, - they talked and thought only about what was connected with the work. Lonely sparks of clumsy, impotent thoughts barely flickered in the dull monotony of days. Returning home, they quarreled with their wives and often beat them, not sparing their fists. Young people sat in taverns or threw parties with each other, played the harmonica, sang obscene, ugly songs, danced, swore and drank. Exhausted by work, people got drunk quickly, an incomprehensible, painful irritation awakened in all their breasts. It demanded an exit. And, tenaciously grasping for every opportunity to defuse this disturbing feeling, people, because of trifles, rushed at each other with anger of animals. Arose bloody fights... Sometimes they ended in grievous injury, sometimes in murder.

In people's relationships, there was most of all a feeling of awaiting anger, it was as old as the incurable fatigue of the muscles. People were born with this illness of the soul, inheriting it from their fathers, and she accompanied them with a black shadow to the grave, prompting them throughout their lives to a number of actions disgusting with their aimless cruelty.

On holidays, young people came home late at night in torn clothes, in dirt and dust, with broken faces, gloatingly bragging about the blows inflicted on their comrades, or offended, in anger or tears of resentment, drunk and pitiful, unhappy and disgusting. Sometimes the boys were brought home by their mothers and fathers. They looked for them somewhere under a fence on the street or in taverns insensibly drunk, scolded badly, pounded the soft bodies of children liquefied with vodka, then more or less carefully put them to bed, so that early in the morning, when the angry roar of a beep would flow in the air like a dark stream , wake them up for work.

They scolded and beat the children hard, but the drunkenness and fights of young people seemed quite legal to the elderly - when the fathers were young, they also drank and fought, they were also beaten by their mothers and fathers. Life has always been like this - it smoothly and slowly flowed somewhere in a muddy stream for years and years, and everything was tied by strong, long-standing habits of thinking and doing the same thing, day after day. And no one had the desire to try to change her.

Occasionally strangers came to the settlement from somewhere. At first they drew attention to themselves simply by being strangers, then aroused a light, external interest with stories about the places where they worked, then the novelty was erased from them, they got used to them, and they became invisible. From their stories it was clear that the life of a worker is the same everywhere. And if so, what is there to talk about?

But sometimes some of them said something unheard of in the suburb. They did not argue with them, but listened to their strange speeches incredulously. These speeches aroused blind irritation in some, vague anxiety in others, while others were disturbed by a slight shadow of hope for something unclear, and they began to drink more in order to drive out unnecessary, interfering anxiety.

Noticing something unusual in a stranger, the Slobozhanians could not forget it for a long time and treated a person who was not like them with unaccountable fear. They were definitely afraid that a person would throw something into life that would disrupt it sadly the correct course, although difficult, but calm. People are accustomed to life always oppressing them with the same force, and, not expecting any changes for the better, they considered all changes to be capable only of increasing oppression.

The people who spoke new things were silently avoided by the locals. Then these people disappeared, again leaving somewhere, and remaining in the factory, they lived on the sidelines, if they did not know how to merge into one whole with the monotonous mass of Slobozhanians ...

Having lived such a life for fifty years, a person was dying.

2

So lived Mikhail Vlasov, a locksmith, hairy, sullen, with small eyes; they looked out from under their thick eyebrows suspiciously, with a nasty grin. The best locksmith in the factory and the first strongman in the suburb, he behaved rudely with his superiors and therefore earned little, beat someone every holiday, and everyone did not like him, they were afraid. They also tried to beat him, but to no avail. When Vlasov saw that people were coming at him, he grabbed a stone, a board, a piece of iron in his hands and, spreading his legs wide apart, silently awaited the enemies. His face, overgrown from eyes to neck with a black beard, and his hairy hands inspired fear in everyone. They were especially afraid of his eyes - small, sharp, they bored into people like steel gimbals, and everyone who met their gaze felt a wild force in front of him, inaccessible to fear, ready to beat mercilessly.

- Well, disperse, you bastard! He said dully. Large yellow teeth gleamed through the thick hair on his face. People dispersed, scolding him with cowardly howling abuse.

- You bastard! - he spoke briefly after them, and his eyes shone with a sharp, like an awl, grin. Then, keeping his head defiantly straight, he followed them and called:

- Well, - who wants death?

Nobody wanted to.

He spoke little, and "bastard" was his favorite word. He called them the management of the factory and the police, with him he turned to his wife:

- You, you bastard, do not see - the pants are torn!

When Pavel, his son, was fourteen years old, Vlasov wanted to drag him by the hair. But Paul took a heavy hammer in his hands and said briefly:

- Don't touch ...

- What? - asked the father, advancing on the tall, slender figure of his son, like a shadow on a birch.

- Will! - Pavel said. - I won’t give myself up anymore ...

And he swung the hammer.

His father looked at him, hid his shaggy hands behind his back and, smiling, said:

- Oh, you bastard ...

Shortly thereafter, he said to his wife:

- Don't ask me any more money, Pashka will feed you ...

- Are you going to drink everything? She dared to ask.

- None of your business, you bastard! I'll run a mistress ...

He did not start a mistress, but from that time, almost two years, until his death, he did not notice his son and did not speak to him.

He had a dog, as big and hairy as he was. She accompanied him to the factory every day and waited at the gate every evening. On holidays, Vlasov went to the taverns. He walked in silence and, as if wishing to find someone, scratched the faces of people with his eyes. And the dog followed him all day, drooping a large, bushy tail. Returning home drunk, he sat down to supper and fed the dog from his cup. He did not beat her, did not scold her, but he never caressed her. After dinner, he threw the dishes from the table to the floor, if his wife did not have time to clean them up in time, put a bottle of vodka in front of him and, leaning his back against the wall, in a dull voice that made him feel melancholy, howled a song, opening his mouth wide and closing his eyes. Mournful, ugly sounds tangled in his mustache, knocking bread crumbs off them, the locksmith straightened the hair of his beard and mustache with thick fingers and sang. The words of the song were somehow incomprehensible, stretched, the melody reminded of the howling of wolves in winter. He sang as long as there was vodka in the bottle, and then he fell sideways on the bench or lowered his head on the table and so slept until the beep. The dog lay next to him.

He died of a hernia. For five days, all blackened, he tossed and turned on the bed, his eyes tightly closed, and gritted his teeth. Sometimes he said to his wife:

- Give arsenic, poison ...

The doctor ordered Mikhail to be given a poultice, but said that an operation was needed, and the patient should be taken to the hospital today.

- Go to hell - I'll die myself! .. Bastard! - Mikhail croaked.

And when the doctor left and his wife with tears began to persuade him to agree to the operation, he clenched his fist and, threatening her, said:

- I will recover - it will be worse for you!

He died in the morning, in those minutes when the dial tone was calling for work. Lying in a coffin with open mouth, but his eyebrows were furrowed. Buried by his wife, son, dog, old drunkard and thief Danila Vyesovshchikov, driven out of the factory, and several suburban beggars. The wife cried quietly and a little, Pavel did not cry. Slobozhans, meeting a coffin on the street, stopped and, crossing themselves, said to each other:

- Tea, Pelageya is glad-happy that he died ...

Some corrected:

- Not dead, but - died ...

When the coffin was buried, the people left, but the dog remained and, sitting on the fresh earth, sniffed the grave in silence for a long time. A few days later, someone killed her ...

3

Two weeks after the death of his father, on Sunday, Pavel Vlasov came home very drunk. Swaying, he crawled into the front corner and, striking the table with his fist, as his father did, shouted to his mother:

- Have supper!

The mother went up to him, sat down next to him and hugged her son, pulling his head to her chest. He, resting his hand on her shoulder, resisted and shouted:

- Mom, - live! ..

- You fool! - sadly and affectionately said the mother, overcoming his resistance.

- And - I will smoke! Give me my father's pipe ... - Pavel muttered heavily with his disobedient tongue.

He got drunk for the first time. The vodka weakened his body, but did not extinguish his consciousness, and the question was pounding in his head: “Drunk? Drunk? "

He was embarrassed by his mother's caresses and touched by the sadness in her eyes. He wanted to cry, and in order to suppress this desire, he tried to pretend to be more drunk than he was.

And his mother stroked his sweaty, matted hair with her hand and spoke softly:

- You don't need this ...

He started to feel sick. After a violent fit of vomiting, his mother put him to bed, covering his pale forehead with a wet towel. He was a little sober, but everything under him and around him swayed in waves, his eyelids were heavy and, feeling a bad, bitter taste in his mouth, he looked through his eyelashes at his mother's big face and thought incoherently:

“Apparently it's too early for me. Others drink and - nothing, but I feel sick ... "

- What kind of breadwinner will you be for me if you start drinking ...

Closing his eyes tightly, he said:

- Everyone drinks ...

The mother sighed heavily. He was right. She herself knew that, apart from the tavern, people had nowhere to find joy. But still she said:

- And you - don't drink! Father drank for you as much as necessary. And he tortured me enough ... so you would feel sorry for your mother, huh?

Listening to the sad, soft words, Pavel recalled that during his father's life, his mother was invisible in the house, was silent and always lived in anxious expectation of beatings. Avoiding meetings with his father, he was rarely at home. Lately, lost the habit of his mother and now, gradually sobering up, gazed intently at her.

She was tall, a little stooped, her body broken long work and beaten by her husband, she moved silently and somehow sideways, as if she was always afraid of touching something. A wide, oval face, cut with wrinkles and puffy, was illuminated by dark eyes, anxiously sad, like most women in the suburb. There was a deep scar over the right eyebrow, it raised the eyebrow slightly upward, it seemed that her right ear was higher than the left; this gave her face such an expression as if she had always listened fearfully. Gray strands glistened in thick, dark hair. She was all soft, sad, submissive ...

And tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

- Do not Cry! The son asked quietly. - Give me a drink.

- I'll bring you ice water ...

But when she returned, he was already asleep. She stood over him for a minute, the ladle in her hand trembled, and the ice quietly beat against the tin. Placing the ladle on the table, she silently knelt in front of the images. Sounds were beating through the windows drunken life... In darkness and dampness autumn evening the harmonica screamed, someone sang loudly, someone swore in rotten words, the irritated, tired voices of women sounded alarmingly ...

Life in the small house of the Vlasovs flowed more quietly and calmly than before, and somewhat differently than everywhere else in the settlement. Their house stood on the edge of the settlement, at a low but steep descent to the swamp. A third of the house was occupied by the kitchen and a small room, separated from it by a thin bulkhead, in which the mother slept. The remaining two thirds is a square room with two windows; in one corner is Pavel's bed, in the front corner there is a table and two benches. Several chairs, a chest of drawers for linen, a small mirror on it, a chest with a dress, a clock on the wall and two icons in the corner - that's all.

Paul did the right thing young guy: I bought a harmonica, a shirt with a starched chest, a bright tie, galoshes, a cane and became the same as all the teenagers of his age. He went to parties, learned to dance the square dance and polka, on holidays he returned home drunk and always suffered greatly from vodka. The next morning I had a headache, tormented by heartburn, my face was pale and dull.

One day his mother asked him:

- Well, did you have fun yesterday?

He replied with sullen irritation:

- Green longing! I'd rather fish. Or I'll buy myself a gun.

He worked diligently, without absenteeism and fines, was silent, and his blue, big, like his mother's eyes, looked displeased. He didn’t buy himself a gun and didn’t begin to fish, but he noticeably began to dodge everyone’s torn road: he rarely attended parties and although, on holidays, he left somewhere, he returned sober. The mother, vigilantly watching him, saw that the son's dark face was becoming sharper, his eyes were looking more and more seriously, and his lips were compressed with a strange sternness. It seemed that he was silently angry at something or sickness sucked him. Previously, his comrades came to him, now, not finding him at home, they stopped coming. It was pleasant for the mother to see that her son was becoming different from the factory youth, but when she noticed that he was concentrating and stubbornly floating out of the dark stream of life, this aroused in her soul a feeling of vague apprehension.

- You, perhaps, are not well, Pavlusha? She asked him sometimes.

- No, I'm healthy! - he answered.

- You are very thin! - sighing, said the mother. He began to bring books and tried to read them imperceptibly, and after reading, he hid them somewhere. Sometimes he wrote something out of books on a separate piece of paper and also hid it ...

They spoke little and saw each other little. In the morning he silently drank tea and went to work, at noon he came to dinner, at the table they exchanged insignificant words, and again he disappeared until the evening. And in the evening he washed himself thoroughly, dined and after a long time read his books. On holidays he left in the morning, returned late at night. She knew that he went to the city, visited the theater there, but no one came to him from the city. It seemed to her that as time went on, her son spoke less and less, and at the same time, she noticed that sometimes he used some new words that were incomprehensible to her, and the coarse and harsh expressions that were habitual to her fell out of his speech. In his behavior there were many little things that attracted her attention: he gave up panache, began to care more about the cleanliness of his body and dress, moved more freely, more agile and, outwardly becoming simpler, softer, aroused anxious attention in his mother. And in relation to his mother there was something new: he sometimes swept the floor in the room, he cleaned his bed on holidays, generally tried to make her work easier. Nobody in the settlement did this.

Once he brought a picture and hung it on the wall - three people, talking, walked somewhere easily and cheerfully.

- This is the risen Christ going to Emmaus! - Pavel explained.

Mother liked the picture, but she thought: "You honor Christ, but you don't go to church ..."

More and more books were on the shelf, beautifully made for Pavel by his fellow carpenter. The room took on a pleasant look.

He said “you” to her and called her “mother,” but sometimes, suddenly, he spoke to her kindly:

- You, mother, please don’t worry, I’m tossing and turning home late ...

She liked it, in his words she felt something serious and strong.

But her anxiety grew. Not becoming clearer from time to time, she more and more acutely tickled her heart with a presentiment of something unusual. Sometimes the mother had discontent with her son, she thought: “All people are like people, and he is like a monk. Very strict. It's not over his years ... "

Sometimes she thought: "Maybe he got himself some girl?"

But fussing with girls requires money, and he gave her almost all of his earnings.

So weeks, months passed, and two years of a strange, silent life, full of vague thoughts and fears, all growing, passed unnoticed.

4

Once, after supper, Pavel lowered the curtain on the window, sat down in a corner and began to read, hanging a tin lamp on the wall above his head. Mother put away the dishes and, leaving the kitchen, cautiously approached him. He raised his head and looked inquiringly into her face.

- Nothing, Pasha, that's me! She said hastily and left, moving her eyebrows in embarrassment. But, after standing in the middle of the kitchen for a moment motionless, pensive, preoccupied, she cleanly washed her hands and went out to her son again.

- I want to ask you, - she said quietly, - what are you reading?

He folded the book up.

- You - sit down, mother ...

Mother sat down heavily next to him and straightened up, alert, expecting something important.

Without looking at her, quietly and for some reason very sternly, Pavel began to speak:

- I read forbidden books. They are forbidden to read because they tell the truth about our working life ... They are published quietly, secretly, and if they find them with me, they will put me in prison, - in prison for wanting to know the truth. Understood?

She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Opening her eyes wide, she looked at her son, he seemed alien to her. He had a different voice - lower, thicker and more sonorous. He pinched his thin, fluffy mustache with his fingers, and strangely, sullenly looked somewhere in the corner. She became afraid for her son and felt sorry for him.

- Why are you doing this, Pasha? She said. He raised his head, looked at her and quietly, calmly replied:

- I want to know the truth.

His voice sounded quiet, but firm, his eyes glistened stubbornly. She understood in her heart that her son had doomed himself forever to something secret and terrible. Everything in life seemed inevitable to her, she was used to obeying without thinking and now she just cried quietly, unable to find words in her heart, squeezed with grief and longing.

- Do not Cry! - Pavel spoke gently and quietly, and it seemed to her that he was saying goodbye. - Think, what kind of life we ​​live? You are forty years old - have you lived? Father beat you - I now understand that he took out his grief on your sides - the grief of his life; it pressed on him, but he did not understand - where is it from? He worked for thirty years, started working when the whole factory was located in two buildings, and now there are seven of them!

She listened to him fearfully and eagerly. The son's eyes burned beautifully and lightly; leaning his chest on the table, he moved closer to her and spoke directly to her face, wet with tears, his first speech about the truth, understood by him. With all the strength of his youth and the ardor of a student proud of his knowledge, piously believing in their truth, he spoke about what was clear to him - he spoke not so much for his mother as testing himself. Sometimes he stopped, unable to find words, and then he saw before him a distressed face, on which kind eyes, clouded with tears, glittered dimly. They looked with fear, bewilderment. He felt sorry for his mother, he began to talk again, but this time about her, about her life.

- What joys did you know? He asked. - How can you remember what you have lived through?

She listened and shook her head sadly, feeling something new, unknown to her, sorrowful and joyful - it softly caressed her aching heart. This was the first time she had heard such speeches about herself, about her life, and they awakened in her long-asleep, vague thoughts, quietly fanning extinguished feelings of vague discontent with life - thoughts and feelings of distant youth. She talked about life with her friends, talked for a long time, about everything, but everyone - and herself - only complained, no one explained why life is so hard and difficult. But now her son is sitting in front of her, and what his eyes, face, words say - all this touches her heart, filling it with a sense of pride for her son, who correctly understood his mother's life, tells her about her suffering, pity her ...

Mothers are not spared.

She knew that. Everything that the son said about women's life was a bitter familiar truth, and a ball of sensations quietly quivered in her chest, warming her more and more with an unfamiliar affection.

- What do you want to do? She asked, interrupting his speech.

- Learn and then teach others. We workers need to learn. We must learn, we must understand - why life is so hard for us.

It was sweet to her to see that his blue eyes, always serious and stern, now burned so softly and affectionately. A satisfied, quiet smile appeared on her lips, although tears still trembled in the wrinkles of her cheeks. A dual sense of pride in her son, who sees the grief of life so well, waved in her, but she could not forget about his youth and the fact that he was not speaking like everyone else, that he alone decided to enter into an argument with this familiar to everyone - and for her - life. She wanted to tell him, "Honey, what can you do?"

But she was afraid to prevent herself from admiring her son, who suddenly appeared before her so smart ... although a little alien to her.

Paul saw a smile on his mother's lips, attention on her face, love in her eyes; it seemed to him that he made her understand his truth, and youthful pride in the power of the word raised his faith in himself. Overwhelmed with excitement, he spoke, now grinning, now frowning, sometimes hatred sounded in his words, and when his mother heard her ringing, harsh words, she, frightened, shook her head and quietly asked her son:

- Is that so, Pasha?

- So! - he answered firmly and firmly. And he told her about people who, wishing well to the people, sowed the truth in them, and for this the enemies of life caught them like animals, imprisoned them, sent them to hard labor ...

- I've seen such people! He exclaimed hotly. - This the best people on the ground!

In her, these people aroused fear, she again wanted to ask her son: "Is that so?"

But she did not dare and, freezing, listened to stories about people, incomprehensible to her, who taught her son to speak and think so dangerous for him. Finally she said to him:

- Soon it will be dawn, if you lay down, fell asleep!

- Yes, I'll go to bed now! - he agreed. And, bending over to her, he asked: - Do you understand me?

- Understood! She replied with a sigh. Tears rolled from her eyes again, and with a sob, she added:

- You will be lost!

He got up, walked around the room, then said:

- Well, now you know what I do, where I go, I told you everything! I ask you, mother, if you love me - do not bother me! ..

- My dear fellow! - she exclaimed. - Maybe it would be better for me not to know anything!

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly in his.

She was shocked by the word "mother", spoken by him with ardent force, and this shaking of hands, new and strange.

- I won't do anything! She said in a broken voice. - Just take care of yourself, take care!

Not knowing what to look out for, she added sadly:

- You all grow thin ...

And, embracing his strong, slender body caressing, warm eyes, she spoke hastily and quietly:

- God is with you! Live as you want, I won't bother you. Only one thing I ask - do not talk to people without fear! People need to be afraid - everyone hates each other! They live by greed, they live by envy. Everyone is happy to do evil. As soon as you begin to denounce and judge them, they will hate you, destroy you!

The son stood in the doorway, listening to the melancholy speech, and when his mother had finished, he, smiling, said:

- People are bad, yes. But when I learned that there is truth in the world, people became better! ..

He smiled again and continued:

“I don’t understand how it happened!” From childhood I was afraid of everyone, began to grow up - I began to hate, which for meanness, which - I don't know why, it's so simple! And now everyone has stood up for me in a different way - I feel sorry for everyone, or what? I can't understand, but my heart softened when I learned that not everyone is to blame for their filth ...

He paused, as if listening to something in himself, then quietly and thoughtfully said:

- That's how truth breathes!

She looked at him and said quietly:

- Dangerously you have changed, oh, my God!

When he lay down and fell asleep, his mother gently got out of her bed and quietly walked over to him. Pavel was lying upside down, and his swarthy, stubborn and stern face was clearly drawn on the white pillow. With her hands clasped to her chest, her mother, barefoot and in one shirt, stood by his bed, her lips moving silently, and from her eyes, slowly and evenly, one after another, large cloudy tears flowed.

From the first pages of the novel, we see a factory village in which poor workers lived. The entire area around the factory was riddled with complete poverty. It was dirty and gloomy all around. From the early morning the dial tone called everyone to work, and late in the evening everyone returned home tired and hungry. And the work was so hard that the men wanted one thing - to get drunk and go to rest. There was a lot of anger towards these workers, which led them to disgusting deeds. So day after day passed.

The main character of Nilovna's work also lived. She had a son, Paul, who takes an example from his father. Mikhail got drunk all day after working days, and even got into a fight. Everyone in a row, and naturally, his relatives, he insulted obscene words... And he did not consider his wife a woman at all. But, nevertheless, Paul has not yet completely become the same as the rest of the workers. He defends his mother when his father wants to beat her.

Nilovna was not an old woman, but this whole life turned her into a tortured old woman.

Soon his father dies, and Paul continues to live like everyone else. He buys himself a beautiful shirt, an accordion and goes to dances, where he comes from, always drunk.

But, soon, some strange people came to them in the village, they spoke strange speeches. And Paul listened carefully to their words.

Then in holidays he left for the city, began to take a great interest in literature and bring home books on political topics. Pavel's speech also changed, he began to address Nilovna politely. And this frightened Pelageya. She suspected that something serious was happening to him, and what it was, she did not understand.

Later, the son tells Pelageya that he wants to know what she is it's true, oh which revolutionaries tell. He said that he would study, and he would tell his comrades new trends about freedom, about a good life. But then, she warned her that for such sedition he could be sent to hard labor and even shot.

At the end of November, Pavel warned Nilovna that guests would come to him. Pelageya met them cautiously, but, as it turned out, they were friendly people. The most surprising thing for her was that Nikolai Vyesovshchikov joined them, whom everyone bypassed and did not even try to speak. And all this happened because his father was a crook. A girl named Natasha came there. She came from a wealthy family and from childhood saw tyranny and arbitrariness in the house. She did not wish for herself and others such an existence and joined the workers' circle.

There was a rumor among the factory workers that suspicious people were gathering in the Vlasovs' house, and they were talking about something. They tried to find out in different ways, someone asked Pelageya about his son, and sometimes at night they wanted to spy out the window, but, frightened, they ran away. Further, propaganda papers began to be distributed among the workers, everyone read them, but reacted differently. Someone believed in the written text, there were those who only waved their hand hopelessly.

Once Maria met Nilovnu on the street and whispered to her that many activists had been searched, and another was being prepared in the Vlasovs' house. The night passed in anticipation and anxiety, but no one came. However, the gendarmes arrived a month later and began looking for forbidden literature. At the same time, Andrei Nakhodka was present, who could not stand it and began to talk with representatives of the law, as a result of which he was arrested. Pavel, on the other hand, was confident and calm.

More and more workers began to come to Pavel, whom Vlasov helped with advice in a particular matter, and sometimes sent them to the city for advice. After one story at the factory, people began to treat Paul with more respect. The crux of the matter was that their owner decided to dry up the swamp, and explained to everyone that it would go to improve their health, but at the same time, he would deduct a certain amount from their salaries. Vlasov was ill that day, and when his comrades came to him, he immediately wrote something on a piece of paper and sent him to the city to be published there in the editorial office.

Pavel was sick not a single day, and the factory workers asked him to come to work and explain what was happening. Speech young man everyone listened with fascination, many already believed in his words. But when they were ordered to disperse, the workers obeyed, and the police took Pavel.

Soon, one of the party workers appeared at Nilovna's, who explained to her what needs to be done so that Pavel was released from prison. And Pelageya begins to scatter leaflets in the factory, disguised as a woman's assistant, delivering meals. And no one could have guessed that the distribution of these pieces of paper was the work of some old woman.

For lack of evidence, Nakhodka and Vlasov are released, but they cannot calm down and hold a rally at a demonstration dedicated to May 1. Paul delivers a fiery speech, holding a red banner in his hands. The speakers were again arrested, and Nilovna kept the banner.

Yegor Ivanovich asks Pelageya to move to his city, where she and his sister continue the work of their son. She travels to villages and distributes proclamations there.

His mother constantly comes to Paul in prison, and even hands over a letter where a girl who loves him offers him an escape plan. But, he refuses because he wants to give a fiery speech in court.

On the day of the trial, Nilovna was especially alarmed, since only her relatives were allowed there. This was done in order to prevent the people from hearing what the worker was accused of. And Paul, after hearing the verdict, delivers a speech in which he speaks of the goal of his party's struggle. Reading these lines, the author shows us a man who has studied many books and was well versed in revolutionary theory.

The last word of the judge was that all convicts were sent to hard labor. Sasha is ready to follow him, the mother also wants to be close to her son. It is a pity that such words were not heard by the workers, and then Nikolai Ivanovich takes the text written by him on paper to the editorial office to print.

Pavel's mother agrees to take the propaganda leaflets to another city, but they are tracking her down and they want to take her to the police. But, Nilovna, breaking free from the hands of the detective, scatters all the leaflets on the platform of the station, explaining that this is the speech of her convicted son. She doesn’t have time to finish, as one of the police officers squeezes her throat.

The novel teaches us to constantly improve ourselves, gain new knowledge and pass it on to other people. After receiving certain knowledge, a person becomes free. And freedom helps to lead others.

You can use this text for reader's diary

Bitter. All works

• Former people
• Mother
• Chelkash

Mother. Picture to the story

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Fifteen thousand round tents are spread out in the valley in a wide fan, all of them - like tulips, and above each - hundreds of silk flags flutter like natural flowers.
And in the middle of them - the tent of Gurugan-Timur - like a queen among her friends. It has four corners, a hundred steps on the sides, three spears in height, its middle is on twelve golden columns as thick as a man, on top of it is a blue dome, all of it is made of black, yellow, blue stripes of silk, five hundred red cords attached it to the ground so that she does not rise into the sky, four silver eagles in the corners of it, and under the dome, in the middle of the tent, on the dais, is the fifth, invincible Timur-Gurugan himself, the king of kings.

Maksim Gorky
LEGEND ABOUT MOTHER AND TIMUR
From the cycle "Tales of Italy"

Let us glorify the woman - Mother, the inexhaustible source of all-conquering life!
Here we will talk about the iron Timur-lenga, the lame leopard, about Sahib-i-Kirani - a happy conqueror, about Tamerlane, as the infidels called him, about a man who wanted to destroy the whole world.
For fifty years he walked on the earth, his iron foot crushed cities and states, like the foot of an elephant anthills, red rivers of blood flowed from his paths in all directions; he built high towers from the bones of conquered peoples; he destroyed life, arguing in his strength with Death, he took revenge on her for taking his son Dzhigangir; scary man- he wanted to take away all the victims from her - may she die of hunger and longing!
From the day his son Dzhigangir died and the people of Samarkand met the victor of the evil Jetts dressed in black and blue, sprinkling their heads with dust and ashes, from that day until the hour of meeting Death in Otrar, where she overcame him - thirty years Timur he never smiled - so he lived, closing his lips, bowing his head to no one, and his heart was closed to compassion for thirty years!

Let us glorify the woman in the world - the Mother, the one force before which Death humbly bows! Here the truth will be told about the Mother, about how the servant and slave of Death, the iron Tamerlane, the bloody scourge of the earth, bowed before her.

This is how it happened: Timur-bek feasted in the beautiful Kanigula valley, covered with clouds of roses and jasmine, in the valley, which the poets of Samarkand called "Love of Flowers" and from where you can see the blue minarets of the great city, the blue domes of mosques.
Fifteen thousand round tents are spread out in the valley in a wide fan, all of them are like tulips, and above each - hundreds of silk flags flutter like natural flowers.
And in the middle of them - the tent of Gurugan-Timur - like a queen among her friends. It has four corners, a hundred steps on the sides, three spears in height, its middle is on twelve golden columns as thick as a man, on top of it is a blue dome, all of it is made of black, yellow, blue stripes of silk, five hundred red cords attached it to the ground so that she does not rise into the sky, four silver eagles in the corners of it, and under the dome, in the middle of the tent, on the dais, is the fifth, invincible Timur-Gurugan himself, the king of kings.

He is wearing a wide robe made of sky-colored silk; grains of pearls shower over it - no more than five thousand large grains, yes! On his gray head is a white hat with a ruby ​​on a sharp top, and it sways, sways - this bloody eye sparkles, looking around the world ...

On the ground, on carpets that are no longer there, there are three hundred golden jugs of wine and everything that is needed for the feast of the tsars, behind Timur sit musicians, next to him - no one, at his feet - his blood, kings and princes, and the commanders of the troops , and closest to him is the drunken Kermani-poet, the one who once, to the question of the destroyer of the world:

Kermani! How much would you give for me if they sold me? - answered the sower of death and horror:
- Twenty-five askers.
- But this is only the price of my belt! - cried out surprised Timur.
“I’m thinking only about the belt,” Kermani replied, “only about the belt, because you yourself are not worth a dime!

This is how the poet Kermani spoke to the king of kings, a man of evil and horror, and may the glory of the poet, the friend of truth, be forever higher than the glory of Timur for us.
Let us glorify poets who have one god - a beautifully spoken, fearless word of truth, that is who God is for them - forever!

And so, in an hour of fun, revelry, proud memories of battles and victories, in the noise of music and folk games in front of the king's tent, where countless colorful jesters jumped, strong men fought, rope dancers twisted, making them think that there were no bones in their bodies, warriors competed in the dexterity of killing, and there was a show with elephants, which were painted red and green colors making some - terrible and funny - others by this - in this hour of joy of Timur's people, drunk from fear of him, from pride in his glory, from the weariness of victories, and wine, and koumiss, - in this crazy hour, suddenly, through the noise like lightning through a cloud, the scream of a woman, the proud scream of an eagle, a sound familiar and akin to his insulted soul, offended by Death and therefore cruel to people and life, reached the ears of the victor Bayazet-Sultan.

He ordered to find out who was shouting there in a voice without joy, and he was told that some woman had appeared, she was covered in dust and rags, she seemed insane, spoke Arabic and demands - she demands! - to see him, the ruler of the three cardinal points.

Bring her in! - said the king.

And here before him is a woman - barefoot, in patches of clothes faded in the sun, her black hair was loose to cover bare chest, her face is like bronze, and her eyes are commanding, and the dark hand extended to Timur did not tremble.

Did you defeat Sultan Bayazet? she asked.
- Yes I. I have defeated many and him and am not tired of victories yet. What do you think about yourself, woman?
- Listen! - she said. - Whatever you do, you are only a human being, and I am Mother! You serve death, I serve life. You are guilty before me, and so I came to demand that you atone for your guilt - I was told that your motto is "Strength is in justice" - I do not believe this, but you must be fair to me, because I am a Mother !

The king was wise enough to feel their power behind the insolence of words, - he said:
- Sit down and talk, I want to listen to you!
She sat down - as she found comfortable - in the close circle of the kings, on the carpet, and this is what she said:
- I am from near Salerno, it is far, in Italy, you do not know where! My father is a fisherman, my husband is also, he was handsome as happy man, - I gave him happiness! And I also had a son - the most beautiful boy on earth ...
“Like my Jigangir,” the old warrior said quietly.
- The most beautiful and intelligent boy is my son! He was already six years old when the Saracens-pirates came to our shore, they killed my father, my husband and many more, and the boy was kidnapped, and now it has been four years since I have been looking for him on earth. Now you have him, I know this, because Bayazet's soldiers seized the pirates, and you defeated Bayazet and took everything from him, you should know where my son is, you must give him to me!

Everyone laughed, and then the kings said - they always consider themselves wise!
- She is insane! - said the kings and friends of Timur, princes and military leaders, and everyone laughed.
Only Kermani looked at the woman seriously, and with great surprise Tamerlane.
- She is mad like a Mother! - the drunk poet Kermani said quietly; and the king - the enemy of the world - said:
- Female! How did you come from this country, unknown to me, through the seas, rivers and mountains, through the forests? Why did the animals and people - who are often angrier than the evil beasts - not touch you, because you walked, even without a weapon, the only friend of the defenseless, who does not betray them, as long as they have strength in their hands? I need to know all this in order to believe you and so that surprise in front of you does not prevent me from understanding you!

Let us praise the woman - the Mother, whose love knows no barriers, whose breast has fed the whole world! Everything beautiful in a person - from the rays of the sun and from Mother's milk - that is what saturates us with the love of life!

She said to Timur-Gurugan:
- I met only one sea, there were many islands and fishing boats on it, but if you are looking for your favorite, a fair wind blows. Rivers are easy to cross for those who were born and raised on the seashore. The mountains? - I did not notice the mountains.

Drunken Kermani said cheerfully:
- A mountain becomes a valley when you love!
- There were forests along the road, yes, it was! There were boars, bears, lynxes and terrible bulls, with their heads lowered to the ground, and the leopards looked at me twice, with eyes like yours. But after all, every animal has a heart, I spoke to them as to you, they believed that I was Mother, and they left, sighing, - they felt sorry for me! Don't you know that animals also love children and know how to fight for their life and freedom no worse than people?

So, woman! - said Timur. - And often - I know - they love more, fight harder than people!
“People,” she continued, like a child, for every Mother is a hundred times a child in her soul, “people are always the children of their mothers,” she said, “because everyone has a Mother, every son of someone, even you , old man, you know this, - a woman gave birth, you can renounce God, but you will not renounce this either, old man!

So, woman! exclaimed Kermani, the fearless poet. - So, - from the gathering of bulls - there will be no calves, without the sun flowers do not bloom, without love there is no happiness, without a woman there is no love, without a Mother - there is no poet or hero!
And the woman said:
- Give me my child, because I am a Mother and I love him!

Let us bow to the woman - she gave birth to Moses, Mohammed and the great prophet Jesus, who was killed by the wicked, but - as Sherifaddin said - he will still rise and come to judge the living and the dead, in Damascus it will be, in Damascus!

Let us bow down to the One who will tirelessly give birth to great ones! Aristotle, Her son, and Firdusi, and sweet as honey, Saadi, and Omar Khayyam, like wine mixed with poison, Iskander and blind Homer - these are all Her children, they all drank Her milk, and She brought everyone into the world by the hand when they were no taller than a tulip, all the pride of the world came from the Mothers!

And so the gray-haired destroyer of cities, the lame tiger Timur-Gurugan, pondered, and was silent for a long time, and then said to everyone:
- Men tangri cooli Timur! I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Here - I have lived for many years, the earth groans beneath me, and thirty years since I have destroyed the harvest of death with this hand - in order to destroy it, in order to avenge my son Dzhigangir, for extinguishing the sun of my heart! They fought with me for kingdoms and cities, but - no one, never - for a man, and a man had no value in my eyes, and I did not know who he was and why on my way? It was me, Timur, who said to Bayazet, defeating him: "O Bayazet, as you can see, before God there is nothing of the state and people, look - he gives them over to the power of such people as we are: you are crooked, I am lame!" So I told him when they brought him to me in chains and he could not stand under their weight, so I said, looking at him in misfortune, and felt life bitter, like wormwood, the grass of ruins!

I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Here - a woman sits in front of me, what darkness, and she aroused in my soul feelings unknown to me. She speaks to me as an equal, and she does not ask, but demands. And I see, I understood why this woman is so strong - she loves, and love helped her to know that her child is a spark of life, from which a flame can flare up for many centuries. Weren't all prophets children and heroes weak? Oh, Jigangir, the fire of my eyes, maybe you were destined to warm the earth, sow it with happiness - I poured blood on it well, and it became fat!

Again the scourge of the peoples thought for a long time and finally said:

I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Three hundred horsemen will set off immediately to all the ends of my land, and may they find the son of this woman, and she will wait here, and I will wait with her, the same one who returns with the child on the saddle of his horse, he will be happy - says Timur! So, woman?
She brushed her black hair from her face, smiled at him and answered with a nod of her head:
- So, the king!
Then this terrible old man got up and silently bowed to her, and the cheerful poet Kermani spoke, like a child, with great joy:

What is more beautiful than songs about flowers and stars?
Everyone will immediately say: love songs!
What is more beautiful than the sun on a clear noon in May?
And the lover will say: the one I love!
Ah, the stars are beautiful in the midnight sky - I know!
And the sun is beautiful on a clear summer afternoon - I know!
The eyes of my dear are more beautiful than all flowers - I know!
And her smile is softer than the sun - I know!
But the most beautiful song has not yet been sung,
A song about the beginning of all beginnings in the world,
Song about the heart of the world, about a magic heart
The one we humans call Mother!

And Timur-bek said to his poet:
- So, Kermani! God was not mistaken in choosing your mouth to proclaim his wisdom!
- Eh! God himself - good poet! - said the drunk Kermani.

And the woman smiled, and all the kings and princes, military leaders and all other children smiled, looking at her - Mother!
All this is true; all the words here are true, our mothers know about it, ask them, and they will say:

Yes, all of this eternal truth, we - stronger than death, we, who continuously give the world sages, poets and heroes, we who sow everything in it that it is famous for!

(Tashriflar: umumiy 2 867, bugungi 1)

"A hero is one who creates life in spite of death ..."

1. students will think about the role of mother in human life, reading the story of M. Gorky "The Mother of a Traitor" (XI from "Tales of Italy");
2. students will develop the ability to analyze the text, highlight the main problem;
3. students will learn a culture of communication, taking correctly any opinion.

Methods: five-lineage - characteristics (syncwines), directed reading, double entry diary, essays. (The class is divided into 4 groups of 5-6 people ..

Equipment: printouts of text for each student, presentation, sheets, markers.

During the classes

I. Stimulating interest in learning.

Every day you are escorted to classes, the same person - your mother - takes care of you. Everyone can talk about mom endlessly. The story of M. Gorky begins with a similar phrase, which is included in the cycle of stories "Tales of Italy" under number XI. We will read the story, but not completely. You have to finish writing the ending.

1A. Reading a story. (Up to 6 parts).

Exercise: - Try to write the ending of this piece.

(Write 5 minutes, then read, options are posted on the board).

There is a discussion.

II. Implementation of the teachings. Tasks for the 1st part.

You can talk about Mothers endlessly.

For several weeks the city had been surrounded by a tight ring of enemies, chained in iron; at night, bonfires were lit, and the fire looked out of the black darkness at the walls of the city with many red eyes - they glowed with malicious joy, and this lurking burning caused gloomy thoughts in the besieged city. From the walls they saw how the enemy's noose was closing ever closer, how their black shadows flickered around the lights; the neighing of well-fed horses was heard, the clang of weapons, loud laughter was heard, the cheerful songs of people confident of victory were heard - and what is more painful to hear than the laughter and songs of the enemy?

All the streams that fed the city with water were thrown by the enemies with corpses, they burned out the vineyards around the walls, trampled the fields, cut down the gardens - the city was open from all sides, and almost every day the guns and muskets of the enemies showered it with iron and lead. On the narrow streets of the city, troopers of soldiers, exhausted by the fighting, half-starved, were marching gloomily; the groans of the wounded, the cries of delirium, the prayers of women and the weeping of children poured from the windows of the houses. They talked dejectedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, listened intently - weren't the enemies going to attack? “...” Not expecting help, exhausted by labor and hunger, people lost hope every day. They were afraid to light the lights in the houses, thick darkness filled the streets, and into this darkness, like a fish in the depths of a river, a woman silently flashed, wrapped in a black cloak with her head. When people saw her, they asked each other:

That's her?

She! - and hid in niches under the gate or, bowing their heads, silently ran past her, and the chiefs of the patrols sternly warned her: “Are you on the street again, Monna Marianne? Look, you can be killed, and no one will look for the culprit in this ... ”. She straightened up, waited, but the patrol passed by, not daring or disdaining to raise a hand against her; armed people bypassed her like a corpse, and she remained in the darkness and again quietly, alone, walked somewhere, from street to street, dumb and black, like the embodiment of the misfortunes of the city, and around, pursuing her, sad sounds crawled plaintively: groans, crying, prayers and gloomy talk of soldiers who have lost hope of victory.

How can the first part be titled? (Unbearable life surrounded by enemies.)

Make up the characteristics - five-verses according to the text of Part I by groups:

What questions arise when reading Part 1?

(Who is this woman who is known and shunned by all the people of the besieged city?)

Reading the 2nd part.

A citizen and a mother, she thought about her son and homeland: at the head of the people who were destroying the city was her son, a cheerful and ruthless handsome man; until recently, she looked at him with pride, as at her precious gift to her homeland, as at good power, born by her to help the people of the city - a nest where she was born herself, gave birth and nourished him. Hundreds of unbreakable threads connected her heart with ancient stones, from which her ancestors built houses and laid the walls of the city, with the earth where the bones of her blood were laid, with legends, songs and hopes of people - the heart of the mother of the person closest to him lost and cried: it was like scales, but, weighing the love for her son and the city, she could not understand - which is easier, which is harder.

So she walked the streets at night, and many, not recognizing her, were frightened, took the black figure for the personification of death, close to everyone, and, recognizing, silently walked away from the traitor's mother.

But one day, in a remote corner, near the city wall, she saw another woman: kneeling beside a corpse, motionless, like a piece of earth, she was praying, lifting her mournful face to the stars. The traitor's mother asked:

- Husband?

- Not.

- Brother?

- A son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one today, and, rising from her knees, the mother of the murdered man obediently said:

- Madonna sees everything, knows everything, and I thank her!

- For what? - asked the first, and she answered her:

- Now that he honestly died fighting for his homeland, I can say that he aroused fear in me: frivolous, he loved a cheerful life too much, and it was afraid that for this he would betray the city, as did Marianne's son, the enemy of God and people, the leader of our enemies, curse him, curse the womb that bore him! ..

Covering her face, Marianne walked away, and in the morning ...

What can you call this part? Write in the title any phrase that fits the title. (The heart of the mother is like a balance; the mother of the traitor is the personification of death.)

- What do you think can happen after, because it ends with the word "and in the morning ..."?

Reading the 3rd part.

The next day, the mother appeared to the defenders of the city and said:

- Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gates for me, I will go to him ...

They have replyed:

- You are a person, and your homeland should be dear to you; your son is as much an enemy to you as he is to each of us.

- I am a mother, I love him and I consider myself guilty that he is what he has become.

Then they began to consult on what to do with her, and decided:

- In honor - we cannot kill you for the sin of a son, we know that you could not inspire him with this terrible sin, and guess how you must suffer. But the city does not even need you as a hostage - your son does not care about you, we think that he has forgotten you, devil - and - here is your punishment if you find that you deserve it! It seems to us worse than death!

- Yes! - she said. - It's scarier!

They opened the gate in front of her, let her out of the city and watched for a long time from the wall as she walked along native land, thickly saturated with blood spilled by her son: she walked slowly, with great difficulty lifting her legs from this earth, bowing to the corpses of the city's defenders, disgustingly pushing away the broken weapon with her foot - mothers hate the weapon of attack, recognizing only that with which life is protected.

She seemed to be carrying a bowl full of moisture in her hands under her cloak, and she was afraid to splash it; moving away, she became less and less, and by the fact that they looked at her from the wall, it seemed as if despondency and hopelessness were leaving them with her. We saw her stop halfway and, throwing off the hood of her cloak, looked at the city for a long time, and there, in the camp of the enemies, they noticed her, alone in the middle of the field, and slowly, carefully, black figures, like her, were approaching her. ...

How would you name this part? (Punishment is worse than death; Mothers recognize only weapons that protect life; Difficult road to their son.)

Reading the 4th part.

They came up and asked - who is she, where is she going?

“Your leader is my son,” she said, and none of the soldiers doubted it. They walked next to her, praising how smart and brave her son is. She listened to them, proudly raising her head, and was not surprised - her son should be like that!

And here she is in front of a man whom she knew nine months before his birth, in front of someone whom she had never felt outside of her heart - in silk and velvet he was in front of her, and his weapons were precious. Everything is as it should be; this is how she saw him many times in her dreams - rich, famous and beloved.

- Mother! - he said, kissing her hands. - You came to me, so you understood me, and tomorrow I will take this damned city!

“Where you were born,” she reminded him.

Intoxicated by his exploits, distraught with a thirst for even greater glory, he spoke to her with the daring ardor of youth:

–I was born in the world and for the world to amaze him with surprise! I spared this city for your sake - it is like a thorn in my leg and prevents me from going as quickly to glory as I want it. But now - tomorrow - I will destroy the stubborn nest!

Where every stone knows and remembers you as a child, ”she said.

The stones are dumb, if a person does not make them speak, let the mountains speak of me, that's what I want!

But - people? She asked.

Oh yes, I remember them, mother! And I need them, because heroes are immortal only in the memory of people! She said:

A hero is one who creates life despite death, who conquers death ...

Not! He objected. He who destroys is as glorious as he who builds cities. Look, we don't know if Aeneas or Romulus built Rome, but we know exactly the name of Alaric and other heroes who destroyed this city.

Who survived all names, her mother recalled.

So he talked to her until sunset, she interrupted his crazy speeches less and less often, and her proud head sank lower and lower.

The mother creates, she protects, and to talk about destruction in front of her means to speak against her, but he did not know this and denied the meaning of her life.

Mother is always against death; the hand that brings death into the dwellings of people is hateful and hostile to Mothers - her son did not see this, blinded by the cold blaze of glory that kills the heart. And he did not know that Mother is a beast as smart, ruthless, as fearless, if it is about the life that she, Mother, creates and protects.

She sat, bent over, and through the open canvas of the leader's rich tent she could see the city, where she first experienced the sweet tremor of conception and the painful convulsions of the birth of a child who now wants to destroy.

The crimson rays of the sun poured blood on the walls and towers of the city, the windows glittered ominously, the whole city seemed wounded, and through hundreds of wounds the red juice of life poured; As time went on, the city began to turn black like a corpse, and, like funeral candles, stars lit up over it.

She saw in dark houses, where they were afraid to light a fire so as not to attract the attention of enemies, in the streets full of darkness, the smell of corpses, the suppressed whisper of people awaiting death - she saw everything and everyone; The familiar and dear stood close to her, silently awaiting her decision, and she felt herself a mother to all the people of her city. Clouds descended from the black tops of the mountains into the valley and, like winged horses, flew towards the city doomed to death.

- Maybe we will fall on him at night, - said her son, if the night is dark enough! It is inconvenient to kill when the sun looks into the eyes and the shine of the weapon blinds them - there are always many wrong blows, - he said, examining his sword. Mother told him:

- Come here, lay your head on my chest, rest, remembering how cheerful and kind you were as a child and how everyone loved you ...

He obeyed, knelt down to her and closed his eyes, saying:

I love only glory and you, because you gave birth to me as I am.

And the women? She asked, bending over him.

There are a lot of them, they quickly get bored, like everything is too sweet. She asked him one last time:

And you don't want to have children?

What for? To be killed? Someone like me will kill them, and it will hurt me, and then I will be old and weak to avenge them.

You are beautiful, but as barren as lightning, ”she said with a sigh.

- Yes, like lightning ... - he answered, smiling, and dozed off on his mother's chest like a child.

What were you thinking while reading this part of the text? What have you experienced?

How would you name this part? (Cold blaze of glory that kills the heart.)

Describe the woman's son and the city that is going to be destroyed:

What do you think the mother will do to protect her from her own son favorite city? (Students talk about what the mother might do.)

Why does a mother need her son to calm down and fall asleep? What do you think about it?

Reading the 5th part.

Then, covering him with her black cloak, she stuck a knife into his heart, and he, with a start, immediately died - after all, she knew well where her son's heart was beating. And, throwing the corpse from her knees at the feet of the astonished guards, she said towards the city:

- Human - I did everything I could for my homeland; Mother - I stay with my son! It's too late for me to give birth to another, my life is of no use to anyone.

And the same knife, still warm from his blood - her blood - she firm hand thrust into my chest and also rightly hit my heart - if it hurts, it is easy to get into it.

What impression did this story make on you?

III. Reflection.

What is the title of this story?

Write sinkwine on the topic "Mom", "Life" or

Essay "What is the meaning of human life?"

Students write for 5-10 minutes, read each other's essays.

One of the students, selected from the group, reads his work in front of the Designer's Chair class.

What is the meaning of human life?

Why does man live? Very often life is compared to a road that must be walked with dignity from beginning to end, from birth to death. On this road there are stations of different times: childhood, adolescence, youth, adulthood, old age. How to go this way? What is its ultimate goal? What you need to be for people to remember kind word? Probably the biggest goal of life is to benefit people, near and far, to increase goodness in our environment. And good is, first of all, the happiness of all people. It is composed of many things, and each time life presents a person with a task that must be able to solve.

M. Gorky wrote about the suffering of a mother who raised a traitorous son in his story "The Mother of a Traitor." The mother “creates and protects life,” dreams of the fame and prosperity of her son. The woman feels guilty that she has brought up a cruel, proud man who wants to destroy his hometown. Unable to reason, persuade, stop her son, the mother kills him first, and then herself. This double murder gives life hometown, convinces enemies of the senselessness of destruction, restores the good name of the mother who protects LIFE.

So, the path to good - this is the meaning of human life. To be faithful to your family, friends, city, country, people - to walk this path with dignity.

Thank you all for your frankness, we will continue the conversation about the work of M. Gorky in the next lesson, to which you are invited to readstory "Old woman Izergil" - Homework.